Chapter Text
It took Robert, of all people, pointing it out for Flambae to realise what he was doing.
In hindsight, it seemed obvious: usually, any leftovers he had would be frozen, or else brought over to Khadija’s place to share. That was how he’d always done it, for as long as he’d been in charge of his own kitchen.
Now, an extra portion of his food would find its way into the car with him, which he would then press into Herm’s hands the moment he saw him at work.
It hadn’t struck him as odd, but considering where the two of them had started, he couldn’t exactly blame Robert for prying. Even if it did make Flambae want to punt him through a wall.
Still, it felt weird. Foreign. Taking care of his family was one thing—he’d been doing that for as long as he’d been alive. Even during the phases of strife between him and his sister, he’d still make sure she’d eat, and if he caught her eyeing the treats he bought from the shop with his own money, he’d slide some over and threaten violence if she refused.
To share with a man, though. Someone to whom he wasn’t indebted by blood, someone he hadn’t grown up with through all the bullshit and hardship. Some guy he’d met at work at thirty-one, who had somehow made Flambae want to see him well-fed.
Flambae looked at him in his stupid fucking wetsuit, holding a tub of pasta like it was the first time anyone had ever given him anything.
“Thank you,” Herm said, like Flambae had handed him his weight in gold, and Flambae wasn’t sure which he wanted to sink into that smile first: his fist or his mouth. And then, as if hyping himself up for something, Herm straightened just a little, his eyes flicking down. “Habibi.”
Flambae blinked, taking a moment to process what he’d heard.
To his credit, he tried very hard not to laugh for a good few seconds before he inevitably cracked.
“D-Did I say it wrong?” asked Herm, and Flambae felt his irritation give way to something else. He crossed the remaining distance to take Herm’s face in his hands and press their foreheads together, right there in the break room.
“Herm,” he said between breaths, and it meant god, you’re adorable and how are you so smart and also so stupid and you’re so confused but the fact that you tried makes me want to grind you to powder. In, like, a romantic way. “Herm, I don’t fucking speak Arabic.” He pulled away to plant a kiss to Herm’s cheek, trying to soften the blow. “That was really cute, but it’s just not—that’s not it, man.”
Herm made a miserable little noise, embarrassment and humour both. His hands came up to rest on Flambae’s back, and Flambae was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren’t shaking.
Still, Flambae didn’t like what his face was doing.
“Well, that’s m-mortifying,” Herm said. His gaze was cast down, fixed to a spot on Flambae’s jaw. “Didn’t you—n-no, I’m pretty sure you mentioned it, and it just—it went over my head completely. Sorry.”
“It’s Dari,” Flambae told him, running his thumb along the curve of Herm’s cheekbone.
“R-Right. That.”
He said nothing else, but Flambae swore he could hear that brain working, a thousand different thoughts racing through his head, and too many of them unkind.
“Hey.” Flambae angled his hands up, guiding Herm’s gaze to meet him. No panicking on his watch. “Try azizam.”
Herm hesitated, just for a moment. Flambae was unchanging in his expression—definitely still laughing at him, but helplessly, disgustingly fond nonetheless. “Azizam,” Herm said. Flambae stifled the shudder that threatened to go through him.
“Yeah,” he said, pressing another kiss to Herm’s cheek, if only to hide his face from view. “Yeah, that’s good.”