Chapter Text
The sunrise streaked golden across the sky, chasing away the night like the Wild Hunt. Horses thundering through the clouds, their riders with capes tangling in the stars as each one blinked out of existence in their wake. Sunbeams gliding on their tails, it was an endless existence.
Exhausting.
But the view was worth it.
“Are you listening to me?”
Foolish’s lashes fluttered at that voice.
He’d been listening to him rant about…something, or other, for the last hour. It could very well have been more than that, but Foolish had zoned out once the edges of the horizon lightened paler and paler until the sun began to crest the world.
And yet, he’d listen to him rant for another hundred years, if given the chance.
“Definitely,” Foolish murmured, rolling his head back against the wall. His vision slipped sideways for a moment before he leveled his chin, and Juan’s narrowed eyes, pursed lips, and rumpled hair were perfectly aligned with the sunrise at his back.
A halo of golden light rose up around Juan’s head, like he was the chosen one beneath the touch of the gods.
Foolish had long since stopped believing in the gods and a greater good whose hands pulled their red strings. But if there was ever to be a chosen one — and it couldn’t be himself — then…
“Why you no listen to me?” Juan’s face twisted into a torment of betrayal. As if Foolish had just killed Camilla Camello all over again.
“I am! I am definitely listening to you!” He exclaimed, scooching himself forward to sit up better. His legs spread in front of him, taking up half the balcony, but his shoulders still hunched with the weight of gravity and exhaustion.
Tina attempted to stifle a snort from beside him, but it was clear she was also battling sleepiness like her life depended on it. Purple smeared beneath her eyes, her face a little paler than usual, and her hair was the equivalent of a bird’s nest where it was twisted atop her head.
She should have gone to sleep hours ago, even if they were occupying her balcony. They all should have. But ever since Juan…it was still unreal to them, him being there beside them, hearing his voice, seeing his contagious smile. Succumbing to the man’s giggles. Foolish and Tina rarely left his side since it happened, and if one had to go, then the other stayed.
Foolish had explained that there could be unforeseen side effects of Juan’s resurrection. Things he couldn’t have predicted, and he needed to be there if, or when, they happened. And Tina was the only one Foolish trusted fully with something like this, with Juan.
The nights were the worst.
It’d only been 2 weeks since he returned, and the man had only gotten a handful of hours of sleep in that time. Nightmares seemed to plague him every time he attempted to close his eyes. Juan claimed not to remember the time he spent while…dead. For him, for what he claims anyways, one second he was choking to death on fumes with poisonous gas filling his lungs and dipping into his veins, and then the next he’s waking up in Foolish’s lab.
They’ve tried everything they could think to see if Juan would remember anything. Their knowledge of the otherside, the afterlife, heaven or hell, whatever happens to those after death was limited and next to nothing. All speculation, all hopes and dreams.
Foolish could only hope, at this point, his friend never recovered any memories. That his time while dead was spent in blissful blackness. It was better than the alternatives that ran rampant in his mind.
They must have run rampant in Juan’s mind too. Otherwise he’d sleep peacefully at nightfall and rise well rested. Instead, splotches of bruises painted the space beneath his eyes, his face was gaunt, skin pale. He looked sickly and weak. He’s been keeping himself busy around the mansion, but he mostly followed Foolish around and helped with his work in the lab and with Dark Cucurucho.
Juan’s revival had set back Oscurucho’s return to the Overworld, and Foolish was being hounded to complete the temple, and finish the portal, and do this do that why aren’t you working work more work harder!
Foolish raked a hand down his face. The itch to wrap his fingers around his throat and see if he could choke himself to death was suddenly strong enough he had to grasp his knees to his chest. He hunched forward, eyes heavy and squinting as the sun’s light filled the sky. Juan’s brown hair became golden, his sunken cheeks hollow, his dark eyes black pools.
A ghostly angel.
He now had to stop the itch to reach out and take Juan’s hand, smooth his fingers over his friend’s knuckles, just to make sure he was real, he was here, and everything was going to be okay.
Tina was snoring softly beside him. At some point she had tipped over and now lay curled on her side into the smooth balcony floor. Her head cushioned by her hands and knees tucked beneath her chin. She looked so small like that, so innocent in her slumber.
Juan was watching her, having grown quiet himself. He was twisting something small between his fingers, over and over and over. Foolish hadn’t a clue what it was until it caught a stray ray of the morning sunlight and it flashed golden.
The second in command’s badge.
He hadn’t put it back on since his return.
Foolish swallowed. “Juan–”
The man suddenly stood — half stumbling, half shoving himself to his feet. His eyes had taken on that frightened, wild look Foolish was getting used to. “I should make breakfast. Food sounds good. Si, (insert spanish here). I make pancakes!”
Foolish groaned to his feet, blocking Juan from leaving the balcony as he stepped into the doorway. The man nearly ran right into Foolish’s chest.
“Foolish? What the hell! Move!” He tried to shove the much taller, much stronger totem out of the way, to utterly no avail.
Tina stirred on the ground at their feet. Foolish made a shushing motion to Juan.
“No breakfast. Sleep time.”
“But it’s daytime, it’s morning, we need food–”
“We need rest. Good ole fashioned sleep, bud.”
Juan was already shaking his head, that terrified look filling his eyes once again. It speared Foolish right through his heart, or whatever was left of it at least. Because the man before him held the other half in the cage of his ribs. If he focused hard enough, he could feel the half of his heart that lived inside of Juan beating heavily. It was much larger than a mortal’s heart, a heavier weight on the chest, but Juan carried it easily.
He grasped Juan’s shoulders with his hands, careful to keep his claws from accidentally scraping his friend as he bent to level their gazes. “We’ll try again. There’s no harm in trying, right?”
Juan’s entire body was shaking now. “No, that doesn’t sound like good idea. Lots of harm can happen.”
Foolish squeezed Juan’s shoulders tighter until the man winced and his eyes cleared. “I’ll be right there next to you, okay? Nothing is going to happen, I promise.”
Finally, Juan nodded slowly, hesitantly, and his shoulders slumped beneath Foolish’s touch.
“Good. Now, let’s go.”
Foolish stooped and slipped his arms around Tina’s sleeping form, shifting her until she rested against his chest. They stepped back into Tina’s room. Juan closed the balcony doors with a near silent snick of the lock before turning to Foolish with a frown. He gestured for the smaller to go up the ladder to the loft first. He waited until Juan disappeared above him before readjusting his hold on the demon and climbing the ladder with one hand, the other curling around Tina’s small figure.
They made quick work of tucking Tina into her bed. Her eyes fluttered open once her head hit her pillow, and she immediately reached for Juan’s hand and sleepily brought his knuckles to her lips. The silent press of her lips was all she could manage before sleep took her once again.
Both of them stood at the side of her bed and watched their friend peacefully slumber. Her chest rose and fell with soft breaths. Her hair was still an equivalent of a rat’s nest and she would likely chew them out for allowing her to go to bed with such knots, but Foolish couldn’t bring himself to care. He was feeling sentimental, knowing he had his two best friends back with him. Or maybe he was just that tired. Hard to say.
“This is creepy. Why are we staring at her?” Juan asked in a loud whisper, breaking the silence of the morning.
“Yeah, definitely creepy.”
He followed Juan through the vent connecting Tina’s room to him, contorting his body to fit such a small space. Juan was already pacing around on the other side, trying to busy himself, no doubt. It was admirable. Foolish understood the fear of falling into slumber and whatever could lay there in the deep crevices of his subconscious mind. But he also knew his friend needed to sleep before he simply passed away again from sleep deprivation.
They’ve tried this several times before already — Foolish staying with Juan while he attempted sleep. Even Tina tried to once, but since Juan slept completely in the nude…well, let’s just say she’s been scarred for life. Foolish, though, didn’t care, and used the excuse as “also being a guy” to sway any embarrassment on Juan’s part.
He moved past Juan as he still tried to clean his room, slowly draw back the blankets on his bed, even slower to shed each piece of his clothing. Foolish went to the balcony, hands shoved in the pockets of his pants as he looked over the stairs winding down the hill, the dragon glistening beneath the morning light, and Jeremy’s stupid hotel. He rolled his eyes and turned, leaning against the banister and staring down at his feet.
Claws clicked on the door with his growing impatience. He’d have to file them down again soon. If he let them grow too much, they’d become a hazard to the floor, others, and himself. Such a hassle.
From the corner of his eyes he saw Juan continuing to move about his room, opening and closing the fridge, filling a glass of water, standing lost in the center of his room. He was left in his boxers, a far off look on his face.
Foolish sighed and pushed himself away from his perch. “Alright, enough stalling. Let’s go–”
The half filled glass slipped from Juan’s fingers as he turned to the totem, but Foolish was already there.
Bent to a knee before Juan, water sloshed over the lip of the cup and dappled Foolish’s fingers. He raised his eyes up to the mortal as he stared down in shock.
This, too, happened often. Juan would space out and startle back to reality moments later. It mostly happened when his fear spiked through his heart like lightning, but Foolish believed there was something Juan wasn’t telling him. Which he would never admit the sour taste of…betrayal? Jealousy? Worry? It was all a jumble when it came to this man.
“I’m sorry,” Juan murmured, low enough Foolish almost missed it if it wasn’t for his heightened senses.
From his angle looking up at Juan, they were closer in height than if Foolish was standing. From here, he could see how stark and nasty the tired bruises beneath his eyes were. He could see the smattering of pale freckles across his cheeks and nose, almost entirely gone from existence. His glasses were smudged and dirty. His hair had grown longer too, falling into his eyes and brushing his cheeks. But where the Juan before his death would be driven crazy at one hair touching him wrongly, this Juan just stared down at Foolish, a blank look in his dark and wide eyes.
All Foolish wanted was his Juan back, but he feared whatever, whoever he brought back, wasn’t entirely him.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Foolish said, forcing cheer into his voice and a smile onto his mouth. His fangs grew too close to cutting his lips, and his smile fell as quickly as it came.
Juan was already turning away, feet silent as he padded to his bed.
It was just his anxiety, his fears and worries overtaking him that made him become a shell of who he was. Juan was that scared to sleep. It was okay. He’d be back to his normal, irritating and chipper self in a few hours!
At least that’s what Foolish tried convincing himself of.
He set the water glass down on the dining table, taking his usual seat on the closest chair to the bed. He spun it with one hand until he was facing Juan, but kept his eyes downturned as the mortal shoved his boxers off and climbed under the sheets.
Until he heard Juan’s soft breath as he settled back into his pillows did he lift his gaze.
Juan was already looking back at him.
“Don’t expect me to read you a bedtime story,” Foolish said into the silence between them.
Juan scoffed. “You’d be a terrible story-teller.”
“Oh, I would be the best! You’d be asleep like a baby.”
Juan shoved himself onto his elbows. “Yeah, well–”
But Foolish held up a hand and stopped him. He wagged his finger, then pointed down at the bed. Juan huffed loudly and flopped backwards, eyes glaring up at the ceiling. If he let the mortal continue on, he’d never get any rest at that rate. They both knew he seemed something. And something was better than nothing.
Silence descended again, the entire house quiet in the early morning. Foolish watched quietly as Juan tossed and turned from side to side. Minutes passed. The sun continued to rise above the world, sunshine pouring brighter and brighter upon the land.
At some point, Foolish must have fallen asleep because he was suddenly stirring awake at a meager whimper.
He straightened in the chair, body creaking and groaning with the movement — he really needed to stop falling asleep like that. His eyes immediately went to Juan. Still curled in his bed, sheets tangled around his waist, and skin flushed. He could hear the erratic beat of his – their – hearts inside his chest and the heaving breathing leaving his chapped lips.
The sun was somewhere above the mansion, well out of sight as shadows crawled around the edges of the room. They seemed to reach towards Juan’s restless form, wanting to feed from his nightmares.
Like hell.
Foolish shot to his feet, only needing one step before he was kneeling over Juan’s form. The sheets beneath him were damp with his sweat — damn, going to have to wash those again — and his hands were already grasping at Juan’s shoulders. He attempted to gently shake him awake, murmuring his name.
Juan whimpered. Tears leaked from his scrunched eyes, mixing with the sweat sliding down his cheeks.
Something rose up inside Foolish’s throat, tearing through his body and bashing against his teeth.
He surged forward, hands grasping the mortal’s cheeks, large enough to wrap around Juan’s head. His damp hair felt like silk between his fingers. His claws scraped gently against the mortal’s scalp.
“Juan.” Foolish’s voice was hard, darkness incarnate as he leveled his face just above Juan’s. His friend thrashed against his hold, lips parting with another whining whimper. “Juan!”
This wasn’t working. He wasn’t waking up. It was never this hard to wake him up before.
His brain started whirring, trying to figure out the scientific reason for this, but that wasn’t going to solve the issue at hand.
Foolish closed his eyes briefly, then pressed his forehead to Juan’s sticky one. He felt the emerald above his brow press into Juan’s skin, no doubt marking him briefly. His breath fanned over Juan’s heated cheeks, stirring the tips of his slick hair.
“I’m here, Juan. I’m right here with you.”
Fingers smoothed over the mortal’s clammy skin. Thumbs dragged under the purple bags beneath his eyes, claws trailing through his eyelashes.
“Just listen to my voice. You’re safe. You’re alive. You’re here with me.”
A garbled whimper left Juan’s lips, his hot breath blasting over Foolish’s face. His eyes fluttered and he pressed his forehead harder into Juan’s. It felt like someone was reaching into his chest and prying his heart out with talons. It would be better if Juan just ripped it out himself.
Take it, take the rest of it, it’s —
“F–lsh?” Juan’s voice was broken and raw, but his eyes squinted up at Foolish.
So close. So close Foolish could count every fading freckle, every eyelash. He could see the tiny golden and green flecks amongst the brown of his eyes. He could see his own emerald eyes staring back at him.
Foolish pulled away, but their breath still mingled between them. Juan’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, brushing against Foolish’s.
He pulled away again. But Juan’s eyes were opening further, his nightmare still stark across his face as, shadowed in his eyes, pinched between his brows. With each inch Foolish leaned back, Juan rose forward. The distance between them never grew, but never dared to shrink again.
A diamond shaped indent crowned Juan’s forehead.
“Foolish?”
His name on Juan’s lips, pouted and murmured as a plea, a promise, a demand, a request, a hello and a goodbye.
The shards of the heart he had left sliced through his ribs and tore into his lungs.
Foolish shoved himself away and off Juan’s bed.
“Mornin’ sunshine!” He said with mock cheer, a smile on his face as he stood at the side of Juan’s bed, fists on his waist. Hopefully the mortal couldn’t see his entire body shaking and shivering, how his cheeks felt like they were on fire, how his muscles screamed to take hold of Juan again and make sure he was real real real.
Juan looked down at himself, at the rumpled sheets, his flushed skin, his bare chest, his pale thighs peaking beneath the blankets.
“Foolish?” The mortal said again, as if it was the only word he knew. Fear slithered between each letter, and dripped tears from his eyes.
His knuckles pressed hard into his hip bones. “Yeah, buddy?”
Juan reached up and rubbed his eyes. His hands were shaking, and so were his pupils.
A ragged breath left Foolish’s lips. He moved forward and carefully perched himself on the edge of Juan’s bed. The urge to reach out, fold the mortal into his arms, keep him safe and protected, was a twisted gremlin’s voice at the back of his mind.
Do it, do it, do it.
Juan’s mouth opened and closed, a fish out of water, no words coming out. He was twisting the edge of his blanket between his fingers until his knuckles were stark white. The fall of his hair painted shadows down his face, hiding his eyes and the mysteries that lay within.
Foolish swore he would uncover every single one. And then hold each safe in the walls of his ribs.
He hated this part.
“Do you remember anything?”
Juan’s eyes flitted to Foolish’s, sunken and ghostly, not a speck of life remaining.
A glass tube, screams and sobs, green gas ripping through life. Dying dying dead.
They both looked away at the same time.
“Nothing,” Juan said.
Foolish had to bite the inside of his cheek before snapping at his friend. It slipped out on a sigh instead. “Are you just saying that?”
“I don’t want to think ‘bout it.”
Foolish forced his gaze back to Juan. No matter what pain he felt, he needed to do this. It was for Juan. It was all for Juan. “I know, I know. But I need you to try, Juan. It’s important.”
The mortal’s dark gaze lifted and peaked beneath his long lashes.
“Please.”
Juan swallowed hard, the sound like a cannon to Foolish’s ears. He watched his friend sit up right, clutching his blankets to his still flushed chest. His eyes fluttered close, lashes brushing the bruises beneath them.
“It’s…dark…”
Foolish nodded despite Juan not seeing him. “Good, keep going.”
Juan’s brows pinched. His head tipped to the side. His chapped lips peeled apart, and– “Screaming,” he whimpered. “So much screaming.”
Foolish ground his teeth until his jaw popped. “Are they saying anything? Do you see anyone?”
Juan was shaking his head rapidly, damp hair flying around his face. His lips were moving, but no sound came out. Foolish winced, watching him like this, tortured by his own death and resurrection. In all his years, he knew few to none who managed to come back from the dead, and none of them came back as themselves.
That was the biggest fear he had while working day and night to bring Juan back. And now his fears and suspicions and worries and torments have come to life, right along with his best friend.
And he didn’t even know the truth of his revival.
“Alright, alright.” Foolish leaned forward and braced his hands on Juan’s shoulders. The mortal’s skin was burning to the touch, but he gritted through it. “Open your eyes, don’t think about it, everything is juuust fine,” Foolish crooned. He shook Juan’s shoulders gently for emphasis, but it still took the mortal several agonizingly long seconds before he managed to peel his eyes back open.
“Foolish, I…” Tears glistened in his dark eyes as he looked into Foolish’s emerald ones. “I don’t like that. I don’t want do it again.”
Purple eyes swam with tears. Tiny hands clutched his fingers. Each tear that dropped splattered on the back of his hands, shimmering against his skin. His heart was breaking breaking breaking.
“Tengo miedo, papá.”
This wasn’t the same. Juan wasn’t…he wasn’t her.
But why was his heart breaking breaking breaking all over again?
His hands still gripped on Juan’s shoulders, eyes unflinching as he leaned closer. His thumb smoothed over the base of Juan’s neck, nail gently scraping his skin. He couldn’t lie to Juan and tell him this was never going to happen again. He’s done enough lying in his life, and his best friend didn’t deserve that.
Just doesn’t mean he has to tell the truth either.
“Let’s go, buddy. Time to get ready for the day. The mansion ain’t going to run itself!”
He tugged Juan up from the mess of his bedding, and completely forgot the man was butt-ass naked. Emerald eyes flew up to the ceiling as Foolish winced.
“Alright, well, I’m gonna go. Change! I need to change.” He tried to back off the bed, stumbling over his feet, claws snagging the sheets. Something fell at his left and he spun around, putting his back to the very naked Juan rising from his bed.
“Foolish, why you act so weird?” Came Juan’s voice. He sounded so normal now. None of the nightmares and darkness and screams lingering in his voice. He was just Juan. And Foolish needed air desperately.
“It’s just my body, Foolish. You seen a man’s body before, is normal. Don’t be weird.”
He half turned, a hand covering his eyes as he gestured in the general direction of Juan. “Yeah, but I don’t need to see it, see it. It’s just—” His face was on fire. Was that smoke? Is his face burning? Pass out pass out pass out. “Cover yourself! Or something.”
He heard shuffling and rustling and Juan’s light giggles. His cheeks hurt with how much they were scorching.
“You’re like always naked, man. What’s the problem?”
The problem is that you are gorgeous and my patience is running so so so thin. How is this even happening?
“I am not always naked. I am never naked in fact!”
“You never wear a shirt!”
“Do too!” Foolish paused. “When I want.”
Juan scoffed, but said, “Fine, I have pants.”
Foolish peaked from between his fingers to see the truth: Juan stood on the end of his bed, feet sinking into the mattress, and his short boxers hanging low on his hips. His chest, still recovering from the flush and heat of his nightmares, was bare. His hair was still a wild mess around his head. He was slipping his glasses back on his nose, and…
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Foolish spun around again. This time for an entirely different reason.
“Aren’t you meeting Graf today?” He asked, voice rough as he tapped his nails against the dining table. He took a deep and steadying breath, squeezing his eyes shut.
Road kill. Nacho’s stupid face. Purgatory. Old grannies naked. White walls. Tortured children.
His body relaxed, but he paced towards the door.
“Yes, we going for lunch.”
Foolish whirled, eyes narrowed, finger pointing accusingly. “It’s not a date right?”
“No! No, no, no date,” Juan said in a rush. His cheeks that had calmed flared pink again.
“Alright…good. Well, I’m gonna go.” Foolish started backing up, eyes somehow stuck to Juan’s. “The lab won’t work itself!”
Juan’s brows pinched. “What that mean?”
“I don’t…I don’t know.” He turned and smacked right into the door. His head brushed the wall above the door and yanked back at the impact.
“Alright, man. See you later!”
Foolish made a noncommittal noise before practically shoving himself out of the room.
Instead of thinking anymore about Juan’s soft skin beneath his palms, how his hair fell across his forehead and shaped his cheeks, the smell of him invading his senses, his eyes staring up into his own, Foolish dove headfirst into his lab work.
Doozers skittered around the table beneath his elbows, their burnished gold skin like sparks at the edges of his vision, the orange of their clothes and hardhats making them stick out even further. Some argued back and forth, chittering in their language he liked to tune out to concentrate instead. One hovered at his hand, a few others climbing the other side and trying to see the twisting concoction beneath the scope. More were scattered around the table, lounging, playing with tools, doing whatever they usually do. He ignored them, mostly. At least for the moment as they let him get work done.
Still trying to find a cure for Max, for the radiation, was an exhausting task all on its own. It was just another notch on the laundry list of things he had to work on. Thankfully, with Juan back, he could take a step back from his kingly duties and focus in the lab instead. Here, he was just Doctor Kelp, and there was relative peace and qui—
The door to the lab slammed open — if the lab had a door, but the entire space was open to the elements of the bay, the wind, and Juan’s fury.
He knew this was coming at some point during the remainder of the day, he just hoped he’d have had more time…
Foolish looked up from his microscope, shoulders hunched and goggles absolutely not properly covering his eyes. He heard the furious steps rushing up the stairs before followed by the elegant screech of his boss. After several weeks and months of knowing Juan, he was used to the racket, but this look…Foolish took a deep breath and straightened, winching as his spine groaned and creaked. He needed to prepare for whatever—
“—where, Foolish? Foolish!” Juan’s cheeks were painted an angry red of fury, or did he just run here? It was hard to tell as both consisted of heavy breaths and heated skin.
An image flashed behind Foolish’s eyes.
Soft sheets, messy hair, smooth skin, his name like a plea on pouty lips…
“You need a door here!” Juan was saying as Foolished tuned back into the present. Such random and vivid thoughts were dangerous and unwelcome. Even if they had only happened just hours before. He would definitely never ponder on that sight ever again. No matter how…infuriating…the object of that…thought…made his body at the present moment.
Road kill. Nacho. Dark Cucurucho taking over the world.
Foolish shoved the goggles up his head until they got stuck on the mouth of his hood. “Yeah, that’d be a great idea and all, if people didn’t keep destroying it every time I try and —”
“Yeah, yeah, I just need to slam something!”
A huffing chuckle escaped Foolish’s lips. He immediately looked around for something the man could slam.
His imagination rose with a fury.
Hard wall, firm grip, scorching dark eyes, heaving breaths—
Goddamn, what is wrong with him?
His thoughts were becoming all consuming. This couldn’t be good for his health.
He snatched up a book from the table, the Doozers scattering with fear they would be the next grabbed, and held it out to Juan. He hoped the shorter didn’t notice the darkening of his own cheeks, though he heard the warbling of the Doozers behind him. This was another moment he was grateful nobody else could see them.
“Here, slam this.”
Juan looked at the book as if it was a horrid plague Foolish was trying to hand him instead. His disgusted look rose to Foolish’s face and deepened further. Then flitted down to his chest. A mischievous look filled each brown and green and gold fleck.
He knew it was coming before Juan slapped both hands down on his torso. A resounding smack shook the air between them. Foolish looked down at him with a raised brow.
Juan did it again.
Foolish let him hit him two more times before easily stepping out of reach.
“Feel better?”
“No.” Juan rounded Foolish’s messy workspace, oblivious to the Doozers fleeing the site once again. Some tripped over the mess, their screeches little buzzing in his ear, but he was more focused on Juan lifting himself onto the table, thankfully the one tiny spot still empty. “Tenemos un gran problema.”
Foolish pulled the goggles off his head with a small struggle to get them over his shark hood. He shucked them onto the table and folded his arms. Juan’s eyes flashed down before back up.
“We?”
Juan nodded. His breathing was settling back to normal, but his cheeks were still smeared red.
“And what have we done now?”
Juan silently wrestled with his internal thoughts, but Foolish was patient.
“Graf—”
And Foolish knew.
“You didn’t…”
Juan slipped off the table, his ass catching on some scattered papers that fell to the floor in a sad flutter.
Foolish looked on tiredly.
“It’s so hard, man!” Juan yelled, fingers balled into fists at his sides.
Foolish pressed his fingers into the space between his brows, praying for every drop of patience in existence to deal with this man. He might have to dip into his reserves, and then his reserves’s reserves.
“So you have another date.”
Not a question, because he knew the answer. This man couldn’t say no to anyone, but Foolish himself, to save his own life.
It quite literally happened.
Juan was now pacing in front of him, shoes slapping on the floor. “No, no more dates.” His eyes rose to Foolish on one of his passes, then quickly looked away. His cheeks pinked further. “Is worse.”
Foolish raised a brow. “Worse than another date with a guy you don’t have feelings for? Yeah, alright.”
Juan stopped in his tracks and stomped a foot like a petulant child. “Is serious, Foolish!”
“I hear ya, I year ya. Just tell me what’s going on and- and, yeah, I’m sure we can figure it out. Surely.”
Juan nodded again and again, and turned away, biting a finger nail.
“I did a bad thing, Foolish. I…I think I fucked up.”
The smaller man’s shoulders were raised and brushed his earlobes, muscles taut beneath his shirt.
Those muscles beneath his fingers, his claws tracing each divot of his body, a whimper in his ear—
Holy shit, stop it brain.
“Is someone dead?” Foolish asked instead, ignoring the gruffness of his own voice, how his blood was heating too quickly for comfort. Juan spun around and glared at him. Foolish raised his hands in innocence. “Alright, okay. Just say it. Just say what you did. Blurt it out. It’s fine, Juan. Come on—”
“You’re my boyfriend!”
Time slowed.
One. The water of the bay lapped against the island’s salty sand shore.
Two. Wind twisted through the open air above them.
Three. Juan’s breath caught in his throat and his cheeks grew worrying shades of red.
Foolish exploded in a choking, gasping, coughing mess. Hunching over his thighs, grasping his knees, hacking his lungs out into the deepslate floor. He saw through his teary vision that Juan grew closer, hand poised to thump against his back. Foolish sliced a hand upwards through the air and warded him off. If Juan touched him, he would probably implode this time.
Juan backed away two, three, four steps, twiddling his fingers in front of him. It sobered Foolish quickly.
His voice was hoarse and raw when he spoke, but he pushed through the words, “What do you mean I’m your boyfriend?”
Juan spoke quickly this time. “Well, Graf, he thinks there’s some other reason why I don’t want to date him. I did tell him no more! I did, be proud, I did it, Foolish! But he doesn’t believe I just don’t like him, but that there’s some- something else. Or, well, or someone else.”
The words settled over Foolish like a wet cloth. His eyes squinted at the smaller. “He thinks we’re dating, doesn’t he?”
Juan was already nodding and speaking before Foolish finished, “He thinks we’re dating.”
They were silent for a moment.
Even the snickering and shuffling of the Doozers was mute.
The two stared at one another. Their hearts, totem and mortal, beat heavily within the cages of their ribs.
“Fuck,” Foolish breathed.
“Si.” Juan nodded. “Fuck.”