Chapter Text
They hadn’t spoken about it. Really, there hadn’t been much chance to actually speak about it. While Tango isn’t sure, he thinks he might have fallen asleep in Zedaph’s arms, very much against his own wants. But he knows that they’d been there for so long, sitting on the ground. Tango didn’t even make his tea or eat the leftovers that he’d heated up. All he remembered was sitting in the most comfortable hold he had in a while and then suddenly he was waking up in his own bed, comfortably tucked underneath his duvet.
He’d woken up to an empty house. A warm thermos of tea awaited him at his bedside, the kitchen cleaned, and no sign of Zedaph. He was however welcomed by a minor headache, but he supposed he can’t go crying without getting that as reward.
Zedaph had work at the moment. He knew this. Zedaph had taken over a shift today because they desperately needed to catch up at work. Tango knew this too. Yet, for some reason Tango still found himself walking around the house in the small chance he might find the other tucked into a corner somewhere. He’d even taken the chance of peering into the other’s room, but Zedaph was nowhere to be found in the pile of plushes and blankets.
Tango’s not all that sure why he tried. Perhaps for the chance that the hug sickened the other enough that he’d now lie ill in bed, feeling so nauseous that he’d be unable to work? The thought leaves a sour taste on his tongue. It’d been an outcome Tango has expected for years. But that wasn’t the case at all.
And now Tango sits on their couch, sipping his no longer as hot thermos of tea, and can finally think about it with a slightly clearer mind. Not as tired, not feeling as cold, not feeling as desperate. The house didn’t feel nearly as empty as he remembered it being. It’s almost embarrassing how much of a difference the former night had made for him.
Yet it hadn’t made as much of a difference for Zedaph. Or at least, not in the way he expected.
His eyebrows furrow while he thinks about it.
There was something about it. Something about the fact that Zedaph did it, something about how Zedaph did it. Tango was not one to psychoanalyze people, especially not based on single instances—that was more Zedaph’s thing. But he supposes the other has rubbed off on him and he can’t not think about yesterday.
Zedaph easily could’ve talked him through it; it’s something he’s done many times before when Tango got upset, when he’d start irrationally rambling in a panic. Zedaph would sit down with him and help make logic of what’s going on in his mind, and then they’d find a solution where they could. And thinking back to it now, this probably wouldn’t be as horrible to find a solution to, unlike what he believed in the moment.
He cringes slightly, thinking back. He should never be taken seriously when he’s upset, really. That’s why Zedaph talking with him always works. He’d point out every flaw in logic Tango had.
But he didn’t this time. Rather than that he’d wrapped his arms around Tango. An action he’d never done in their many years of knowing each other. And he’d held onto Tango until sleep took him, and even then somehow carried him off to bed and tucked him in. Going against every boundary Tango believed he had.
After the first few seconds—which Tango can completely understand if Zedaph had never hugged anyone before—Zedaph hadn’t even seemed a bit uncomfortable. In fact, now that Tango thinks about it, the other had melted into the touch to such an extent that it makes Tango think perhaps Zedaph wanted it.
And he’s fearful to pull the conclusion. Mayhaps he was misreading it due to his own bias. Perhaps he remembered the events differently to what actually happened—which wasn’t that weird of an assumption considering the state of mind he was in. But this behavior from Zedaph was so unlike what he was used to that the idea doesn’t even seem that outlandish.
His fingers tap against the cup. He’d talk to Zedaph about it when the other got home. Maybe. If he can gather up the confidence to.
What if this was a one off instance? Where Zedaph liked it in the moment but won’t do it ever again? It might be one of the stranger results, but it’s not off the table.
He sighs. Zedaph still wouldn’t be home for a good amount of hours, and Tango shouldn’t spend the whole of Zedaph’s shift wracking his mind about it. So he tries to leave it be—puts a show on to help him.
It’s easier said than done.
He thinks about it. A lot.
While he watches TV, while he makes himself lunch, while he sketches. Everytime his thought would end up right back at Zedaph like an annoying earworm. He’d sigh and drag his hands down his face. Nine hours had never felt so long.
Still Tango can excuse himself, however, for thinking about it so much. This is almost concerning the health of his best friend and housemate. And in some weird way, with a few steps in between, his own. As selfish as mentioning that felt. Through the hours the curiosity would morph more and more into concern. His chest would hurt more at the idea, the more he thought about it.
What were the chances that Tango was wrong? That Zedaph would come and he’d have that wide eyed distance stare he’d always get when someone held him. What if Tango only got better at the expense of the other?
He groaned, ripping a paper from his sketchbook and balling it up before he threw it on the ground. Small balls of papers were scattered over the living room floor. An ache sat in the back of his head. Who knew you needed focus when trying to draw?
He closed his sketchbook with his pencil still between the papers. He sighed, leaning back and letting his head fall over the back of the couch. So much to keep himself busy and distracted.
Then he hears the familiar crinkle of keys outside of his front door, causing him to sit up completely. His sketchbook gets discarded onto one of the couch cushions as he turns towards the door, anticipating the moment he didn’t even know he was waiting for. The way Zedaph stepped inside would tell him at least half of what he wanted to know. It would tell Tango what he was dealing with. What the situation would be.
And part of him hoped that Zedaph would walk in with some pep in his step. With a bright smile and they’d laugh while they talked about his work today, while they talk about what happened yesterday. And everything would be okay. He really hopes.
But Tango may have jinxed himself. Because Zedaph steps inside and he’s the exact opposite of the image Tango had formed in his mind. Hunched over, sighing, rubbing his eye—in a way where Tango isn’t even sure if it’s from exhaustion or from crying—and furthermore, silent. No called out hello to make Tango aware of his presence, no words spoken. Tango silently watches as the other calmly closes the door behind him, hangs up his coat and departs. He awaited a greeting from the other that never came. So he tries first.
“Zed?” he calls out carefully.
Zedaph stops in his tracks and only gives Tango a quick glance—a glance which revealed softly red rimmed eyes to Tango. His chest ached.
“Hm?”
“You didn’t say anything when you came in.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m a bit tired.”
Tango wasn’t sure whether he was lying or not. He sat up straighter.
“Do you—” “I’m in my room if you need me.”
Zedaph didn’t mean to cut him off. After many years of friendships Tango just knows this. In fact, he’s willing to bet money on Zedaph feeling guilty about it as soon as he said it, because that was simply the kind of person that Zedaph was. But the fact that he’d been so eager to disappear into his room, to interrupt someone, to break apart their routine; it rings a million alarm bells in Tango’s head.
Zedaph deserved to have his own space. He’s willing to let Zedaph be if the other truly wants it. It’s happened before—that’s how life is. It’s just never like this. Tango isn’t sure space would do Zedaph that well right now. He swallows.
He did allow Zedaph a moment. The time to come home, to change, to get all the work energy off his skin. The moment consisted of Tango impatiently sitting on the couch, repeatedly checking the time to see if it’d been long enough.
Was work really so bad this time? Did he feel this way because of the hug from the day before? Does he want nothing to do with Tango anymore?
They should talk about it. Tango wanted to talk about it.
He checks the time on his phone once more and decides it’s been long enough. And perhaps it hadn’t been but, maybe biased towards Tango’s own anxieties, this didn’t seem like something that should wait too much longer. Tango gets up from the couch and makes a turn towards the heating first, turning it up to nearly hot temperature Zedaph always puts it on before making a beeline towards Zedaph’s bedroom.
He knocks twice on Zedaph’s bedroom door before he puts his hands behind his back, rocking on his feet as he awaited any kind of reply. It took a second, a long enough second that Tango considered knocking again, but he does hear shuffling before he hears a soft hum in response from the other side. And with that sign he steps forward and carefully pulls open the door, a tight grip on the door handle. He makes sure to pull the door at a slow enough speed that the squeak of it is almost inaudible—since Zedaph was yet to get that fixed. Not that much of a problem, as Zedaph’d declared.
He peeks his head inside, taking a quick glance around. The room was dimly lit, only a lamp at Zedaph’s desk and some small decoration lights being on, giving the room a soft warm glow. He finds the other beneath blankets and stuffed animals on his bed, almost difficult to make out in the mass.
“Hey Zed,” he tries carefully. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure,” Zedaph replies softly. His voice sounds groggy, as if he’d just woken up. Which makes it more concerning since Tango knows for a fact that he hadn’t. Tango steps into the room. Surprisingly, not as warm as Zedaph usually keeps the house. He’d even dare to say that it feels like a window had been opened not too long ago.
It’s not often they were in each other’s rooms. Looking inside on occasion, yes, but it rarely went much further than that. Almost as if there was an unspoken rule between the two of them; within their shared home they also had their very own space. Their rooms, which would only be for them. There was never much need for the other to come in anyway. Sleepovers often happened on the living room couches.
Any other time he would’ve taken the chance to truly look around the room from the inside. Perhaps even touch stuff if he was allowed. But today he found himself too focussed on the person inhabiting it. Instead he immediately made his way towards the bed, and after a small bit of consideration went to sit on the ground in front of it.
Zedaph sat up slightly, blankets going with him.
“Is something up?” Zedaph asks, too selflessly for someone that just fled to his room.
“Maybe,” Tango says, shifting where he said. He looks up into Zedaph’s eyes and finds worry powerful enough that it nearly overpowers Zedaph’s own feelings. When Zedaph forces himself up further, mouth opening to tell him whatever, Tango is quick to wave his hand and cut Zedaph off.
“But not with me,” he clarifies, which he should’ve done way earlier. “I just wanted to see how you were doing after…”
After work. After yesterday. The words go unspoken but it is not unheard. He watches how Zedaph just barely winces—in a way Tango imagined others wouldn’t even have seen—before he sinks back into the bed. His arms wrap tight around a sheep plush, one of the many in his room.
It took a moment for Zedaph to speak, to realize that Tango was in fact patiently waiting for an answer. Zedaph frowned.
“I’m… I’m alright.” Zedaph sounds tired.
Tango could’ve let the answer pass with just that, but he thinks anyone would’ve been able to tell that there’s more to it than Zedaph lets on. And he also knows from experience that Zedaph could be a step away from death and still declare himself ‘alright.’ Tango has every reason to believe he’s not.
He however doesn’t think that Zedaph will talk about it any more than he’s offered, pushed to, even. If Tango leaves it be right now Zedaph would never mention anything related to the current again. Even if it had such an intense effect on Zedaph internally as it seems to externally.
Zedaph lays underneath his blanket, looking at Tango through lidded eyes. Tango so badly wants to hold him. The urge never gets that bad. Perhaps the consequences of the fact he can now actually consider it, rather than the idea being in the realm of impossibilities.
“Bad day at work again?” Tango tries. He wishes he didn’t have to add again to the end of the sentence. He wishes they could have no single problems now that they’ve moved in with each other. He wishes he could fix everything. He wishes he could help. Both Zedaph and himself.
Carefully Zedaph hums.
“Yeah… There’s good news though!” Zedaph says, and he tries to put some excitement into his voice nearing the end but ultimately his words don’t get much louder than a whisper and his voice sounds hollow. “That new guy? He’s getting fired.”
Tango would never wish for someone to lose their job, especially not in this economy, but he can’t stop himself from being happy at the news. The fact that Zedaph’s life may get better—that everything may get easier from now on. Yet the joy at it can’t find a way to his face—it can’t find its way past the wall of concern that’s been building itself for too long. The same concern that could obviously tell him that the good news wasn’t all that happened.
So he asks.
“And the bad news?”
Zedaph takes a breath and it almost stings Tango how shaky it is. Zedaph curls up just a bit further and turns his gaze away from Tango when he answers.
“Bad news, it took a big argument to get there… God, I hate yelling. I hate being yelled at even more.” His voice wavers slightly.
“Oh Zed…”
Zedaph’s words, even if not many, reveal a lot. They explain a lot, even, to Tango at the very least.
He thinks back to Zedaph asking to leave when fights broke out at college, or Zedaph slipping away at parties when the alcohol started causing people’s voices to raise, or Zedaph shrinking into his seat when the professor got angry enough to make the whole class suffer through his anger. He thinks about a lot. Tango knew Zedaph hated yelling. There was no need to declare it out loud, he’d seen it with his own eyes.
(Albeit, he thought the same about Zedaph’s physical boundaries, and he’s started being unsure about those.)
And Tango has to imagine how awful that shit must’ve been, how awful Zedaph must feel.
But even then Zedaph shakes his head and gives Tango a tired smile that looks achingly sad.
“But it’s fine,” Zedaph breathes out. “I just… I need a second I think. Or a day.”
I’ll get over it, he doesn’t say.
Tango feels a bit helpless, he must admit. Had it been the other way around, he’s sure Zedpah would know exactly what to say, what to tell. He’d clear Tango’s mind in a matter of minutes and have him feeling like he could breathe again. He does it in such a way that Tango isn’t sure he can replicate. His hand wraps around his own arm and he bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks of what to say.
He looks up at Zedaph again, not even sure when his own gaze had trailed away, and sees how he’d dug himself impossibly further into the blankets, seemingly okay with ending the conversation there. It’s like he wants to hide—curl up and disappear. Make as much contact with himself as he can.
Tango is out of his element. Still his finger twitched with want.
“Do you want a hug?”
He can see Zedaph freeze, nearly flinch, at the question. He lifts his head again, looking at Tango with wide eyes.
“...What?”
“Do you want a hug?” Tango doubles down, uttering words he never has to Zedaph before. “...It’s completely fine if you don’t,” he clarifies afterwards.
Mayhaps it’s the worst thing Tango could’ve come up with. But heavily affected by everything he’s had spinning in his mind that day, and the events of the day before, it makes sense that it was the first thing he uttered when his mouth opened. Still, he keeps thinking, there could’ve been better options. Maybe this wasn’t the time to try this out.
He takes a breath. Worse case scenario, they will talk about it.
When Tango sees the emotions that course through Zedaph’s gaze, he almost thinks that that will in fact be the outcome. From fear to surprise, to concern—Zedaph was nearly frozen where he laid. He almost opens his mouth to reassure again that Zedaph really, really doesn’t have to; that Tango wouldn’t be upset. For all Tango knows this situation reads like someone you trusted being too daring with your boundaries just because you went past it for them once. That’s the last thing Tango wants this to be.
Tango needs to not panic. He needs to not overthink.
“I—I don’t—”
Tango shuffles slightly forward once more, onto soft carpet right by the edge of Zedaph’s bed.
“Zed..?”
Zedaph stays silent, his shaky breathing creating an almost scary ambiance in the room. Zedaph is scared. Scared of the offer, scared of Tango being there, that much was not hard to tell.
Tango was slightly scared too. Perhaps he’d leaped too far. Tried too much, too quick.
He could back out. He doesn’t.
Softly; “Can I hug you, Zed?”
Zedaph sits up further. The blankets drop off his shoulder. Then, looking away from Tango, he nods. And Tango immediately moves.
Getting up from the floor, nearly stumbling in the process, he moves forward until he’s halfway sitting on the bed and wraps his arms around the other. Zedaph freezes to such a point that Tango almost considers letting go again. Zedaph holds his breath, shakes in Tango arms, but slowly, he sinks into the hold. His face falls into the crook of Tango’s shoulder, his arms carefully wrap around Tango’s back. Zedaph lets out a careful breath.
Zedaph is never this close to him. The other smells like honey with soft hits of citrus and is unsurprisingly warm to the touch. He rubs his hand up and down Zedaph’s back.
“It’s okay,” he whispers. This all feels more familiar, it almost feels like something he’s used to. It feels like hugging his siblings late at night when they’re stressing about a test. It feels like holding a friend after they went through a bad break up. It feels like cuddling with people during sleepovers.
And at best, it feels like finally being able to help Zedaph after he’s gone through something bad.
That seems to be what breaks Zedaph. It’s what has his shoulder start shaking and a wavering breath turning into a sob. It’s what has his grip tightening, holding onto the back of Tango’s shirt like he might disappear if Zedaph lets go. And he wouldn’t be surprised if Zedaph somehow genuinely believed that. It creates an ache in Tango’s chest. He wishes he’d done this months, even years ago.
“It’s gonna be okay, I got you,” Tango soothes.
Zedaph sobs once more. Tears form a wet patch at the collar of Tango’s shirt that he frankly couldn’t care less about. Tango gently rocks them side to side as Zedaph softly sobs. Tango believes that these tears probably aren’t from just today. They were long overdue.
They sat there for who knows how long, Tango definitely wasn’t keeping track, until Zedaph’s cries subsided. Until it went from sobs to soft hiccups and his hold on the back of Tango’s clothes eased. Tango still wasn’t planning to let go of the other anytime soon. They’d stay here the whole night if Zedaph wanted it. Neither of them had work the next day anyway.
He leans his head against Zedaph and hums.
“...I’m sorry,” Zed whispers, so softly Tango almost misses it.
“Whatever for?”
“For completely wetting your shirt. And you. I’m not a crier, I don’t usually…”
Tango sighs softly. “Respectfully Zed, this seems like it was a long time coming.”
Zed nuzzles his face further into Tango’s neck, almost as if trying to milk every bit of physical contact out of this.
“I just…” Zedaph swallows. “No one ever hugs me.” He mutters. And wow, that one stung.
The words say a lot. It tells him in short that everything he believed to be true was wrong. That everything he’s let himself be convinced of and that he’s convinced others of, was untrue. An assumption. He hates that he’s not an exception to that statement; that he didn’t magically know better. That he too was someone that never hugged Zedaph. He gives him a soft squeeze.
“I thought you didn’t like to be touched, especially hugs.” Tango isn’t trying to defend himself. He wants to find out where he went wrong. He hopes that message comes across.
“I don’t… I don’t know if I do,” Zedaph says. Albeit, with the way he’s so desperately holding onto Tango, he thinks he already knows to which side it leans.
“No one has ever hugged me…” Zedaph admits. Tango pauses.
“...Ever?”
Zedaph shakes his head.
Oh.
“Not even family?”
At that question Zedaph starts pulling back and reluctantly, Tango lets him. But rather than letting him go completely, Tango instead moves his arms down to hold Zedaph’s hands in his. It seems to be the right choice. Zedaph lets out a soft sigh at it.
“It feels so weird to be touched,” Zedaph chuckles wetly. “I already wanna go back.”
“You can. I won’t get upset at you for it.”
Zedaph looks at their intertwined hands, eyebrows furrowed. He gives Tango’s hand a careful squeeze. Tango squeezed it back. A promise he truly is there.
“My… My parents would. They hated when I touched them. They also didn’t like touching me.”
Oh.
Now Tango does feel cruel. When he’s spent so long wondering how Zedaph did so well with the lack of everything. How Zedaph seemed to have no trouble with it in contrast to Tango. But he supposes it’s not hard to get used to it when it’s all he’s ever known.
Tango knew Zedaph’s parents weren’t good. Small breadcrumbs of the fact were scattered throughout their whole time of knowing each other. But Tango never knew the extent, Zedaph never spoke about his parents after all. But this small bit of knowledge already left a large impression of what they were like. And Tango hates to say it, but a lot starts making sense. Too much, even.
“I don’t really know what to do with touch,” Zedaph continues after a moment. “I guess that gave people the impression I didn’t want it. I wasn’t planning to correct them because I was used to it anyway, and for all I knew I could have really disliked people touching me. I was fine with it. I made do.”
I made do. So accepting of his circumstances that Tango almost feels sick at the thought. Tango thinks back, and it starts making sense that all of Zedaph’s weird habits started helping Tango when he’d been in his own dip. Searching for the one thing you can’t have in other places.
It’s so much. But maybe Tango can actually do something this time.
He gives Zedaph’s hands a soft tug and pulls Zedaph until his head is once again placed on Tango’s shoulder. He feels how Zedaph almost immediately relaxed at it.
“Well you’re no longer with your parents, you’re living with me. This is our home now, and within it I’m gonna make sure you get so many hugs that you get sick of it.”
Zedaph chuckles. “I’m not gonna make you do that.”
“You’re not making me. I want to. And I think you want to too.”
He lets go of Zedaph’s hands to wrap him in a proper hug once more. A promise to both Zedaph and himself—to not let it get to such a bad point again if he can help it. And to learn rather than assume, maybe. Every step was one forward. And every hug was one more.
“Okay,” Zedaph whispered.
They would get used to this. Something better.