Archive of Our Own

How have you considered him before? The man with the swaggering walk and the ever-present grimace, with the too-small waistcoat and a single mismatched glove.

What do you think of him? Do you think of him at all?

Have you glanced over his spindly, stretched-out frame, and taken all you needed from that? The moodiness, the shifty eyes, and the hands so unsteady, unless they're gripping a gun. Have you ventured deeper than that, seen the softness he tries so desperately to bury, the smiles growing more and more common in recent weeks? Is that enough? Do you think you know Yuugo?

Even if you do, I doubt that's really true.

Today he's more upset than usual. Yuugo's a man of subtlety, of degrees and values, though it's hard to notice at first. Perhaps you're able to tell if he slept soundly or had a nightmare from the pace of his walk. Or maybe you can measure how he's been handling the recent scarcity of resources, and all the headache that comes with it, from how far he leans back in his chair.

Lucas used to be able to read him like that, to be able to take precise measurements like a scientist with some expensive, overengineered tool, but it's a skill he's forgotten by now. Or it's been so long that he has no frame of reference; no control experiment, no way to tell what this or that might mean. He's been eagerly studying up again, paying mind to every tap of his foot and fingers, every side-eye and grumble, but it's slow progress. The book of Yuugo is a dense read.

Today, Yuugo sits across from Lucas in the library, throwing himself into his chair, and Lucas glances up with a raised eyebrow. His hand is still laying on the first aid book he'd been absorbed in, but is more than ready to close it if the need arises. At this point, he's not sure if it will. Yuugo isn't scowling, but his shifty eyes are shifted away from Lucas's face, and his arms are crossed, and something in his downturned face gives Lucas pause. He sits there, quiet as a monk, and only when Lucas is about to speak does Yuugo say something.

"I was with the little ones. Fucking annoying, if you ask me, always vying for my attention. Probably because there's nothing to do around here except study and chores. They need something to keep them occupied."

Lucas smiles softly. Yuugo still has his eyes fixed on some indeterminate point, which he's pretending is twice as interesting as their conversation. Slowly and deliberately, Lucas marks his page with the ribbon, and closes his book, scooting it a few inches away. Then, he replies, "You're saying we need some more leisure activities, right? Perhaps more time to play make-believe. Now I think of it, Glory Bell, had something like that, hm?"

The man huffs at the mention of their old home, or rather, their old prison. But that was what he was suggesting. He says, "Sure. Something like that. I assume you can handle it. You're better with them than I am."

"Well, I can try."

At that, Yuugo finally glances at him, trying to make the gesture as trivial as possible. It only draws more attention to it.

This is their game, you see. Or perhaps it would be better described as a dance. Some sort of subtle, elegant exchange between them, perhaps a battle of wills, if neither participant were particularly enthusiastic about putting up a fight. Yuugo, for all his measures, for all he tries to hide his true intent, his true feelings, is also desperate to be open and direct, and it's quite a balance to achieve. Don't read into it, don't go any deeper, don't try to delve into how I feel, what I mean, but also understand it all in perfect clarity, know me, read me like a textbook, know everything about me, because I only trust you with it all when you care to look.

Lucas knows full well what's he's doing, and why he's doing it, and wants desperately to play along, to be able to give Yuugo what he wants. What he needs. But he's still clumsy and imprecise with his measuring equipment, with the subject he's carefully studying, and is painfully aware of the mountains of subtext he must miss when focusing too closely on one thing or another. It's a constant war. A war against the unknown, against the darkness. When will I know you like I used to?

"Good. Good. And, uh…"

There comes that grimace. Suddenly, his eyes are occupied with something else once again.

"If you need any help with it, just come to me."

Yuugo can't help himself, so he glances back, and sure enough, there's Lucas's knowing grin. He scowls at it, and his chest burns so warm with fierce love he's scared it must be glowing.

"Need to go. We're going out for a quick hunt, just a small party, to tide everyone over. We’ll have to increase the frequency of these trips since winter's coming up."

"Good luck, then," Lucas offers. "Stay safe out there."

Was that the right thing to say? What does he want me to? Should I be more subtle, or more friendly? Am I scaring him off?

"Yeah, thanks," Yuugo gruffly acknowledges, and stands to leave. Lucas's heart plummets.

But, before he goes, he pauses, and turns back. Yuugo's eyes are planted to the ground as he says, "By the way… Did you want to have a cup of tea? Tonight? When the kids are asleep. Rations are fine at the moment, and I just thought…"

Lucas jumps at the chance. "Of course."

This manages to coax a smile out of Yuugo. Lucas has to resist the urge to sigh contentedly at the sight. Finally.

"Alright. See you tonight, then."

Then he stalks out of the library, and Lucas stares after him for a time that perhaps stretches on too long, before returning to his book with that grin on his face.

Consider the way he holds a gun; hands slipping into place, well-trodden ground, so slick you'd wonder if they were made for that particular model. If you were to see him handle another type, and see much of the same, you'd know then that his hands weren't made for anything, but with practice, they've long learned their place. His fingers are long and thin, but bony, knuckles thick, fingernails curved. They're the sort of hands perfect for utility, for fine, skilled work; but also for large, sweeping gestures as he talks, for pointing and waving and slamming down on metal tables. They're not the sort of hands fit for touching. For holding someone else's hand, cheek, waist.

Oh, does Yuugo feel the way they itch to. He wants to ruffle the hair of the little ones, wants to put a solid hand on their shoulder and comfort them when things get rough. But that's what Lucas does, not him. When it comes to wiping away the tears of others, Lucas's single hand is so much more experienced than both of his combined.

This is what he's contemplating, on the quick hunting trip. Along with him are a few of the older kids; no point in using this as a lesson, they're aiming to be pragmatic. Get the food they need, get back to the shelter before sundown. Oliver's along with him, and so is Sonya. Nigel has tagged along, as well as a few miscellaneous kids from Goldy Pond. The Grace Field kids who know their way around a gun are still out on their expedition, and none of the others are quite as skilled, so they've stayed back at the shelter. Overall, it's rather laidback, and he's grudgingly let Oliver give the orders. Good practice. So there's very little to stop his mind from wandering as they walk among the wide-leaf plants and the impossibly tall trees.

What would it be like, to feel Lucas's hand?

(This is a dangerous path for his mind to tread, he knows, and at the moment, he doesn't particularly care.)

What would it be like, for Yuugo? He's well aware he's already felt it. On his shoulder, now and again, maybe a comforting touch on his arm. Back in the day, though, Lucas used to touch him so much more. Hugged him, threw an arm (his left, or right) around his shoulders, held him so close. Now he treats Yuugo like glass.

Lucky bastard, Yuugo gruffly thinks about his past self. Didn't know what he had.

It's hard for him not to notice Sonya surreptitiously gazing at Oliver, when he's not looking. Once, he catches her in the act, and they look away quickly. Yuugo swears he sees a blush on both their cheeks. Maybe that's why his mind has drifted to this topic.

Oliver directs the party to turn back. It's earlier than expected, but it's been quite a bountiful trip; and Yuugo is both glad for it and also not looking forward to going back into the bunker. A walk like this always helps clear his head.

Except his head hasn't been cleared, has it? Instead it's full of thoughts, messy thoughts, dangerous thoughts. Thoughts he usually has late at night, when his inhibitions are lowered and he can’t stop his mind from drifting into that territory. Thoughts of Lucas, of his auburn hair (starting to grow long, maybe it's time for a cut), of his gentle brown eyes, of his bobbing throat as he talks, of that horrible, wonderful grin, of his lips. Thoughts of him and Lucas. Drinking tea. Laughing together, telling old stories, conversation coming quick and easy, with no breaks or long pauses or badly phrased statements. Of him touching Lucas, of Lucas touching him, Lucas's warm hand on his shoulder, in his hair, on his lips, and Lucas's lips on his.

Dangerous, dangerous path. Yuugo stares down at the leafy ground. But he can't stop himself at this point. All he can think about is what it would be like to kiss Lucas. He's only kissed one person before, and wonders how it would be different from kissing Dina. Would his lips be harder? Softer? Would it be a quick, chaste peck, like it had been with Dina, or would Lucas pull him in, deepening the kiss--

Yuugo abruptly decides that's enough of that, and forces himself to think about trees instead. Lovely, tall things. Yuugo is rather fond of trees. Which is a totally normal thing to fixate his mind on.

He sighs quietly, softly. Not loud enough for any of the kids to hear him, given he's lagging behind the group. Look at Oliver up there, leading them so confidently. Lucas really did a good job with him. With all of them. It's a gift, Lucas has. With the kids.

(And here he is, mind making the same daily round. What he wouldn't give for a break. What he would give not to have one.)

Yuugo stares up at the canopy, and thinks about tea. He's waiting for tonight with anxious anticipation, nerves thrumming through his body. He doesn't know why. It's not an unusual event.

(Of course he knows why.)

As always, tonight Yuugo won't say a word of what he wants to. He thinks he knows what the response will be, thinks he knows everything about Lucas. And, ever the hypocrite, he wishes so desperately that Lucas doesn't know him, and also can hear every word he doesn't say.

This isn't an unusual event. Not at all. After all, that seems to be the problem.

He's nothing of a saint, but still Yuugo prays. Read me like a book, and maybe, just maybe, you'll prove I can't do the same.

It's not always easy, being with the people you love. Sure, it's wonderful, but not always easy.

Here. Let me show you what I mean.

Two men sit in the dining room, very late at night. It's a large, long room, with a multitude of chairs and tables. In the daytime, it's always full of the 60 or so residents of the bunker, especially during mealtimes, when it gets the most hectic and cramped. Now, the lights are low and the chairs are largely empty, and the room feels bigger than ever. They sit across from each other. Yuugo's legs are crossed up on the table, leaning far back in his seat, and Lucas is upright in his, legs placed firmly on the floor, so as not to irritate his left. His cane leans against the nearest chair.

How am I supposed to know how you feel? Lucas wonders, with a touch of annoyance. It's not easy, hauling out all this equipment, setting it up, using it deliberately and precisely. How does Lucas measure his irritation? From how far back his chair leans? From how lazily he holds his teacup? How could Lucas weigh his nervousness? Gauge the depth of his unhappiness, his dissatisfaction?

(And, Lucas also faintly wonders how he's supposed to measure how content he is. If he is at all.)

They don't always talk, as much as they both yearn to. And it's still nice, when they sit across from each other, sipping their tea in silence. But nice isn't what either of them really want.

"How was the trip?" Lucas finally asks. It's an easy enough question. Good enough to get the conversation going, he reckons.

Lucas's heart plummets when Yuugo grimaces. Measured wrong again. Still, Yuugo replies, "It was fine. Went easy. Oliver did most of the heavy lifting, honestly. That kid's really coming into his own."

This, at least, causes him to smile into his teacup as he takes another sip. "I'm glad to hear he's doing well. They all are, really. Coming into their own."

The smile turns wistful.

Another silence between them, as tense as a bated breath, which Lucas dares not break. Yuugo takes another lazy sip of his tea. It's nice like this. It really is.

"Do you think…" Yuugo begins, then pauses. He breathes heavily into his teacup. Lucas stares, enraptured, wondering if he'll continue, about what he wants to say. His eyes are downcast, his hair even more messy than usual, beard in need of a shave, or being properly grown out, as it has been for years. Yuugo is still a mismatch of a person, and Lucas can't help staring, because every inch of him is so intoxicating. So irrevocably handsome.

After another sip of tea, Yuugo continues with little grace, "Do you think the kids… Do you think the older ones, from Goldy Pond… Do you think they may be, well. Interested in each other?"

"Interested?" Lucas frowns. "You don't mean…"

Despite the turn the conversation has taken, Lucas considers it a victory when Yuugo glances up at him. He says, "On the trip, well, Sonya seemed to be awfully interested in looking at Oliver rather than at her surroundings. He caught her once, too, and I swear they both blushed."

"Oh…" Lucas breathes. He raises an eyebrow, and his mind races at the implications. That's definitely a conversation to have later, if they weren't too embarrassed about it. "You really think?"

"Well. Yeah. Just thought you should know," he murmurs into his cup. "Nothing weird about it, really. They're getting around to that age. Already got to that age."

It's an astoundingly stupid move Lucas makes next, but he's tired and he's reeling at the revelation, and he's still not an expert at using that goddamn measuring equipment. Faintly, an afterthought, he says, "Yes, well. You and Dina were younger, you know. Nothing surprising at all."

Yuugo stiffens, and Lucas instantly knows he's made a misstep. He starts backing up, "Nevermind about that, it's not really relevant--"

"No. It's fine."

It doesn't seem fine at all, and he sighs deeply. Meanwhile, Yuugo is looking down into his cup, knuckles white around it, grimacing, and Lucas's heart clenches. Oh, I'm just terrible, aren't I?

But he talks, anyway. "We were younger. And I don't think we were ready for it, really. Not that kids that age can't be together like that. It's just hard. In this circumstance in particular. You know, it's hard enough worrying about man-ea-- about demons, without getting all these complex feelings involved."

As he's talking, Lucas stares. And there's a sinking feeling in his gut again, because it all makes too much sense. To him, anyway. Of course Yuugo feels uncomfortable about this sort of thing, after what happened to Dina (after what happened to all of them). Of course he has too much going on, without all the romantic nonsense distracting him. He was never open to any of it to begin with. Lucas takes a shuddering breath at the revelation. He'd had it all wrong. Measuring rope all spooled out, torn, completely off base.

"I'm sorry, Yuugo," he says instinctively. He goes to take another sip of tea to shut himself up, only to find it all gone. Instead, he grits his teeth and places it on the table. Yuugo only stares.

"It's… It's alright. All in the past now. Are, um… Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says curtly. "And should probably be getting to sleep. It's late, you know."

"Oh. Oh, right," Yuugo says, voice trembling, just a little. He drains his teacup, then stares at Lucas for a solid few seconds. Somehow it breaks Lucas's heart even more when he turns his head away, and a grimace spreads across his expression. "Sleep's a good idea."

The two of them don't say anything after that. They just pack their cups away and head towards bed, both anticipating sleepless nights.

It isn't surprising, how they avoid each other after that.

It's not an obvious type of avoidance. Nobody else would even think to notice. It's not as if they turn away when they see each other in the hallways, or refuse to greet each other at meals. But when they sit together, their gazes are averted from each other, and they're both faintly glad to notice that the other doesn't seek them out after that particular interaction.

No, it's not quite noticeable to anyone else. But to the two of them, it's as painfully obvious as anything.

Yuugo think he's the most stupid man in the world. In the demon world, at least. He should've just kept his mouth shut, he reckons. He isn't even sure why he said it at all. He wanted to keep the conversation going, wanted to keep up the rapport between them, but he may as well have told Lucas, I don't want to be with you. I couldn't handle it.

Part of him does think he wouldn't be able to handle it, in the end. That, in the impossible scenario where Lucas wants him in the same way, and Yuugo could finally touch him in all the ways he wanted, kiss him dizzy, hold him close… It would be too much for his ever-racing heart to bear. That it would only end in disaster and a lot of awkwardness between two people who live in a very cramped space together and can’t help running into each other five or six times a day.

But, if you look closer, if he looks closer, does a bit of soul-searching… You'll see he also thinks that's nonsense. That a union like that between them could only be good. Hard, maybe. But good all the same. Because Lucas is kind, and patient, and strong, and Yuugo is willing to put in all the effort he needs to.

Here he is, walking past Lucas in the hallway, angling himself so their bodies slightly brush. During breakfast, there his shifty eyes shift towards Lucas, as if drawn in by his gravitational pull, and he scowls and looks away. It's not much, but he hopes it's enough.

Because Yuugo is a man of half-measures. Yuugo is a man who projects a cool, casual affectation, who acts as if nothing could ever impact him, touch him, break past that carefully constructed exoskeleton and touch the person beneath. All the while, he craves attention, so badly he hates himself for it. All he can do is pretend he doesn't, while yearning so thoroughly. And it's only one person he really wants to grab the attention of. Only one person he wants to look at him. Only one smile he wants to catch, to see, to drown in the splendour of. Are you looking? Do you notice me? Can you notice how much I love you?

It's because Yuugo has a throat tangled with words and wire, and nothing ever comes out like he wants it to. It’s rusted, perhaps. Deteriorated from disuse. When he tries to speak his mind, he chokes and splutters. And maybe, if his message broke through another way, he could say everything he needed in a breathless litany. Tell Lucas of his love relentlessly, inundate him with it so thoroughly he'd grow sick of it. But before the barbed wire can be untwisted, Lucas needs to notice. It's all easier said than done.

And Yuugo doesn't know, but Lucas does look. He looks even more frequently and intensely than the other, eyes addicted to tracing his hunched-over form, to analysing every little detail he can spot. But, when he looks away, out of shyness, out of embarrassment, out of fear, he misses the way Yuugo stares back.

They could've gone months like that, don't you think? Years, even. Always missing each other's eyes. It's quite a sight to behold. And indeed, that is why it ended. In the end, sometimes all you need is an extra pair of eyes to see the truth.

Lucas is miserable as well. No, it isn't surprising, but he tries his best to hide it. And he tries his best to distract himself, spending all his time in the library, helping with the chores, helping the little and big kids alike. There's always something to do in the bunker, and it occupies him well enough. But he soon realises it's not enough to escape, when he's doing the washing with Sonya, keeping up idle conversation between them. He's still waiting to bring up a certain interaction with a certain someone, but it seems she beats him to the awkward discussions of romance.

"What's going on with you and Yuugo?" she asks, with a measured nonchalance.

He pauses for a second, before finishing folding a thin white sheet. There's an art to it, when you only have one arm at your disposal. He replies, "What do you mean?"

Sonya looks over at him, her expression casual, but he can tell she's bursting with curiosity. "Well… You two seem to be avoiding each other. Kind of. It's really weird, you know, how you're always staring at each other from across the room."

At this, Lucas's hand grips the sheet tighter, and his head snaps up. "What?"

"Don't think nobody noticed," she says, and she offers up a grin for a second, before frowning again and biting her lip as she remembers something. "He always grimaces. When he looks at you."

Lucas's eyes quickly plant themselves in the ground. He sighs. "Mm. That figures."

"I don't think it's a bad grimace, though. Or at least, it's not meant for you."

Slowly, he looks up again. He stares at her. Eventually, he says, "…What do you mean?"

And there she offers up that cheeky grin again. "It's not meant for you, you know. I think he's just frustrated or something. Don't you think he's frustrated because you're not talking about whatever it is that's bothered you like this?"

"Ah. It's not… It's not that easy," he protests, rather weakly.

"Come on, Lucas. Dad. Do you really need me to give you love advice?"

It's then that Lucas promptly chokes on nothing, and Sonya chuckles a little. He glares at her. It's an unusual look to see on his face. "You can't be saying…"

"Oh, I am."

He bites his lip and returns his attention to the folding. Sonya lets him. After a few minutes, he finally says, "It's not like that. Between us. And even if it was… I doubt it would be a good idea. He even said so himself; romance isn't fit for an environment like this."

Neither of them look up from their folding, but she hums along in acknowledgement. She replies, "Well, he may have said that, but do you think he really meant it?"

At that, she finally manages to catch him off guard again. His hand gently smooths over a folded dress shirt, and he turns to look at her. She mirrors the action, and he sighs and says, "I really doubt it's like that, Sonya. And even if it was, I still don't think it's a good idea. Besides, don't you think you should be paying more attention to your own romantic exploits, instead of butting into our relationship?"

Sonya finally has the good sense to look embarrassed and a bit ashamed. She looks away in a fruitless attempt to hide her reddening face. "Alright. Fine. I… I don't really know what's going on between me and Oliver, if you really want to know."

He smiles, and sighs fondly. "Sorry. That was a bit of a low blow. I hope you two can work it out. I just want you to know it's not all that appropriate for you to talk like that about us."

She turns back to him, and now there's a smile on her face, too. "I know. Sorry. I just… I just want you to be happy, you know? You both look so sad. Especially Yuugo, when he grimaces like that."

She returns to the washing before saying, "Just. Let me give you my two cents, if you will. And then I'll drop it. I don't know him that well, obviously not as well as you, so feel free to completely disregard this… But when he grimaces like that, I think it's because of what he can't say, you know? Like he's lying, or at least lying by omission. Like he means more than what he's saying, or wants more than what he's doing."

You see where Lucas went wrong here? You see where he made his mistake? Lucas has known Yuugo for all their shared lives, and has become used to looking so closely. Paying attention to one thing, and growing to know it so well, but in the process, missing all the important context. And here comes Sonya, bringing no fancy measuring equipment, no rulers or callipers or inclinometers, and pointing where Lucas needs to see. Four eyes are better than two, and an outsider's perspective can be golden. Here, look here, see him as a whole. Read him like a book. It's not supposed to be a challenge, an obstacle. He wants you to do it.

Lucas abruptly drops the shirt he's folding, and stares over at her. She gives him a knowing smile. "I can finish the washing, if you'd like. There's not much left."

He says, "Thank you, Sonya."

And he promptly leaves.

Sonya smiles and returns to the washing.

He wanted to have this talk right away, but Lucas had quickly discovered Yuugo, of course, was busy. They all were. So he'd gone up to him, whispered in his ear, set a date, pencilled in an appointment for this evening. Let's have tea tonight.

Watch now, as Yuugo searches for something else to do. The kids are in the bed, the supplies are ready for tomorrow's expedition, the lights are all off and everything is neatly put away, but there must be something, surely. He runs a trembling hand down his face as he realises he's going to have to head to the dining room, where he knows Lucas is waiting, likely with the tea ready. It must be getting cold. He sighs and sets off.

As he walks, his mind is blazing with questions, with ideas, with fears and worries. Why, after so long avoiding each other, did Lucas call this meeting? That's what it is, by the by; not casual relaxation with a friend after a long day. A meeting. He could tell by the way Lucas said it; something important needs to be discussed. They'd both been avoiding it for too long, and now Yuugo is going to pay the price.

How will it feel, he wonders, for Lucas to reject him like this? Explicit, out loud? How much will it shatter him?

He reaches the dining room, and his face settles into a grim, resigned frown as he opens the door with a feather-light touch. Sure enough, Lucas is waiting for him, the battered kettle and two cracked teacups set out next to him. Yuugo does his best impression of someone who's not fearing the rejection of the love of his life, and swaggers across the room, throwing himself into the seat across from him.

"Evening," he offers.

Lucas counter-offers with a smile that makes his heart race. "Good evening."

Yuugo takes it upon himself to pour the tea; any excuse not to start talking. The lukewarm temperature reveals how long he left Lucas waiting, and he grits his teeth. With a practiced, elegant hand, Lucas takes the cup, murmuring his thanks, and sips. He's not quite able to hide how he frowns at the temperature.

"You could've started without me, you know," Yuugo says.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

He grimaces, and Lucas watches with a curious expression.

"We need to have a talk, you know."

"Yeah. I figured."

But he doesn't elaborate beyond that. They sip their tea. The silence seems insurmountable.

It all gets too much for Yuugo, and he finally snaps, "Fine, then. Say it. Say how you feel about me. How stupid I am for…"

He trails off as Lucas stands up, placing his teacup firmly down on the table. Then, he pushes his chair in, and limps around to the other side of the long table, until he's standing next to Yuugo, as if waiting for something. It's a confounding move; a very deliberate gesture, considering all the effort it took him. He frowns and places his cup down, stands up too, until they're facing each other with significantly less distance between them. And there really is not much distance between them. Yuugo's traitorous heart races.

"Oh, Yuugo… You’re not stupid.”

It's a simple statement, but it's enough to make him avert his eyes. He takes a deep breath in a desperate attempt to ground himself, and says, "Fine. Alright. Say it, then."

"Look at me, won't you?"

Hesitantly, his eyes inch their way back to his face. Lucas's face is so close. He has no idea when it got that close.

"I know it's hard. To say what you really mean. I don't blame you for it, I really don't. But I think it's time to be done with this charade, don't you?"

Yuugo nods grimly, thinking rather presumptuously he knows what’s going on.

"Right. Because, you know, if you wanted this, you could've just said so."

And before he has a chance to reply, Lucas leans in, places his hand gently on the side of his face, and kisses him.

(Here, the tiny part of his brain which isn't having a meltdown faintly realises how soft Lucas's lips are. But it doesn't take his rational side to realise how deep the kiss is.)

It only lasts a few, fleeting, eternal seconds, and Yuugo's heart is beating its way to an attack, and his limbs are trembling, and he's quite aware he wouldn't be able to breathe even if Lucas's mouth wasn't currently on his. And yet, here they are, the both of them, like this, despite all the odds; enough for him to marvel at. Yuugo chokes out a strangled sob when Lucas finally pulls away.

Despite the confidence he'd projected earlier, Yuugo can clearly see the hesitance on Lucas's face. He softly says, "That was alright, wasn't it?"

"It…" Yuugo stammers, struggling for far too long before finally settling on, "Yes. Yes."

His words might still need some detangling, but that's alright, because it's not difficult to guess what Yuugo means when he pulls Lucas in for another kiss. It was more than alright. This is more than alright. I want this. I want you. Forever.

After breaking apart for a second time, Yuugo simply envelops Lucas in his arms, and sobs even harder, even more joyfully, as he holds him impossibly close.

Consider, if you will, the man with the swaggering walk, who's found less and less reason to grimace in these past days. Consider him with someone else, consider their joined hands, consider them looking at each other, not from across the room, but from side by side, their eyes finally meeting in the middle.

Consider them kissing, touching, finally together like they’ve always wanted. Perhaps nervous, shaky, unsure of what’s right or wrong for each other, but willing to learn. More than willing.

Consider barbed wire, a torn-up throat, finally beginning to untangle and repair. Consider precise measuring tools, finally being thrown away. Consider them talking, murmuring to each other, sipping tea late into the night and talking about whatever comes to mind. The sound of laughter, of joy, of slow yet steady healing. Of words being said, over and over, making up for all the times they went without.

Consider, if you will, two men together, walking down the hallway with their hands tightly intertwined. Few of the kids have wondered, and ever fewer have asked, because it’s clear enough what’s between them, what they are to each other. No need, this time, to look any deeper than that.