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Thomas relaxes against the fae underneath him as the other’s fingers run through his hair, allowing his eyes to slip closed. They’ve been like this for hours; Thomas having entered the circle red-faced and with tears streaming down his face from some bullshit encounter he’d had with another human and the fae dropping from his perch in his tree to comfort him, no questions asked. He can’t really remember what had upset him so much to begin with, too busy absorbing himself in the fae’s words and the feel of the other’s arms around him to focus too much on anything else. And he decides that’s for the best, lying in the fae’s arms and listening to the other’s gentle song, magic buzzing just underneath his skin; he can’t find anything at all to worry about, in his position, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
“What’s on your mind, Twig?” he hears his companion chuckle, and he looks up with lidded eyes to find the fae looking down at him, amused smile showing nothing but fangs—a sight that used to startle him, but not so much anymore.
“Mm, I’unno,” he responds through a yawn, stifling it with his hand. “What about you, Trusi? Got anything you want to share?”
Trusi’s grin widens. “You mean besides the little tale I told you about how I almost decapitated my brother? Or are you asking me for something?” His smile turns into what only can be described as a lewd smirk, “Because I am willing to share some things if it means I can get a little enjoyment out of it myself.”
Thomas wrinkles his nose, though he can’t help but giggle at the face Trusi pulls, playfully shoving him back, “Ew, no, don’t be gross.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” his heart skips a beat when the fae cackles, picking up speed when Trusi’s expression softens upon meeting his gaze. “You know you love me, Twig.”
The human’s heart twists. Every nerve in his body comes to life, jittery with how innocently the other points out this fact, a fact that had remained unspoken between them until now—and even then, he knows that Trusi didn’t mean it in the way Thomas does.
And maybe that’s the fact that pushes him over the edge, the figurative nail in the coffin that fuels his confidence and his downright stupidity that leads him to do something he’s considered doing for months but just couldn’t find the right time for.
So, before he can stop himself, he tells the other his name:
“Thomas.”
The warmth in the air retreats.
Immediately, the fae pushes him off, pressing himself against the tree with wide eyes. Though remaining completely still, his voice comes out in a shaky whisper, cold as ice, “What.”
Thomas can’t help but flinch. “I—” he swallows, inching closer, “my name. It’s Th—”
“Stop.”
Thomas flinches when the fae holds up a hand, suddenly finding himself without a voice.
Trusi swallows thickly, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he looks down, picking at his shirt. “I don’t want your name.”
His heart sinks, “No?”
“No,” the fae repeats, the shadows around his eyes darkening. He pauses, and when he speaks again his words are kinder, avoiding the other’s gaze as he says, voice hoarse, “I don’t want—I don’t want to own you. That’s not…that’s not what this is.”
Thomas blinks. Despite the cold biting at his skin, warmth floods his chest, and he clears his throat, trying his best to ignore the red in his face. “I…wasn’t giving it to you so that you’d own me.”
The fae scoffs, “Then clearly, you don’t understand how this works—”
“I gave it to you because I love you.”
Trusi flinches. He watches as the fae shrinks, face growing paler and shadows crawling down his face, “Please don’t say that.”
“But I do. I really do—like, a really stupid amount.”
More shrinking.
Thomas sighs, and, despite a warning in the back of his mind telling him not to, he shifts so that he sits next to his fae, collecting him in his arms and pulling him against his chest. “…You bounce when you’re happy.”
Trusi shoots him a questioning glance, “Yeah?”
“Mhm—and you do this thing, you know, when you giggle, where you just glow, like actually glow, and I swear your hair turns into flowers.”
Trusi falls silent—though, Thomas realizes, he’s stopped shrinking, so he decides to take that as his cue to keep going.
“You always know what to do to calm me down,” he goes on, giving the other’s shoulders a light squeeze when he feels arms wrap around his waist, “not to mention you’re a complete and utter goofball. Like, I don’t think I laugh around anyone else nearly as much as I do with you.”
“I have that effect on people,” the fae mumbles into his arm.
Thomas rolls his eyes, “I can believe it.” Then, blush spreading to his ears, he clears his throat, saying, “You’re gentle, when you want to be. And sweet. And understanding—I remember when we first met and you’d tell stories, and you’d realize how much it was bothering me, you’d tone it down or talk about something else. Not because you wanted to but because I was there, and you didn’t want to upset me. It’s…nice.”
Trusi smirks, snickering, “I still can’t believe you don’t like my skin-eating snake story—”
“We do not talk about the skin-eating snake story!” Thomas squeaks.
That only causes the fae to laugh louder. “Aw, c’mon, Twig! That’s one of my favorites.”
“Almost all of your stories are my favorites,” Thomas counters. He stops when Trusi fixes him with a shocked look, face burning when he realizes what he’s said, “Uh—I mean—yeah. You’re just—you’re really creative. It’s admirable.”
Cold be damned, the human feels like he’s burning alive.
Still, the fae grins at him, face almost back to its original state—except for the noticeable red shade dusted across his cheeks. He sits up, bouncing slightly as he looks the human up and down. “Y’know, if I didn’t know you better, I’d accuse you of lying,” he tells him.
Thomas can offer nothing but a shrug, his voice suddenly not working.
The amusement melts from the fae’s expression, replaced with something somber, almost…uncomfortable, if Thomas is being honest. He scratches at the stubble on his jaw, sighing. “Are you sure you want to do this, Twig?” he asks. “It’s not exactly something you can go back on once you do it—and once you give your name to me, that’s it. It’s mine.”
“I’m pretty sure I made myself clear about five minutes ago,” Thomas responds, eyebrow raised.
The other snorts and rolls his eyes, “You made the fact that you want to get into my pants clear, not that you understand the risks you’re taking.”
Thomas’ face flushes a deeper red. “…Yes. I’m sure.”
Trusi nods. Fixing Thomas with an expression that shoots a shiver down the other’s spine, he asks, voice quiet but holding a ring of danger and authority to it that only the supernatural could master, “May I have your name, human?”
Thomas wills his hands to stop shaking. Swallowing, he nods, his heart feeling as though it’s twisting in his chest and lungs are ready to burst at any given moment. “Thomas.”
The moment his name leaves his lips, he notices a change—a small one, sure, but it’s there, nonetheless. It’s not bad; not painful, not uncomfortable, and not by any means unpleasant. At most, he just feels lighter than before, unbothered, and part of him wonders why he was so worried to start with. Everything just feels…right. Better.
Trusi’s eyes flash green. Smiling, he nods, taking the human’s hands in his—and then he pulls him in for a kiss, Thomas pleasantly surprised when the warmth that floods his system is accompanied by flowers blooming around them.
The fae is the first to pull away, hair ruffled up and grin lopsided. “Remus,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the human’s cheek.
Thomas grins.
He has a feeling he’s not going to be regretting his decision anytime soon.