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Fabian's mother brought him into her closets often.
This she did on account of the fact that she was a woman who loved her son immensely, but was also vain. This was the perfect opportunity to try on each chiffon dress, each lace shawl, each elven-silk kimono and open the door to strut across the room in front of her enraptured child sitting on a throne of fabric atop her bed. In the corner of the room sat a marvelously decorated record player that had been a wedding gift to Bill and Halariel from a music maestro–she would often have Fabian go through the records to pick something to play while she shuffled through outfits.
As the needle of the record-player would trace along the records, Fabian's young, eager eyes would trace along the contours of her elegant form as she glided across the room. He would take an old pair of reading glasses she no longer wore and delicately balance them just on the edge of his nose as he sat straight-backed, giving the best impression of a fashion critic, even though he’d never been to a walkway proper. He would only give praise, of course, one of his many inaccuracies, because he loved his mother very much and even had he tried he couldn't find a single fault in her demeanor or clothing. No, he would watch her long, smooth legs as they strutted across the room and the contours of her painted mouth as she smiled and laughed at him. She would offer many of her own outfits and often try to have him try them on and put on a show for her instead.
He declined. Something inside him squirmed as his mother held up silk dresses against him, so he would instead make a big show of enjoying his critic’s position and refusing to leave the comfort of the bed. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't.
This was around the time the drinking began, which meant eventually his mother's walking would sway more than even a model's allowed, and after taking the last mouthful from the cup would finally collapse, dizzy, onto the bed next to him. Once or twice she hadn't bothered to put the cup down before allowing her body to fall, which resulted in one or more wine stains she would have no memory of making.
His mother would tickle him and tuck him in close enough to hook her chin over his head, petting his hair with clumsy fingers and pressing sticky kisses into his cheeks.
"Oh my dearest darling," she would slur, "I cannot wait to see what a woman you will become."
She would fall asleep soon after that, and Fabian would silently return to his room.
---
"My darling lass!" Fabian's father would say.
"Papa," Fabian would lovingly intone back, gut roiling.
Fabian loved all time spent with his father, truth be told. He loved the tough pats on the back. He loved the whooping encouragement to hang from the highest and most dangerous tree limbs. He loved the swooping feeling from falling into his father's waiting arms down below. He loved the rough feeling of his father's beard when he would rub their cheeks together and he loved the way his father would tussle his cropped hair.
He loved the way his father walked. He loved the shape of his father's barrel-chested torso and the gravel of his voice and confidence of his stride. He loved the weight he carried with him when he walked into the room, and the masculine gravitas that dripped from his every gesture.
He loved his father.
He wanted to be his father.
He needed to be his father.
---
Fabian Aramais Seacaster changes.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster grows.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster grows into gawky legs, into a new name, into a new school, and most pressingly, into a teenage boy.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster grows into his mother’s features, and his father’s shoes, and the hunger does not stop.
---
Bill Seacaster teaches Fabian how to be a man in the only way he knows. They spar, they train, they wrestle, they spar again. He teaches Fabian how to cut into a dummy instead of cutting the lawn. He tells Fabian how to earn the loyalty of shiphands instead of making actual friends. Cathilda tries to pick up the slack. It’s the kind of homeschooling one would expect in a place like Seacaster Manor, and Fabian loves it.
“Excellent job, lad!”
“Ha! Almost got me there, you little scoundrel.”
“Fabian! My darling boy!”
While Hallariel gets drunk on elven wine, Fabian gets drunk on his father’s praises. It’s never enough.
---
By the time Fabian arrives at Aguefort Academy, he knows exactly what sort of man he is going to be. So when a weird orcish boy with hair in his eyes offers a pitiful little flower to him, Fabian has his fist planted deep in his stomach before he even has to think. The voice of Bill Seacaster cheers uproariously in his head.
But then Fabian’s life is divided into a time before and a time after he finds himself being digested inside a revolting corn monster’s belly, and his plans change remarkably fast after that.
He has a list, a very easy-to-follow list, of things that successful teenage boys do in high school.
Step 1: Make the team.
Step 2: Kiss girls.
Step 3: Be popular.
After a week at Aguefort, Fabian has been shamed by the Bloodrush coach, has no romantic prospects, and is stuck with the sort of motley crew which might have worked well in a poorly scripted movie, but in reality show little promise in propelling him towards social stardom. His ego bruised and hopes in shreds, Fabian wonders if it isn’t too late to transfer to Mumple, but the mental ghost of Bill Seacaster metaphorically grabs him by the chin and forces his attention to his supposed group of friends.
Motley or no, a captain is nothing without his crew, his father says, before receding back into the not-so-deep recesses of Fabian’s mind.
It’s almost too easy getting lost in the drama and machinations of the newly formed Bad Kids. They’re each so… loud isn’t exactly the word. Much. They’re each so much, and that muchness only seems to worsen the longer they spend time with one another, and frankly, with themselves.
Kristen coming out as gay is hardly a surprise to any of them. She leans over the table at Basrar’s like it’s some great secret, and Fabian, not one willing to pass up the chance to be in on the joke, joins in on the chorus of “We know”s.
They moan and groan and laugh, but the immediate and group-wide response sets his teeth on edge. Because, if they were all apparently in on Kristen’s whole deal, what are the chances they all secretly know about him? He feels like Riz, suspicion spiking when looks stay a little too long on him, on a phrase spoken a little strangely, on one or more of them whispering at a distance he can’t hear what they’re talking about. He can understand where she might be coming from, the way Kristen scents the air, like a bloodhound for more prey to yank out of the closet. But whenever he can see her switch into detective mode, he always does his best to stay out of the way. Whatever company she’s hoping to find, he isn’t it.
It’s not like he’s afraid. Not of them, at the very least. He’s just not– He isn’t Kristen, or Tracker.
He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Captain Bill Seacaster.
You’ve got to make them respect you, make them fear you, Fabian my boy. Show an inch of softness, an inch of give, and sooner than you know it your reputation will be run into the ground.
He doesn’t need to be anything other than that.
He doesn’t need whatever baggage Kristen seems to be happy to pile on. He doesn’t want whatever she gets out of projecting like an outdoor movie theatre. He doesn’t want, he doesn’t–
What he wants is to just be one of the guys. Dayne. Ragh. He wants to be, he is that incredibly good looking new guy on the Bloodrush team. Nothing more. But then, of course, Dayne turns out to be an asshole and Ragh has his own coming out epiphany in one extremely long prom night, and Fabian’s points of comparison swiftly get thrown out the window.
Fabian is embarrassed to admit he almost expects Ragh to… change. The way Kristen did, after. But by and large, he doesn’t. He acts a little sheepish around Gorgug for a bit and after all seems to be a little less prone to shoving kids into lockers, but he’s still just Ragh, a big muscly dude with maybe more emotional issues than he lets on. Just gay now. Which is fine. And doesn’t really change anything. Obviously.
If anything, it’s almost a balm to his paranoia. If he catches Ragh looking at him out of the corner of his eye, he knows it isn’t because he’s trying to spot something the way Kristen does. Fabian isn’t shy to admit he is a pretty shiny piece of eye candy, he better be with the amount of time he spends in the morning. If Ragh wants to cop a look every now and then, well. Who is Fabian to deny him that.
---
Locker Room Etiquette.
Three words that both thrill Fabian, and make him jumpy at the same time.
Because in order to get the etiquette, it means being part of the in-group. A part of the team. One of the boys. It’s acceptance. It’s one of us.
So Fabian has fun making snide remarks, headbutting, whooping and hollering and making the sorts of ruckus that has couch barging in to tell them to tone it down.
But it also means Fabian making excuses. A lot of excuses. Why doesn’t he change shirts in front of the guys? Because these abs are only for ladies’ eyes only. Why does he go home sweaty when they’ve got pretty decent showers? Psh, as if he’s going to use a public shower, come on. Why doesn’t Fabian do A, B, and C? Well, because C, B, and A, of course. It all gets waved away under Fabian being a rich, stuck up, pretentious prick, and he is all too happy to keep it that way.
The locker room talk, though, that’s the most difficult to skirt around.
Because normally, it’s all in good fun. Some of the go-to quips are antiquated and archaic, sure, and sometimes he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up when he hears “girly” and “prissy” being thrown around, but in his book so long as he makes sure he’s on point and one of the star members of the team, he stays on the giving rather than the receiving end of that kind of chatter. Captain’s privilege.
But today, practice comes the day after a particularly gruelling side-quest in which Kristen didn’t have the leftover firepower to get everyone back to one hundred percent, and so Fabian went home that night a bit more battered and bruised than usual. And the next morning, Fabian discovers a half-gallon tub of Gilear’s yoghurt sitting front and center in the kitchen fridge, which turns him off breakfast completely. He’s out the door with nothing but a half-eaten granola bar in his stomach.
So, he arrives to practice already aching, hungry, and in an all around piss-poor mood. What results is, he will readily admit, some pretty subpar performance on his part. Not his best showing. Definitely looked better. He’ll go as far as to agree, pretty fucking lame. So when Gorthalax calls it and tells everyone to hit the showers, he knows he’s in for an earful from his teammates. He’s ready to take the L with open arms, until–
“–and Fabian,” Ragh laughs, “What was up with that out there? Side quest or no, bro, I knew I sent some in your sleep throws out there, but all I saw you doing was fumbling around like some scared little girl, bro–”
Fabian rounds on him in a second.
“What did you call me?” Fabian hisses through clenched teeth. There’s a voice, likely logic or reason, whispering fast in the background noise of his mind, but he can’t hear a thing beyond the ringing of his ears and the feeling his nerve endings are on fire. Get yourself together, think for a moment.
“I, uh–” Ragh blinks owlishly, eyes wide in panicked confusion from where Fabian has him backed up against a locker. He’s close enough he can see with precision the way Ragh’s throat bobs as he swallows.
Fight or flight punches its way through his system. This isn’t a good look. Of course it isn’t but his jaw is locked tight and his shoulders are tense and his teammates have gone silent and his entire body feels electrified and his body is just screaming alarm alarm alarm alarm–
Ragh holds his hands up, bravely trying to put on a wry smile to ease the tension. “Sorry about that, bro, I was out of line. Tracker’s been helping me, like, unlearn a bunch of misogynistic language and stuff, so, um, thanks for calling me out on it.” Ragh sucks in a breath, waiting for Fabian’s reaction.
What are you doing man, this is Ragh, this is just old school smack talk. This isn’t, he doesn’t, he wouldn’t–
He can feel the air shift where Gorgug steps up behind him. “Fabian?”
“Yeah… yeah it’s–” it isn’t fine. “I’ll see you later.” Fabian can’t be here. He hoists his bag by the strap onto his shoulder and beelines to the exit. His hands are shaking.
“Ok, um, see you,” he hears Ragh call out with an uncertainty that has him cringing even more than before. Voices pick up soon after, but he is already out of earshot.
The quick push and pull of adrenaline runs icy hot under his skin, and the minute he’s past the football field and into the parking lot tears begin pouring from his eyes.
It’s alright for a man to cry, you know. Jawbone’s gentle voice echoes in his head. Crying provides catharsis and helps release stress chemicals from the body. A perfectly natural response to stressful stimuli.
At least ‘yer doing it the proper way, away from crewmates’ eyes, Bill says.
If you think you’re having a panic attack, you should take a moment to sit down and breathe.
Please, there’s hardly anything to be making a fuss about.
Oh fuck off, both of you, Fabian barks back.
Fabian scrubs his face with the heel of his hand as he mounts the Hangman, which remains blessedly silent. His throat is still tight when he arrives home, but the familiar rumbling of the Hangman under him and the rush of wind on his face helps ground him enough that when he finally makes it to his room, he feels more exhausted than panicked. His bag hits the floor with a loud thud, and his body hits the bed soon after.
He doesn’t realize he fell asleep until Cathilda’s voice rouses him awake.
“Master Fabian, your presence is requested in the kitchen!” Somehow in the time between his mother’s newfound sobriety and the beginning of sophomore year, Cathilda had come to the conclusion it was time the remaining Seacasters learn to become marginally more self-sufficient, one small step at a time. This means the call to dinner had become less a call to eat, and more a call to set the table.
Again, baby steps.
Fabian groans, flipping himself over onto his back and fishing around in his pocket for his crystal. It takes a couple seconds of blinking and squinting before the screen comes into focus, but when it does he notices several missed texts.
Fig: Gorgug said you snapped at Ragh?? what–
Kristen: heeeyyyyyyyyyyyyy
Gorgug: you alright?
He doesn’t open them. He scrolls down until he sees a couple from Ragh. He opens them.
Ragh: hey
Ragh: we good?
Ragh: sorry about practice. I’m still unlearning some stuff thanks for calling me out on it lol. Old hermits die hard haha
Ragh: *habits
Ragh: but yeah, spending time with Jawbone, trying to reorganize my brain haha
Ragh: sorry if I hit a nerve or something, my b definitely my b
Ragh: I was thinking about swinging by Basrar’s to pick up some donuts
Ragh: they’re new on the menu, pretty good ngl
Ragh: You left your jacket and so maybe I can pick you up some and swing by tomorrow
Ragh: or something
Fabian cringes as he reads Ragh apologize for something he couldn’t even know he did. He’s a little relieved that’s the conclusion Ragh came to, though. While Fabian is reading through he sees typing bubbles pop up, and then go away. Pop up, go away. Fabian types back:
Fabian: Didn’t know Basrar was stepping up his game. I like stuff with chocolate
He pauses.
Fabian: we’re cool lol
---
Ragh makes good on his promise of donuts the next day, going so far as to nab a couple extra glazed for safety even though Fabian said he’d stop after one. If there’s a slight blush to Ragh’s face as he hands Fabian back his letterman, Fabian chalks it up to lingering contrition.
---
Spring break is around the corner, and Fabian focuses with a single-minded intensity on the pinnacle of teenage beauty that is Alewyn Abernant. His thoughts are only on finding her, rescuing her, and hopefully, kissing her. Everything else is secondary.
---
In Leviathan, the ghost of Bill Seacaster’s legacy hangs heavy in the air like pungent cigar smoke. It gathers heavy around Fabian’s eyes and tastes like ash in his mouth.
Alistair Ash grabs his arm and leans in close with eyes full to the brim with adoration, and Fabian’s face is flushed and head is spinning from the whiplash adoration of him and the rest of his father’s warlocks. They look at him and see Captain Bill Seacaster, and well. Fabian is all too willing to step into the role.
Fabian charges forward with the boldness of his father and gets people killed with it. He sees the look of love turn to hate in Alistair’s eyes, and something inside of him shrivels at the sight. Fabian himself is in this moment about to die either from the sheer drop or the sheer shame of his cowardly retreat.
At least you went out bleeding, my boy. Bill says in his head. Although, the least you could have done is stayed and faced the killing blow like a man!
That sounds stupid, Fabian thinks, before the back of his head slams against a stay plank of wood and everything goes black.
---
Fabian isn’t exactly in a great place when The Bad Kids arrive at Kei Lumennura.
When Telemaine arrives to greet them, Fabian is almost too exhausted to wonder how much his mother has communicated with his grandfather in their time apart, considering just how expansive elven timelines can be. How much has she kept him up to date? When was the last time she discussed Fabian.
Outed by my own grandfather, Fabian tiredly wonders, That would certainly fit the theme of this shitty week.
But no, Telemaine greets him as his grandson, and Fabian is barely relieved. It’s strange, being here. It’s not that Fabian ever felt that he was estranged from the elven half of his family, but looking back, he can’t say he has any actual memories of visiting Fallinel beyond some hazy recollections from when he was a young child. Maybe if it were any other day, he would be more enthused about properly getting to know this place. But looking out at the strange and ethereal beauty of it all, all Fabian wants to do is find some of those creamy elven sheets his grandpapa mentioned and sleep for the next month.
Hallariel joins them quite literally out of the blue, and immediately begins to make up for lost time with Telemaine. She looks tired, she’s always looking tired since sobering up, but being in this place seems to return a sort of lightness to her, the way the light plays with her hair and the silk of her kimono.
After Hallariel returns, Fabian finds himself for the first time in a long time with his head resting in his mother’s lap, like he did when he was a child. Hallariel reclines back against a rock that is covered in impeccably spongy moss. Next to them a bubbling spring sings, literally sings, as it flows by. Hallariel hums with it, off key.
“Mama?"
“Yes, Fabian dearest?” Her hands pet his hair idly. Almost all their time together nowadays is dedicated to sword training; he tries to think of the last time his mother touched him this gently outside the passing kiss on the cheek.
“When speaking to Telema– Grandpapa earlier, I couldn’t entirely understand some of what he was saying.”
“Like what?” Loose flowers drift down from the trees and land delicately in her silver hair. A couple attempt to nestle in Fabian’s own hair, but he blows them away. His mother picks out the rest.
“Well, I don’t know. I know we don’t speak that much Elvish in the house, but occasionally he would say something about one of my friends and he would use this term, or like, I think a pronoun that I haven’t ever heard before. I thought maybe it was just a way of saying we’re outsiders but he also uses it when talking about some of his attendants.”
Hallariel hums in acknowledgment. She sighs and shifts her position, jostling Fabian’s head slightly. “Your grandfather is a very ancient man, Fabian, and as you know hasn’t left Kei Lumennura in a very, very long time. He hasn’t left Fallinel at all. And so his Elvish can be a little, well, not antiquated per say, but very traditional.”
“Don’t we already speak High Elvish at home though? It’s certainly different from how Sandra Lynn speaks it.” Fig has definitely made comments about his posh Elvish in the past, at the very least.
“Yes, well, without delving into the entire history of it all because I am neither a linguist or historian in the slightest, Fabian dearest, to make a long story short the Elvish language only adopted gendered pronouns after long term exposure to Common.”
Fabian tilts his head back to look at her. “Wait, none? None at all?”
“Not really, darling. I mean, most elves nowadays have become accustomed to the new way of addressing people, but older elves like your grandfather still tend to default to the older, singular pronoun.”
It’s… strange for Fabian to think about, but in hindsight does make sense when he looks around this place. At first glance, he assumed that the way all the teenagers seemed to be dressed and styled the same had to do with some of the weird repression training this place has going on, but now he’s not so sure. It’s not entirely genderless, but his eyes do kind of… slide a little more fluidity from person to person here. It’s an interesting idea to follow up on maybe at a later date, but the way Fabian felt when his grandpapa used that term in reference to him…
“Mama, would you be willing to… ask Grandpapa not to use that, at least for me?” He doesn’t want to be culturally insensitive or whatever, but at the same time, there is something about it that sits strangely on Fabian’s skin.
“Of course, darling,” Hallariel cups his cheek, “I’ll make sure to mention it to him.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
They allow the conversation to lapse back into silence. The brook sings next to them, and he can feel the slight vibrations as his mother attempts to synchronize with it again.
---
Fabian isn’t too busy with his sheet dancing and ego reinvention to not notice Ragh hooked up with one of the elven douchebags floating around. But thinking about it too hard makes him feel a certain way, and so he pretends he is.
---
Fabian doesn’t think he’s ever eaten so much seafood in such a short period of time. Not even in Seacaster manor has there been so many crustaceans just, overflowing everywhere. Where did they even get seafood? Why did they decide to go for a shrimp party? Such questions may be permanently lost to time.
There is only now. There is only the Crab King, and his Crab Court. Long live the Crab King.
“Guys, there’s a hot tub back here!” Kristen yells from behind the sliding doors leading outside. She has her shirt off before Ragh does, and that’s that.
It must be enchanted, it’s gotta be, because by the time he gets out from under the “shrimp pile,” it’s already bubbling with steaming water. Fabian respectfully averts his gaze as Tracker strips down to her boxers and bra in a flash and is second after Kristen into the water. Ragh is third, dunking himself up to the neck and sending water splashing over the edge onto Fabian’s feet.
“Really, Ragh, really? Socks in the hot tub?” Tracker looks scandalized.
“I’m not getting my toes out!” Ragh protests.
“What does that even mean?” Tracker asks.
Gorgug sways over to the lip of the tub and proceeds to dump half a bucket full of shrimp into the water before climbing in, hoodie and all. “Soup,” he says.
“Soup,” Riz agrees, dilated eyes watching the shrimp swimming around in the jets.
“Soup.” Gorgug nods his head sagely.
“Nooooooooooo-wuh,” Kristen groans, “No clothes in the hot tub! Never clothes in the hot tub! Ragh already broke the rules and I’m putting my foot down.”
“I’m not getting my toes out!” Ragh protests, again.
“What does that even mean, ” Tracker asks, again.
“But, Adaine is wearing clothes!” Gorgug gestures with a sopping sleeve at Adaine, indeed still in her t-shirt, as she begins to sink into the water. Her already drunk-flushed cheeks darken.
“Adaine gets a pass,” Kristen kicks out with a foot to plant it into Gorgug’s shoulder, “You don’t. The hoodie must go!”
Gorgug grunts unhappily but peels off his hoodie and tshirt in one go. It hits the ground outside the tub with a heavy slap. Tracker catches Fabian’s eye over Kristen’s shoulder and waves him over. “Fabian, get in already. Leave your socks at the door.”
“Or not.”
“Yes, do.”
Fabian is high off party energy and booze and far too much seafood. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up with his hands, half way through lifting his shirt off. He pauses. He lowers the hem back down.
“I might just dip my feet in, actually.”
“Come on, don’t be a toe-dipper,” Tracker says.
“A stew is lost without its captain,” Adaine titters with a dopey grin, far too proud of herself. Her eyebrows raise up and down above her fogged glasses.
“I’m not really in the mood to get wet.” Maybe it’s just the booze, but caution signs come alive in Fabian’s head.
“Fabiiaaan,” Ragh and Tracker goad.
“You can be the crab kiiing,” Gorgug lilts.
“Fabian. Fabian. Fabian.”
“Come on.”
Kristen lunges to grab, maybe his hand, maybe his shirt, but Fabian jerks away from her grasp. Alarm bells ring.
“I said no.” There’s a strain to his voice that gives the group some pause. Ragh and Tracker just groan in defeat, but Kristen tilts her head with a look.
“It’s alright, dude,” Riz hiccups. He’s pulled all the towels from the rack and has piled them into a thick nest on the ground. “Dry island is open for business.”
“I’m gonna get another drink.” Fabian shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes comes off as aloof. In reality his skin crawls and sweat gathers on the back of his neck. He just needs to not have eyes on him right now. They’ll probably chalk it up to some leftover Leviathan rawness.
He does take a peace offering towel Riz offers him on the way out, but even if he didn’t turn his back so quick to hurry back inside, he might not have noticed a pair of eyes intently following him hidden behind heat-fogged lenses.
---
The thing is, Adaine didn’t mean to put the pieces together. Truly, she didn’t.
As much as she is a piss-poor keeper of secrets, she tries her best to respect other people’s privacy. Living under the same roof as one Kristen Applebees has taught Adaine that sometimes knowing other people’s intimate business is more of a hassle than it’s worth, and has trained Adaine to avoid knowing certain things from the start. A bit strange for an oracle, but once Adaine knows something, she has a hard time keeping it to herself. No one likes a blabbermouth.
This, though, this is different. The pieces floating around in her buzzed mind put themselves together in less of a calculating move, and more of an unwilting recognition of the self within the otter. Unwitting. Other. She may be a bit more than buzzed.
Adaine lets herself lounge a bit longer in the shrimp jacuzzi to let Fabian get a head start. If she rushes right after him it might invite a few tagalongs, and she’d rather have this moment alone. Even through her horrible fogged glasses, however, she can tell her efforts of social subtlety are largely wasted. She thinks she sees Ragh throw a look to the door, but he is quickly dragged under the water by a Kristen-Tracker combo move, and Gorgug seems to be coaxing Riz through some third shrimp-related crisis of the night from where Riz has buried himself underneath the spare towels.
Adaine slips out of the hot tub, the epitome of tipsy grace.
Were she a touch more sober and a touch less preoccupied, she might be more concerned about the trail of water she is leaving behind her as she takes a quick look around the house. No sign of Fabian. She clicks her tongue in dismay as she goes room to room, but no sign of him. Then, a horrifying thought occurs to her.
What if he’s blasted enough that he wandered off into the fucking woods?
Adaine thunders down the steps in a panic, making a beeline for the front doors.
He’s fine, he’s the one with the highest alcohol tolerance of the group. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to do something like that, she reassures herself.
But he’s nowhere in the house, and you didn’t see Fig or Ayda either. They likely got abducted or killed together, her brain helpfully chimes back.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Adaine whispers under her breath, almost tripping on the living room carpet. She swings the front door to the mansion open, readying emergency SOS spells–
Her initial assumption was right. Drunk Fabian wouldn’t go wandering off into the woods like some headless chicken. No, drunk Fabian would climb atop the roof of the parked Hangvan to perform some spectacularly angst-filled dance moves, dramatically silhouetted in the moonlight. It almost feels like dejavu to the scene in Kei Lumennura, except the Hangvan is playing drum-heavy power ballads and instead of his battle sheet Fabian is whipping around a spare poolside towel. The combined effect is so teen that Adaine’s panic is all but obliterated. She covers her mouth to snort.
“Mind if I join you up there, dance moves?”
Fabian whips around, overcorrecting just enough to swing his body back onto the roof rather than off it.
“Woah there,” the Hangvan turns down the music, “No roof surfing if it’s gonna land your ass in the grass.”
“I’m fine, Hangvan,” Fabian tugs the towel close around himself as if Adaine had walked in on him coming out of the shower. She tries not to poke fun at the darkening of his cheeks.
“Yeah, hangvan, we’re fiiiiine,” Adaine drawls back, carefully hoisting herself onto the hood. As she does so she feels her balance sway a little bit unevenly, thinks better of standing up, and carefully crawls her way up on slippery hands and knees.
“You should probably head back to the others before you hurt yourself, Adaine,” Fabian says with no small amount of suspicion in his eyes.
“Nah, I’m– fuck that’s cold.” Going from a steaming hot jacuzzi to sitting on a freezing metal roof isn’t enough to shock her out of her buzz, but is definitely making her regret not grabbing a jacket or robe before coming outside. Water still drips from her hair, and she shivers.
“I got you, muchachalata,” the Hangvan drawls, and slowly she feels the roof grow warmer beneath her.
“Does the Hangvan have… a roof heater?” Adaine looks down in wonderment.
Fabian plops down still burritoed in the towel. He looks equally confused. “Is that something that all vans have?”
“I… don’t know. Hangvan?”
“Dunno dudes, I just live here,” the Hangvan happily hums.
“Hm.” Adaine and Fabian say at the same time. Silence, except for the muted sounds of music and laughter coming from the house.
Right. Vulnerability. Sharing. Vulnerability. Sharing.
“You’re hogging the blanket,” Adaine huffs, unable to think of a good segway.
“It’s a towel,” Fabian protests, but doesn’t stop her as she wraps one side of it around her shoulders. She has to scooch over a little bit in order to make it work, but only so much as to let their shoulders touch because, well. Teenagers. Social boundaries and all that.
Adaine’s thoughts race. She’s never been particularly confident in emotional situations, and her clouded mind struggles for some sort of tact. Some sort of way to say hey, I respect your boundaries, and you don’t have to say anything except I’d like you to say something because I’m going to say something and I’d like someone to talk to about this because it’s so specific but so personal but so similar and shared and different but the same–
The Nightmare Forest is silent behind them. Adaine’s mind barrels forward. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’m not sure what’ll happen when I see my parents in there,” she begins, “When I say I’m going to kill them, it’s less and less hyperbole each time I say it. Of course, who knows, anything is bound to happen in there, but still. Because, like, gods were they shitty in so many different dimensions. I’ve told you guys a fair bit, and the stuff I haven’t you guys have pretty much guessed, but I mean they were just spectacularly bad. I mean, sure, they paid for my transition, but they never even pretended to do it out of any sort of love or support, you know?”
Adaine pauses, feeling the air for any sort of reaction. She can feel Fabian’s posture straighten, and she lets a second pass for him to say anything.
“Oh.” He says, carefully neutral. She continues.
“Everything growing up was always about optics. It makes sense, them being these big bad ambassadors, so when it became apparent my ‘little issue’ wasn’t going away, it was decided in no uncertain terms that if I was going to be their daughter, I was going to be a perfect daughter. So, at least I lucked out in that regard, but then it just became one more thing they silently lorded over me, one more thing I owed them, one more thing they could resent me for if I ever didn’t hold up to par. I mean, fucked up, right?”
“Right,” Fabian says, quietly.
“And then there–” Adaine can tell where the alcohol has loosened her tongue, but here her throat catches. She clears her throat. “And then there was Aelwyn.”
Her scry into Aelwyn’s thoughts is still fresh and raw in her mind. Memories upon memories, a shared childhood doubling back as the mirror turns to face itself. So many backhanded compliments and pseudo-loving taunts in a house never meant to make things grow, stripped bare for what they were. So many memories of:
Aelwyn throws a skirt onto her bed. Not a fan of how this looks anymore, keep it if you want or I can throw it in the trash.
A pair of silver earrings appear on her bedside table. Hoops are so last year’s thing, but I know you never bother yourself with being fashionable anyways.
An expensive pair of kitten heels get quickly passed to her in the hallway. Dances are no small thing, sister dearest, and we wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself now would we?
A dress Adaine could have sworn Aelwyn brought home just last week, hanging up in her closet. Ugh, I lost the receipt to this ages ago, and my closet has no room for unwearable fluff.
So many lipsticks, tights, hair clips, nail polishes, bits and bobbles of material femininity filtering into her room and drawers by Aelwyn’s seemingly uncaring hand. Adaine never saying thank you. Alewyn never saying you’re welcome.
“She was a bitch growing up, make no mistake, but there were moments where having her around made things a little more bearable.” Somewhere between recollection and rambling, her heavy head leans down onto Fabian’s shoulder.
“You know?” she slurs. I know, she thinks hard into his shoulder. I know what it’s like, She thinks so, so hard, Navigating your way through a family built on public opinion. I know how it feels to juggle your sense of self while figuring out where it has to go inside the bigger puzzle.
“I… sure.”
Oh boy, the warmth of the rooftop is really starting to make her eyelids droop, and she can feel herself halfway slipping into a trance already. Time’s running out. “And the girls know about it, too. Not the um, Aelwyn stuff, that I’m still kind of working out. But like, it really wasn’t a big thing. Kristen’s a blabbermouth but she’ll keep things low key if you really hold her to it. You know… just so you know.”
She trails off at the end there. The pleasant heat from the roof and the towel and Fabian make her muscles go lax, and she is defenseless against the trance that finally takes her.
---
So, Adaine knows. Adaine doesn’t just know but she… knows.
He can’t say that he’s stoked about being ambushed like that. His muscles are still tense and he wishes she had taken a second to dry off her hair before coming to find him, but at least with her trancing he can have a second to mull things over.
Lots of things rattle about in his skull, and while he’s not entirely sure how to feel about it all, he is surprised to find himself not quite minding so much that she knows, now that she knows. Maybe it’s the solidarity or maybe it’s because the seal has been broken, but a knot inside his chest loosens just the tiniest bit as what he hopes is just pool water drips down his shoulder.
And maybe it’s just because they’re in the same (van)boat, but when a couple of their stumbling friends come outside to collect them, as he briefly imagines what it would be like for them to know, he finds that he doesn’t mind that so much either.
---
Fabian and Aelwyn end it almost as soon as it started, their relationship lasting a fraction of the time it took to rescue Aelwyn in the first place.
“I wouldn’t take it too personally,” Adaine says between huffs and puffs.
They’re in the backyard of Mordred Manor with wooden swords in their hands, Fabian taking it upon himself to at least train Adaine in the basics since she’s got the fancy sword part but none of the expertise to actually wield it. Normally they might be doing this in the actual training ground on the Seacaster estate, but Fabian is worried his mother might take offense at not coming to her first and he truly does not know if Adaine would be able to survive her training regiment.
“After all,” she grunts as she clumsily deflects an easy swing to her side, “Growing up with me in the house didn’t exactly leave Aelwyn a lot of leeway to explore.”
“Explore?” Fabian feigns another easy swing to her other side.
“You know, like– Fuck!” Adaine tries to parry but ends up with Fabian’s stick rapping her knuckles. She shakes out her hand with a wince. “You know. Stuff like her and Sam.”
“Watch your posture. And what about Sam? Sam Nightingale?”
“Yes, Sam Nightingale. Fabian, come on.” Parry.
“I’m seriously lost here, Adaine.” Swing.
“Fabian.” Parry. Adaine gives Fabian a look.
“...” Swing.
“...” Parry.
“... Wait.” Swing.
“Yeah.” Parry.
“Oh.” Swing.
“Yeah.” Even though they are working on defense, Adaine apparently takes the opportunity to lunge for Fabian instead. His stick comes up instinctively to parry, but one moment the sword is going for his shoulder and the next it’s making contact with his ribs.
“Ow! You absolutely used a portent on that one!”
“I’ll take a win where I can get it,” Adaine grins.
Fabian does, eventually, clue the bad kids in. He does it piece-meal, a comment here, an insinuation there, things that he can drop in and shrug off like it’s some unimportant thing. He doesn’t think he comes across as nonchalant as he’d like, but luckily the rest of the group seem to pick up on just how little of a deal he tries to make it. Even Kristen doesn’t push it when Fabian says he doesn’t want to get too involved with the GSA at school, doesn’t want that sort of visibility just yet.
He thinks maybe he’ll be more vocal about it in the future. Maybe. But not now.
Just when Fabian thinks he has all that settled, however, the sexuality crisis takes him by surprise.
It doesn’t happen when he’d think it would, after the breakup with Aelwyn, or even after some random dwarf shotguns him some weird smoke at a house party.
It happens after a long day of school then practice then training then sidequest. Fabian is fresh out of the shower, laying in bed, and has no intention of leaving any time soon. It’s dark enough outside that he could probably just go to sleep for the night if he wanted to, but he’s still just awake enough that he can’t help his mind from wandering behind his closed eyes. He isn’t even thinking about anything in particular, floating from thought to thought.
His mother is trying to bake tonight, so there’ll probably be no eggs left for breakfast tomorrow.
He did good in practice today. The team did good.
Ragh’s rainbow pin on his jacket.
“It’s not as fun when they just say it.”
When was the last time he used the pool? Should he host a pool party?
“My darling boy.”
Kei Lumennura with its flowing hair and flowing dancing.
“You know, those ‘Am I Gay’ quizzes online,” Kristen laughs at lunch.
Aelwyn and Sam Nightingale.
“–Women all over the world!” Bill Seacaster boasts.
Gorgug kissing Ragh at prom.
He thinks they still have some bagels in the fridge.
Ragh kissing that elf in Kei Lumennura.
Leviathan.
Fabian kissing–
Fabian’s eyes shoot open.
He feels the lightning strike of epiphany, but without knowing what revelation is being had, something oil-slick making elusive figure eights up and down his stomach. Or at least he doesn’t think. Doesn’t think he knows. He, umm. Hmm.
He opens his crystal. Stares at the search bar, blankly.
Types. Deletes. Types again. Exits out of the page.
He turns off his crystal. Stares at the ceiling.
Opens his crystal. Types. Searches. Vows to never tell Kristen he did this.
Takes the quiz. Takes the quiz, again, with slightly more honest answers.
Turns off his crystal.
Stares at his ceiling fan.
Opens his crystal and texts Gorgug, a neutral party.
Fabian: i dont think im straight.
A couple seconds pass.
Gorgug: That’s cool.
Ok, Fabian thinks.
Ok.
---
Fabian Aramais Seacaster changes.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster grows.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster manages to survive semester after semester, completely changes his fighting style from buccaneer to dancer, revisits Kei Lumennura, kisses his first boy in Leviathan, and saves the world with his friends a couple more times.
Fabian Aramais Seacaster begins to keep pace with his mother at sword fighting, begins to leave behind the name of his father, and is still deciding what kind of man he wants to be.
---
Senior year both happens and doesn’t. It doesn’t feel real once it starts, and yet is gone far too fast for comfort. Graduation is a pretty standard affair: everyone trying and failing to be on their best behavior, Riz subtly bumping into people to check for concealed weapons, Kristen attempting to hijack the podium for a speech, and Fig getting into a contest with some rando over cap decorations. Said contest results in hers being a good several feet taller than everyone else’s. At one point a hoard of abominations does descend upon the ceremony, but they are so thoroughly dispatched the only conversations afterwards are theories about who cast which mage hand tripping who on the stage.
It’s only natural the celebration continued into Seacaster Manor after the ceremony wrapped up, because, duh. Fabian had been the first to suggest they do the graduation party at his place: it’s roomy, it’s huge, and it’s used to being subjugated to furious shindigs and powerful swarrays. He also suspects Sandra Lynn and Jawbone are relieved not to have to host at Mordred Manor, already a house full to the brim.
While originally the Bad Kids were angling for something a little smaller, once word got around that there was going to be an afterparty at Seacaster Manor, Fabian made sure to stock up for the student masses. And the masses there came.
Fabian is a good host. Fabian is the best host. However, if Fabian doesn’t find a single spot he can be alone in his own house soon, he might just start breaking out the recently retired household canons.
It takes Fabian three tries before he manages to find a balcony that doesn’t have some emotionally fraught conversation happening on it–exactly the sort of thing he’s avoiding. There has been an ambient, bittersweet feeling hanging in the air, one that none of the Bad Kids have been willing to address yet. It’s the feeling that comes up when Adaine and Fig talk about college, and when Riz mentions his business, and when Gorgug and Kristen nonchalantly shrug, and when Fabian talks about his future adventuring. There’s still summer, but only so much of it before they come up on a crossroads. It’s a pot boiling in the background of everyone’s minds, an unsaid tension behind every conversation, but there’s this unsaid contract they all signed through meaningful glances and forced smiles. For now, they are at a party. For now, they are still a party. For now, they are celebrating the fuck out of graduating Aguefort alive, drinking, dancing, laughing, discovering new classmates they never knew they had for years.
Fabian is happy to play along with that. He’s come a long way from his freshman self, but he’ll never say no to pushing down fraught emotion for another day. But seeing his friends together doing just that, what they set out to do, laughing and celebrating and having a good time with a brave face, he can’t help the squeeze of his heart. In a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he catches Fig ducking her head into Ayda’s shoulder to wipe away a loose tear, and he knows he needs to take a breather.
Maybe it’s a good thing Seacaster Manor has an overabundance of balconies overlooking the vast suburban landscape. It gives a chance for others to have some good balcony catharsis, while still leaving one or two empty for him to catch some air. For a moment he thinks he won’t be able to hold it back, the tightening of his throat and the soreness at the corners of his eyes, but the then faint thumping of the music inside resonates inside his chest, calming his breathing as he leans on his elbows over the railing. He refuses to be the first one to break down. So long as he outlasts Kristen he can avoid being the first one to break the uneasy truce. So long as he isn’t the first, that’ll be enough.
Because godsdamnit, he can already feel the phantom emptiness they are going to leave in his heart, the unoccupied space carved out for them that hope against hope they would continue to fill with years of adventuring to come.
But apparently Fabian isn’t immune to balcony one-on-one syndrome either, because the muted music behind him crystalizes as the door opens.
“You doing alright out here, dude?”
The corners of Fabian’s mouth turn up at the deep rumble of Ragh’s voice, and he makes sure to relax his posture as he turns around. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just taking a moment away from the rabble. Sipping my, uh, punch in peace.” If Ragh notices the slight strain in his voice, he thankfully doesn’t say anything.
“Alrighty dude, well,” he shuffles his feet, “Just wanted to check in. If you want some breathing room I can head back inside.”
Fabian almost agrees, before gesturing to the space on the railing next to him. “Nah. Mi casa es su casa, at least for tonight.”
Ragh walks over, drinking from his own can of soda as they watch some people trying to play land rooster below. Someone breaks an arm, and about five separate healers rush over.
“I know you’re probably sick of hearing this already, but I just want to congratulate you again on graduating and all that. Still a little bummed I couldn’t return the favor you and the other Bad Kids did for me sophomore year, but it looks like you guys got by well enough on your own.”
Fabian laughs. “Dude, we all died like, at least twice.”
“But did you die?”
“Kristen died seven times.”
“But did you die? ”
“Nooooooo,” Fabian concedes.
“Exactly!” Ragh throws up his arms in victory. “You didn’t die, and going to a school that tries to kill you every other week that is a godsdamn victory.”
“Well when you frame it like that.”
“And trust me, if you can survive Aguefort you can survive anything. Nothing I’ve seen in my years since has been nearly as harrowing as what this school puts you through.”
“Well that’s… reassuring.” Fabian rubs the back of his neck, the same nervous dread from earlier returning. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t really know where I’m going to go from here. If you’ve got any references feel free to send them my way ‘cause, I mean I’ve got my dad’s network but you know how that all is.”
“Sure thing dude, I can totally get that going. To be honest I’d probably offer if you wanted to join my adventuring party, if I had one. I’ve mostly just gone wherever I’m needed most since graduation. With Tracker, then back home, then back to Fallinell for a stint. But I can definitely say I’ve made a lot of acquaintances, so if you need some new network connections I’m your guy.”
“Cool… cool thanks.” Fabian thumbs the rim of his cup, takes a sip. I’ve mostly just gone wherever I’m needed. Ragh said it like such a throwaway line, but it loops in Fabian’s head. Wherever I’m needed. Wherever I’m needed.
“I–” Fabian feels the back of his neck heat up, willing himself back into nonchalance, “I have a fund my dad set up way back, for eventually commissioning my own ship one day. I wasn’t really intending on using it for a while there, but money is money and I've been thinking about doing some kind of extended stay in Leviathan sometime soon.”
Ragh looks at Fabian. Fabian swallows.
“Which, you know, Leviathan didn’t exactly leave a great impression the first time around, but visits after that haven’t been so bad. It’s still a fucked up and dangerous place though, if you maybe, I don’t know, I know you’ve been doing your own moving around thing, but if you’re still in the bodyguard business I could,” he raps his knuckles on the railing, “I could use some extra eyes watching my back.”
Ragh looks at Fabian with a wide-eyed expression.
“And I mean, of course it can just be like what you did for Tracker you know, you can try it and if it isn’t for you there’s no pressure to keep on–” Fabian immediately begins to backtrack.
“Are you kidding me man?” Ragh interjects, a crooked grin beginning to form on his face, “That would be fucking awesome. Yes. Hell yes! It would be so fucking rad to go off adventuring with you again, spring break part two: bigger, badder, meaner, better!” Ragh wraps an arm around Fabian and brings him in roughly, the cold soda can in his hand pressing up against Fabian’s face in sharp contrast to his rapidly warming cheeks. His gut instinct is to pull away, but he fights it, wrapping his own arm around Ragh and shaking them back and forth.
“Hell yes, Ragh! Hell yes!”
“Hell yeah!”
“If you want to back out later don’t feel pressured by agreeing to something at a graduation party, though.”
“No way man,” Ragh grins ecstatically, something inside Fabian’s stomach does a funny little flip, “I’m with you all the way, Captain.”
Maybe it’s because they’re so close, looking directly into each other’s faces, but something in the air shifts. Ragh loosens his tight shoulder hug on Fabian, giving him a hearty pat on the back before moving a couple inches away. Fabian can feel the phantom heat all up the side of his body, the hair on his arms standing on end. Fabian watches as Ragh’s cheeks tint a cool teal. He doesn’t look away when Ragh does.
Fabian usually isn’t shy about letting people know what he wants. The problem is him figuring out what it is he really wants.
And the thing is, he’s not blind. He hasn’t forgotten the way Ragh reacted when he and Gorgug first invited him to their spring break quest. He didn’t miss the way Ragh seemed to open up more after that trip, really coming into himself. He hasn’t missed the way Ragh looks sweaty after practice, or wielding his greataxe, or stretching it out after sleeping on the hard floor of the Hangvan. He hasn’t missed how Ragh always seems to be the first one looking out for if someone is upset, and the first one there to help out. He hasn’t missed the looks Ragh shoots him when he thinks he’s not looking, or how Ragh asked for some battlesheet lessons even though he didn’t really seem that intent on learning.
Fabian knows he’s a pretty good looking dude. And if he hasn’t done anything to deter that attention, looks to see if Ragh caught a particularly flashy move, said yes a little too quickly to battlesheet lessons–Well.
When Fabian knows what he wants, he isn’t shy about it. And what Fabian does know, right now, is that he wants to kiss Ragh Barkrock.
“Actually, before you say yes to the Leviathan offer for real, I should probably get this out there.” He pretends to take a sip from his cup to hide his face, even though there are only a couple drops of punch left. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”
He doesn’t mean to catch Ragh right in the middle of taking a sip from his own can. Ragh sputters and coughs, covering his mouth the back of his hand. “Sorry about that, I, uh, I don’t know if I caught that,” he laughs an uncertain, thinly veiled laugh, looking at Fabian out of the corner of his eye.
“You. Me. Basrar’s. Tomorrow, or the day after that if you aren’t busy.” Fabian refuses to look away, telling himself he’s faced down much scarier things even if the pounding of his heart begs to disagree. He can already feel his mind racing for ways to backtrack, to laugh it off as a joke, but this is Ragh. This is important. No backtracking allowed.
Ragh doesn’t say anything right away, opening and closing his mouth before closing it in a long pause. His face is carefully stoic as his eyes seem to inspect Fabian for some unknown thing.
“Don’t… get me wrong, or take this the wrong way, Fabian, but I don’t think I can be your gay experiment,” Ragh eventually says with a slight wince, as if each word physically pains him.
What.
“What?”
“Because I’ve been that for people, Fabian, I’ve done that and it sucks.” Ragh runs his hands up and through his hair, and even though he’s grinning like it’s some private joke he suddenly looks exhausted.
“Wait, no–”
“–And I like you man, I mean I think that’s pretty obvious, that’s exactly the point. I like you too much to, to– I don’t think I could survive being that for you, I really don’t.”
This is not how he was expecting this to go.
“It isn’t like that, Ragh, I swear. You wouldn’t– I wouldn’t ask that of you. I know you’ve been gone a while but I’ve gotten all that way out of my system.”
Ragh blinks. Gods, and Fabian started out so smooth.
“I mean, I wasn’t lying about my other trips to Leviathan not being so bad. They’ve certainly been, well they’ve been enlightening let’s just say. In a way, um. So just, the point is this isn’t me just fucking around with you or anything. This is me thinking you’re cool and handsome and just saying if you wanted we could go. To Basrar’s. Together. If you were into that.” He finished lamely.
There’s a moment of silence again as Ragh let’s this information sink in, and this time Fabian does look away. He thinks he might start taking fire damage from his own face if he doesn’t.
“... Yeah. Yeah um, I could go for some Basrar’s. I could be into that.” When Fabian looks back, there’s the beginning of a bashful grin on Ragh’s face, and when they make eye contact it only grows.
“I hear that he makes a mean donut.” Fabian raises an eyebrow.
“Woooooow,” Ragh groans, side bumping Fabian with his shoulder. Except this time instead of moving away, when their shoulders touch they leave them there.
At least, at first.
There’s a loud scream and a splash, followed by a loud chorus of subsequent splashes. Looking down below, it looks like it has hit that time of night where people have begun acting far more gone than they actually are, and have decided jumping in the pool is a fair trade off for wet clothes. Fabian rolls his eyes, but also can’t help himself from shrugging off his letterman.
“Hold this, will you? My crystal’s in the pocket.” Fabian hands his jacket off to Ragh, whose confusion quickly turns to delight as Fabian hoists himself up onto the balcony railing.
He stands there for a moment, waiting for when a few people begin to notice him, pointing and getting out their crystals to record.
“Hoot!” He yells.
“Growl!” Ragh yells behind him.
“Hoot!” He yells again, halfway through his voice comes out booming. The fiery feeling in his throat tells him Fig is boosting him with some thaumaturgy in the crowd.
“Growl!” A larger portion of the crowd below responds, a majority of them now looking up.
“Hoot!” Adrenaline builds in his veins.
“Growl!” Booms back from below.
“Students and graduates of Aguefort, look out below!”
Fabian holds his breath, and jumps.