Work Text:
I’m coming over.
The text from Makkari flashes on Druig’s screen, persistent and bright. He sighs. And then immediately feels bad about it.
It’s seven o’clock, it has been dark since four o’clock, and Makkari must have only stopped by her apartment to change out of her work clothes. Which means she will arrive at approximately Right Now o’clock.
Druig hears two determined bangs on his front door but doesn’t bother to rise from the couch; he knows it's Makkari kicking the door to announce her presence before she lets herself in.
He hears the sh-click! of her key in the lock, and before he can even finish his internal monologue about how he needs to change said lock so he can be miserable in peace, Makkari is standing over him with her arms crossed. She, predictably, does not look impressed.
You didn’t answer my text, she signs, frowning.
You sent it, he pauses his signing and makes a big production of checking the time on his phone, because he’s an asshole, thirty seconds before you broke into my apartment.
Smartass, Makkari signs. She reaches down and flicks him between the eyes, he presumes, for good measure. Druig smiles, but otherwise doesn’t move from where he’s sprawled on the couch. The text I sent this morning, Makkari continues.
And it’s true, he had ignored her text this morning. And the one she sent on her lunch break. And the one she sent definitely not on her lunch break. And the one she sent right before she left work. And the one she sent thirty seconds before breaking into his apartment.
It wasn’t exactly breaking in if he had given her the key. But the details weren’t important.
What was important was that he did ignore the text(s) in question, and he almost never ignores texts from Makkari, so her reaction was pretty much entirely justified.
(Not that she needed to know that.)
He brings a hand up to his chest, signing a quick sorry. Makkari scrunches her nose up, seemingly thinking her next words over.
Have you been on the couch doing nothing all day? she finally asks. Druig shakes his head.
Not nothing. He points to the TV behind Makkari, where The Twilight Zone has been playing for the past six hours or so. She glances over her shoulder when he points, and when she turns back to him she’s shaking her head fondly. He grins at her, it’s hard not to, when she’s standing in his living room all huffy in her bright red wool coat and her black beanie, and it isn’t until just then that it hits him: she stopped at her apartment down the hall after work, but she’s dressed to go out. He’s sitting up, shaking his head, when she starts signing again.
Get your coat.
Druig wants to shake his head no again. He wants to tell Makkari to leave him alone to watch The Twilight Zone and rot, just lie there on the couch until he feels completely and thoroughly like he’s wasted the day. And then he can stay up far too late, wish he hadn’t, and do it all again the next day. He wants to tell her that the reason he ignored her texts wasn’t because he didn’t want to see her, but because he was tired of texting her every single day practically begging for attention because his apartment was too quiet and it felt like his ribs were cracking and his lungs were filling with water. He wants to tell her he’s sick of putting her in a position where she has to worry about him in the first place, all because he can’t get his shit together and he gets sad when the sun goes down. He wants to tell her all of that.
Makkari is patient in waiting for a response, but not in waiting for him to get his coat. She had grabbed it from the front closet while he was brooding, and was holding it out to him pointedly.
Druig wants to tell her all of that, but, more than that, he wants to go wherever she’s going. He takes his coat. Makkari smiles.
Druig stands, sliding into the coat that holds a slight chill from sitting neglected in his closet.
Where exactly are we going on a Tuesday night? he signs warily.
Makkari’s smile brightens even further.
The bookstore is open for another hour, she signs.
It might as well be the dead of night for how dark it is outside the wide front windows of Halfway Down, but the inside of the bookstore is lit by a far more inviting and warm yellow glow.
Druig trails his finger across the spines of a few books as he slowly makes his way down an aisle, watching as Makkari flips swiftly through the pages of a hefty hardback, feet rooted to the floor.
Makkari has been on the go from the moment Druig met her, except for when she’s reading. It’s the only time he’s seen her find a kind of stillness, but even then, she reads at the speed of light and flips the pages like it’s an Olympic sport. The sound of the pages loudly turning floats through the near empty bookshop, and he smiles as he slides into place next to her, laying a hand on her elbow so he doesn’t startle her while she’s so focused.
The flip flip flip continues for another few moments, before Makkari looks up at him and notices he’s definitely trying not to laugh. She doesn’t have to sign, the smile and tilt of her head ask Druig what’s funny?
The pages are loud, he explains, because you turn them so fast.
She grins and throws her free hand up in a what are you gonna do gesture that’s so stupid it has him losing his battle not to laugh, and he has to lean his forehead against hers for the briefest of moments as he’s filled with a rush of affection that immediately takes up arms against that swirling, everpresent numbness that threatens to swallow him alive this time of year.
He doesn’t want to think about it right now.
What are you reading? he asks before stepping behind her and trying to get a look at the book, which is definitely not an excuse to hook his chin over her shoulder and reach his arms around her to pretend he’s going to snatch it from her. Makkari steps on his foot and swats at his hands with the book, before relenting and turning it over in her hands to show him the cover. It’s a book of fairytales, which is not at all surprising. Gold filigree frames the pink battered edges of the cover. Druig smiles.
Makkari has always had a gift for finding the most interesting things in the most interesting places, which is what had led the two of them to this bookstore in the first place, years back. Halfway Down was never short on curious finds, and Makkari looked right at home among the stacks of used books that crowded the shelves and crawled slowly from the floor in perilous little towers.
Druig steps away, leaving Makkari to her fairytales for a while, and continues his slow tour down the aisle.
It’s moments like this, in a warm bookstore with his favorite person, that make the hollow feeling recede in his chest for a little while. It nags at him, still, lurking in the corner of his mind like any moment the floor is going to fall out from under him. When that happens, he glances back at Makkari, lost in her stories, and he immediately breathes a little easier.
Druig finds himself in front of a shelf of mismatched picture books, some looking new, many not. His hand lands on a copy of The Velveteen Rabbit and he pulls it from the shelf carefully as he listens to Makkari leaf through heavy pages somewhere behind him. He’s not sure how long he stands there turning through the pages - thinking about how sometimes he feels like he’s in the same boat as this stupid toy rabbit, like he’s not even real - but he becomes distantly aware that he can’t hear rustling paper anymore right when he feels a hand on his shoulder and jumps about a mile in the air.
Makkari has her lips pressed together in a tight line, trying not to laugh, when he turns around.
Druig flips her off, but can’t help but feel like he’s still in the same boat as the stupid rabbit, but maybe this time because he feels a little more real when Makkari laughs at him.
The two of them wander around the cozy haze of Halfway Down right until closing, only because they know the owner won’t mind. Druig is fairly certain that at this point, Brian is immune to the two of them spending hours at a time in his store.
When they finally make their way up to the counter, there is an immediate and vigorous scuffle over the stack of books Makkari has acquired.
Brian doesn’t look up from the copy of Watchmen he’s flipping through as they engage in a serious tug-of-war with the pink fairytale book. Immune.
I’m buying these for you, Druig signs once he’s successfully snatched the books away from Makkari and slid them out of her reach. She immediately starts shaking her head, trying to reach around him to where he’s pushed the books onto the counter behind him. Druig smiles as he leans over to block her way. Of his favorite pastimes, annoying the hell out of Makkari by insisting on buying her anything and everything she looks at for more than two seconds is high on the list.
Makkari looks at Brian and waves, and when he looks up, she signs with a frustrated smile on her face.
“Tell him I’m buying my own books for once,” Druig relates to Brian, who smiles. “She won’t be buying her own books for once,” Druig adds helpfully, reaching into his pocket for his wallet as Makkari (mostly) lightly kicks his shin.
Why is your only personality trait being difficult? she signs, narrowing her eyes.
You made me leave the couch today, I get to buy you things, Druig signs, shrugging. Before Makkari can retaliate, he adds, It makes me feel better. And then, since he’s not sure exactly how to articulate this next part, he gestures as if he’s filling a hole in his heart, potentially exaggerating the Big Sad Eyes by 80%, give or take. He can see the moment Makkari gives in, and she doesn’t have to say anything for him to know that she’s thinking about how he’s playing dirty.
Druig smiles as he hands Brian his credit card.
(And he wasn’t lying, anyway. For a few minutes, while Makkari is smiling as Brian hands her a canvas tote embellished with flowers, full of books, it does make him feel better.)
The thing is, Druig didn’t always hate winter.
It was fine when he was a kid, like most things are.
(He always did run warm, though. Maybe it was a sign.)
It wasn’t until Druig got older that winter started to bring with it a storm of no thank you, an unnerving sea of thoughts relegated to the We’ll Deal With This Later box in his brain that he’s never found the right courage to open.
Or, if he’s being less dramatic: the older he got, the more unhappy he became in December.
Some days, he feels like a ghost. Just drifting through the motions, the sword of Damocles dangling over his head, not a damn thing to be done about it but watch himself wreck his own life for a few weeks.
Makkari gets it, though.
And it’s selfish, he knows, but he loves her more than anything for it.
(He knows, god, he knows, but he also knows that it’s not the only reason he loves her more than anything, and he hopes that's enough.)
For Makkari, it seemed it was out of the question to let Druig agonize in his doom and gloom for more than a day at a time. She understood that even when the whole world thought it would be better to leave him alone, he just wanted someone to be alone with.
And he loves her for that.
(And it’s not just someone anyway, it’s her. For all he cares, the rest of the world can keep leaving him alone, so long as she doesn’t.)
The walk from the bookstore to the park isn’t a long one, but with the streets so dark and empty, it gives Druig that weird swoopy sensation in his stomach that feels like his body has decided to turn all systems to lonely even though Makkari is right next to him. She knows, though, because she always does, and she slips her hand into his as they stroll down the sidewalk. He gives an over exaggerated shiver.
Cold hands, he signs, not letting go of her as he brings his hands up, taking her hand along for the ride as he signs. Makkari rolls her eyes, but reaches into her pocket with her free hand to retrieve her gloves, another shock of red in the hazy dark as it starts to flurry. She lets go of Druig’s hand for exactly as long as it takes to put her gloves on, and then she’s back - red entwined with the black fingerless gloves she likes to tease him for - squeezing his hand.
The walk isn’t a long one, and the unbalanced rush of misplaced loneliness in his stomach is suddenly ten times easier to handle.
How are you feeling today? Makkari asks him as they start a slow pace around the pond.
And that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.
Druig shrugs.
Fine he signs.
Makkari nods, adjusting the bag of books on her shoulder.
Okay, she signs, looking agreeable. Would you like to try again? she asks after a moment.
Druig sighs.
He watches her face, the slight raise of her eyebrows, the way her mouth pinches slightly to the left. He watches her dangly earrings swing as they walk, sparkling suns that catch the glow of the streetlamps lining the park’s walking path. He thinks about how there’s never been a moment where he didn’t think she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
I don’t know, Makkari, Druig finally signs.
And what can he tell her, really? The thought of trying to put it into words makes his hands seize up. He flexes his fingers as Makkari watches him with a measured look.
It feels like everything inside me- he starts, but stops, because he doesn’t quite know how to say what he wants to say, sign or not. Falls apart, he fingerspells carefully.
Makkari nods, before bringing her hands up and showing him the sign. Fall apart. He thanks her, and tries again.
I feel like I fall apart, like the ground is going to fall apart.
Makkari stops walking, so Druig does too.
She reaches for him, presses on his shoulder firmly. He feels his face twist up in confusion as he watches her stomp on the stone path beneath her feet a few times. Then she shrugs.
You both feel pretty strong to me, Makkari signs.
And Druig has no idea what to say to that, can’t even think past what did I do to deserve you, but it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know what to say, because Makkari is already grabbing his hand and pulling him through the flurries of snow towards their favorite hot chocolate stand that always materializes in the park once winter hits.
Makkari doesn’t complain about him paying this time, just lets him buy them both hot chocolates, which is not surprising given her insatiable sweet tooth.
(I’m not crazy enough to say no to free hot chocolate, she had told him once, forever ago. God, he loves her.)
What she does do is scrunch up her nose as he stirs a candy cane Hot Chocolate Guy gave him into his drink.
Monster, she signs, before shaking her head and reaching for the cinnamon Hot Chocolate Guy is holding out for her, because apparently he and Makkari (mostly Makkari) leave lasting impressions wherever they go and Hot Chocolate Guy knows exactly how they both take their hot chocolate. It makes Druig feel a little guilty for not remembering his name, but no one needs to know. He watches as Makkari dumps a truly obscene amount of cinnamon into her drink.
Monster, he signs back with one hand, sipping his hot chocolate. She sticks her tongue out, before waving goodbye to Hot Chocolate Guy and taking Druig’s hand again, resuming their walk around the pond.
The water is just starting to freeze, thin sheets of ice coating the surface and collecting a thin layer of snow. He thinks back to what he said to Makkari before, about the ground beneath him falling apart, and has to remind himself he’s not skating out onto thin ice. He’s on solid ground, and Makkari has his hand.
It’s impossible to have a conversation like this, each with a drink in one hand and, well, another hand in the other. Druig doesn’t mind. He’s fairly certain Makkari doesn’t either, if the way she starts swinging their joined hands as they walk is anything to go by.
He finds himself actually relaxing for the first time in what feels like days, his shoulders falling from their semi-permanent tense spot by his ears, and his breathing coming easier. He sips his hot chocolate, tilting his head up to watch the snow come down. Makkari bumps her shoulder into his, and when he turns his head to look at her, she’s smiling brightly. Druig smiles back, raising his eyebrows, yes? She shakes her head and shrugs, which he knows means just saying hi. She squeezes his hand.
They make a full loop around the pond before Makkari tugs him over to a bench under a willow. He lets go of her hand to brush stray snowflakes off the seat before Makkari sits, and she rolls her eyes, but smiles and thanks him anyway. Once they’re both sat down, she turns to face him.
What helps? she asks. When it feels like the ground is falling apart?
You, Druig points without thinking. This, he signs, and then gestures all around them.
Makkari smiles, and it’s a soft one.
Good, she signs.
Druig wishes he understood, sometimes, why it’s so hard to remember how to be happy when he gets like this. Like he traces himself back, through every moment he can reach, looking for the place where it all goes wrong. He can never find it. It won’t last forever, he knows, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. It doesn’t mean he remembers how to be happy all at once.
But there’s one thing they’ll never take from him, and her hand is in his as they walk back home.
They go back to her apartment, because Makkari’s cats are needy, so she can never spend the night anywhere else.
The cats greet them at the door, meowing insistently, and Druig laughs as Makkari immediately drops her bag of books and lowers herself to the ground to pet her children.
After the poor, affection starved creatures are sated, Druig and Makkari are permitted to make their way further into the apartment and shed their snowy coats. Makkari disappears for a moment, reappearing in Star Wars pajama pants and a Beatles hoodie he’s almost positive she stole from him. She tosses him clothes to change into, which hit him directly in the face, and he’s definitely positive it was not an accident.
Once he’s changed (into Halloween pajama pants and what appears to be an oversized museum gift shop t-shirt, because Makkari’s wardrobe is nothing if not eclectic) and the cats get a few more pets, Druig and Makkari settle onto the couch. He watches as she pulls up The Twilight Zone on the TV, right where he had left off, the beauty of sharing all of their streaming services.
Makkari throws a blanket over their laps as the episode starts, and it’s almost hard for Druig to wrap his head around the fact that he was on his couch watching this just a few hours ago, feeling like he was spiraling into unforgiving numbness while Makkari worried about him from a few blocks away.
It’s definitely less lonely, this time.
You okay? she asks, looking at him with a gentle intensity he almost wants to turn away from.
I’m good, he signs. Makkari seems satisfied, nodding.
As she shifts the blanket around so she can lay her head on his lap, he finds he means it.
Druig is warm, through and through, like Makkari had been reaching inside of him all day and leaving behind bits of sunshine, piece by piece.
The quiet TV is a soothing hum in the background, and that accompanied by Makkari’s steady breathing, he knows he’ll fall asleep in no time at all.
Druig hears the cats shifting around at the other end of the couch, snuggling up to each other against the faintest chill they know exists outside the tiny, perfect world of Makkari’s apartment, and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
Maybe there are days in December that aren’t entirely horrible.
(But he’d never admit that.)