Work Text:
Yok studies his own reflection in the mirror. The shadows under his eyes have receded slightly, his bruises are barely visible, the scratches on his skin have healed.
Things are calm for now. They never truly are, not when you run with Black and Sean, but Tawii is behind bars, and they've focused their efforts on organising rallies and fundraising for now instead of breaking and entering stunts, so it's at the very least significantly less dangerous and potentially less life-threatening.
It gives all of them room to breathe, to live a little, heal their wounds and their bruises and find something resembling normalcy. Yok knows there's still a target on their backs. There will be another Tawii to fight one day. There are still people out there who have a desire for revenge against them for taking out the man who sponsored their illicit businesses.
But tonight, Yok has other things to worry about. Namely, dinner. Dinner with his mum and his boyfriend, more precisely, because she specifically asked to meet Dan properly and told Yok to stop sneaking around. Yok doesn't think he was sneaking around, necessarily. It was just that the loft allows them more privacy, and the walls of his and his mum's house are unfortunately very thin. And he and Dan have been having a lot of sex, because Yok didn't chase this guy for weeks just to hold his hand. It's nice to hold his hand, of course, because Dan has great hands, firm and large, with beautiful slender fingers, the hands of an artist with a tight grip contrasting it. But Yok prefers them somewhere on his body, where they can work their magic in other ways. They didn't have the opportunity for such frivolous matters before, after all, and they have to make up for lost time.
They've also been painting a lot together, working on Yok's final project, Dan's murals, and processing the scars they've both received during the past weeks since they met. It feels cathartic to let it all out on paper, to give a shape and a colour to his pain, his joy, and his fear. Painting was always Yok's outlet, a diary written in lines and curves instead of words, but it never felt more healing than it does now. And it feels good to share it with someone, someone who understands what it was like, someone who knows him, and who doesn't judge when he smears acrylics on a canvas in desperation, smudging them across the outlines he drew because his life felt like it couldn't be contained within the lines, either, for a long time.
And Yok has been teaching Dan how to paint portraits, modeling for him, showing him how to break down the light and shadow on a person's face, how to capture their essence. In turn, Dan showed him how to paint without considering the aesthetic, how to paint just to convey meaning. They've been learning from each other, with each other, growing together when Yok sometimes feared they wouldn't get the chance to do just this.
The studio is theirs now, their shared work place, their retreat. They've been spending most of their nights there, only going home to shower and change. It feels safe there, quiet and calm. As soon as he climbs over the small wall next to the entrance, Yok feels the weight falling off his shoulders, feels a sense of comfort, of home, even though they're technically there illegally. Both of their stuff is there now, strewn all over the scarce furniture, mingling, creating something new that is distinctly theirs. Seeing his clothes and his painting equipment mixed with Dan's, burrowing his paints, his brushes, and his jumpers, carries so much weight, yet it feels so light, so effortless. It feels like a new chapter that's writing itself.
Yok’s changing into a button-down shirt, striped in light blue, the fabric strangely stiff and unfamiliar against his skin. He doesn't really care that much about his clothes, and he knows Dan doesn't care either, that he likes Yok in his worn out tank tops and loose pants, and couldn't care less if he wore a proper shirt. But Yok saw his mum putting on her nice blouse earlier, and taking extra care when doing her hair, so he knows this is a special occasion for her and he wants to match her. They never have guests over, because their house is too small and too modest to show off to others. Yok knows she's ashamed of it sometimes, of the fact that this is all they can afford. Yok is proud of it, though, because he remembers how hard they both worked over the years to buy and keep it. It's not much, but it's theirs, and his mum always made sure to fill it with loving memories. Besides Dan's studio, it is the happiest place he knows.
He straightens his hair, pushes it out of his face a little, just because he knows his mum thinks he looks handsome when he wears it like this, and takes one final look into the tiny, cracked mirror in his room before going into their main living room to join his mother.
She's busy preparing dinner. Dented pots and pans are crammed together on their small stove, steaming and exuding a mouth-watering smell. Yok's mother was always a great cook, always preparing the most delicious, hearty meals, even with what little they had.
He watches her for a moment, looks at her draining rice and stirring a curry, deeply focused as she tastes her meal, smacking her lips before adding another pinch of salt. Her hair is curling on her forehead from the steam, and her cheeks are reddened from the heat emanating from the stove. Yok loves her more than anyone in the world. More than Dan, more than himself. The tattoo edged into the skin of his ribs is proof of it, and he strokes his fingers over it now, absentmindedly. She will always be his reason, his purpose.
Yok walks over to her, taps her on the shoulder to get her attention: "Mum," he signs, touching his thumb to his chin twice with an outstretched palm. "You don't have to make so much food. We're only three people."
Yok's mother shakes her head, and there's a small grin on her face, warm and gentle. "Let me. You never brought anyone home before," she signs, and gently pats Yok's cheek.
It's true. There was never anyone Yok was truly serious about. Maybe because he never had time to think about love when he thought so much about injustice. Maybe because he simply never met the right person. Before he dragged Dan out of a burning building, love, for him, only existed for a night, maybe a morning, shared and used up quickly, discharged through a physical act, before he and his partner would part ways again, once again lonely and adrift. It never lasted, never lingered, not like it does now, with Dan.
"Do you mind that he's a man?" Yok asks, and he knows she doesn't, but somehow, he needs reassurance, needs to hear she's not disappointed in him. He's her only child. Maybe she wanted grandchildren, and Yok isn't sure things will change enough for him to ever be allowed to give her that.
But she just shakes her head rapidly and wags her hand in a dismissive gesture. "As long as he makes you happy, I'm happy," she gestures, and squeezes his shoulder before straightening the collar of his shirt with the loving, attentive hands only a mother can provide. When she looks up, there's a question in her eyes: "Does he make you happy?" Yok understands without words, and he nods, holds her wrists and squeezes them once to signal that he's being genuine.
He's never known the happiness Dan gives him, and he's never experienced such a steadfast feeling of security and belonging with anyone else besides her before. He wants to say, "He took a bullet for me," but he doesn't, because she doesn't need to know, and she doesn't need to worry. There are other things he wants to say, too: "His mind fascinates me endlessly," and "He's as broken as me, but our ragged parts fit together and make me feel whole again," and "When he holds me, I forget that the world outside is cruel."
What he says with his hands instead is: "He treats me well, don't worry," and he smiles at her, so she knows he's being honest. It's the essence of it all, and all she needs to know. The responding smile on her face confirms it.
There's a knock on the door, and Yok whips his head around to look at their entrance, his mum doing the same a second later when she understands what he's staring at and why his eyes widened like that.
"I'll go get it," Yok signs, and takes a deep breath before answering the door. He doesn't even know why he's so nervous. Yok loves Dan, and he knows Dan loves him, and he's sure his mum will love Dan equally once she sees who he is. But he wants this to go well for her sake, and he knows how uncomfortable she gets sometimes when she's among hearing people and Yok has to translate for her. It's the reason she's so isolated, so lonely. She never wants to be a burden to anyone. But Yok never minded. He will always be there to be her window to a world that refuses to accommodate her. It's the least he can do in return for all that she's done for him.
When Yok opens the door, Dan is there, in a white shirt and slacks, clearly dressed up for the occasion, too. They look at each other for a moment, taking each other in, before they both huff out a little laugh because it's so obvious they made an effort when it really wasn't necessary. Dan looks good though, handsome and put together, like the kind of man you'd proudly present to your mum. Yok would be just as proud if Dan wore sweatpants and a t-shirt, though.
Yok looks over his shoulder quickly, making sure his mum is busying herself with the food, knowing she's deliberately giving them a moment of privacy when their small living area can barely afford it, before stepping closer to give Dan a sniff kiss.
"Looking good, officer," he murmurs when they separate, watching the shy smile break out on Dan's face as he steps over the threshold. There's a small bouquet of flowers in his hands, daisies and angel's breath wrapped in light green paper. Yok is sure his mum will love it. He can't remember the last time someone brought her flowers.
When she joins them in the narrow hallway, there's a curious expression on her face, open but appraising. Dan puts the flowers on a dresser next to the door, then turns towards her and wais deeply in greeting. Yok steps aside and turns towards his mum so she can see his hands. He's about to introduce him again, but Dan gives him a sideways glance that makes Yok pause. Dan takes a deep breath and his face looks serious and determined. And then he raises his hands.
He puts two fingers on his temple, pats his chest once with an open palm, taps his pointer and middle finger of his right hand to those on his left, then signs the letters D-A-N.
"Hello, my name is Dan."
Yok's eyes widen, and his heart starts thumping against his ribs, speeding up as he realises what's happening. He watches Dan move his hands in that familiar way, watches him furrow his brow to remember the gestures that are second nature to Yok, yet unknown to most. "I'm a police officer. And I'm your son's boyfriend." His movements are choppy, his gestures unrefined and a bit clumsy, but Yok still easily understands what he's saying. And his heart skips a beat, several beats, his stomach tingling with excitement.
Yok remembers the last time Dan was here, when he told her he was not Yok's friend but his brother, hinting at the fact that they were much closer than friends, even back then, when they barely knew each other. Before they even kissed. Now, though, he's putting a name to what they are.
They never really talked about it. They never asked each other to be boyfriends, it simply wasn't necessary. They understood it without having to say the words out loud. Still, there's warmth spreading through Yok's stomach when he sees Dan acknowledge their relationship in his mother's language, a language that has been just Yok and hers for so long, incomprehensible to most others. Yet here he is, sharing their language, naming his and Yok's relationship in a way she can understand, too, even if his signs are awkward and unpracticed.
"I care about him very much, and I promise to protect him," Dan finishes, and it's so clear he practiced these words, that he learned them by heart for the sole purpose of signing them to Yok's mother. And Yok is overcome with affection and a feeling of certainty, of knowing that he picked the right one. It fills him up, spreads through him, to every corner of him until he can feel it tingling in the tips of his fingers and toes.
Yok wants nothing more than to kiss him. It would be terribly inappropriate, so he doesn't, but it takes all his willpower not to go over and reply to Dan's signed words with his lips. Still, Yok can't stop looking at him like a fool, helplessly in love. It's exactly what he is.
"Welcome, Dan," Yok's mum signs back, with a gentle, satisfied smile on her face. Yok knows Dan has already won her over.
Her face lights up even more when Dan hands her the flowers, and Yok notices a faint blush spreading over her cheeks when Dan tells her she looks lovely, gesturing to her fuchsia blouse. It makes her look years younger, less weary and worn down. Yok rarely gets to see her like this anymore, but he thinks she looks beautiful wearing a genuine smile.
He keeps watching them for a moment, staying behind as his mum ushers Dan over to their small, rickety table, pouring him a drink and signing to him that she's very excited to finally meet him. There's a wave of warm, gentle affection lapping against his insides, comfort, and a feeling of belonging. These are his people, his family, his mother, and the man he loves. And they're coming together for the first time, but somehow, Yok already knows it won't be the last.
Yok can see Dan looking at his mother's hands intently and realises that his sign language skills aren't good enough yet to follow her excited, animated chatter. So he joins them to save Dan from feeling too awkward, squeezing Dan's shoulder as he walks past, needing to touch him and show him how much he appreciates his efforts. He sits closer to Dan than necessary, but he feels like he needs the proximity right now, like he couldn't bear to not be right by Dan's side. Dan takes Yok's hand in his under the table, squeezes it once, and Yok feels how sweaty Dan's palms are, and that his fingers are trembling faintly. And for the second time in only a few minutes, Yok wants nothing more than to kiss him, because he can feel Dan's nervousness where their hands are clasped together, and he realises just how important this is to him. How important Yok is to him.
"I will go get the food," Yok's mother signs, and gets up, going outside to where she stored some of the dishes she cooked earlier, leaving Dan and Yok alone at the dinner table.
As soon as she's left, Yok grabs Dan's neck to finally draw him into a kiss. It's not heated, just a long, lingering press of his lips against Dan's, Yok's shaking breath, and his fingers digging into Dan's skin.
"Thank you," Yok says, and the words aren't enough to convey his gratitude, to convey all that he's feeling right now, how much it means to him that Dan learned to use sign language to accommodate his mum. But he knows Dan will understand him. They've always worked without many words.
"I hope I didn't make any mistakes," Dan murmurs, then slots their lips back together, asking for reassurance and revealing the nerves and tension he must've felt since coming here.
"You did great," Yok murmurs, resting their foreheads together and stroking Dan's cheek with his thumb. "When did you even learn it? I never saw you practicing."
"At work," Dan says drily, and then he chuckles self-consciously, because his conscientious nature will likely never stop clashing with his more rebellious side. Yok finds himself endlessly charmed by it.
"Wasting tax money, I see," Yok teases, and huffs out a laugh when Dan's eyes widen. "I'm just teasing. I know you're a perfectly commendable Lieutenant. Apart from those times you vandalise public property," he continues, an impish grin gracing his lips.
Dan's face is serious, though. "I figured I might be able to use it there, too, if I ever have to deal with a deaf person on duty. They don't teach us this, but ever since I met your mum, I realised how much of an oversight that is."
Yok doesn't question out loud if it's an oversight or by design. He knows Dan still believes that the force can do good, that he can do good by staying. Yok admires his faith, but he doesn't believe in Dan's vision. But now is not the time to argue about this. They talk about it enough when they're alone together.
Instead, he says: "That's a nice thought," and he means it. Maybe if more policemen thought like Dan, it wouldn't be such a rotten institution.
"And I... I wanted to show her that I'll make an effort. I can't say much yet, but I want to be able to talk to her. She's your mum, and I know how much she means to you. I want to be able to ask her about you," Dan says in a rush, a faint blush spreading over his cheeks as he admits his intentions.
"I love you," Yok whispers in reply. The words come out shaky and breathless because he never said them out loud, even though he's sure Dan knows. There's no way he doesn't, no way he doesn't understand the depth of feelings Yok holds for him, how profoundly they are engraved in Yok's chest.
"I lo-" Dan begins, but his mother returns at this very moment, so they have to separate for now. Dan startles, but Yok doesn't bother hiding his affection from her, still stroking Dan's cheeks as she sits down at the table again. There's a knowing smile on her lips as she puts the plates down, then gestures for them to hand her their bowls so she can fill them up with steaming kaeng. It's Dan's favourite, and she made it specifically for him, telling him so, with Yok helping Dan decipher her gestures. The joy on Dan's face must show her how much he appreciates it. He signs "Thank you," to her, and she bows down a little to acknowledge his gratitude before handing them their food and telling them to dig in.
"It's delicious," Dan spells out with his hands, and Yok can't stop himself from capturing his right one and squeezing his fingers tightly for a moment. He's ridiculously in love with this guy, and he wants him, and his mum, and the whole world to know it.
Yok still has to translate for most of the night, but he sees how Dan tries to communicate his words to his mother, and he sees how her face lights up each time he gets a sentence right. They teach him some phrases as they're sitting together, laughing when Dan messes up a gesture and accidentally swears, but Yok falls even deeper in love with him with each attempt, with each messed-up hand movement. And his mother is laughing, her eyes crinkling around the corners, her mouth stretched wide with joy. It's the most important part of it all.
Later, they're lying side by side on Yok's thin, worn out mattress, facing each other. Dan's face is dipped in blue moonlight, his gaze wide and vulnerable in the way he only ever allows Yok to see. He captures Yok's hand in his, presses a kiss to his knuckles, then holds it close to his chest.
With his free hand, he tells Yok about his feelings: he holds his hand up, his pinky, pointer finger, and thumb stretched out. Yok recognises the sign immediately.
"I love you."
Yok hooks his own pinky with Dan's, holding onto him. They sealed one promise with a kiss. This one, unspoken and written between the lines, is sealed with just a simple touch of their hands. Yok doesn't need to say the words out loud again. They both understand without a sound.