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The crunch of sand and dirt under your crocs is one you've grown accustomed to during your long trek. You realize that walking what would be a two hour drive is never the smartest idea, but what can you say? Smart ideas aren't exactly your forté. Great ideas however? You're bursting with them.
Like visiting your kismesis while his lusus is burmating? One of the best ideas you've had in a while. Not only will he be less tense due to the general lack of giant jackass twisting his knickers, but he'll be stoked to see you. Probably. Most likely.
See, the only flaw in your meticulously fantastic plan is that you didn't exactly tell Phossy you were coming. But coming unannounced and slightly inconveniently is kind of your thing.
You whistle an ear-grating delightful tune you mixed recently while thinking about your next fail comp you plan on making. A shiver jolts through you. Damn, it's cold out… maybe you should've worn that jacket Dis lent you forever ago. Would've been a good chance to finally return it too. Too late for that, though, considering you're not that far from his place. You shrug it off- you're a coldblood, a violet- cold should be your middle name for how chill you are with the cold.
Up ahead, you notice the familiar glow of a torchlight, which probably means you gotta order him more batteries. You pick up the pace, careful not to tread too close to the river. You give it an uneasy glance before focusing on the glow in front of you. Even being close to the mud makes you wary, despite the fact that as far as you know, this is probably the last clean water source in all of Repiton.
A small primal pulse begs you to go into it. You squash it like a bug.
Finally, the silhouette of your beloathed comes into view with the torchlight. A large container as well as a smaller one sits beside him, the smaller of the two being dipped into the water before being brought to his mouth. Red flags as well as primal jealousy flare in your think pan. You freeze, swallowing the urge to shout at him because this water, unlike literally everywhere else on this hell-planet, this water isn't black tar and you didn't just witness your kismesis turn into an eldritch horror.
As if to confirm this, Dismas coughs and growls a soft, "Goddammit," after presumably spilling some on himself. You take this as your cue to reveal yourself to him and approach your dumbass lizard.
"Heya, Disbits!" you can't help but give him a giant, totally-not-flushed smile as you jog towards him.
He snaps to attention in an instant, pulling up his ratty bandanna. "Murrit?" Dismas sounds more confused than pissed. A good sign.
"The one and only," you practically trill at him. He scoffs, amused, before standing.
"Coulda warned me you were coming, jackass. It's cold as fuck out and my hive's a mess," he gives you an affectionate punch to arm.
"An' ruin the surprise? Hell naw, Edgelord!" He rolls his eyes at you, but it only serves to widen your grin. "Aw, don't look so down, sour pussy, we shoul' be celebratin'!! Skullbitch's out for a perigree or two right?"
He smothers a snort. "Yeah, doesn't mean a bit of courtesy would've been nice." You notice the way his cheek twitches upwards, concealed under burnt orange fabric. Dissy's just as pleased as you are, probably even moreso, since he lives with the damn thing.
You mess up his hair affectionately. "Since when do I announce anytin' I dew that involves yew, eh?"
He splashes you, sparking a quiet hiss and a panicked hop backwards, trying to wipe it off. Dismas laughs at your display, and to be frank, you would too if you were in his scuffed-up cowboy boots he refuses to admit he owns. You quickly cover up your hydrophobia with a quick scowl, "T'at shit's cold!!"
It's not exactly a lie; it is quite cold, and in combination with the air, you'd have to say it was pretty damn cold.
Unfortunately, he doesn't buy it.
"C'mon, this is perfectly safe drinking water! You of all people should know that, I'm pretty sure you have some 'quality videos' of me landing in this schmuck," he walks in to prove his point, taking a swig of what you recognize to be a thermos now.
Fuck. He's got a point. But, being a man of society and refusing to let pitch habits die, you fire back, "Well, excuuuuuuuse me, cowboy, for bein' a bit concerned since the likelihood of a place like t'is existin' is next ta none." Dismas laughs, almost bitterly but not quite.
"And what? Drink soda like the rest of the planet?" He starts refilling the thermos. "In case you haven't noticed yet, it's kind of hard to get anything out here without assistance, and no offense, but you're not exactly the most reliable deliverytroll. Besides, worst thing going on with this shit is that its a bit irridiated, but not enough to do any harm."
You purse your lips, thinking. "Now how do you know t'at?" It's a genuine question, born purely out of concern, but if there's one thing you suck at, it's portraying that genuine-ness. Or whatever the fuck the word is.
"Jentha and Albion both demanded to try some for themselves- Albion when she came over a while back, and Jentha had me send a package," he thought for a moment while he picked up his things. "I'm still not sure how it got to her so safely, but maybe I'm too cynical for my own good."
"Can say t'at again, Phossy," you pat him on the back when he stands. Dismas gestures with his head to follow him, which you do.
The back of your brain is still buzzing with concern about the safety of the water, swarming with worries about pollution further upstream, until you hear it.
A quiet roar at first, making your ear-fin twitch anxiously as it gets louder and louder until its a thunderous bellowing of rushing water. Your think pan realizes what it is before you see it: a naturally occuring waterfall, white and cola-foam tan, rushing down the open mouth of a cave high up on the wall of the canyon. It's gorgeous and free-flowing and incredibly fast, nothing like the mock ones made with the poisonous eldritch tar of the ocean that Calder has in his shitty golf course.
"Repiton to Murrit, you okay?" Dismas asks, snapping you out of your terror-induced awe. You realize you stopped some five to ten measuring units away from him.
“Yeah, m’fine,” you call back, sprinting to catch up. A waxy plant catches your interest out of the corner of your eye. “Why don’ you just drink the cactus juice? Ya got the daggers to declaw ‘em.”
A visible shudder goes through him. “Because it’ll make you high and being high all the time sucks. Diluted though, works as a pretty decent painkiller in a pinch,” he gives you the side-eye as you catch up to him. “Though, mountain dew works better and doesn’t leave you with a headache.”
You hum in response, gears turning slowly. You make a mental note to get him more medicine because that's definitely a hint you need to do that but… "Hey Phossy."
"What?" he growls softly, looking for the ladder up to the door.
"Is it a good high or a bad high?"
Dismas has his back to you, but you can tell he just rolled his eyes. "Of fucking course," he mutters under his breath, just barely loud enough for you to hear. "Depends," he says loudly over the waterfall as he finds a large stick. "Younger ones have stronger effects but the older ones last longer. Whether or not it's a 'good high' is completely dependent on how you're feeling when you drink the," he grunts with effort, finally releasing the rope ladder with the large stick he found, "fucking cactus juice," he pants- the ladder must've been pretty stuck- as he gestures to the way up. "Dumbasses before cowboys," he jokes, and now it's your turn to roll your eyes as you approach the ladder. "It makes you batshit loopy no matter what, but if say you're freaking the fuck out, it will make shit worse. If your moirail's around, then you're in for a decent time."
"Are ya tellin' me ya got high with Jentha before me? I can't believe ya woul' betray me so," you feign being hurt, the back of your palm against your forehead and draping yourself all over your beloved uh, beloathed, earning yourself an amused snort. He untangles himself from you and gently pushes you towards the ladder.
"Hurry up and get inside, it's cold and I broke my fetch modus again!" He grumbles, faintly blushing. "Besides, it happened on accident. It wasn't diluted enough." You can't help but snort as you start ascending.
Despite your visible goosebumps, you decide to tease him. "It's cold out 'ere? I hadn' even noticed," it's a bold faced lie, but sometimes you just can't help pissing him off.
Your cowboy rolls his eyes and stays suspiciously quiet. Once at the top, he directs you to walk until the path widens, and to enter the first cave.
You comply of course, it's his hive and he knows what to do and where to go, but you're still somewhat surprised how quickly it seems to go.
And then you see it.
At least ten feet tall, probably taller, the massive white bulk of scales and teeth is burrowed at the far end of the cave, its vicious snout still somewhat visible atop its claws, tail curled around its sleeping form. The skulltitan has grown a lot since your youth it seems, a fourth of the cave filled with its presence.
Dismas nudges you.
"C'mon, this way," he whispers at you, tearing your attention away from the horrid thing.
You try not to think about the mud caked like clayblood on its claws.
There's a rather wide tunnel that branches off from the main den, straight to Dismas's hive, you assume. It hits you that this is probably that fucking lizard's way in. If any of those tapes you sent Dis are anything to go by, the two perigrees of brumation aren't exactly guaranteed- more like a generalization of how long they last. A lingering feeling of dread in the back of your mind makes you keep closer to Dismas in pace; the farther from the scaley bastard, the better.
The entire walk is done in silence, either out of apprehension or caution, you don't know, but you take that moment to appreciate the fact your kismesis is still alive. Sometimes you forget how big and dangerous that thing is; how many scars that piece of shit has given Dismas, both physically and mentally.
Your eyes drift to him in the low light. You notice a slight limp, not enough to cause concern, but enough to remind you…
Sometimes you forget how many scars are from you too.
Eventually, a warm glow surfaced at the end of the tunnel. Once your eyes adjusted, you recognized the large black couch, ripped to shit, with the tan shag rug you bought for him some time ago, not far from the pile of junk you know all too well as his lusus's.
He sets the jugs down, and unceremoniously flops onto the couch, propping up his head and the leg he was limping on the arms of it. It's not until you start to approach him that Dismas remembers you're there. You faintly hear a "Shit," under his breathe as he starts to make room for you.
You pat his shoulder as you settle on the ground near his head.
"Get off the ground, I can make room."
You wave him off. "Nah, yer tired, I'm good on the floor for a bit," you shrug, giving him a half-smirk.
He rolls his eyes and tugs on your arm. "Get your dumbass up here, I have an idea," you note the bit of playfulness in his voice. Ah, what the hell. You stand up, awaiting instruction.
Dismas sits up and pats the cushion his head was just resting on; you sit there, qnd before you have time to process, he flops back down, head on your lap, his horn ghosting against your stomach. He pulls down his bandanna to smile at you smugly, so you lift your shutter shades (black, you couldn't find your bronze one and they match your black shirt with neon abstract flowers), to give him a teasingly quizzical look.
"Ain't this much better than the floor?" He teases.
You absolutely fuck with his hair, absolutely destroying any effort he might've put into it. "Yer a shit, ya know that?"
He laughs, interlocking his hand with your free one. Subconsciously, you start playing with his hair, rubbing small circles as you twist his hair around your finger. It's quiet at first, but as you continue to pet and fidget with his hair, a chittering purr arises from the back of his throat. It's an intoxicating sound, warm and sweet like auditorial chocolate to your ear-fins. You let your shades fall back over your eyes to hide the adoration in your expression. For once in his life, he looks completely at peace with you, and you can't help but feel your blood pusher swell.
"You're doing it," Dismas chuckles.
"Huh?" You're surprised either of you have the capacity to think right now, let alone speak. "Doin' what?"
He points at his ears. "Your fins are doing the happy-flaps," he teases.
You retaliate by pinching his nose, to which he chuckles. "Yeah yeah, real rich from the guy who's purrin'," you snort.
He swats away your hand playfully, pointedly purring louder, which unfortunately for you, makes your fins flap more. There's a moment of silence, both of you making a point not to say anything, until your eyes meet. Him, chittering away in your lap, and you, your black shutter shades and happy-fins, break down laughing. It's stupid, if not grubbish and lighthearted, and so very welcome.
At somepoint, Dismas sits up, leaning against your shoulder instead, his purr much more soft and quiet. "Man, I'm thirsty."
You smirk, trying not to giggle mischievously. "You always got cactus juice," you tease, earning yourself a half-hearted swat.
"Again with the cactus shit," he shakes his head, but you note that his bandana's still down, which means you can see the way his mouth twitches upward in an amused half-smirk. "You're really deadset on getting high tonight, aren't you?"
"I wasn't until you said it," you shift, tossing an arm around his shoulder, grinning horn to horn. He rolls his eyes and gets up, scurrying off into one of the doorways branching away from the den and you follow, mostly because being in there without him gives you the heeby jeebies. (Not that you'd ever admit it, of course.)
A few twists and turns later, you find yourself in his kitchen. It's not much, just a few essentials and a scuffed up table with a few chairs, but it's enough for Dismas to live with. He digs around in his little fridge to pull out two distinctively peeled cactus leaf-arm things, and cuts off the end for you. They're rather small, barely the width of your palm tall and fairly narrow, and smell- eugh, yeah okay, it doesn't smell like much but you don't like the smell. You glance at Dismas to see he's watching you, waiting to see how much to drink.
You move your shades to the top of your head so he knows you're looking right at him. "Well, cheers," you smirk, and down the whole thing like a shot.
The taste is stronger than the smell, but not much better. If something could taste glossy and sandy without being salty, you figure this would be it. You're grateful it doesn't coat your mouth as much as it does linger, but damn, it's watered down glue to swallow.
Dismas snorts. "Probably should've warned you about the taste."
You shrug, suddenly light-headed, and stumble back. Without a word, your partner in crime sits you down at the table while you wait for it to kick in.
After a few minutes, you break the silence. "So, is it supposed to make you lightheaded?"
"Your first few times, yeah. At somepoint you get used to it and the light-headedness subsides," he tells you, and you realize he's holding your hand. When did that get there?
Dismas gently rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, and oh wow, it's warm in here. Are you supposed to be warm? You look up at his face to ask him to find him staring at you, apprehension written all over his face. Wow, he cares about you, hehehe… Your heart-shaped spade twists in your chest as you notice how well his choppy waves frame his face- your bonded spade and flushcrush asks you something, but you don't understand what. That's when you realize your shades are still on your head, but for once, you don't mind.
You might even take a dunk in the waterfall.
The warm fog that seems to have taken your think pan blips like a scratch on a record, and though you can feel your anxiety creep up your spine, you don't care!
You don't care and it's so freeing.
"Hey Dismitz," you slur, "yoooooou're so nice," you lean forward and kiss his forehead, before standing up on somewhat wobbly legs. He stands with you.
A light bronze blush dusts his face. "Where the fuck are you going?"
"I don't know!" you downright giggle, feeling stupid and bubbly as you start walking in a random direction. "But it'd be more fun if you came with me," you hold out your hand towards him.
He looks pensively, but ultimately takes it.
You grin, and start running.
You run and run and run, all throughout his hive, Dismas in tow, holding your hand in a death grip but keeping speed. At somepoint, you just start laughing because you don't know why you're running, but then he starts laughing too, until you end up more or less outside, in front of the river again, but its much wider than before and the sound of rushing water is closer. The cave is filled with paintings on the wall you're too out of it to notice, and the entrance is obscure by a waterfall.
Despite its pleasant nature, you both grip the other's hand just a bit tighter. Some anxiety you can't quite name nips the back of your mind, but only one thing is gripping your mind right now, and that's the primal urge to swim.
So that’s what you do.
You release Dismas's hand, which makes him look at you curiously, so you keep eye contact with him as you back into the mouth of the river (or is it a lake? You wouldn't know) until you fall backwards and the water consumes you.
Your brain is shrieking at you to get the fuck out, your gill are overwhelmed with proper use for the first time in your life, the shock of the cold water making your anxiety scream, but there's a primal JOY at being in the water, a feeling of liberation in spite of the anxiety, like the roar of a waterfall obscuring a shout. When you resurface, you whoop LOUDLY, chuckling as he looks on apprehensively. Just when you're about to say something, Dismas he takes a running start into the water, colliding with you just so you're both dunked.
That anxiety writhes and screams at you, but the fog and the water on your gills make it easy to ignore. This is the first time your gills have ever felt truly clean, and even though it takes active thought to use them after sweeps of disuse, you can't help but feel like it's worth the screaming anxiety.
When Dismas pulls you both up, you're both laughing. You can't tell if it's tears or water streaming down your face, but you pick him up and spin him around and around and around. The edges of your vision start to feel fuzzy; the elation of the fog starts to feel thicker. You set him down, trading the momentum for a kiss, chaste but full of every flush thought you've ever had for him.
The anxiety grows louder, and so does the fog as a splash fight ensues. You glimpse a painting of four kids on the wall- orange, yellow, green, and purple-and go to ask him about it, but you find yourself underwater again
And that's when you blackout.
Several hours later, you wake up still soaking wet on the couch in Dismas's living room, (a space you're more familiar with) the man himself a warm mass, sprawled across your chest, snoozing peacefully. Your eyelids feel puffy and swollen. How did you two get here?
You try to think, but it hurts to think and your memory feels full of holes. You remember everything up to the painting in the cave; everything after is lost to the void of pain.
Sighing, you look at Dismas again, only to smile. He's just as soaked as you are, probably freezing to death, and yet he's still here, laying on your coldblooded chest. He wanted to be with you, be close to you, despite the icy consequences. It makes your heart flutter. You card your fingers through his hair and he stirs, squeezing your sides for a moment.
"How are you feeling?" He asks after a moment. Always so considerate.
"M'fine. Don' really remember nothin' ta be honest," you tell him, still playing with your hair. "You?"
Dismas props himself up a bit so he can see your face. "I'm alright. Headache?"
"Yep."
He studies your shades-less face, and you almost shrink under his gaze. "You cried a lot. Not because you were sad, but definitely hysterical," he notes, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. "Do you remember anything you said?"
You feel your anxiety creep up your spine. "What'd I say?" you try to make your voice teasing, but it doesn't really work.
His eyes linger on some part of your face a little longer before drifting back to your eyes. You take note of how his thin pupils look slightly bloated- like a cat's.
"A lot of things. Asked me about the paintings at the pool, told me about how weird water was and your hydrophobia," you fins fall and flatten a bit in shame, "but you kept asking me if I loved you in the most roundabout ways."
Shame burned a little hotter, your fins drooping a little further away from the heat of your violet cheeks. You go to say something, "I'm sorry" maybe, but it dies in your throat when he kisses your cheek, cool compared to his usual touch, but so so warm against your coldblooded face, before setting back into your chest. "I love you," you say, the words slipping out your lips like a confession.
Dismas gives you a little squeeze. "I love you too, dumbass," he says like an affirmation.
Who knows. Maybe it is.
A moment passes.
"You should come over more."
You look at him, surprised. "An' why's that?"
"Today was nice- fun even at parts, compared to most," is all he says. You look back up at the ceiling, even with the puffiness of your eyes and the holes in your memory, yet you can't help but agree with him. You thank the gods for the lack of the usual tension and hold him a little tighter.
"Maybe I should."