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Eighty years.
Enoch O’Connor had been pining for his best friend for eighty years.
That wasn’t necessarily true. He’d known him for eighty years. Horace Somnusson was one of the first people to try to talk to him when he first came to Cairnholm from a hell he didn’t want to remember, and they’d been best friends basically ever since. Enoch didn’t know how. They just sort of clicked. He didn’t remember when exactly he fell either, but he did know that this crush he had was definitely not new and that when he fell, he’d fallen hard.
And it was driving him crazy.
Turns out, when you want to avoid someone you live with, you have to go pretty out of your way to do that. Enoch wouldn’t have minded staying in his room for days on end, but Miss Peregrine wasn’t a particularly big fan of him doing that, and you can only hear “It’s alive!” and “Oh my god, we thought you ran off and got eaten by hollows!” when you come out of your room so many times before you start wanting to punch someone for even looking at you. (Jacob had discovered that recently.) Besides, Horace was one of the only people Enoch actually allowed in his room, so he would’ve just come in to check on him anyway and that would’ve ruined the whole point. He could’ve gone outside and snuck off into the forest or something, but the others would get worried about him, and even if he was alone, Fiona could’ve found him instantly, and then he’d have to explain to her why he was hiding out by himself, and he really didn’t want to talk to anyone about it. Any effort to avoid Horace would’ve been noticed by someone, and he’d had enough of changing his routine when the whole mess with Devil’s Acre and the wights had gone down a few years ago. Everything was just starting to cool down again, and he liked that, thank you.
So, he was stuck. He couldn’t just avoid Horace altogether, but he certainly couldn’t talk to him about any of it, so Enoch just dealt with it. He went about his day as usual, and Horace was there, and Enoch’s brain refused to shut off from that point onward. It was dumb and annoying and if you’d told him he’d be sitting by himself, thinking about Horace, and not being able to focus on anything else anytime he was around for eighty years, Enoch would’ve laughed in your face. But here he was. And god, was it getting on his nerves.
Walking around the dark, lonely house at midnight was not a great plan when you needed to get out of your own head. Enoch’s boots left loud, hard footsteps wherever he went, no matter how light he tried to step, so he opted to head outside to the beach, where he’d be less likely to wake people up and the ocean could drown out his thoughts. He’d get sand and rocks in his boots again, but in the moment, he just wanted to go shell-hunting and forget about everything else in his head. He walked down the path from the house to the beach, careful to make as little sound as he could leaving the house, and found a few rocks to kick along the way. When he got to the beach, he found a good-sized rock to sit on, and watched the crabs hunt in the dark while he let his brain unwind to the sound of the waves. It was a shame he didn’t get along with more tropical weather, he did enjoy a nice beach if he could be alone. If the water wasn’t so cold, especially without sunlight to warm it, he might have considered swimming. Millard would probably chastise him for how bad of an idea that was.
He'd almost fallen asleep twice when he heard rustling in the trees on the path back to the house. Enoch froze. He’d been down here many, many times, and that was most certainly not part of the loop. Meaning someone followed him.
“Who’s there?” he called behind him, jumping down from his rock to get a closer look.
More rustling.
“You can’t fool me, I’ve been down here enough to know what’s looped this time of night,” he shouted at the trees. “Millard, is that you? Are you and Hugh trying to spy on me again?”
Enoch couldn’t see much in the shadows, but he heard the crunching of leaves and a sharp “OW!” when whoever it was presumably hit their head on a branch or ran into a trunk or something. A tall, black hat caught the wind and blew into the sand.
Wonderful. Just who he’d been trying to avoid.
Enoch sighed and walked over to the hat, picking it up and holding it out to the darkness. “Come on out, Horace,” he said, making an effort to be softer than earlier. “For someone who can see the future, you’re horrible at knowing when people won’t be listening for you, you know that?”
Horace stepped out of the shadows, rubbing the top of his head and brushing leaves off his coat. “I didn’t dream about you being here of all places at bird-knows-what-time-it-is, Enoch.” Horace scowled and grabbed at his hat, but Enoch held it behind him where Horace couldn’t reach, smirking. Horace glared at him. “Please give me my hat.”
“Not until you tell me why you were out here spying on me and why you’re so cross with me.”
“I am not cross with you.”
“So, on that second one, you’re just mad you got caught. Gotcha.” Enoch laughed.
Horace swiped at his hat again, grabbing it successfully this time. “I am not.” He wiped the sand off the brim, then placed it neatly on his head again, refusing to look at Enoch in what he assumed was anger at his pride being bruised. He certainly looked embarrassed enough. “I just wanted to see what you were doing, that’s all.” Enoch looked at him skeptically. Horace looked back at the ground again. “Okay, I heard you get up, and I didn’t know where you were going, so I watched you out my window. Happy?”
“Why did you need to know where I was going?”
“You wouldn’t be concerned if I or one of the others were sneaking out in the middle of the night?”
Maybe not the rest of them, but you, definitely. “Fair point.”
Horace took off his hat and started messing with the ribbon around it. “Besides, the Bird would’ve killed you if she knew you snuck out. I wanted to see if you’d come back before she noticed. Then you were gone for a really long time, so I followed you to make sure you hadn’t passed out in the sand like Hugh did that one time he was outside too long.”
Enoch rolled his eyes. “Yes, Horace, I got heatstroke and sun poisoning in the middle of the night. That’s what took me so long.” He elbowed Horace playfully. “Have to watch out for those deadly UVs from the crescent moon.”
“I wasn’t worried about you getting sun poisoning at two in the morning, you prick.” Horace grumbled, though not without a small smile, Enoch noticed. Enoch loved when he could get Horace to smile when he was trying to be angry like this, he was always terrible at hiding when he found something funny. Enoch was about to retort with another joke, but then what Horace had said sunk in. “Wait. What time did you say it was?”
“When I left the house, the clock read 2:28.”
“I’ve been out here two and a half hours?! I swear it was only 12 when I left. I swear it was.”
Horace nodded. “You see why I was worried, I assume?”
Enoch shook his head. Did I pass out or something earlier? Is that why I’m so tired? Remembering how tired he was immediately made him yawn, and Horace started to grab his arm. “Come on, let’s get you back to the house. The Bird will be furious if she finds out we’re gone.”
Enoch didn’t move, instead pulling Horace out to where he was sitting earlier. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you, if that would be alright.”
Horace stopped, considering it. He looked back at the house, then at Enoch, thought for a few more seconds, and held out his hand for Enoch to lead the way.
Looking back on it, asking his crush to sit on the beach with him at almost 3 in the morning, alone, wasn’t the best idea for Enoch’s nerves. He understood that now. Given the option again, he probably would’ve just walked back to the house and not said anything, but instead he had to be an idiot and ask for a private conversation with the one person he was dreading being alone with for too long, and now here he was, sitting on his rock next to Horace Somnusson, the boy who was so elegant and formal he was wearing a full suit to the beach, minus his coat, which he was sitting on. His grey vest was especially noticeable in the moonlight, the shiny fabric reflecting light at every crease. Combined with his white button-down shirt and his black dress pants and tie, he looked like he should be anywhere but sitting on a beach in the middle of the night, but here he was, absentmindedly messing with his hat and staring at the sky.
“I’ve always liked being out here at night,” Horace commented, jolting Enoch out of whatever trance he seemed to have been in. “H-how so?” Good job, dumbass. The stutter was exactly what we needed right now.
Horace pointed up at a small, zigzagging line of stars in the distance, a group so specific for a bit Enoch couldn’t tell which stars he was pointing at. “That up there is Vulpecula, the little fox.” He pointed to another group next to it. “That’s Cygnus, the swan.” He made a big line in the sky with his hand. “That huge one is Draco, the dragon. Not nearly as big as Ophiuchus, but most of that one’s just his torso, you have to imagine the rest.” Horace took off his monocle, wiping it with a cloth he kept in his coat so he could see better. “It’s strange, how many constellations are just parts of the whole picture. I imagine that’s why there are so many versions of each one.” He looked at Enoch for a second, who realized he must’ve been staring again from how quickly Horace looked back at the ground. “Sorry I got carried away, Millard’s been helping me find astronomy books in the library. It’s nothing too fancy.”
“I think it’s interesting. Listening to you talk about it, I mean.”
Horace smiled. “I can show you the books tomorrow, if you’d like. They’ve got a whole bunch of diagrams and pictures of different constellations and galaxies. It’s fascinating, really.” He looked down at his feet, then up at Enoch like he’d realized something. “I’m sorry, you said you had something to talk to me about. I didn’t mean to interrupt, I promise.”
Fuck. Enoch felt his face heat up. “It’s nothing. Keep telling me about constellations, I like them.”
Horace narrowed his eyes. “No, I know that look. You’re hiding something.”
“A-am not.” FUCK.
“Why are you stuttering?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I have never heard you stutter before. Ever. Is something wrong? Did you get in trouble?”
“N-nothing’s wrong.”
“You stuttered again.”
“Did not.” Enoch buried his face in his hands. Why does this have to be so difficult, just get it over with, Enoch.
“Get what over with?” Horace looked worried now. “What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
Shit, I said that out loud, shit shit SHIT. Enoch groaned. He ran his hands through his hair and looked back up at Horace. “Can I say something stupid? W-well, the thing itself isn’t stupid, I don’t want you to think that at all, this is just the dumbest idea I’ve ever had and I’m sorry, I’m rambling, am I freaking you out? I’m not trying to freak you out, I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m freaked out and I don’t know what I’m saying anymore—” Enoch went to cover his face again, but Horace grabbed his hands before he could, gently rubbing circles into his right palm. “Breathe, please.” He pressed his forehead to Enoch’s, immediately making the problem worse. “What on earth is stressing you out so much?” Horace whispered.
Enoch froze, took a breath, then sighed. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
“Why would I laugh about something you’re stressed about?”
“Because I laugh at you for being stressed all the time. I deserve it.”
“You don’t deserve to be laughed at. Besides, you don’t laugh at me when it’s serious. The jokes you make are funny most of the time.” Horace smiled. “I could make jokes like you do if you’d like. I’m not as good at them though, normally when I’m funny it’s not on purpose.”
Enoch laughed, sighing again, softer this time. “God, I’m in love with you.”
Horace froze, his stormy grey eyes widening. “What?”
Enoch pulled away from him, taking one of Horace’s hands in his own and rubbing it with his thumb so his own wouldn’t shake as much. “I’m in love with you.”
Enoch braced for a reaction of horror, to be told he was completely out of his mind, but Horace looked more confused than anything. “…what?”
“I’m not saying it again.”
“…wait, you… I… huh?”
“Oh my god, I fell in love with an idiot.” Enoch laughed. “…can I do something?” Horace slowly nodded, still looking completely bewildered. Enoch reached his free hand up to Horace’s face, pulled him closer, and kissed him as gently as he could. After a second or two, he pulled away, watching Horace’s expression carefully to make sure he hadn’t scared him. After a few seconds of silence, Enoch’s heart began to sink. “…it’s okay if… if you don’t…” Enoch felt his face heat up again, tears threatening to fall and regret sinking in. “I just thought you should know.” He could barely bring his voice above a whisper without betraying any emotion. This was the stupidest idea ever, he hates you, he has to, why else wouldn’t he have said anything—
“…can we do that again?”
“What?”
Horace moved so they were shoulder to shoulder, and whispered a second time, “Could we do that again? That… that felt nice.”
Enoch smiled, pulling Horace in for a hug and whispering against his shoulder, “It did, didn’t it?”
Horace returned the hug for a second, then pulled Enoch in front of him, but farther away than he was. Enoch gave him a questioning look. “What? I can’t kiss you back when your face is buried in my shoulder, now can I?” Enoch started laughing, then Horace paused and ran his thumb over Enoch’s cheek. “Were you crying? Did I scare you?”
Enoch shrunk back a little. “I just… you were really quiet, and I thought… I thought I ruined everything again. Like always.”
Horace leaned in and kissed just under Enoch’s left eye, then his cheek, then he softly pressed a kiss to Enoch’s lips, and Enoch felt whatever was left of his anxiety melt. “You don’t ruin anything,” Horace whispered. “I’m sorry I scared you, I never meant to, it’s just… that was honestly the last thing I expected you to say. And the thing I really wanted you to say, but that’s beside the point.”
Now it was Enoch’s turn to be confused. “You wanted me to say that?”
Horace looked at his hand, still gently holding Enoch’s. “I’ve wanted this for… birds above, I don’t even know how long.” He intertwined their fingers, then brought his other hand down to hold both of theirs. “I’d always assumed you would think it was wrong, liking boys. I was convinced hoping you did as well was wishful thinking at best.”
“Horace, you came to me immediately after we met Julius Purcell and said he was hot and I agreed with you. Without hesitation.”
“I thought you were making fun of me! You make fun of me all the time, and you’ve pretended to like people before! You were not subtle at the temporary Council building in Devil’s Acre, and we both know you were playing that up because I have never seen you act like that.”
“Yeah, because we were in London in 1886. I’m lucky I didn’t get arrested for staring at you as much as I did, and I was absolutely getting looks from it. What was I supposed to do, go ‘Oh, yeah, I’m just staring at my best friend I’ve had a crush on for decades for no reason’?”
“You’ve had a crush on me for decades? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Enoch shrugged. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. You’re… you’re probably my favorite person ever, Horace. I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Horace cupped Enoch’s face and gently ran his thumb down the long, faded scars left over from the second battle in Devil’s Acre. “Lately, I’ve been more worried about losing you, in all honesty.”
“Horace, that was years ago. I’m fine.”
“You could barely walk or speak though, that was terrifying. You didn’t look nearly as bad as Julius did, but…”
“You thought I was gonna go too?”
“Yeah.”
Enoch pulled Horace closer, pressing their foreheads together again. “I won’t leave you alone like that. Ever. I swear.”
Horace smiled, then kissed Enoch again, long and gentle this time. Enoch kissed back, and the two of them sat there together in the moonlight, kissing for what felt like eternity. It was soft, and warm, and Enoch never wanted it to end because it was perfect. He’d wanted this for longer than he could remember, and it was everything he could’ve asked for. Eventually Horace pulled away for air, and they held each other until Enoch almost passed out a third time that night. Horace caught him just before he fell off the rock they’d been sitting on, jolting him awake and reminding him what time of night it was. “How angry with us do you reckon the Bird will be if she’s awake when we get back?”
Horace froze. “…shit.”
“Oh my god, Horace Somnusson swore? Who are you. What have you done with my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
Enoch covered his mouth. “You heard nothing.”
“Is this your way of asking me out, O’Connor?” Horace chuckled.
“N-no.”
“You’re stuttering again.”
“Goddammit—” Enoch buried his face in his hands again. “I’m sorry, I was gonna ask, I can’t just keep assuming things—”
Horace laughed and kissed Enoch’s hand. “I think boyfriend sounds good. If you do.”
Enoch did not know how his face could physically get any redder, but it certainly seemed to. “Y-yeah. Yeah, that’s good. I think.”
Horace giggled some more, pecked his new boyfriend on the nose, and jumped down into the sand. “Come on, sleepy. If you and I don’t get to bed in the next two hours, we’re not going to be able to sleep at all tonight.”
“Shut up,” Enoch laughed, jumping down and lacing his fingers through Horace’s. “You know, we could just stay out here. It’s nice out.”
“Do you want sand in every crevice on your body and a sunburn rivalled only by Emma’s peculiarity when we wake up?”
“Fair enough.” Enoch let Horace pull him back towards the house, but not before pulling him in for one last kiss first.