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Rean is not panicking.
He’s totally, completely, one-hundred percent in control and everything is great. He’s going on a date—a real, actual date with the love of his life tomorrow, and Crow has already admitted he shares Rean’s feelings, so it’s smooth sailing from here—or for any normal person, it would be.
The problem is that both of them are about as normal as compulsively licking batteries.
But it’s cool. Rean knows it won’t be easy, but he’s got it covered. Sure, he’s never been on a date before, but it’s really just dinner with his best friend—the only difference is that they might kiss at the end of the night.
The thought fills him with warmth that flickers up his spine and makes his skin prickle while simultaneously causing dread to coil into an ugly mass in his gut because there are few things in this world he wants more than to kiss Crow, but Rean has the same sort of experience with kissing as Elliot does with athletics: he’s only ever done it because someone else forced him to, and he was by no means a willing participant. He didn’t even know what was going on and was only interested in how to escape.
Still… it can’t be that hard, right?
It’s just touching someone else’s lips with your own. Rean can do that. From there… well, he’s not so sure. He’s supposed to—sort of—open his mouth?
He winces at how it sounds like a question even in his own mind.
The books he’s picked up on the subject haven’t been helpful. They’re either vague and general or just weird (there was one that suggested he lean in to nip at the Crow’s ear first and work his way toward his mouth, which just seems… counter-intuitive), and all of them somehow fail to provide instructions for how a kiss is supposed to work.
He’s not going to spiral. His pulse doesn’t spike in a way that a physician would find medically concerning and he’s definitely not working himself into a complete and utter frenzy. After all, he’s fantasized about kissing Crow thousands of times—but, then again, theory rarely translates to practice without a few failures, and this is one thing that Rean absolutely cannot afford to fuck up. He doesn’t have to be perfect or anything; Rean is pretty sure Crow knows his experience in this area is zilch, but still, it would be nice not to, you know, slobber all over him.
It would be just Rean’s luck to finally kiss Crow and be so fucking bad that it completely turns Crow off and he loses whatever attraction he might have had for Rean.
His chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe even though his rational mind is insisting that it’s physically impossible to fuck up a simple kiss that badly—but he’s quick to remind himself that he fucking broke reality to keep Crow alive, so “impossible” doesn’t really have a place in his vocabulary anymore.
He holds his head in his hands and tries to calm himself down and he’s about as successful as using gasoline to extinguish a fire during a drought.
What if he gets the angle totally wrong and manages to break Crow’s nose?
What should he do with his tongue?
Where is he supposed to put his hands?
How close should their bodies be?
What if Rean has a… reaction?
Would it be presumptuous of Rean to initiate it?
What if he leaves it up to Crow but Crow is waiting for Rean to make a move and they end up standing there in awkward, painful silence that Crow misinterprets as disinterest?
Shit.
What the hell is he supposed to do?!
He’s pacing now, pacing and gripping his hair but he’s still not—fuck that—he is absolutely spiraling.
He can’t call Jusis about this. He just can’t . Sure, he has suspicions, but he doesn’t know for sure if Jusis has actually kissed anyone either, and putting him on the spot like that would be so embarrassing. Jusis has done so much for Rean that he feels cruel for considering anything that might hurt him, even if by accident.
None of the girls are an option, given that almost all of them have tried to kiss him in some fashion. They’ve all said they’re okay with Rean’s rejection, but it seems callous at best and cruel at worst to assume they’ll be interested in hearing all about how he’s dying to make out with Crow.
Well… Fie might be cool with it. But there’s no way she’d be able to keep it to herself.
Gaius is off doing Dominion things and Elliot will probably explode if he doesn’t call Crow to gush over how happy he is for them. Asking Machias will go one of two ways: he’ll get flustered and blurt out “what did Jusis tell you?!” or he’ll just get super awkward and neither response solves Rean’s problem.
He lets out a frustrated, helpless sound because Crow is the one he’d normally call about something like this, but Rean absolutely cannot do that because it will either scare him into backing out of the date Rean fought so hard to make happen or Crow will think that Rean is expecting a kiss and act out of obligation.
Fuck!
If only Randy were still next door! He definitely has the kind of experience Rean needs right now. Rean could just casually knock on his door and ask if he had a second and make some idle chat that would eventually segue into the finer points of kissing. Or something.
Randy’s always been a good friend to Rean. Maybe they don’t get to talk as much anymore but they message pretty regularly, and if Randy were to ask for his help, Rean would be on the orbal bike heading to Crossbell before he’d hung up the call, and he’s confident that Randy would do the same for him.
He stops. Maybe—
Rean’s fingers involuntarily twitch toward the ARCUS in his pocket.
He could call Randy. Just to check in and catch up, and if Rean’s impending date happens to enter the conversation organically, Rean might be able to pry some details out of him. Of course, that would depend entirely on Rean’s ability to play it cool, and right now, Rean’s about as cool as McBurn’s flames, but his head is spinning, spinning way too fast for his rational mind to slow it down, and before he’s even conscious of the device in his hand, he’s already made the call.
Rean is filled with relief and dread in equal measure and both those emotions are absolutely dwarfed by the crushing embarrassment of realizing that he’s just called his former colleague for kissing advice. He feels like a deer staring down the barrel of a fucking cannon at point-blank range when Randy’s face appears on the screen.
“ABORT!” his brain screams as a cacophony of sirens shriek with shrill urgency, protesting what was clearly the worst possible decision Rean could have made.
What the hell was he thinking?!
He tries to force his face into an expression that’s not abject horror and utter humiliation, hoping he can play his distress off as his usual level of depression and anxiety.
“Hey, Rean,” Randy starts, and his face shifts into obvious concern, which means that Rean’s efforts have failed, and from the looks of things, failed worse than than the time he tried to save Altina and ended up losing Millium and his own mind before kickstarting an actual apocalypse.
It’s almost impressive. Rean wasn’t sure it would be possible to top that, but as usual, he keeps surprising himself in all the worst ways.
Rean is usually so good at keeping it all in—which he knows isn’t something he should pride himself on, but right now, he really, really wishes he could summon just enough of that ability to pretend he mistakenly pressed Orlando trying to call Orion , but he’s such a disaster that the excuse doesn’t even occur to him, and it won’t until he’s in the shower four hours from now.
“What’s wrong?” Randy asks, skipping right over the obligatory “are you okay even though we both know you’re not?”. He doesn’t even give Rean the chance to deny he’s a mess, so he’s not going to brush this off.
Then again… Rean really does need help.
Rean’s embarrassment is physically painful; his cheeks are burning like they’ve become portals straight to the deepest level of Gehenna, but this isn’t something he can afford to leave to chance.
He can do this.
“H-HiRandy,” he replies and it runs together like it’s one word. “Do… do you have a minute?”
The hand Rean runs through his hair does its best impression of a seizure. Rean is no stranger to suicidal ideation, but he has never wanted to die so badly in his entire life.
“For you, I got all the time in the world. Now tell me what’s up. I’ve only seen you like this a couple times before, and none of those were good,” Randy replies, his eyes narrowing in concerned seriousness.
Rean needs to get a grip. He’s behaving like a child. He needs advice on how to kiss; it’s not like he’s asking about sex. On second thought, though, sex might be an easier conversation. There’s no shame in being a virgin; it’s how everybody starts out, and it’s normal to seek advice. Kissing feels like something he should know how to do by twenty. Randy probably had it figured out by thirteen.
Rean gives an awkward laugh that sounds like shattered glass. “O-Oh, no, it’s—it’s not anything. It’s not important at all, really, I can call back later—actually, I shouldn’t have bothered you, you’re probably busy and—”
Randy cuts him off. “Relax, Rean. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Rean bites his lip, sinking his teeth into it until it hurts, until it’s bleeding and fuck, what if he does something stupid like that to Crow?! Rean can’t even bite his own lips without drawing blood—what the hell is he supposed to do with his teeth during a kiss?!
“Whatever you need, man, I’m there,” Randy says, interrupting Rean’s panic with his steady, if increasingly worried presence. “You’d do the same for me.”
Rean lets out a harsh, ugly sigh and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, this is so stupid, it was a mistake to call—”
“Rean,” Randy might not be a teacher anymore, but he still knows how to use his instructor voice, and Rean snaps to attention at the sound of it. “We’re friends. You can talk to me.”
He doesn’t deserve a friend like Randy. He’s not sure he’ll have one after this conversation, but he allows himself to cherish the other man’s kindness while it lasts as he tries to reassemble all the pieces of himself that keep crumbling to dust in his hands.
“… I have a date tomorrow,” he croaks out and his cheeks are literally throbbing from how hard he’s blushing.
Randy gives a surprised but pleased laugh and Rean might be hallucinating from all the blood in his head at this point, but he thinks he hears pride in it, too. “That’s great, man! Look at you, finally going after what you want!”
Rean wants to thank him, but what he blurts out instead is: “idon’tknowhowtokiss.”
He stands horrified for a moment, his face somehow drained of color and on fire at the same time, because this is not happening. It’s just… not.
It can’t be.
Rean might not be the most suave guy in the world, but surely he’s not so inept that he’d outright admit that he didn’t know how to kiss.
There’s a strange sound that’s almost a whine and his horror compounds exponentially when he realizes it’s coming from him.
He places his ARCUS on his nightstand and sits on his bed out of frame, then brings his pillow to his face and screams.
There’s no word to properly articulate this level of horror. Not in any language Rean knows. If one does exist, it’s probably found in the dictionary of some dark and ancient tongue spoken by whatever sinister cataclysm inflicted the Dark Ages on Zemuria. He kind of wishes it would have the decency to smite him, too.
This is so much worse than the thing with Alisa. That was the consequence of Rean’s stupid sacrificial complex and and gravity. This… this is something else entirely.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, Rean,” Randy’s voice says from where Rean’s ARCUS sits on the nightstand. “You came to the right guy. Trust me. Big bro Randy’s got this!”
He genuinely sounds a combination of proud and pleased, like it’s not the weirdest conversation he’s ever had. Rean dares to raise his head enough to risk a glance at his ARCUS from the corner of his eye to verify his assessment. Randy is smiling, wide and friendly and reassuring enough to allow Rean to release the death grip he’s got on his pillow.
“You still there, buddy?” Randy asks.
“… Yes,” Rean squeaks, and please, Aidios, just have mercy on his poor, pathetic soul and take him now.
When he doesn’t drop dead, he gives the Goddess a few extra seconds to answer his prayer, but she fails him, so he lets his pillow fall back onto the bed and releases a miserable exhale.
Somehow, he finds it in himself to turn the camera back toward his own face, and he’s overcome with the desire to launch himself into the sun.
He briefly wonders about the limitations of Millium’s Galactic Canon, and if Airgetlam could possibly use Rean as a projectile.
“You ain’t got nothing to be embarrassed about, Rean!” Randy offers, scoffing as though asking your former coworker to teach you how to kiss is the equivalent of “pass the salt”.
“Let’s start with the basics, okay?” he continues. “The most important thing to remember is that you gotta make sure the other person wants it, too. Best way to do that is to ask, but sometimes, that’s awkward, so lemme tell you what ol’ Randy does to set the mood. If the moment is right, I lean in just enough to make it clear I’m interested, but not so close they feel like they can’t walk away, you know? Make eighty percent of the effort, but leave it up to them to close the gap. They’ll usually make a move, but if they don’t, I ask if it’s cool to kiss ‘em in a sexy whisper.”
Rean fights the instinct to grab a notebook because no , he is absolutely not going to take fucking notes on this.
But, maybe—
NO.
“O-Okay,” Rean manages, and he sounds less like a four-year-old girl, so hey, that’s something.
“Good! Now for the fun part,” Randy continues, his blue eyes lighting up with a mischievous glee. “You gotta tilt your head a little bit to make sure your noses don’t smack into each other, so don’t close your eyes completely until you’re at a good angle. Start out light and easy—just let your lips touch theirs. Got it so far?”
“Y-Yeah,” Rean coughs, his face burning scarlet.
“It’s always smart to take the first kiss slow. Don’t get too excited and start shoving your tongue down their throat or anything.”
Rean chokes at the thought of his tongue in Crow’s mouth. Sure, he’s imagined it, but that was fantasy, not possibility. Rean was never in a position where it might actually happen tomorrow—
Randy lets out a quiet chuckle. “Damn, you got it bad, Rean. All the more reason to make sure you know how to really knock ‘em off their feet! Now, when the time does come to use your tongue, you gotta test the water a little, make sure they’re cool with it. One thing you can do is part your lips a little bit and catch one of theirs between yours. Don’t get any teeth involved just yet, you get me?”
Rean nods.
“You can run your tongue over their lip or, if you’re feelin’ bold, you can suck on it—not too hard, though. Once you get a feel for your partner, you can throw some teeth in, but I wouldn't do it on a first kiss. A rough one-night-stand, sure, but I think you’re after more than that.”
“A lot more,” Rean agrees and makes a mental note to avoid using teeth. Well, that alleviates at least one of his worries. Just don’t bite and Crow won’t bleed. He can handle that.
Randy nods. “If your partner’s into it and they’re down for some tongue action, they’ll open their mouth, and that’s when things get really good.”
Rean actively fights the urge to curl into a ball and die.
“C’mon, man, don’t get all prude and embarrassed on me,” Randy chides with an easy smile, and Rean has no idea how he does this, how the conversation can be so easy for him. “You know how I got good at kissing, Rean?”
Rean shakes his head.
“By bein’ real bad at it first,” Randy says pointedly. “Had no idea what the hell I was doin’,” he chuckles at himself, “nearly took out my own damn front teeth bein’ over-eager the first time, all ‘cause I was too proud to ask anyone for advice. Hoo boy, just name the mistake, I made it. Takes a real man to ask for help when he needs it. And I’m glad to see you do it, Rean.”
Randy pauses for a moment like he wants to ensure the words sink in, that Rean knows Randy’s not just trying to put him at ease. He genuinely means every word he’s saying, and even though it doesn’t make Rean feel any less awkward about the subject they’re discussing, he’s overwhelmed with gratitude for Randy’s kindness.
Then again, this is the guy who watched him break down over spare change in front of a vending machine and invited him to a meal later on just so he could make sure Rean wasn’t going to off himself, despite the fact that Rean was a complete stranger who played no small part in fucking up Randy’s best friend’s life, so maybe Rean shouldn’t be surprised.
“Now, let’s get back to the good stuff, eh?” Randy continues effortlessly. “If you’re gonna go for an open-mouth kiss, don’t go unhinging your jaw or somethin’. Just let it fall open enough to feel comfortable, then find their tongue with yours—but again, don’t shove it into their mouth. Feel them out a little bit and have fun. Let your tongue slide against theirs, take in the texture and the feel of it. Pay attention to how they respond and take your cues from that.”
Rean’s face is red again, though this time, it’s because he’s imagining Crow’s tongue against his, hot and slick, soft enough to make Rean’s knees weak—
Then he realizes that he’s fantasizing about Crow while on the phone with Randy, and the embarrassment hits him like the goddessdamned Eisengraff, except it doesn’t actually kill him and it’s an absolute fucking tragedy.
He wonders if anything in the world could be worth this sort of indignity, but then he thinks about Crow and grudgingly accepts that he’d embrace a thousand more agonies just to keep him breathing. There’s… not much Rean wouldn’t do. It’s a thought that scares him sometimes—how much he’d be willing to sacrifice, how far he would actually go for him—because he’s not sure there’s a limit.
“So,” Rean coughs, “um, we just… rub tongues together?” His voice sort of cracks on the last word, and Rean cringes as he makes a real effort to melt into a puddle and fails.
“Basically,” Randy replies as though Rean’s voice didn’t just regress back to puberty. “Everybody likes something different so it’s real important to be in tune with your partner and how they respond.”
Rean’s not trusting his vocal cords again, not after that egregious betrayal, so he nods in reply.
“Now, you don’t wanna drool all over your partner, so you should pull back just enough to swallow if you start feelin’ too much spit in your mouth. If you don’t wanna break the kiss, close your lips but keep ‘em on the other person’s. Only takes half a second, and then you can get right back to it,” Randy explains. “It’s a good time to breathe, too. Don’t forget to do that.”
Rean releases an audible sigh of relief because he has no idea how he would have summoned the will to ask about the drooling thing.
Randy chuckles in reply. “I ain’t gonna let my boy make some rookie mistake!” he says, and his tone implies that Rean should have known better than to even think that Randy would neglect to tell him something so important.
Rean manages a small laugh, too, and he feels a little less rigid at seeing Randy’s enthusiasm. He has the irrational feeling that Randy isn’t just doing this out of obligation—like he’s actually invested in Rean’s happiness. He might even call it a “warm” feeling if his face wasn’t already hotter than the surface of the sun.
Okay, he’s got the mechanics down pretty well. He knows what to do with his tongue and they’ve covered Rean’s concerns about biting and drooling, which checks everything else off the list except for—
No. He can’t ask that.
There are limits, no matter what Randy’s said, and Rean cannot ask him how to deal with getting a… physical reaction.
He can ask about how close he should be for a kiss, though, right? That’s not weird.
At least, it’s no weirder than the rest of the conversation has been.
Rean takes a breath to steady himself as best he can, and then treats Randy to another installment of the awkward spectacle that is Rean Schwarzer trying to make words happen, a production that includes some truly elegant stuttering and inarticulate word vomit before he finally manages to force out, “H-How close should I stand?”
“Think about it like you’re leaning in to share a secret. You’re in each other’s personal bubble, but you’re not on top of them. You don’t wanna pull ‘em too close the first time. You definitely wanna keep your hips apart,” Randy tells him. He chuckles and scratches his head. “Some parts of the body have a mind of their own, ya know?”
Oh yes. Rean knows. He knows, and he’s caught so off guard by Randy mentioning it that he goes completely rigid and forgets how his lungs work.
“Oh—another thing: hands,” Randy continues, oblivious to Rean’s full-body paralysis. “On the first kiss, keep ‘em on your partner’s face, in their hair, around their neck, or on their back.” He narrows his eyes playfully at Rean. “That means don’t go feelin’ up their rack, no matter how good it is.”
The remark gets Rean’s respiratory system working again, though he sputters violently and his eyes bulge in shock because what the fuck, Randy?!
“Wh—I-I would never !” he squeaks in exaggerated indignation, though he’s not sure if the indignation is at what Randy said or for the fact that Randy seems to know Rean has actually thought about it.
Randy just laughs casually, like it’s no big deal. “You ain’t gotta pretend you’re a saint for me, man. The mind wanders, especially when you’re makin’ out with somebody you’re into. Sometimes you wanna move the makeout session from vertical to horizontal, if you know what I mean.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and Rean can only describe the wave of embarrassment that hits him as a once-in-a-century tsunami striking just as a category-five hurricane makes landfall. It shouldn’t be physically possible and he’s utterly annihilated by it, but Randy just keeps talking, like Rean isn’t displaying the symptoms of a stroke. “Gettin’ there can be tricky, so what I like to do is kiss ‘em right under the ear and put a hand on their hip. Then you can whisper all low and sexy when you ask if they want you to touch them.”
Rean is out of metaphors to describe how excruciatingly hot his face feels. It’s got to be so red it’s bordering on purple.
He thinks he might actually pass out.
It certainly doesn’t help that now he’s got an image of Crow in his arms with his pulse beating against Rean’s lips as Rean gently squeezes Crow’s hip and whispers “do you want me to touch you” into his skin, and Crow shivers against him and groans out “yes” in reply.
Rean makes a series of awkward, abortive noises that sound more like a malfunctioning piece of machinery than a human being before he finally manages to force out, “T-That’s—no, I-I can’t, not—I mean, I want to, but it’s—”
Randy nods with an expression of understanding, which Rean finds especially odd because nothing that just came out of him was even remotely coherent, but he’ll take whatever he can get right now.
“No sex on the first date, gotcha,” Randy says with a nod.
Rean is endlessly grateful for Randy’s ability to make sense of the absolute disaster he’s become. “It’s… this person,” he tries again, “they’re… delicate.”
Randy laughs pleasantly. “You’re one hell of a guy, Rean. Sounds to me like you got a better handle on this situation than you think.”
Oh yes. Rean totally has this handled.
His face must show his disbelief because Randy cuts in with, “You clearly know your date and you’re puttin’ their needs first, even though you’re down bad for ‘em. You just gotta relax, man. You got this.”
Rean doesn’t quite believe him, but somehow the words make him feel better. “T-Thanks, Randy,” he says with a sheepish sigh as he rubs the back of his neck. “Again, I’m really, really sorry about this.”
Randy laughs. “I already told ya it’s no problem. Just put my advice to the test tomorrow and tell me how it holds up.”
Rean’s ears throb with heat. “T-There’s no guarantee we’ll kiss at all—I just—”
Randy scoffs. “Guys like you drive me crazy, man. Of course you’re gonna get a kiss!”
Goddess, he wants Randy to be right. He wants to kiss Crow so badly he’d probably be willing to hear Ishmelga out if it were to make an offer with that as leverage. He’s completely ashamed of that fact, but he supposes everyone has their price.
It’s not that surprising, since Rean was one-hundred percent planning to fly Valimar into the atmosphere and detonate back at Tuatha De Danann. Partly to destroy Ishmelga… and partly because he couldn’t bear to go back to a world that didn’t have Crow in it.
Yeah, it’s messed up—like really, really messed up—the kind of messed up more commonly associated with ninety-plus-year-old widows who stop caring for themselves after losing their partner of over half a century. To be fair, what he and Crow went through together was more than most couples face in a lifetime, so… Rean isn’t actually sure where this train of thought is going. He knows he’s in love with Crow in a way that he’s never loved anything—a way he thought he never could , and if anyone wants to criticize him for falling too hard and too fast, they should scrutinize literally all of Rean’s female friends the same way because they confessed their “love” to him after sharing far less emotional intimacy.
Anyway, the point he’s trying to make—the point he thinks he’s trying to make—is something very relevant, he’s sure of it, but his brain is so far off the fucking rails right now it might as well be in orbit.
This is what Crow does to him.
“Bring your boo to Crossbell sometime, okay? Not for work. Me and Lloyd will take you both to the casino for a damn good time,” Randy says with a smile and a wink.
Rean’s heart does a strange, acrobatic maneuver in his chest, twisting and flipping into the air and never quite comes back down at the thought of him and Crow taking a little weekend trip together. Rean and Lloyd would hang back and watch Randy and Crow at the tables until they dragged them over and goaded them into placing a bet or two. They’d have drinks and chat about things that had nothing to do with the end of the world or imperialistic agendas or war.
“I’d really, really like that,” Rean answers, then adds, “as long as I don’t screw up too badly tomorrow.”
“You’re gonna be just fine, Rean,” Randy replies reassuringly. “Now you go have a kickass date and let me know how it works out, all right?”
Rean nods, wishing he had Randy’s confidence. “S-Sure. Okay, yeah. I can do that.”
Randy smiles and gives Rean a wink. “Lookin’ forward to hearin’ all about it!”
Randy is a goddessdamned saint, Rean decides, and vows to nominate the man for canonization the first chance he has as he ends the call and the most humiliating moment of Rean’s life finally draws to a close. That was probably—no, it was actually the absolute worst idea he’s ever had, which is saying something coming from Rean. At the same time, though, he can’t regret it because he feels like he knows what he’s doing. At least part of the ulcerous tension that’s been eating away at his gut finally eases and allows him to breathe.
There are still a million different ways the date might go wrong—Rean knows he’s not out of the metaphorical woods yet—but at least he’s got the kissing part down.