Work Text:
For how extroverted he is, nobody seems to know anything about Roier.
Every time somebody tries to mention his past, he changes the subject and if somebody tries to ask where he’s from, he’ll just make a joke that makes everyone laugh hard enough that they forget their original question.
But Spreen never loses sight of what he wants to know. He only laughs and goes along with the funny bits because he figured that Roier would tell him someday.
However, someday seems to be farther than ever recently. Roier is slipping through his fingers like sand, unraveling like an old blanket, and he’s getting to know him, but not any reasons for why.
That's really what Spreen’s biggest question is: why?
Because Roier is not just his loud, flirtatious bravado that everybody knows him as. At home, he’s quiet. He works twice as hard to make sure everybody is comfortable and happy, but if Spreen has learned anything after years of survival, it’s that nobody is nice without a reason.
The reason doesn’t have to be profound. Sometimes people truly wish to be treated how they treat others, some want favors, some want leverage. Though, there are the few who are nice because they’re trying to prove themselves.
Spreen watches as Roier lugs another crate of supplies through the doors of the house, panting, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. It must be hot outside. He drags it to the kitchen, denies the hand Missa has offered him for the nth time, and rushes outside to grab something else.
It leaves Spreen wondering what Roier has to prove.
-
“Ay, mien. The food’s burning.” Mariana reaches an arm under Roier’s to turn off the stove.
Roier blinks rapidly, looking around for a split second as if he doesn’t know where he is. His eyes eventually land on the burnt toast in the pan below him, and he lets out a nervous half-laugh. “Oh, uh— Sorry, man. I'll cook another.”
“Are you good?” Mariana asks, gently taking the pan from Roier’s hands and scraping the contents into the trash.
“Yeah, yeah,” Roier says. “No worries!” He takes the pan back and sets another slice of bread on its surface.
Mariana gazes at him skeptically, a singular eyebrow quirked. “Okay, mien,” he says reluctantly, going back to cutting vegetables. “Tell me if you need anything.”
Roier just nods, flipping the toast over to evenly cook the other side.
Soft footsteps enter the room, revealing a droopy-eyed Missa at the foot of the stairs. He's dressed in pajamas still, squinting against the harsh sunlight coming through the windows. “Why’s it smell burnt?” he asks.
“Ah, sorry,” Roier says. “I burnt the toast.”
“How'd you mess up toast?” Missa teases, sitting down at the breakfast table.
“I dunno,” Roier replies, laughing along. “Sorry ‘bout the smell though. I—“
“You apologize a lot,” Spreen notices aloud.
It's the first time he’s spoken throughout the entire ordeal. Usually, he’d take any opportunity to poke fun at Roier, but he felt off this morning, and Spreen wanted to find out why. The question was seared into his brain and followed him like his own shadow.
“I..” Roier pauses for a second, unsure of how to answer. “I guess I do.”
“Yeah, it’s annoying as shit,” Mariana chimes in. “Not everything’s your fault. Been telling you that for years.”
Spreen tilts his head to the side. Interesting— that’s the only way he could describe the information. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Too long, eh?” Roier jokes, clearly trying to change the subject from anything serious, as per usual.
And of course, Mariana defends himself and jokes back. Missa also joins in between snacking on ingredients despite Mariana’s scolding.
Spreen doesn’t get lost in the laughter. He has another thing in mind.
-
Spreen steps out the backdoor of the house, watching as Mariana lights a cigarette between his fingers.
The night is cold, not unbearably so, but Spreen still shivers slightly when the draft hits his face, ruffling his hair and making his ears twitch. He shoves his gloved hands in his coat pockets as he walks up to the taller man.
Him and Mariana have known each other for quite some time too, but he’s mostly living with the group for Roier. Spreen doesn’t think they hate each other, but he’s not sure they get along well either. They mostly avoided each other after his days of wide fields and farming, business and money.
Still, they need to be able to live together to make Roier happy.
“Gimme one?” Spreen asks.
Mariana wordlessly hands him a cigarette and a lighter. Its fluid is almost completely gone.
He leans against the wall, lighting, inhaling, and exhaling. His and Mariana’s smoke clouds unite as one in the breeze, getting carried away to the island’s unexplored terrain.
“What did you want to talk about?” Mariana asks, looking at Spreen for the first time. “I thought we kind of silently agreed to pretend we don’t know each other.”
Mariana is a smart one, Spreen had realized in their limited time together. He can’t build for the life of him, his survival skills are pitiful, but he knows how people work and what they’re thinking just by looking at them. He knows how to adjust himself according to others, good with their emotions and handling them. It's something Spreen hates to admit he envies. Still, it makes conversations between the two of them much easier, especially since Spreen isn’t a fan of small talk or tiptoeing around subjects.
“We don't gotta pretend. Well, not unless you wanna,” Spreen answers.
Mariana shrugs, indifferent as well.
“Well, I wanted to ask you about Roier,” Spreen says, looking at the sky. Filled with stars, just like his fields.
“What about him?”
“Did you meet him before me?” Spreen starts.
“Yeah, maybe a year or so before.” Ash falls onto the patio below them and Mariana smudges it across the wood with his boot.
“What was he like?” Spreen pushes his sunglasses up. He hopes his curiosity doesn’t show.
Mariana hums, taking another drag, and then sighing. “He's kinda like how he is now: outgoing, fun, affectionate. He was eighteen when I met him, from a small town. Normal things.”
Spreen raises an eyebrow, exhaling more smoke. “That's all?”
“Well,” Mariana chuckles under his breath, “he met a bad guy. At least, that’s what I think. I dunno for sure.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I didn't see him for months at some point,” he answered. “He wouldn't answer my letters, so one time I dropped by his house and he just shouted through the door that I shouldn't have visited out of nowhere.”
Spreen could barely imagine Roier shouting with anything but joy. The concept of genuine annoyance always seemed foreign when applied to Roier with his everlasting smile, his bashful charm.
Mariana crushed his wilted cigarette under his sole and continued. “He said something about needing to take care of his boyfriend when he started sending letters again. I think they broke up, but he hates whenever I bring it up, so I'm just waiting until he tells me, really.”
“A boyfriend,” Spreen murmurs, unsure of what to say. It's not shocking that Roier has been in relationships in the past, but to be in one so bad that he stopped seeing Mariana for months was strange. What would Roier see in someone so undoubtedly horrible?
Then again, Spreen’s not sure what Roier sees in him either.
“Ah, jealous, teddy bear?” Mariana teases. He flaps a dismissive hand when Spreen sends him a burning glare through his sunglasses. “Don’t worry, that guy is long gone now.”
“I hope so,” Spreen says. “He sounds like an asshole.”
“Yeah.” Mariana giggles, but Spreen can tell it’s not because the subject is actually funny. “His boyfriend changed him. When he visited me after he moved out of his hometown, he felt different. He was more.. How would you say it? Shy?”
Spreen nods along. It might not be the best word to use, but it gets the point across: Roier’s morale was no longer the sleek, shining obelisk that it once was. Something about that relationship had dulled his view of the world, scared him into bowing his head.
“Y’know, I’m just as worried as you, mien.” Mariana adjusts his glasses. “I’m his best friend, but sometimes I feel like I dunno shit about him.”
“Thanks for talkin’,” Spreen says, looking down at their feet. “You’re not as bad as I thought.”
“Eh?” Mariana furrows his eyebrows. “The hell did you think of me before?”
“To be honest, I thought you were a coward,” he says, laughing. Mariana acts offended, but he’s laughing through his protests too.
When all their noise dies down, they’re left in the nightly ambience of crickets, the swish of the river, and rustle of leaves in the wind. Spreen finds himself wondering if Roier is looking at the same stars. He said he was spending the night at the castle of his mentor, Vegetta, so he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. As a stray star falls across the sky, he hears Mariana gasp softly, and he scrambles for a wish to cling to.
He thinks, for a moment, that he wishes he had met Roier when he was eighteen. To save him from this boogey-man boyfriend that managed to break what must have been the most innocent version of Roier that existed.
But he can only wish he was that brave. He knows he would have never been able to save Roier. He knows because of the scene that replays behind his eyelids every time he goes to sleep at night—broken glasses, a rosary between pale hands, a weak voice whispering that God is benevolent. Spreen remembers thinking that his unwavering faith was so ridiculous. If God was real, why would he allow this to happen? Why would he be dying in his arms?
Perhaps God is a greedy man.
Spreen understands, though. He’s just as selfish.
-
“Thank you.”
Spreen’s gaze doesn’t lift from the cut he’s busy cleaning and bandaging. “For?” he asks.
Roier looks away even though Spreen isn’t looking at him. Spreen pretends not to notice. “For all this,” he explains. “Watching my back when we were surrounded by the mobs, helping me up, patching up my wounds.”
He understands what Roier is saying. If he were in the same position, he’d be grateful as well, but something about his thanks bothers him. It makes him feel guilty rather than appreciated, like his words are out of obligation rather than real happiness.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Spreen says, a decidedly better response than what he really wanted to say, which is, do you really think you still gotta thank me for stuff?
Spreen cringes at himself. Him and Roier aren’t even together. He doesn’t have the right to think like that. Sure, they might do all the things that a couple does, but they aren’t together.
Still, he hopes that Roier knows someday that he doesn’t need to thank Spreen anymore. Spreen does everything because he wants Roier to be happy, not because he expects something in return.
Even if he does long for it.
-
“Y’know, I really do like you.”
In a field of flowers under the sunset, the sound of Roier’s voice is so quiet that Spreen could have sworn it was the breeze.
They decided to go out today because Roier wasn’t in a very good mood. He had been practically silent up until now, just going through his daily routine like a robot without any other function. Spreen took the initiative and asked if he wanted to go somewhere far away, somewhere he could avoid people and breathe. Roier had simply nodded.
So, they walked until their feet hurt, but the wide field of blazing red poppies is a sight worth the pain. They had sat side by side, hands almost brushing, the only border between them being the stems of flowers and clovers.
“I,” Spreen barely knows how to respond, “I really like you too, Ro.”
His fingers thrum the ground beneath them, aching to touch Roier’s, but he’s not even looking at Spreen.
Roier blinks. His gaze is set on the sky, which is turning the same color as the poppies around them. He looks distant. For the first time that Spreen has known Roier, he can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“Are you sure?” Roier asks, wistful. He turns to look at Spreen, and the insecurity in his face is palpable. Never had Spreen seen him like this before. His vulnerability was always shielded by humor, jokes, laughter.
“Of course,” Spreen says in an instant. “You mean so much to me. Your kindness, your generosity, your smile..” He trails off as Roier’s eyes shift towards his lap. Did he say something wrong?
“You mean a lot to me too.” Roier pulls his hand away, and now it’s too far away for Spreen to hold. “I'm just scared.”
Spreen shifts closer. “Of?”
“A lot.” Roier almost laughs, but his face is somber. “But– Can you just promise me that you’ll stay?”
He bites his lip. Spreen isn’t even sure what he’s answering. He has a strong feeling that Roier’s question wasn’t as literal as it sounded.
“Yes,” Spreen says regardless. He just wants Roier to know he’s loved. In the rush and poor pacing of their relationship, he is loved.
Roier is wordless, blinking his doe-eyes like he’s expecting something.
What are you supposed to do after a confession? Spreen isn’t any good at romance, showing affection, anything of that sort, but he needs to try. He needs to try for him.
When he kisses Roier, he kisses back, but it feels obligated, like his “thank you”s and “sorry”s.
-
Spreen has not once touched Roier in public. He's not sure if he has a problem with that or not, and he hasn’t asked yet.
He tries to be subtle with their relationship with other people. Obviously, Mariana and Missa know, but not anybody else. He tries to make it known with extra softness, sharing clothes, holding hands under the table and hoping someone catches them. He can’t tell if he’s being too secretive or not at all.
It wouldn’t be surprising if someone didn’t know they were together now. They acted almost the same as they always have. So, Quackity playfully flirting with him like he always does is to be expected. He probably doesn’t know Spreen is taken.
It’s not even a joke that’s particularly dirty or vulgar, just some ridiculous off-hand comment about him being “too attractive for his own good,” but it makes Spreen glance over at Roier anyways.
Sitting next to him on the floor of their trashy house party, Roier looks so alone. His head droops and he averts his eyes when he takes a long sip of his drink. As everyone continues with their laughter and jokes and gossip, Spreen’s hand inches towards Roier’s to intertwine their fingers.
“Are you okay?” Spreen asks.
Roier’s looks at him like he didn’t hear what he said, but then nods. “Yeah, yeah, all good.”
“You sure?” He doesn’t mean to pry, but he’s worried.
It’s been a few weeks since he and Roier confessed their feelings to each other and officially considered themselves a couple, but somehow, Roier had felt more distant than before. He joked with Spreen more often than having actual conversations with him and dismissed his own thoughts and opinions, leaving Spreen more confused and concerned every time they saw each other.
Roier loves him. He knows Roier undoubtedly loves him, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t spend so much time with him or ever admit he was scared. If Spreen didn’t know Roier as a lover, he at least knew him as a friend, and that meant he knew for a fact that Roier wouldn’t waste his time on someone he didn’t care for.
Then why is it that Roier never wanted to open up to him? Is that not what someone does when they love another person?
“Yes,” Roier replies with emphasis, almost bordering on annoyed.
His tone makes Spreen’s hand draw away, startled with the thought that he might be upsetting Roier. Roier looks down at the distance between their hands and then back up at Spreen with the plea of a broken promise.
Is this what someone does when they love another person?
-
Mariana goes to Foolish’s place and Missa takes refuge with Quackity after the party ends. The house feels all too empty despite Roier being at his side.
Absorbed in sweeping disposable cups and plates into a trash bag, Spreen barely notices when Roier grabs the sleeve of his shirt. It's not until he tries to walk away that he notices Roier’s grasp holding him back.
“Yeah?” Spreen asks, stepping closer. “Need somethin’?”
Roier glances at him, bites his lip, and lets him go. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”
Spreen leaves the trash bag on the floor and takes his sunglasses off for the first time since the party had started. It's just him and Roier now. He can be as vulnerable as he wants. “No, tell me. It doesn’t matter if it’s stupid.”
Roier gives him a pained look and takes his face with both hands before joining their lips in the most passionate kiss either of them have shared. All of the kisses he gave Spreen before were nothing more than brief pecks to signify that they were a couple. To Spreen, they also felt like an obligation, like Roier’s apologies and thanks. This one felt like unbridled resentment and bliss.
When they eventually separate to breathe, Roier doesn’t waste any time in attacking Spreen’s neck with bites and marks. Spreen groans, threading a hand through Roier’s hair to gently pull him off. Spreen has never seen him so flushed in his life; he was almost feverish.
Roier tries to lean into Spreen’s touch. “Upstairs.”
-
As soon as they’re behind the bedroom door, Roier is on top of him.
Fluid like liquid, molten like lava, he falls apart against Spreen’s chest in a mess of saliva and sweat.
“Thanks,” Roier whispers, hot and heavy against his lips. “I needed this.”
Spreen doesn’t want to think too hard about what that implies.
-
Tired and craving more contact, Spreen wraps his arms around Roier after they’re both finished.
He wriggles out of his grasp. Spreen stares at his back, deciding a shower might be best.
-
When Spreen returns from his shower, Roier is no longer in bed.
He's sitting by the window, staring out into the clear night sky and the full moon. There’s not a trace of any expression on his face— vacant and mesmerized by some invisible thought.
Spreen approaches. He hates when he can’t tell what Roier’s thinking, because he knows it means that it’s something bad, something that terrorizes his mind for weeks, stopping him from enjoying his life like he should.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Spreen greets as he sits down, hugging Roier around the waist as tenderly as he can. He presses a chaste kiss to his nape. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about?”
Roier blinks, but he doesn’t turn to Spreen. he only looks further into the moonlight. “I had kids: twins.”
Spreen’s eyes widen, and his hand itches to adjust his absent sunglasses before remembering they’re not on his face at all. “Really?” is all he whispers.
Roier nods, so slight that Spreen doubts if he moved at all. “They’re gone now. No matter what god I pray to, no matter what star I wish on, they’re not coming back.”
“That’s true,” Spreen agrees. “But you tried to save them, didn’t you?”
“Did I?” Roier murmurs. “Did I really if they both died?”
Spreen rubs his thumb over Roier’s hipbone softly, hoping to calm him. “Not everything is your fault. I'm sure you did what you could; you always do.”
He can feel the full-body tremble of a sob under his palms and instantly presses himself closer to Roier. “It’s okay, Ro. I'm here, I'm still here.”
Roier turns his body to hug Spreen back, burying his face in his neck. He can feel tears dampening his shirt collar as he runs his hand through Roier’s soft hair, uncoiling its tangles. Spreen would say more, but he’s not sure there’s more to say at all. Maybe all Roier needs is someone to hold him, someone constant.
“I'm sorry.” Roier sounds genuine. He sniffles. “I’m sorry I’m so fucked up and that I can’t just, like, be normal with you.”
“Ro, look at me,” Spreen says, and Roier raises his head. His face is wet and ruddy, his bottom lip trembling as he tries to stop it with a bite. “You don’t have to apologize for that. You might feel guilty, but it’s not your fault that you feel this way. I'm not mad or disappointed or anything with you either. What I want is for you to be honest with me and let me help you feel better.”
“You’re too good to me.” Roier sobs. “You’re way too good for me. I don't know how I ever found you.”
Spreen wipes his tears away instead of kissing him, keeping a hand on his back so that he knows he’s safe. When Roier hugs him, he knows it’s a true “thank you.”