Archive of Our Own

     Don wipes his brow, the hot sun making him sweat. He crouches down in his garden, breathing in the smell of dirt and growing things. For some reason, none of his plants had sprouted yet. Normally Don could grow almost anything. He was confused. The soil was rich, and he tended to them carefully, so then why was nothing happening? Don sighs, continuing to puzzle over the problem. It wasn't that big of a deal. But it kept his mind off of... other things.

     The cold glances, the secrets, the lies. It was wearing him down, day by day. He wasn't stupid. He could tell that they hated him. Hell, half of the time there wasn't even an attempt to disguise it. He'd tried, time and time again, to prove his kindness to everyone. He offered to help on missions; he carefully cultivated a garden on the ship for them to enjoy. None of it seemed to matter. At best, he was treated like a mild annoyance. At worst, he was treated like a ticking time bomb that needed to be defused with a bullet.

     The only one who didn't treat him that way was Iro. Don's hands stilled. Iro. Just the name brought a confusing amount of emotions up. Iro was different than the others. Although Don couldn't recall what he had done to the rest, Iro did not seem to harbor the same ill will towards him that the others did. Iro had kept him sane. He remained a bright constant in a world full of bleak variables. Iro was the one who brought him clippings of plants from each realm they went to. Iro was the one who talked to him during meetings. It was a little embarrassing how much Don had grown to depend on the purple-haired man.

     He found himself more and more recently waiting for him in the garden, hoping he'd show up with a new plant. Don knew Iro was probably just humoring a lonely man, like an adult humoring a child and pretending to play their little games. Don wasn't quite sure what was real and what wasn't. Even with Iro, there were still lies. Things kept from him. Sometimes Iro would look at him, and although he tried to hide it, Don could always see the flicker of guilt and regret in Iro's eyes. He'd spent countless nights, lying awake, puzzling over those brief moments. Did he regret being friends with Don? Or was it something else? It was foolish, to obsess over something so small and inconsequential, but Don constantly had a terrible feeling that all the secrets kept from him were also tied to the looks Iro gave him. It was like trying to complete a puzzle while everyone did their best to withhold the pieces.

     Don finally stands up, giving up pretending that he was actually gardening. For some reason, he finds himself looking around for Iro, and his heart sinks when he doesn't see him. It was a foolish wish, to want Iro by his side all the time, but he wished it nonetheless. Better Iro than the little voices that followed him around, voicing all the concerns that Don silently carried wherever he went. You must've done something terrible. Why else can they not stand you? Don did his best to brush those thoughts out of his mind, but they were always there. Perhaps no matter how kind he was, nothing would change their hearts. Even if he couldn't remember what he did, perhaps he still deserved to suffer for whatever sins he'd committed in the past.

     He walks inside the ship, leaving the bright garden behind. He shivers slightly. The ship was always slightly too cold for him, and its bleak gray walls and winding, empty hallways made Don feel like he'd entered a strange, sad labyrinth. He walked down the hallways, footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. Don found silence to be comforting at times, but this type only made him feel more alone. His room was at the very end of the hallway, in the back of the ship. He stopped as a door opened ahead of him, and Tori walked out, almost crashing into him.

     "Ah! Hello, Tori," Don said, putting on his best smile.

     Tori gazed at him, unimpressed, and then sweeps past him. "I have no time for ye."

     Don debated on whether or not to call after her and see what had her in such a rush, but he knew that Tori wouldn't answer, anyway. So he just turned around, not wanting to see yet another person leave him behind. Feeling more alone than ever, he opened the door to his room and walked inside. Little potted plants were stacked on wooden shelves. Don had done his best to make the interior warm and cozy, despite the ship feeling anything but. It was all neat and perfectly arranged. A cozy little bed nestled in the corner; a few half-written sheets of music neatly stacked on the nightstand. He'd tried to instill the room with as much life as possible, but it only made it feel like a sugar-coated prison cell.

     Don sat down on the bed, running his hands through his hair. He glanced over at the guitar in the corner and shrugged. He didn't want to sit in the soul-sucking silence of his room anymore, so he picked up his guitar, played a few chords, and tuned it to his satisfaction. He takes a deep breath before he lets the world fade away as the opening chords to Dos Almas fill the silence of the room. He sings the words, as he knows them by heart. Normally, this song would be played with more than just a guitar, but that's all Don has, so he makes the best of it.

     "Two souls that God had united in this world, two souls that loved each other. That's what you and I were," He sings softly. He's startled out of his reverie by a knock at the door. His hands play a chord wrong, and he feels the moment slipping through his fingers, ruined by an untimely interruption. It's probably just someone here to tell him to be more quiet. He sighs, standing up and heading over to the door. The person hasn't stopped knocking, and Don can't help the irritation that flickers through him.

     He opens the door, frowning. "Yes?" His eyes widen slightly. Iro is standing there, looking noticeably awkward.

      "Hello, Don," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact, and Don can't help but smile.

     "Hello, mi amigo," Don says, spirits instantly lifted. "Come inside, come inside!" He ushers Iro in with a warm smile.

     Iro walks in, glancing around, and Don realizes that although he's visited Iro's room before, Iro has never seen his. "It's... nice," Iro says, his eyes unreadable.

     Don smiles. "I'm glad you think so! Do you want to sit down, instead of standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor?" He chuckles.

      Iro's eyes widen, and he sits down on the tiny bed, fidgeting. Don can't help but wonder at his nervousness. "What brings you here?" He says gently, sitting on the bed next to Iro. "Does something trouble you?"

     "No, no," Iro says, waving a dismissive hand. "I just wanted to see you, but you weren't in the garden."

     Don's heart skips a beat. "Oh," he says, pausing. "For like... work or something?" He asks, though, for the life of him, he can't think of a single thing Iro would consult him about, given that nobody told Don anything on this god-forsaken ship.

     "No," Iro says easily. "I just wanted to talk to you."

     Don stares at him, the blush rising on his face. Don finds himself like this whenever Iro is around. It's a very odd feeling, and despite his best attempts to ignore it, it only seems to grow stronger each day. "Ah, well, uh... What do you want to talk about?" Don asks, not meeting Iro's eyes. 

     Iro shrugs. "Dunno. I was just bored. Kodya and Gyrus are taking care of their 'mental health' today, so we don't have anything planned." Iro rolls his eyes and leans back, sighing. He glances over at Don. "What song were you singing earlier?" He asks, his curiosity genuine. The way he looks at Don makes his stomach flip, and he quickly averts his eyes.

     "Ah, it's called Dos Almas," Don says with a smile. "Would you like me to play it for you?"

     Iro nods, and Don picks up his guitar, trying to focus. It's hard when he can feel Iro's eyes on him. He begins to play, but something feels... off. The cadence isn't right, and something about the way he strums the chords feels awkward and forced. Everything is right, but also not all at the same time. Don keeps smiling despite his growing frustration. The notes are right, so why does it not sound nearly as good?

     "Don." The brown-eyed man freezes as Iro puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He asks, his tone uncertain.

     Don looks up. "Yes, it's just..." He sighs. "It's silly, really, but the song just... doesn't sound right to me." His face flushes with embarrassment as he admits it. He's sure Iro won't understand, and from the look of confusion that crosses over his friend's face, he was right.

     "Oh, well..." Iro pauses, contemplating. "You could always just sing it. You have a wonderful voice, so it'll sound great."

     Don's face warms. "Oh, uh, sure," he says, trying to ignore the way his heart flutters. He sets down the guitar and clears his throat, all while Iro keeps his eyes trained on him.