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Chosen's ears perk up when Augustus compliments him. He's never noticed it before, always distracted by feeling flustered about complimenting the other boy at all. It's not in his nature to verbally reinforce other people, but it is in his nature to conduct experiments for the purpose of collecting data. That's part of why he has such a large Yelp presence; it had started as a means of keeping track of how and why he liked and did not like establishments. He had no idea that the extensive reviews that he wrote up would garner any sort of audience. He had been told frequently for a long time that the effusiveness of his expressed opinions was quite annoying, so he hadn't assumed anyone would want to hear it. That's why he made the Yelp account. As it is, lots of people read his reviews. He's gotten messages on Instagram about people trying out new places and foods just because he recommended them, looked for him after on socials and they hope this is the Augustus St. Cloud that writes novel-esque Yelp reviews because otherwise this is gonna be totally embarrassing.

The first one of those might have changed the course of his entire life, if he's allowed to be just a little dramatic. The idea that someone liked what he had to say enough to seek him out after? The validation of it? The track he had resigned himself to- becoming a video game developer and maybe sliding into a beta tester job if he was lucky- was now on the back burner because of how much he just loves doing reviews, debating with people about restaurants, knowing places to recommend in every city he's ever visited. He likes being the guy who knows things. That's kind of part of the conducting experiments and collecting data thing.

All of this to say that he might be doing a mean thing with Chosen. He never says anything he doesn't mean! Every compliment and pet name and bit of praise he doles out for Chosen is entirely genuine, something he would have thought previously and never said aloud. He just says those things aloud now. He likes the way it feels to make Chosen look like that, that flustered and delighted look he gets before he schools it, the way his ears tell Augustus how he's feeling anyway. At least, that's what he assumes that ear movement means. It's what it would mean if he was a felis genera, but Augustus hasn't done enough research on canis genera to draw a conclusion with any confidence. It feels rude to research now that they're friends. It's nice to think about, though. Even if friends is all the two of them are ever going to be.

He might be a bit fantastical sometimes, but he's not deluded. He has no doubt that Chosen does not return his feelings. They barely make being friends work before Chosen gets tired of him most days, his tail twitchy when Augustus shows up and then again when he stays too long. Augustus knows when he isn't wanted. It's not an unfamiliar thing.

That being said, he's going over to Chosen's right now, actually, pulling up to the curb up front and putting his car in park. He walks himself through a few deep breaths, calming himself before heading inside. He hates that he's picked that up from Chosen, and he hates more that it works. He's never been to therapy, rarely even thought about it before meeting Chosen; he's always been knee deep in self diagnosis, unwilling to spill his mind to anyone else but putting it beneath the microscope himself. From therapy, though, Chosen has learned coping mechanisms, how to dig himself out of a black hole, how to keep calm in a scary situation. There's more admirable strength to him than Chosen even knows.

He doesn't bother knocking on the door, or even texting Chosen to let him know that Augustus is here. He's known where their spare key is kept since maybe the fourth week he and Chosen had been hanging out, apparently having won the trust of both Agnews without even trying super hard. There's something people always say about canis genera, something about loyalty and dogs, but Augustus never remembers what it is. Doesn't matter. For some reason, they trust him. Even if Augustus doesn't think he's done anything in particular to earn that trust. All of this to say that he walks into Chosen's house like he fucking lives there, and doesn't the Agnew house feel more like home than his own these days? Can't think too much about that, though. Swear, Chosen can smell when he's in a bad mood. He doesn't think canis actually do that, but given Chosen's whole vibe, who knows?

Chosen doesn't even look up from his handheld console when Augustus enters his bedroom, just giving him a brief wave and nodding at him from behind his sunglasses. He must have heard Augustus coming in; he's only managed to catch Chosen unaware, sunglasses off and not even nearby, on two occasions. The rest of the time, despite Augustus's best efforts, Chosen hears him. Canis. He's always envied canis for their hearing; felis genera typically have strong eyesight, but he's not even particularly blessed there. He sits down on the end of Chosen's bed, kicking his shoes off before he pulls his legs up to cross them. He has his own gaming shit on him, but he's not getting it out yet, instead looking around Chosen's room, taking things in between glances back at Chosen's screen, absently watching him play. Chosen's room is a lot more decorated than he would have expected. Martial arts and competitive gaming medals and trophies and belts hang on the walls, interspersed with commissioned art from people on Twitter, to Augustus's best understanding. Honestly, it feels like there's something new on the walls every time he comes over, which is saying a lot being as he spends half of his days with Spencer, barely counting when they share shifts.

Which is pretty much always unless Augustus is picking up shifts for extra cash. The income from reviewing (which was a surprise as well; he had no idea people got paid for reviewing before people were sending him products and samples and vouchers to experience what they had to offer) usually covers at least the stuff he needs to complete the review, but sometimes... sometimes he wants to take Spencer with him. And sometimes Spencer actually does come with him. The amount of outings they've been on that could qualify as dates if they ever had an adult conversation about it is astronomical. But Chosen doesn't seem to want to talk about it so Augustus won't either, ever cautious of rocking the boat hard enough to fall out. This is kinda how he's... testing the waters, to continue the metaphor. Pushing his luck.

"You have beautiful hands," he says, dropped like any other observation of any other thing. Chosen hits the pause button immediately, putting the console down on his bedside table just so he can put his strongest vibes into staring Augustus down. "Hey man, I didn't make you have nice hands," he says, shrugging his shoulders. He's not even embarrassed about this one; it's not like he hasn't thought it before. Chosen has nice hands! Broad palms, wide fingertips, blunt nails. They're strong hands.

"You're so weird," Chosen says, but he says it like it's a good thing, an interesting thing, something that he wants to know more about. Augustus grins at him, sitting with his legs crossed with his back against Chosen's bedroom wall. He blinks slowly at Chosen, comfortable and pleased. Chosen looks away, awkward in the face of eye contact. Which, honestly, fair. Eye contact is hard. It's just that with Chosen, he likes looking at him enough that the discomfort is somewhat outweighed.

"Maybe so, but you like me anyway," Augustus says, false confidence padding out the pitfalls of his nerve. Chosen makes a second of eye contact, studying Augustus for a moment, before he turns back to his game. He really thinks he's hiding that smile by looking away. Augustus smiles back anyway.

"Get out your switch, loser," Chosen commands, his abruptness tempered by the smile he still can't seem to shake. Augustus reaches down for his bag, resettling a little closer, just enough so his knee would brush Chosen's if both of them were leaning into it. Just because he doesn't think it's going to go anywhere doesn't mean he never presses his relationship with Chosen. Testing the waters. Rocking the boat. Chosen knocks his knee against his. It's just a nudge, but Augustus can't help but grin.

"What game am I kicking your ass in now?" he asks, contentment warm in his chest. He wraps his tail around his own waist, curled up and comfortable.

"You've never kicked my ass in your life," Chosen replies, rolling his eyes.

"It's a nice ass," Augustus says impulsively; he knows without looking that his face is a vivid scarlet. Helpless laughter spills from his mouth like water, unfettered little giggles leaving him in droves. Chosen gives a long sigh, but he's smiling as well, hand across his eyes.

"You're insufferable," he says. Again, Augustus doesn't believe him. The smile says more than the words ever have.

Augustus almost never wags his tail. Phrasing it like that makes it sound like an accusation, but really, it's more of an observation. He's not, like, invested in the idea of seeing Augustus wag his tail, but it would be nice to know that he's not the only one getting embarrassingly excited every time they hang out. He typically minimizes it to the best of his ability, stilling the movement for as long as he's paying attention to it, but eventually, it'll happen again. And Augustus will leave. Because Chosen is being fucking weird.

The way that he holds his tail confuses Chosen as well. Often, Augustus's tail will be curled into one stagnant shape or wrapped around his own waist. What the fuck is that about? Chosen has thus far assumed it's a self soothing mechanism, like when pups chew on their hands when they're bored. But the thing is, he doesn't know. Augustus is the only felis genera he's ever hung out with in a reliable, regular manner with multiple chances for assessment of behaviors in a similar environment. He wishes there had been a longer unit on felis genera in school, because it would feel weird to scour the internet for information now. If Augustus wanted him to know things, he'd tell him. He's not going to go over Augustus's head to the great world wide web, it's just not fair. He hates when people read his animalian traits. He doesn't want to make Augustus feel that same way, exposed and beneath a microscope.

It's whatever. He's sitting in on one of Augustus's games of Magic: the Gathering, though they may have switched games while Chosen was off in his head. When he looks over, Augustus's tail is swishing in short little movements, not really wagging, but not still either. He absolutely cannot carry a notebook around and observe the behaviors of his friend. Brianna had gotten mad enough at him when he had wanted to do that in the seventh grade, and she's Brianna. She's known him through every annoying phase of his life, through depressive episodes years long and in months of chemically imbalanced burnout, she tag teamed with his mom to make sure that he was taking care of himself. If even Brianna wouldn't deal with that, surely Augustus would lose his temper with it even more quickly.

It doesn't stop him from wanting to. Studying people is supposed to make them easier to understand. He's constantly out of his depth with Augustus. They had been hanging out a lot lately, but it was starting to go differently, last longer. Augustus compliments him a lot. Like a lot. Like at least a couple of times a day a lot. And what does a person do with that? Especially when the person he's frequently receiving compliments from visibly does not like being around him. And Chosen likes him so fucking much. He ignores that part, though, because if he doesn't know what to do with the compliments, he's completely fucking lost on his own feelings.

"Alright, hot stuff, game's over, let's go," Augustus says, pushing him up and out of his chair from behind. Chosen starts hard, ears sliding back, alarm and fear taking him over in the second it takes to realize that it's just Augustus. He breathes out, steadying himself as he processes what Augustus actually said.

"Oh. Cool. Did you win?" he asks, knowing the answer before it even comes out of his mouth. Of course Augustus won. He's Augustus. The only person Chosen has ever seen him lose against in any kind of game at all is Chosen himself, and, well, who can blame him? He's the Chosen. Augustus grins at him, bumping their shoulders. He's fucking effervescent after a win, shiny and bright and Chosen is just glad to be standing in his glow. 

"Of course I won," he says, smile just a little cocky and a little smarmy and ten different kinds of adorable to Chosen, for some reason. He then looks Chosen over, a slow pass like he's trying to figure something out about Chosen just from the look of him. His ears slide back again, anxiety rolling his stomach.

"Have you eaten today?" Augustus asks, just barely tinged with suspicion. Chosen's gaze drops to the ground. He had been planning on eating at some point, but then Augustus showed up and they hung out for a while and then it was time for Augustus to go to Magic and he invited Chosen along, and what was he supposed to do? Say no? Fuck that. So, like, yes, he forgot to eat, but it's mostly on Augustus's shoulders that he didn't. "Alright, dude, we're going out for late lunch/early dinner. Your mom working tonight?"

He likes the way that Augustus is almost as invested as he is in Chosen's ability to have time with his mother. He knows that Augustus's fathers are shit, and that he looks at Laura and there's this open yearning on his face sometimes, something deeply motherless in this boy becoming obvious between one moment and the next. He's not met Augustus's fathers yet, but that has more to do with Augustus's nervousness than his. From his understanding, there's a lot of fighting in that house. Augustus hasn't told him a huge amount of details yet, and that's okay. He's getting good at waiting him out when he needs it. Life has treated Augustus in such a way that he needs to be handled with care now. For this, for him, Chosen is learning how to do that.

This crush is getting madly out of hand. He clears his throat.

"Yeah, she's doing swing shift again. Are we doing a drive thru or am I about to feel, like, incredibly under-dressed? Not for the first time, I might add," he says, wry smile stretching across his face. It's always so sweet when Augustus drags him to nice places, though. He walks Chosen through the entire menu, tells him about reviewing it, makes note of dishes that he tried that he is almost sure that Chosen will like, because he was thinking about what Chosen would fucking like while working on one of his reviews. Augustus seems to weigh it in his mind, sizing Chosen up. His face is heating up and he can feel it. Chosen tilts his head, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

"Would you be super against feeling under-dressed?" Augustus asks, nose wrinkled. Chosen rolls his eyes but can't help the besotted half-smile. He's cute. He shrugs a shoulder and follows Augustus as he turns to leave, all too trusting of this boy who doesn't even know he has the power to hurt Chosen more than almost anyone else in the world. That's terrifying. Chosen is choosing to ignore this. They had been entertaining this discussion while still inside; it's hotter than a motherfucker in the May sun, and the mosquitos are worse. They practically sprint to Augustus's car.

Augustus doesn't bother telling him where they're going. This has become par for the course being as Chosen knows next to none of the fancy restaurants that Augustus frequents when they're not together. He and his mom have always done things as efficiently as possible; Laura Agnew is a  no nonsense, single mom who is also a full time nurse. As limitless as his respect for her is, and as much as Chosen can cook for himself, he can admit that a childhood in her house was not exactly culinarily diverse. Instead of discussing it, he and Augustus are debating mains in Smash Brothers; Chosen is presenting a more impassioned defense of Ganondorf than he ever wanted to know he was capable of giving. Augustus is laughing at him, not in a mean way, but that helpless laughter he gets sometimes when he thinks Chosen is being ridiculous. He doesn't even mind feeling a little ridiculous for it when the reward is a smile like that.

They have to chill out, though, because Augustus is tearing up enough from laughing so hard that it feels unsafe to drive in that condition. Chosen fights the urge to reach for him across the console, to hold his hand. He'd have to be a lot braver than he is to do that, and he doesn't plan on making any leaps and bounds today. He saves his bravery for other things. In this one place, let him be scared. Augustus pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant with a name that Chosen can't even read; it's not English, nor any language of Latin roots, he's pretty sure.

"Have you ever had Turkish food?" Augustus asks before even turning the car off, just turning to Chosen with a hand still on the wheel. That answers the question of the language, then. Turkish is Altaic, if he remembers correctly. He had a brief phase with linguistic origin points when he was about fourteen.

"Not to my knowledge?" he says, because he genuinely doesn't know. Augustus himself might have taken him to a Turkish restaurant before, and who knows if either of them would remember it? In the few short months they've been friends, Chosen has gone to more restaurants with Augustus than he's gone to with anyone, probably. Including both his mother and Brianna. He reminds himself that these outings are not dates. He can't think of them as more than they are. Augustus turns more clearly toward Chosen, making eye contact before he even begins speaking, expression serious.

"If you feel uncomfortable at all, just tell me, okay? If you don't want to be here at any time, we can leave. I'll give you my keys so you can go outside while I settle the bill. You're not trapped here just because I'm your ride," Augustus tells him in a slow cadence, gentle severity telegraphed in his features. This is a bit of a reprise of a conversation they've had before; a staff member at a previous restaurant they had visited together had upset Chosen, and he decided to keep that from Augustus rather than to express it. When his temper was short after they ate, Augustus had prodded him on the subject, dragging the story out of him one piece at a time. It wasn't the first time he's been misgendered on purpose, okay? It just wasn't that big of a deal to him. Based off of the scathing nature of the review Augustus left that night (and the conversation they're having right now), his companion did not agree.

"I'm not a child, Augustus. I can conduct myself like an adult," Chosen says, putting up walls not least of all because it's what he's best at, keeping people out. His therapist says he's getting better at letting them in. Another sentiment this conversation disagrees with.

"It's not childish for your feelings to be hurt, Chosen," Augustus says softly, terribly confident with the idea he's expressing. Chosen tilts his head to the side whether he means to or not. He thinks of his father telling him to man up when Spencer was having what he knows now were meltdowns, how he told him to grow up whenever other children's unkindness brought him to tears. That if he wanted to be a man, he should start acting like it. Like he shouldn't have the chance to be a boy before a man. This is a complete contradiction of something that Chosen had long accepted was true. Emotion is not something one is allowed to express and still be respected. He knows that. 

"I'll be fine," he insists, though he isn't sure why, honestly. Augustus is offering him an out. Why can't he just take it?

"Hold out your hand," Augustus says. Curious if nothing else, Chosen does as asked, palm up. Augustus takes his keys out of the ignition and drops them into Spencer's hand, moving Chosen's fingers to close his fist around them. Confusion is thick in his lungs. Chosen doesn't even drive. "You leave if things suck. It's a restaurant. You don't have to tough it out. It's not a life or death situation, it's lunch. Suffering is not a marker of accomplishment. We leave as soon as either of us no longer wants to be here, deal?"

And that makes a bit more sense. Augustus is trying, quite literally, to put power in Chosen's hands. He doesn't know if anyone has ever seen this in him, that bone-deep fear that he just can't seem to shake, the instinct to, when threatened, sit still and wait for things to get better. Chosen clears his throat, briefly but potently overwhelmed.

"Deal."

When he had texted to Chosen to find out if it was cool if he came over (a recent and only somewhat regular measure, being as he had come over to Chosen's recently only to find he had been dragged out of the house by Brianna), Augustus wasn't expecting to be sent an address. He knows the way to Chosen's house, has picked him up several times and even hung out there quite a few times; that's becoming more common an occurrence than Augustus realistically knows how to navigate. He doesn't even look up the address before putting it in Maps, just follows the directions that he's given. If Chosen wanted to kill him, he'd have done it already, he figures. Pulling into a boxing gym, however, is a bit of a surprise. Still, he walks in, spotting Spencer in one of the back corners of the first, expansive room. The guy at the front counter waves him back before he even gets within ten feet of it, gesturing vaguely in Chosen's direction. Chosen must have talked to him. Whatever. Augustus makes his way back, sitting down without saying a word to Chosen. He doesn't keep his silence long, however.

"Your back is fucking incredible," he says, observing his friend's nearly artistic musculature from his place sitting down at the edge of the mat Chosen is training on, his missing shirt on the mat near where Augustus sits. Chosen barely flicks a gaze in Augustus's direction, but Augustus can see the back of his neck turn pink, the stubborn sunlight of his smile showing through the clouds as he dips his head. And that's why Augustus keeps doing it, this complimenting Chosen experiment, or whatever. Even when he's annoyed with Augustus, Chosen smiles every time he's complimented. Well, unless he's throwing things at Augustus because apparently commenting on the ability to bounce a quarter off your bro's ass is totally not cool. Chosen had also gone a bright and flattering scarlet, though, so absolutely worth it.

"That would be a result of my training. You're welcome to join me, if you think you can keep up," Chosen says, and Augustus knows he's being baited, but it's Spencer, and not rising to a challenge from Spencer is just admitting defeat. He stands from the mat, joints creaking as he does so. They always do that, though. Autistic people are statistically more likely than allistic people to have "bad" or hyperflexive or just weak joints. By a large margin, even. Chosen is probably the only autistic person he knows that doesn't. Chosen's brows furrow at the sound of it, head tilted. He looks like a pup when he does that. It's very cute.

"Stand down, puppy, I'm fine," Augustus jokes, intrigued as his companion goes pink in the face once again. He raises an eyebrow, tail upright as he gets closer to Chosen, looking him over with an analytical gaze. Chosen rolls his eyes and looks away, but his ears haven't gone back, so he's probably not pissed. He clears his throat.

"You know that's like... calling someone baby. For canis. You know that, right?" Chosen explains, awkward and that blush not going down in the slightest, rather getting darker by the second. He doesn't know if anyone ever called him kit, or cub, or kitten, but it's quite possible that those have a similar linguistic role for felis; it's not like Augustus would know. He didn't grow up with other felis around, doesn't have a remote idea what the culture looks like. Looking at Chosen, though, he just grins.

"Well, I know that now. What about pup? Is that like babe?" he asks, teasing tone still looping between his words. Chosen just blinks at him for a second, following this up with the ever charming act of choking on his own spit, sending Augustus into giggles. "I'll take that as a yes," he says, giving Chosen a wide smile. Chosen straightens and rolls his eyes, pink in the face as he stalks over to Augustus. If it was anyone else built like Chosen, at the very least Augustus would be intimidated, if not actively feeling threatened. Meanwhile, this muscle-head, blonde puppy is just charming to him, and he leans casually back against the wall. He tilts his head back, letting it hit the concrete softly and looking down at Chosen through his eyelashes. There's an energy here. Augustus would never be bold enough to name it, but it's there.

"Is kitten like that for felis?" Chosen asks, probably having no idea that such a question might be a bit of a sore spot. It cracks through the veneer of calm they had been existing in. Augustus clears his throat, casting his gaze to the side. Chosen doesn't know he's poking at a wound. Unfortunately, that does not stop it from bleeding.

"I wouldn't know," he says, proud when it only sounds a little hollow. Chosen's brows furrow, head tilting to the side. "Neither of my dads are felis." That's the simplest explanation, isn't it? Better than saying that both of his dads were too scared of their own kid's kind to incorporate adults of his genus into his socialization. Chosen nods. The lack of pity is a potent relief.

"We could Google it," he offers, shrugging a shoulder. Curiosity distracts them both, Augustus opening Google on his phone and seeing if felis say kitten or kitty in the same way as baby or apparently puppy; the answer is no, if you were curious as well. Only seems to be common with canis (puppy), ursus (cub), macropus (joey), and pteropus (also puppy... for some reason), actually. They stand in one place for almost ten minutes discussing and debating this, just off the side of Chosen's training mat. They're not the only people in this boxing gym. Chosen seems to realize this after some time, looking over at the guys on the other side of the gym as if he hadn't known they were there in the first place. As if.

There is the concept that he might have gotten so deeply invested in their conversation that he forgot other people were in the room, but that is ridiculous. Just because that's true for Augustus doesn't make it a universal experience. He's aware of the fact that he's a little intense about Chosen. He cannot expect that energy to be matched. They're quiet for a moment, just standing in one another's space, before Chosen speaks again.

"Would you mind taking me home?"

"Ah, and the real reason you allowed me to visit your athletic sanctum comes to light," Augustus says, openly teasing the other boy with a grin. Chosen rolls his eyes.

"You can go wherever you want, Augustus."

"Yeah right, like you wouldn't be bothered by me being around even more than I am," he jokes, thinking of Chosen's ears slid back, his tail twitching behind him. Chosen, however, tilts his head, squinting as if he doesn't agree with such an assessment.

"Augustus, you have carte blanche on visiting my home whenever you'd like. Why would I mind your frequency of visitation here, or when I'm practicing kendo, or anywhere, really? You are one of five people that have ever been inside my bedroom. If I was bothered by your presence, I would make that abundantly clear."

Augustus has never thought of it like that before; he's never thought about the fact that Brianna is the only other friend he's ever seen at Chosen's house, or that Chosen really has opened his home to Augustus, or that Chosen is incredibly blunt and direct, and he is not often quiet about displeasure with others. Chosen's mom has told him over and over again to call her by her first name. Chosen cooks for him sometimes when he comes over. Chosen has invited him. Most of the time, it's Augustus inviting himself over and Chosen just rolling with it, but there have been occasions. Typically, it's when Augustus is having a bad week and doesn't feel like inflicting that on others, and he won't come around to Chosen's for a few days and he's quiet at work, and Chosen just gets into his car with him at the end of his shift. On one memorable occasion, he had actually pulled Augustus's key out of the ignition and walked into the house with it, leaving Augustus sitting in his own car on the curb in front of Chosen's house.

"You're totally gonna regret that," he says anyway, unable to just take kindness without spinning it into a joke.

"I disagree. Let's go home," Chosen says; the degree to which that flusters Augustus is not a fucking joke. Home. He knows that Chosen is just talking about the house being his home, but... the way he said it. Let's go home. Like it's where Augustus belongs as well. It'd be nice to feel like that. Like there's somewhere he belongs.

Some weeks or months later, they're sitting together on Chosen's couch, Chosen with his legs crossed back into one of the corners, Augustus on the other side not quite mirroring him, but not sitting in a way one would call normal either. He's got his legs over the arm of the couch, his back on the seat cushions. His hair is spread out across the pillow under his head, loose for once and so pretty. Chosen has never touched it, because he's fucking polite, but the temptation has never been stronger. He doesn't even realize that he's staring til their cut scene ends, the loud audio indicator of gameplay beginning nearly startling him out of his skin. Halo games are so fucking loud. Unfortunately, they're also quite fun, so it's a series they keep coming back to; he's just about ready to actually start when the game is paused. He looks over at his companion.

"I'm getting hungry. You got any snacks, or am I pulling money to order us a pizza?" Augustus asks, gaze flicking up to meet Chosen's. Chosen puts down his controller, stomach roiling. Shit. That's what he forgot on their Sunday grocery trip. Snacks for Augustus. Fuck.

"There are snack cakes in the cabinet if you want one?" he offers, his ears dropping involuntarily at his own inability to provide in this moment. All they've got in the cabinet is the Fall Party Snacks from Little Debbie that Chosen indulges in at this time of year, devoid of any of the savory snacks the other typically prefers. Augustus snorts.

"What would be the point?" he asks. Chosen tilts his head. "Felis genera can't taste sweets, Chosen."

"Oh. Interesting. I didn't know that. You drive, we could go to the store real quick," he offers, that useless feeling itching under his skin. Augustus raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head like he's trying to figure Chosen out. Restlessness is a wasp's nest tucked between Chosen's ribs.

"It's not that deep, Chosen, swear. Pizza. Phone call away. There's even an app for that now."

"Sorry," Chosen says, casting his gaze down. "It's a canis instinct. Providing, or whatever." He can't look at Augustus and imply that he's someone that Chosen wants to provide for at the same time, and he doesn't think he should be blamed for that. Augustus hums, nodding in Chosen's peripheral vision.

"Felis genera sort of have that too. Mostly with colony members less able to protect and provide for themselves. Is this that? Because you know I can take care of myself, right, dude?" Augustus asks, his expression souring. Chosen's ears slide back whether he'd like them to or not, fear boiling in his stomach. He overwhelms people. He knows that he can be overbearing and that he's intense and he makes people feel as if he doesn't respect their independence, and he doesn't want Augustus to think any of that. There's a reason he and Brianna are the only people coming over to Chosen's house. Chosen has made people feel like that his whole life. He has no idea how to stop.

"No. Canis take care of all pack members, not just... whatever, it doesn't matter. Do you want to go to the store?" he asks again, hardening his voice to lessen its shake. Still looking him over, Augustus shrugs his shoulders.

"I'm probably not going to buy anything, but I'll take you if you want to buy shit," he offers, his gaze suspicious as it lingers on Chosen. Chosen breathes out a steadying sigh through his nose. If he tells Augustus outright that he plans to purchase things for him, Augustus won't be open to going to the store at all. He knows how the other boy gets about money, lingering on borrowed money and repayment for longer than Chosen even remembers there has been something exchanged here. He always wants to make sure that he pays Chosen back, that Chosen is never left in the lurch, whatever the fuck that means. Mom's always been a little liquid about money; she didn't really foster a need to Save like Chosen has learned most American parents apparently do. Why accumulate wealth when it could be distributed more effectively to create a better environment for all involved? Why would he want numbers in an account more than he wants his friend to eat?

That is neither here nor there. Augustus was raised in the American ideal of the capitalist system and his money anxiety is genuinely acquired. Chosen just wishes he knew some way to assuage it.

"Put your shoes on, we're going to the store," he grumbles, standing to put on his own shoes as well. They're both dressed enough to go somewhere, though both in casual enough clothes to also be comfortable just sitting around the house. Augustus rises slowly, putting on his shoes as Chosen instructed but with an obvious air of distrust. The canine instinct to whine is sitting on his diaphragm, howling hopelessly at his half moon heart. He knows that Augustus doesn't trust him and he knows that he's never given Augustus a real reason to, but he had hoped with continued exposure to one another, they would become more comfortable. While he has certainly become accustomed to having Augustus in his space and scheduled into his time, it seems that Augustus has not reached that same level of certainty. It is taking so much of Chosen's amnesty to not be hurt by this.

He's the Chosen. He does not get his feelings hurt because boys do not like him as much as he likes them. He doesn't get his feelings hurt at all. He is above the human struggles for affection, respect and love.

Augustus loosens up on the way to the store, picking up the argument that they've been having about music pretty much since they met. It's Augustus's car, so he gets to pick the music; Chosen chooses to keep him in the dark about the fact that Chosen would likely let Augustus choose the music even if he drove. He has so many interesting opinions about such a varied number of topics, tells Chosen about Puerto Rican protest music as they listen to raggaeton he's never heard, tells Chosen about the life of Phil Lynott while Thin Lizzy tears through the speakers. He likes how much Augustus just knows. He likes that it's different from the shit that Chosen just knows. He likes listening to Augustus talk.

Augustus also takes this time to tell him that his eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Who fucking says that?

They arrive at the grocery store and he sends Augustus off to find something nearly immediately; he knows that Augustus will protest every single thing that Chosen puts in his cart if he sees the selection of snacks Chosen would like to get for him. A felis genera takes it upon themself to engage Chosen in conversation in the middle of the bread aisle after Chosen has spent a few minutes alone, seeking things out. Chosen is not particularly good at conversations with strangers, least of all when they're actually being nice to him. How do people make small talk? Unable to extract himself from the situation smoothly, Chosen lets himself be talked at for probably three minutes, at which point an item is thrown in his basket and an arm is thrown over his shoulders, heavy and immediately comforting for the scent.

Augustus looms over Chosen's shoulder, expression stony and silent. The unknown felis genera removes their gaze from Chosen and their expression changes immediately, grin exchanged for a look of immediate suspicion. Augustus maintains eye contact. Chosen has no idea what to do in this situation, standing here between two felis genera who, for some reason, feel like they're about to fight, just based on the immediate undercurrent of challenge rolling off of Augustus in waves. He doesn't even bother to say anything, just staring at the stranger until apparently they feel awkward enough to abandon the interaction altogether. Chosen tilts his head, looking up and over to study Augustus's facial expression with a raised eyebrow. Augustus shrugs his shoulders.

"Dude, I know that shit makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner," he says, not removing his arm from around Chosen's shoulders. Chosen tilts his head at a bit of a further angle, confused. "He was totally flirting with you. Did you not clock that?" Augustus asks this as if it should be abundantly obvious, as if the guy wasn't just, like. Talking. Flirting has to be extremely overt for Chosen to read it correctly, though, so maybe Augustus is right. He's glad his friend intervened then. The only thing more awkward than being flirted with by a stranger is having to reject a stranger.

"I did not realize, no. I appreciate your intervention," he says, needing just this once to be absolutely honest with Augustus about how much he appreciates the other boy's service, his presence, his actions, what have you. Augustus colors red, rolling his eyes again as he takes his arm from around Chosen's shoulders, an action to which Chosen has to hold back a whine in reaction. It's extraordinarily comforting to have Augustus that close. He is the Chosen. He does not need comfort, least of all when they're just at the fucking grocery store.

"Don't worry about it, puppy. You find everything you need?" Chosen nods and bumps his shoulder against Augustus's, affection mixing with comradery in his chest. He's been calling him that lately. Puppy. It never fails to fluster Chosen, his face turning a deep pink and his palms beginning to sweat. Augustus bumps him back, walking just a bit faster than Chosen as he makes his way down the aisle. His tail is stiff, standing straight up. Impulsive, Chosen reaches out and curls it around his finger, stopping Augustus in his tracks. He turns back to look at Chosen, blinking. Chosen doesn't let go. He's never touched Augustus's tail before. It's very soft. The velvety black fur feathers beneath his fingertips.

"Your tail is very soft," he remarks lowly, rubbing his thumb over one of the thin, flat bones there. His head snaps up when he hears a rumble of purring from Augustus, brief but noticeable. Augustus makes a face at him. Then, it seems that curiosity guides Augustus as well, reaching out to feel the fur of Chosen's tail between two fingers. Shuddering, Augustus pulls away, breaking Chosen's grip without much effort.

"What we're not going to do is explore each other's bodies in the fucking grocery store, so how about we go back home and we can talk about it?" Augustus asks, sounding as if he would like nothing less than to talk about it. The idea of Augustus referring to Chosen's house as home is burning a hole through Chosen's breastbone, hot and fond and bright. It feels like a supernova in his chest. He nods in agreement, not trusting his voice. He's choosing to ignore the wording of explore each other's bodies, because if he lingers on that too much, he's going to pass out in the grocery store, if he's allowed to be realistic here. He'd touched two, maybe three inches of Augustus's tail and already his fingers feel like they're tingling, that old skinhunger ravenous within him. He follows Augustus to the register.

Apparently Augustus hadn't looked at the cart before he'd thrown something in it, and neither after; he's surprised as Chosen makes stilted conversation with the cashier and avoids eye contact with him, internally lamenting the lack of self checkout available as he puts his things on the conveyor belt. Jerky follows chips follows the fucking frozen chicken sandwiches that Augustus favors, all picked out by Chosen's hand. He doesn't look at Augustus for the entire interaction, swiping his card and putting in his pin with a tight smile for Izzy, their cashier. They're quite nice, a rana genera with big brown eyes, just as awkward with others as Chosen is on any given day. They hand him the receipt and tell him to have a nice day, turning to the next customer as Chosen pushes the cart toward the exit, not looking at Augustus.

"You didn't have to do all that. That's a lot of stuff, dude. I can pay you back," Augustus insists, as if he had been at all privy to Chosen's decisions before they came to pass. Chosen shrugs his shoulders, bumping one against Augustus again.

"We just got paid, I've got the cash. Don't worry about it," he says, echoing the sentiment Augustus had expressed to him after intervening on his behalf. Augustus cuts eyes at Chosen.

"You don't have to provide for me, Chosen," he says, probably unaware of the way that brings negative emotions pooling in the back of Chosen's throat. He knows he doesn't have to; he wishes he didn't have to tell Augustus that he wants to, that providing for Augustus makes him feel good and like Augustus needs him and likes him and has a reason to stick around. No one can say that to someone, though, right? Saying that would be an egregious social faux pas. Even Chosen knows that. He presses that gentle desperation back down his own throat, starting over.

"I know I don't have to," is all he replies quietly, opening the back of Augustus's car after the other unlocks it. He's careful as he puts the groceries down, maybe a bit over-careful, wasting his time so that Augustus will get in the car and he won't have to talk about this. Augustus waits him out though, standing next to the back of the car and just leaning against it while Chosen takes more time than any one person should take putting three grocery bags in the boot of a car. He sighs, facing the music as he turns to face Augustus.

"I appreciate it, puppy," he says, matching Chosen in his low volume. Trunk still open, in the parking lot of a grocery store in the middle of the day, Augustus pulls Chosen in for a hug as if he's done something extraordinary just for strong arming his way through buying Augustus snack food. His hands curl into fists in the back of Augustus's shirt whether he wants them to or not, his natural instinct to keep Augustus as close as possible taking him over. He makes himself unclasp his hands long before Augustus actually tries to pull away. Reaching out to close the trunk, he backs off of Augustus and clears his throat.

"Whatever. Home?" he asks, spinning one of his rings. He doesn't even try to unpack the way that Augustus is looking at him, going around him to his side of the car and climbing in. It really does feel like Chosen's side of the car, like he's the person that's meant to be in Augustus's passenger seat, riding shotgun. He hasn't had anything refute that yet, so he doesn't think it's horrible to be territorial about it. Augustus gives his friend John a ride to Magic tournaments every week, and still when Chosen goes (mostly so that he is more able to debate Augustus on the topic), he kicks John out of the front seat, told him the first time that it was Chosen's seat. It's just a friend thing, no doubt, but it had made Chosen feel special anyway. Several of his belongings are scattered in Augustus's car as well, marking it with Chosen's ownership and scent.

He really likes sharing in things with Augustus. He does not know what to do with that. Augustus gets into the driver's seat after a moment of Chosen being alone in the car, looking at him with brief curiosity before he turns on the music, launching back into their previous discussion. Thank fucking God. Chosen asks him questions when he trails off, engages him about this interest not just for the usual reason of wanting to hear Augustus talk about something he's passionate about, but also to keep them both distracted.

He's almost forgotten his social faux pas by the time they pull into his driveway, the two of them silent as he grabs the bags from the boot of the car. It seems that he's the only one.

"Chosen, you cannot touch my tail in public. Especially not without warning me first," Augustus says, rounding on him as soon as the door closes, before either of them have even taken off shoes. Chosen nods tightly, ears back, and walks past him to the kitchen, unpacking the bags and putting their haul away before returning his attention to Augustus. Everything is fine. He just wishes he didn't feel like this. Augustus had felt his tail as well, but perhaps it was a bigger deal for felis genera? Brianna has brushed out his tail and twisted parts of it into little braids for fun while bored in classes. He can't assume it's the same for felis genera, though. Fuck.

"I apologize for causing you discomfort, and I promise you that it will never happen again. A brief lapse in judgment," he says as explanation, shaking from his blank stare to turn away from Augustus and head directly to his living room. Augustus can follow him or not. Chosen feels gross. He feels like he did something wrong. He feels like Augustus is going to leave, and he feels like Augustus would be valid in doing so. He sits cross legged on the couch, not bothering to turn the television on or decide on a gaming system to boot up, instead closing his eyes and counting to himself to return himself to calm. It takes a minute, but Augustus does eventually follow him. He drops a bag of jerky on the coffee table, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch from Chosen, mirroring him in pose.

"Chosen, I need to know what just happened," Augustus says calmly, looking over at Chosen like Chosen's fucking therapist does, calm and neutral. It sets Chosen's teeth on edge. It always makes him feel too close to the problem when someone looks at him like that, like he needs to take several steps back to view his life as an observer for everything to make sense. He's not supposed to do that, though, because that isn't healthy either. He clears his throat, forcing himself to stay present.

"I apologized," he says, knowing that isn't really what Augustus is asking about, but well. Ask vague questions, get vague answers. Irritation flits across Augustus's face and Chosen's ears go back again, a bolt of fear chasing breath into his lungs, diffusing through him like oxygen into the bloodstream. He forces himself calm.

"I got that far, asshole. I need to know why you just had a Would You Kindly moment in the kitchen," Augustus elaborates; it takes Chosen a moment to understand the Bioshock reference. Only Augustus would assume the brainwashing trigger phrase from a video game that came out in 2007 would be a recognizable addition to their collective lexicon. Probably not a fair thing to think when Chosen did understand it. Sighing, Chosen shrugs his shoulders.

"I did something that upset you. I apologized. I don't see the issue," he says, a little growl in his voice, words in some ways honest and in some ways less so. He's aware of the fact that he flinches back from confrontation. He is aware of the fact that he very much does not seem like a person that flinches back from confrontation. And he is also aware that truthfully, in a grand majority of interactions, he isn't. With strangers, even with acquaintances, it's always easier to confront things directly; it's when Chosen is actually invested in another person that their opinion begins to really matter.

"Puppy, you're acting like somebody is gonna fucking hit you, I need to know what I did," Augustus says, tone heavy with exasperation. Chosen digs one of his claws into the palm of his hand, not quite hard enough to break skin but not particularly far from it either. He breathes out steadily, forcing a casual air as he shrugs again.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Augustus. I needed a moment to compose myself and so I took it. I don't see the problem," he reiterates, making his voice steady by sheer force of will. Augustus raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Just drop it." Now, both of Augustus's eyebrows meet his hairline, a look of challenge taking over his face. Fuck. Alright.

"You're such a dick," Augustus huffs, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Chosen notices something he's rarely seen before. At the end of his rope, Chosen huffs out a laugh that sounds more openly broken than he'd like it to, but it's not like he has much of a handle on his emotions right now.

"Really, this is when your tail wags? You're bitching me out and that's when you're happy?" he asks harshly, calling it out and dragging it out into the open when it's obviously been something Augustus didn't want to discuss. Instead of the immediate vitriolic rejoinder he's expecting, what he gets is a tilt of Augustus's head, his tail going still in the air. It moves to wrap around Augustus's waist in that self soothing way that Augustus does sometimes, one of the only unfamiliar things he does that is relatively easy for Chosen to read. He's keeping himself calm. Chosen struggles to do the same.

"You really don't know anything about felis genera, do you?" Augustus asks slowly, all anger dropped from his tone in favor of this. Chosen blinks, his ears moving from their back position to alert points.

"How much do you know about canis genera?" he asks in return, not in an accusatory manner, but in the interest of providing personal reference for Augustus to understand exactly how little he knows here. For some reason, they've never discussed it. He knows the ins and outs of vipera physicality and culture because he and Brianna have discussed genera at length. Then also, there's the fact that it's often beneficial for someone to assist in the shedding process, and Spencer had always been her best friend.

"Etiquette and movement tracing are pretty much all that was taught about canis in school. We're kind of dumb, aren't we? Can we just. Fight's over, ask each other questions now? Maybe actually fucking learn to understand one another without a translator," Augustus jokes weakly, sitting back down on the couch and bringing his legs up, crossing them. Chosen mirrors him, sliding back on the couch til his tail is tucked in the space between the final cushion and the arm of the couch. He does this not least of all so that he can minimize his animalian expression, even if they're going to be talking about it. Curiosity claws at him.

"What does it mean for felis genera?" he asks, already beginning to fidget with the bracelets and rings on his hands. He's trying to get better at expressing. His mother and his therapist agree that he does not need to be a warrior at all times, that being able to relax is a virtue as well. Augustus is picking at a loose thread on his knee. 

"We, um. Our tails twitch and, well, you would call it wagging, so they twitch and wag when we're- it's a sign of irritation. Being unsettled. That kind of thing," he clarifies, still not looking up from that string on his pants. Irritation. That explains why Chosen has only ever seen tail movement when they were fighting, okay. First time it went to full wag territory was today, but he has seen it before. Okay. He can work with this. Hurt is not an emotion he's feeling right now. Augustus is allowed to be irritated with him. Chosen is frequently irritating. He has to breathe through the feeling either way.

"How often am I causing you irritation?" he makes himself ask, voice measured as he makes himself keep his chin level, not letting himself tuck it low as vehemently as he wants to do so. Composure is of value to any warrior. Augustus rolls his eyes.

"Dude, you're pissed at me all the time. This cannot be a surprise to you," he says, laying this out as if it should all be very obvious. Chosen tilts his head, honestly and openly confused. "Don't give me that look. When your ears go back and you get all growly, and snappy, and pissed off. Like come on, even I'm not gonna read that room wrong, Chosen. Pissed off at me is a look I'm pretty familiar with interpreting. You were pissed off at me not ten minutes ago, dude." It takes Chosen a moment to figure out what he's talking about, but explanation spills out of his mouth whether he would like it to or not.

"That's not how canis look when we're pissed, that's how we look when we're scared," Chosen says, his eyes immediately going wide, a hand slapping over his mouth in a way that would be comical if he had just said anything other than what he just said. It had never even occurred to Augustus that he might have been scared during their past discussions of this nature; Chosen was never scared, or so Augustus might have genuinely thought. In retrospect, that is obviously an illogical conclusion to reach, but Augustus was at least sure that he had never seen Chosen scared before. All of the times he's seen Chosen with his ears back hit him at once. Every single time they've raised their voices at one another, any time Augustus stood up too fast when they were arguing, or when he even joked about just leaving. Each time, he just thought that Chosen was pissed at him. Holy fuck.

"Chosen, how often are you scared of me?" he asks, his voice empty of emotion. It's flatter than typical too, this fear in him a flinch from the impact of Chosen's, and he can't make it different. He thinks of how often Chosen has been scared and let Augustus back in his house anyway, introduced him to his mom anyway, conned their boss into giving them shifts together (which he thought Augustus didn't know about, but Steven told him to put a leash on his weird boyfriend once, so Augustus doesn't like Steven much) anyway.

His dads haven't really felt like colony members since he was small. Or, perhaps it's that he hasn't felt much like they thought of him as part of their herd, part of their husk. They probably shouldn't have adopted a child from a predator genus; Dad is cervus and Papa is a lepus. They would have been much more comfortable, much happier with a mus genera, or a capra, or even a bos. They can't help the fact that as soon as his claws and fangs started growing in for real, they were scared of him. It was fine when his claws were baby soft. The first several years of his life, like any felis genera, his animalian features were more akin to that of a kitten than a full grown cat. Kittendom stretches from the weeks-long affair of actual kittens into years of animalian development, claws slowly hardening, teeth slowly falling out to be replaced by ones razor sharp and so much stronger. His eyes were blue til he was almost five years old; they were commented on in all of his preschool genera classes, being as most felis genera develop their lifelong eye color before they're four. Just another way that Augustus always felt separated from people who were meant to be his peers.

Rare to find a thing that makes you feel like a monster quite like fitting in neither at school nor at home. His dads are always yelling these days, but if Augustus even comes down the stairs too loudly, there's a good chance one of his dads might bolt. And then blame him for triggering their prey instinct. Like he can help the fact that he fucking exists. He knows that the only reason they haven't kicked him out yet is because Papa is morally opposed to it, not because either of them particularly care about the weird predator genera they probably feel tricked into adopting. Like he hasn't always been what he's always been. By the time they caught on, though, it was a little late to give him back to the state, right?

"I'm not," Chosen denies; Augustus looks at him deadpan, his mouth a flat line. "I'm really not, Augustus. It's not you I'm scared of." That doesn't make any fucking sense, and Augustus has half a mind to say so as well. Tempering his anger, Augustus chooses another route.

"Then what are you scared of?" he asks instead, lowering his voice and dipping his head forward, remembering one of the only lessons he was ever taught about canis genera in school. If you want a canis to be comfortable with you, show them submission. Chosen whines, apparently involuntarily based off of the look that crosses his face immediately after. He lowers his eyes to the ground, his ears back in that scared way again, and Augustus wants to reach out to him. A colony member is upset, it's his job to provide physical comfort for that. But Chosen is scared. And Augustus doesn't want to make it worse. He always makes it worse. Spencer probably can't help being scared of him either. Chosen closes his eyes entirely before he speaks.

"I don't want you to leave. Well, obviously you can leave, but. I'm always going to want you to come back. And I get scared that one day you really won't," he admits, his voice fading into a whisper and not opening his eyes even when he's done speaking. Oh. He's not pissed off. He's not scared of Augustus. He's scared of Augustus leaving. Chosen likes having him around. Holy shit. The amount to which he did not expect to get this far is truly knocking him sideways. Logically, he had been aware that he and Chosen were friends, at least on his side. It had just never occurred to him that such a relationship, such an affection and respect, might be reciprocal. He reaches out for Chosen instinctually, dropping his hand once he realizes what he's doing, but Chosen reaches for him as well, tangling their fingers and pulling Augustus forward to sit closer to him.

"I'm not leaving, puppy," he says, quiet but honest. Chosen sets their hands against his own thigh, holding Augustus's hand between both of his own. He takes a deep breath, seeming to brace himself. He doesn't look at Augustus when he next speaks, studying the back of Augustus's hand instead. He clears his throat.

"I assume that you have noticed that I don't have a dad," Chosen says; Augustus can't help snorting. It's not his fault. What a way to put it, fuck. Chosen squeezes his hand, equal parts amusement and warning shot. Augustus nods.

"Yeah, I had picked up on that," he says, dipping his head forward to cement the fact that he's listening intently. Chosen never opens up about anything. Augustus isn't going to fuck this up and make him close himself back off and maybe never trust Augustus with this part of himself again.

"He left when I came out. Not right after, and Mom promised me that it wasn't about me, but I knew, you know? I wasn't his daughter anymore, and he didn't want a son," Chosen says, smooth and worn like a truth he had resigned himself to the veritas of a long time ago. Augustus has to make himself loosen his grip on Chosen's hand, feeling the other boy's joints creak in his grasp. Chosen squeezes back, brief but there. "I was already a strange child. He was never as... involved, as my mother always has been. I think my being trans was one more oddity to him, the straw that broke the camel's back so to speak. And, well, he sucked, but he was still my dad. Or, he was supposed to be. Parental trauma, no matter how young, has the power to shape how you form relationships for the rest of your life. So. That certainly shaped me."

"Chosen, I-"

"I expect people to grow tired of me. I can be overwhelming, exhausting, challenging; I have heard many words used to describe the effect I have on others. Every day that you and Brianna do not leave is still somehow anomalous in my head. I am, in many ways, waiting to find out what the last straw will be this time," he says, one knee now pulled up to his chest as he leans on it, one hand removed from holding Augustus's to steady his perch. He's still not fucking looking at Augustus. He quiets the irritation that sparks in his chest; it's not Chosen's fault that he's scared, even if it's not Augustus's fault either. The violence that Augustus would be willing to visit upon Laura Agnew's ex-husband is behind a glass case in his mind, there but separate, just in case of emergency.

"Chosen, I-"

"This has to be incredibly frustrating to deal with. I know that I am difficult to endure on my best days. You don't-"

"Spencer!" Augustus interrupts, probably squeezing Chosen's hand a little too hard again but fuck. He has, for the entire tenure of his friendship with Chosen, been entirely under the impression that Chosen was self-aggrandizing, cocky even, overconfident at the very least. To hear him talk about himself as something to endure, as if he is a burden to bear, Augustus feels fucking sick. Instinct moves him to pull Chosen forward by their connected hands, making the canis land awkwardly against his chest with a quiet noise of surprise. Augustus rearranges the two of them til they're comfortable, Chosen pulled in with his back against Augustus's chest, allowing himself to be pushed and pulled around by Augustus with only confusion on his face, no anger or fear to speak of. He settles then with Chosen slightly turned and mostly in Augustus's lap with his tail tucked around himself, Augustus's arms around him. He rubs his face against Chosen's hair and ears.

"Um. Augustus?" Chosen asks, tentative and a little embarrassed. Augustus is the one who should be embarrassed, but he's not. There have been many occasions where Chosen has dropped something innocuously tragic about his life at which time Augustus has wanted to hold him or lay with him or at the very least hug him, and he's done restricting that instinct. Chosen is a colony member, and comforting colony members in distress is one of the only felis instincts that Augustus knows he has. Still, he doesn't want to make Chosen do anything he doesn't want to do. When he goes to remove his arms from around the other boy, though, Chosen's hands stay his own, falling immediately as if he hadn't meant to do that. Augustus squeezes him just a little.

"You have never in your life been something I've had to endure. Even irritated with you, even fully pissed off at you, even when we first met and we were fighting like, well. Anyway. Even then, I still kept talking to you because it was fucking fun, Spence. You're my fucking friend, asshole," he says, unable to keep the anger out of his voice even if it's not actually directed at Chosen. Chosen snorts, tilting his head back so he can press his face against Augustus's shoulder.

"I'm not a very good friend, I fear," he mumbles, muffled against Augustus's shoulder but still able to be heard. Augustus squeezes him again, just a little harder than he means to, but it doesn't seem like it was tight enough to hurt. Chosen doesn't remove himself from Augustus's lap, at the very least.

"Luckily, you don't get to vote. If anyone gets to judge your ability to be a friend, it would be your best friends. We can call Brianna and see who she agrees with, but I have a strong inclination that would be me," he says, trailing his nose across the nape of Chosen's neck. When Chosen moves and turns enough to look at Augustus, his face is terribly close. He can feel Chosen's breath on his face. He clears his throat and puts a little space between their faces, though not much. They're still touching quite a bit. "You're a great friend, Spencer." Looking into Spencer's eyes as he says this is nothing short of overwhelming. Not the way that Spencer thinks he is, though.

"I make myself difficult to be friends with," Chosen says, clearing his throat as well. Augustus shrugs, raising an eyebrow.

"It's worth it, and I like a challenge," he says honestly, perhaps somewhat flirtatiously but that is neither here nor there. Chosen blushes and pushes at Augustus, though he still doesn't yet climb out of his lap. Augustus is glad of it. He doesn't want Chosen to leave. He's never been able to indulge his felis instincts in such a way, always imbued with the urge to offer physical comfort and never able to safely release that energy with others. Chosen seems to agree, pressing his nose into the crook of Augustus's neck and inhaling his scent, relaxing into Augustus. The idea of his scent being comforting for Chosen makes Augustus feel warm in the chest, affection dripping through him molasses slow and molasses sweet. Giving into one last instinct, Augustus releases a rumble, breaking into full out purring as he holds Chosen a little tighter. Chosen presses curious fingers to Augustus's throat, feeling the vibration with a careful hand.

"I don't think I've ever heard you purr before today," he says, unspoken question obvious in his tone. Augustus shrugs his shoulders loosely, careful not to displace Chosen's hand. It's more firmly against his skin now, not pressing but just holding. His palm is flat over Augustus's larynx.

"I don't do it much," Augustus says, explanation sitting behind his teeth. He won't get into it if Chosen doesn't ask. It's not important. He needs to quell that part of himself that wants to spill everything to Chosen, that old desire to have him as close as possible, physically and emotionally. Well, they've certainly got physical proximity accomplished. Emotionally, he's got too much baggage to lay all of it at Chosen's feet.

"Why not?" Chosen asks, question laced with genuine interest. Augustus never knows what to do with that, the way Chosen looks at everything, even Augustus himself, as an opportunity to learn, the way that their thought processes are both so similar and so different. It's cool. The question itself, less so.

"I guess I never have." It's clearly not enough to satisfy the Chosen's curiosity; he leans back to give Augustus a questioning look rather than voicing it aloud. "You've met my dads," he says with a sigh, reminding his companion of his fathers' genera status before making himself continue, "I'm a predator genera. Even purring, um. It's sometimes how cats signal that they aren't a threat, but it still scares my dads, I think. It's a noise only predators can make, right? So I just, kinda. Cut it out. When I was still a cub." The explanation is stilted and Augustus can't look Chosen in the eye for it, instead pulling Chosen back against his throat and purring steadily. Though his instinct is obviously to protest, Chosen lets out a breath and relaxes against him.

"I'm not scared of you," Chosen reminds him; Chosen has never been slow to connect dots. Give him adequate data points and Chosen will figure out everything you don't want him to know. Augustus nuzzles into his hair. They sit there silently for longer than either of them has ever been able to sit still by himself, kept entertained by the feeling of each other's presence, the million tiny little things you can learn about someone at this range. Chosen's hand is solid on Augustus's shoulder, keeping Chosen safely tucked against him. Clearing his throat and pausing in his purr, Augustus makes himself brave.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you. About my tail. It's sensitive, so when someone touches it unexpectedly, it scares me. Or not really scares me, I guess, but it startles me. It makes me think that something is happening. I've only been around other felis genera for more than a few minutes in genera classes, but apparently it's that way for most of us. Mother cats grab their kittens by the tail when they need to stop them in their tracks, or whatever. That and, well, I don't remember the last time someone touched my tail. Or my ears, really. That's kind of another thing about my genera I've never really experienced. Grooming, kneading, that kind of thing. It's weird. I feel like I'm bad at it. Like bad at being a felis genera. Isn't that fucking weird? It's so stupid. But yeah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you about it," he rambles, glad Chosen is tucked under his chin rather than looking him in the eye. Chosen clearly does not agree, turning ever so slightly and pulling back so he can look at Augustus more easily once again.

"Can I?" Chosen asks, apparently not assuming that a question that vague would require clarifying statements. Augustus stares at him blankly. "Touch your tail. And your ears. Grooming and kneading," Chosen elaborates, looking off to the side as his face goes a pretty pink. Augustus leans down and nuzzles against the column of his throat, reticent gratitude making a home beneath his skin. What if Chosen is only offering because he thinks Augustus needs it, though? He's made it this far without it, he'd be fine. Still, he won't reject affection offered by Chosen. Who knows when this will happen again?

"If you want to? Don't feel like you have to, dude. I've made it this far without-" Augustus is cut off by the feeling of Chosen's fingers rubbing at his ear, hand lifted to run his thumb over the tip of it, tentative but solid. The purring is back suddenly and mostly involuntarily, the warm hum of touch starvation being fed. God, he's using Chosen. He shouldn't let him do this. When he opens his mouth though, Chosen makes a second of solid eye contact with him.

"I want to," he says simply, returning his focus to the task at hand. In hand, so to speak. Chosen turns fully, moving to straddle Augustus seemingly without a thought to the contrary, strong thighs spread across his lap. Augustus swallows. He absolutely cannot think about how hot that is with Chosen this close to him, but how the fuck is he supposed to think about anything else? Chosen has one of his ears held in each hand, scratching his claws gently across the back of them in a way that nearly makes Augustus whine. There's a ball of emotion in his throat that he can't speak past. Instead, he bows his head, resting on Chosen's collarbone. Chosen moves a hand to hold Augustus's tail, looping it between his fingers. It's overwhelming. It's the best thing that Augustus has ever felt. He feels like he's about to cry. Chosen's tail is wagging.

Happy. Chosen asked if he was happy when his tail was twitching. Warmth suffuses through Augustus's chest, warm and liquid. Chosen's grinning like a kid, tail going a mile a minute as he gets bolder with Augustus's ears. He moved his hand back from Augustus's tail so that he could pet both ears at once, the feeling so intense that Augustus has no idea how other felis genera deal with having each other around all the time. Without any purposeful movement that Augustus was aware of, his tail is looped around the bend of Chosen's knee, not even nearly enough pressure to hold him in place, but just resting on his skin. His hands are steadying Chosen, spread across his lower back in such a manner that his fingertips are nearly touching one another.

He clears his mind of how much he likes how Chosen feels beneath his hands. That's not what this is about.

It takes a good long while, for the duration of which they are companionably quiet, for Chosen to get bored of his newfound activity. It's then that he appears to realize the position he's taken, the way that Augustus's hands have migrated to rest on his thighs, probably even the way Augustus is looking up at him six different kinds of lovesick. He goes to push himself up, obviously embarrassed, but Augustus can't convince himself to move his hands. Chosen raises an eyebrow at him and still Augustus doesn't move, not sure what his face is doing right now, but finding out quickly that it's apparently enough for Chosen to soften and settle back down, relaxing in his hold. Augustus reaches up and finally touches his hands to Chosen's ears, rubbing over the fur there. Chosen gives a happy hum, but Augustus still can't help the way he tenses, feeling as if he's overstepped. Chosen noses against his throat, particularly in the range of where the purring has stopped. He doesn't pick up his head before he speaks, the exhale of his breath warm against Augustus's skin.

"As I am unable to purr, allow me to inform you verbally: I am enjoying this. I- I like this a lot actually. Do you think we could do this sometimes? Just... be close?" Chosen asks, his voice small as he trails off at the end of his question. Augustus pulls Chosen closer, pulls him in until their chests meet and there is no space between them. The purring is louder than before, embarrassingly enough, but for once, Augustus doesn't want to cut it out. Chosen likes being close to him. Chosen wants to do this again. Chosen wants to be close to him enough to be nervous about it. Augustus is so giddy he feels a little sick with it.

"Whenever you want," he says simply. They don't get up for hours, content to just be in one another's space, occasionally starting conversation but mostly quiet. When Augustus said something about feeling awkward about the silence, Chosen had pulled out his phone, turned on some music. It only takes three songs for Augustus to realize that Chosen picked a playlist that Augustus made for him. That giddy feeling settles in Augustus's chest. He holds Chosen a little closer.

Weeks pass just like that, crests and troughs of emotion and Chosen lets Augustus hold him through all of it.

Augustus is letting him get away with murder on the physical touch and affection front. He really did mean whenever Chosen wants, because Chosen craves touch like he's never had it before and doesn't know if he'll ever get it again, and Augustus is indulging him every time he reaches for him. They're sitting closer on the couch, they're hugging a lot more often than previously, he sits in Augustus's lap whenever he fucking wants, Augustus holds his hand in the car if Chosen reaches for him. It's insane. It feels like far too much power. It still feels like Chosen will never get enough. He stole one of Augustus's hoodies a little while ago, followed by a shirt, and most recently a flannel. It's purple and it reminds him of Augustus and he likes having Augustus's scent in his room. He's also noticed a shirt or two of his own missing, but he isn't bringing it up with Augustus. He doesn't want it to stop.

He's glad to have color vision in the better side of the spectrum canis genera occupy. His mother, for example, sees Augustus's endless string of purple flannels as blue. Which he knows because she's seen him wear it and she had asked about it. But that is neither here nor there. He likes how wearing the flannel feels, okay? It's a little too big for him, and Augustus is taller than him so it hangs even larger than it would if it was cut for someone his height. The sleeves fall over his hands. His own scent mixing with Augustus's subtle cologne is enough to make him relax even in public. It's really nice.

He was upset a couple of weeks ago because he thought Augustus had taken his hoodie back. He had, but he had left another, fresh with his scent, in its place. Chosen sleeps in it. Something in him still puppy-shaped and soft feels so light these days, carried by the touch of Augustus's hands, the smell of his clothes, the shine of his smile. Chosen is embarrassingly enamored with him, enough so that whenever he grows short with Brianna, she has taken to pulling out her phone and calling Augustus, inviting him over to Chosen's house without a moment of asking or consideration. Says things like Somebody's grumpy because he misses his boyfriend, directly to Augustus. It's embarrassing. Still, Augustus always shows up when he gets that call.

He doesn't know what Augustus thinks Brianna's reason for calling him Chosen's boyfriend is; he hasn't asked Chosen about it, even right after being called the first time. He just sits down next to Chosen and pulls Chosen back against his chest, the vibration of his constant purr comforting behind Chosen. He's mostly quiet when Chosen and Brianna are hanging out and he gets called. Chosen had asked him about that, and immediately after wished that he hadn't.

It's Augustus's way of showing respect to his relationship with Brianna, whatever that means. Something about how Brianna had Chosen first. He hasn't decided how he feels about being spoken about as if he's a commodity, but honestly, it's kind of sweet. Makes him feel wanted. He likes the way that Augustus leans his head on Chosen's shoulder when they're sitting together. He likes knowing that Augustus is there.

Augustus isn't here right now, and that's at least three quarters of the problem. They haven't seen each other in three days because of the stupid, bullshit colonization holiday of American Thanksgiving, and the absence has brought an itching beneath Chosen's skin. It's not even like Brianna and his mom haven't been interacting with him physically, it's just... Brianna would say he's missing his boyfriend. He isn't Chosen's boyfriend; Brianna thinks this is a negligible detail. Though he may get flustered at the title she bestows upon Augustus, it's not as if he can disagree with missing him. There's a heavy sigh from across the room. Brianna has been staying with them for a couple of days, having paid for her parents to go on an all expenses paid cruise for their anniversary the entire week of Thanksgiving. Once Chosen's mom had heard that, she wouldn't hear anything else til Brianna said she would stay for the holiday. Brianna sighs again, ever dramatic.

"Yeah, I'm calling him," she says, pulling out her cell phone. Chosen growls, though not with any particular meanness; he doesn't ever want to scare Bri, he just doesn't want her to bother Augustus every time he's a dick. He's always been a dick.

"Brianna, calling him is not necessary. He and his fathers only got back in state like three hours ago," he reminds her, trying to appeal to her sense of travel empathy if nothing else. No one he knows travels more than Brianna, always being called to feature on something or another, to attend some show or another. She doesn't even bother telling Chosen the details anymore, just tells Chosen to use his brain space for other stuff. Brianna hisses at him now, though, so her amnesty is not lasting.

"You're mopey, Spence. I'm not dealing with mopey. I'm calling your stupid boyfriend," she says, actually waking her screen and unlocking the phone now. Chosen breathes out a slow breath.

"He's not my boyfriend! He's busy and tired and I don't want to bother him. Bri, I am asking you not to call him," he says, his voice growing thin at the end in his effort not to whine. Being around Bri always reminds him of when they were little kids, swapped in gender presentation and thinking nothing was wrong because it was happening to both of them. Brianna's expression softens, even the scales around her temples seeming to move with the weight of her sympathy. Chosen almost wishes she was still being mean to him.

"Aw, Spence. I know your thing is all that macho I don't need anybody, no one needs to look out for me bullshit, but you're not playing that with me, bestie. I've known you since you still had your milk teeth. You've known me since before my first hard molt. You're my best friend and I can tell when you're fucking upset. Now, can I call him or what?" she asks, building back up to her harshness at the end there. He sighs.

"I'm... I'm not upset. It's only that I've grown accustomed to having him around, and not having him for the past several days has knocked me off my equilibrium," he says, mostly true but missing the part where he misses Augustus like an ache in his chest. It's been three fucking days. He was fine on the first day. He was even fine on Thanksgiving itself, just texting with Augustus occasionally to get updates on how seeing the rest of his family was going. It was yesterday that things really started to get under his skin. There is no stimulation that is an exact copy of Augustus's purr, which is an intensely grounding mix of sound and feeling. He needs to stop Augustus from purring for him whenever he's anxious. He's beginning to develop a response to it, maybe, or perhaps the lack thereof.

"Spence, do you wanna see him?" Brianna asks, a simple question with a simple answer.

"Always," he admits, embarrassment a small thing when it's just him and Brianna. She knows him. She wouldn't have asked if she didn't already know the answer. He doesn't stop her now as she pulls up Augustus's contact information, pressing to call rather than sending a text like a normal person. Her hearing isn't great, typical for vipera, so he doesn't know why that's always the choice she makes. Whatever. Probably related to her aggressive impatient streak. It's not ten seconds, not two rings, before Augustus picks up the phone.

"I'm already on my way over, tell him I picked up food and yes, I grabbed him a vanilla shake," Augustus says, not waiting for a greeting and neither offering one of his own. It's so nice to hear the sound of his voice. Why didn't Chosen think to call him during their tenure of separation? Brianna chuckles.

"You're on speaker, brain boy," she says, to which Augustus snorts over the line, releasing a giggle. If his voice was nice, his laugh is fucking incredible. Embarrassing to miss someone as much as he's missed Augustus.

"Of course I am. I'll be there in a minute," Augustus says, the call clicking off before either of them can reply. Brianna looks over at him like she's saying I told you so with her eyes and Chosen gives in to childish instinct, sticking his tongue out at her. She flips him off and he gets up, running over to tackle Bri back onto his bed. She bursts into laughter and flips him, but he's the Chosen and he can hold his own, swear to anything. Brianna, however, is no slouch herself, and so there's more fight in it than one would expect.

"Spencer! My hair!" Brianna shouts indignantly; he moves immediately from where he had been pulling it accidentally, ever conscious of the absolute fucking pain of having long hair. He doesn't know how Bri and Augustus do it. Brianna has him on his back, hands pinned to his sides, when his bedroom door opens.

"Am I interrupting something?" Augustus asks, his tone actually questioning like it's legitimately something to be considered. Chosen gags and pushes Brianna off of him.

"Absolutely not and never," he says, frowning in disgust. Brianna could not be further from sexual in his mind; she's his best friend. She literally put her fingers in his mouth to help knock out the last of his milk teeth when he was an impatient preteen. He sits up and reaches out for Augustus, arms open as he tips his face up to look at the other boy, so relieved to see him that he can feel it soothe the ache in his chest. Augustus breaks into a soft smile, putting the food and Chosen's milkshake down on the table beside his door before crossing the room in wide strides. He steps between Chosen's knees and leans down to bury his face in the crook of Chosen's shoulder and neck, wrapping strong arms around his waist. 

"Hi, puppy," Augustus says, quiet and fond. Chosen is glad of the fact that the words were likely quiet enough that Brianna did not hear them; she would never let him live it down. Impulsive, Chosen tips back, dragging Augustus onto the bed with them. Brianna laughs, poking Augustus in the side of the head.

"Seeing as dog boy isn't gonna ask, how was Thanksgiving out of state? Have any fun without us?" she asks, briefly pinching the tip of Augustus's ear. Brianna and Augustus have been getting more comfortable with one another, warming Chosen's heart to see his packmates accept one another. Not that he has ever called either of them packmates aloud. It seems like a lot of pressure, even to put on Brianna. He and his mother are a pack of two. That's fine. Augustus rolls off of Chosen but stays close, sitting up and pulling Chosen into his lap with what seems to be very little effort on his part. It might be because Chosen is so open to the movement, but that is neither here nor there. He presses his nose to Augustus's throat, humming as he breathes in the scent of him.

"For the record I was going to ask. I just... got distracted," he says, embarrassed, turned sideways in Augustus's lap to hide his red face in Augustus's shoulder. The soothing hum of Augustus's purr starts up above him, deep enough that Chosen can feel it with his hand on Augustus's chest. He and Brianna chat above Chosen's head, Chosen indulging in fully leaning against Augustus. He feels warm and pleased, finally able to relax in this space he's sharing with two out of three of the people he loves most. He may never unpack the idea that Augustus is someone he loves. Having him like this is more than enough. He doesn't need to risk this on the chance that Augustus might want him in the same way.

The conversation has probably moved through two or three topics before Chosen returns to it, somewhat rejuvenated by getting his fill of the sound of Augustus breathing, purring, speaking, his heart beating. Okay, so maybe he has missed him. In a boyfriend-like capacity. Which they won't be talking about. When he starts pulling away, ever conscious of the fact that Augustus might actually want physical agency at some point, Augustus pulls him back, hands heavy on Chosen's skin. He looks at Augustus's face and he looks sheepish, releasing Chosen, who does not move in the slightest. If Augustus wants him to stay, far be it from Chosen to be the one to end their proximity, honestly. Only three days and Augustus barely smells like him anymore. Something's gotta give.

"You two are disgusting," Brianna says, pulling Chosen back into the conversation through insult alone. Augustus has a grip on him again, settling in its certainty. He shrugs his shoulders.

"He's comfortable," he says honestly, though apparently the truth is enough to startle an offended squawk from his companion. He raises an eyebrow. Augustus squeezes him briefly, not a lot of force, but enough to remind Chosen that he's being held. 

"Oh, so I'm just a seat to you?"

"More like a body pillow, really."

"That isn't better, Spencer," Augustus says, but he's pressing a smile into Chosen's shoulder, so maybe the subject is up to debate. Brianna gags dramatically, pantomiming sticking her fingers down her throat. Chosen grabs a pillow and throws it at her, which she immediately throws back at him twice as hard. He goes to throw it back at her and is stopped with gentle hands, the pillow plucked from his hands and set back from whence it came.

"I was using that," he says matter-of-factually, falsely put upon as he crosses his arms. Augustus squeezes him a little again, and he'll probably never tell Augustus how much he likes that, but it occurs to him every time. Maybe Augustus would do it more if he knew he liked it. But, maybe he'd stop entirely. And Chosen can't risk that.

"As the collateral damage of this battle, it does seem in my best interest to put a stop to it," Augustus drawls. Brianna pulls a pillow from the head of the bed, thwacking Chosen with it without regard.

"Put a stop to this!" she says, whacking Augustus in the head next.

He and his mom have to go shopping for new pillows for his bedroom the next day. Augustus wanted to help pay for it, but Laura had laughed so hard when she got home to see a room full of feathers that she had slid down the wall, and she told Augustus that after the day she had, that was payment enough. Chosen knows damn well she wouldn't have let Augustus or Brianna pay for it anyway; that's why Brianna didn't even offer. She asks him about Augustus while they're out, and the less he says, the more it seems she knows.

Chosen gets... playful. Sometimes. From how Brianna typically responds to it, it's a fairly normal thing, Chosen wanting to tackle someone and roll them, laughing and sometimes even giving these quiet little yips. He nipped Augustus on the face the other day. Augustus is aware of the privilege he holds in both hands when it comes to being with Chosen, getting these puppy soft parts of him and splinters of his smile, knowing this soft underbelly he wouldn't have even hazarded a guess of Chosen having before seeing it for himself. In some ways, he's glad that he had that embarrassing meltdown about his tail. He and Chosen might never have gotten this far if that hadn't happened. That doesn't mean he has to be grateful for any of this all the time, though. 

"Chosen," he says, impatience clear in his tone. Chosen gives him a lazy grin, gives him a full on fucking grin, and Augustus is intimately aware of the way he immediately goes pink. As if the rest of the situation wasn't bad enough.

"Yes, Augustus?" Chosen asks, sleepy eyes innocent like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He leans more of his weight against Augustus. Despite how nice it is, he needs to cut that shit out. A bell dings before he can reply.

"Welcome to Gamestop!" he calls without looking, knowing that Chosen won't. With the presence of another variable, Chosen's demeanor is already changing; he stops leaning on Augustus, for one, and his grin goes away too, his expression tightening as he clears all emotion from it. As much as Augustus might act like he doesn't care for the leaning or the pulling or the generally playful behavior that Chosen presents, watching it going away? Indubitably worse in comparison. Inarguable. He's relieved when their guest makes it up to the counter, hopping up onto it; it's just Brianna.. He didn't get much sleep and he hasn't had enough time with Chosen yet. He doesn't know if he could deal with an actual customer yet. Their guest being Brianna does bring Chosen's smile back, though he isn't leaning on Augustus again. Augustus bumps their shoulders. He doesn't actually want Chosen to think he minds. He just likes bitching. Chosen bumps him back.

"Hey nerds. How's your shift going?" Brianna asks, cross legged on top of their counter in a way that Steven would totally chew them out for if he saw it. Though, on the other hand, maybe not, being as Brianna's whole vibe makes him stutter and blush and act a fool. Chosen just shrugs his shoulders, but Augustus makes a show of checking his watch, which has not worked in about five years, actually checking the monitor clock behind it.

"Well, we've been on the clock about twenty minutes, so good so far, I'd say," he says, a smile stretching across his face. Brianna swats at him, giving him a playful hiss. Augustus hisses back, just as playful, and Chosen rolls his eyes, making Brianna snort.

"I've seen you bark at more people than I can count, Spencer. Rolling your eyes at us for hissing. I have to laugh," she says, following this up by laughing dramatically, in separate articulated ha ha ha sounds. Spencer only rolls his eyes again.

"Higher than you can count isn't exactly a milestone, Bri," he says, raising an eyebrow. Brianna fully comes across the counter at this point, shoving at Spencer's chest and making him break into laughter. The bell above the door dings once again. Augustus turns to actually man the counter, being as it doesn't look like Chosen is gonna handle that. He can't even pretend he minds.

"Welcome to Gamestop!" he calls again. There's a scrambling behind him and then a particularly recognizable weight between his shoulder blades: Chosen is resting his head against his back. He almost instinctively starts purring just from feeling Chosen there, but he catches himself. He doesn't really like doing that in public, or at least not in front of strangers. In just a few weeks, he's gotten used to purring when Chosen touches him, used to letting that animalian impulse out if not the rest of them. He's spending more and more time at Chosen's house these days, but he hasn't let himself build a nest. He's never scented anything in Chosen's house, though it's not like he's ever scented much in his own. Purring, though, he's started doing that a lot. Spencer likes it. That's enough reason for him to do a disturbing degree of stupid shit.

Brianna is out from behind the counter now, browsing their Funko Pop selection as if she's ever purchased a Funko Pop in her life. When Augustus actually bothers to look at their patron, he feels a potent mix of the strange combination of exasperation and relief.

"Woah, pretty girl. Since when do you two know any pretty girls?" John D. Bad says, not even bothering to greet anyone. John has a very confusing vibe for everyone involved in that his energy is mad autistic, but like if an autistic person only wrote themself scripts that make them sound like the most annoying incel in the world. The worst part, honestly, is that John isn't even that bad. In an actual conversation, he's pretty open to input by any person of any genera, gender, race, what the fuck have you, but put him in front of someone he thinks is attractive... rancid. Rancid vibes.

"Brianna. She's my best friend," Chosen explains without explaining in classic Chosen fashion. John looks at Augustus for clarification, but he just shrugs. Brianna takes this moment to approach, the smile on her face worrisome to Augustus. She looks like she could swallow John whole and he'd thank her about it. Worst thing is, he probably would.

"Do you use Instagram? Lots of people just know me as Brianna Boho," she says brightly, directing that dazzling smile directly at Augustus's poor, poor friend, slits in her eyes going thin with focus. When Augustus had found out that she had legally changed her name to Brianna Boho, he didn't think he would ever stop laughing. Now, she gestures for John to follow her and it's like he's under a spell, the way John floats behind her, his nose twitching. He's a mus genera, and Augustus isn't about to talk him out of walking into the maw of that viper. Live and learn. Brianna isn't a bad person anyway. Better he learn from someone he actually has a chance to be friends with after.

"She's gonna eat him alive," Chosen murmurs into Augustus's shoulder blade, stepping forward to plaster himself to Augustus's back. With an affirming sound, Augustus turns in Chosen's grip, pleased when he allows him to do so. He lets loose a thrumming purr, just for a moment, and Chosen hums, pleased as well to feel the vibration in Augustus's chest, hand flat on the cage of his ribs. He's leaning against Augustus's chest, face pressed into Augustus's sternum. Augustus indulges in carding his fingers through Chosen's hair, fidgeting with one of his ears for a moment before he makes himself pull back enough to look Chosen in the face.

"You know we're at work, right?" Augustus reminds Chosen, making his companion bark a laugh. Chosen pulls away from him slowly, reluctantly, and it makes him hope when Chosen does this, it really does. When Chosen acts like releasing Augustus from his hold is a task unto itself, he gets this little, pea sized ball of assurance that he isn't in this alone, that Spencer is just as far down this rabbit hole as he is. It never lasts very long, disappearing like smoke in his hands, but it's nice while it lasts. The bell above the door dings again, an actual stranger making their way into the store. Chosen removes himself fully, standing straight and alert.

"Welcome to Gamestop!" Augustus calls, leaning up against the counter. Typically, Chosen would already be making rounds reorganizing things by now, never satisfied with how often their coworkers leave shit messy and disorganized. Their customer walks directly up to the counter, not even pretending to browse before sidling up. He's a capra with white and tawny horns a little too big for his head, if we're being realistic about it. He gives Augustus a smile that is frankly unsettling before leaning against the counter, confident and brazen.

"Can we help you?" Chosen asks; Chosen is never the one to begin the conversation with customers. This does not bode well.

"He can. Hey, I'm Mike," he says, not even sparing a glance at Chosen, his rectangular pupils never leaving Augustus's face. Augustus forces a smile, giving it his best customer service go of it.

"Augustus. How can we help you today?" he asks, holding onto his picture of calm by the skin of his teeth alone. Mike gives him an up and down look, probably the least subtle that Augustus has ever seen.

"You know, you're kinda cute for a kitty cat," he says, leaning over the counter as he leers at Augustus. He doesn't mean to let it show on his face, but Augustus wrinkles his nose despite himself. This appears to be enough of a display of discomfort for what Augustus was trying to avoid: Chosen guides him backwards, gentle in the hand, and steps where Augustus had been previously.

"Come on, I was talking to that little clawed cutie. Help a guy out, come on, dude," the guy says, not even vaguely aware of the sleeping dog he's rousing awake. He's only feeling territorial because he's having a clingy day, but it still floors him to see Chosen react to his discomfort so viscerally, his hackles up. Chosen's hand is resting where he typically keeps his katana, and though it isn't there, there's a knife in the pocket beneath his hand that Augustus would prefer wasn't pulled in their workplace, if he's honest. If Chosen gets fired, he's quitting. Full stop. This job absolutely fucking sucked before Spencer started working here. He takes Chosen's hand in his behind the counter, not visible to anyone in front of it.

"He's not interested," Chosen says, lacing their fingers. Augustus had just been trying to keep him from pulling a weapon, but the weight of Chosen's fingers between his own is a welcome distraction.

"You could let him speak for himself," Mike cajoles, making it obvious that he thinks Chosen is being unreasonable, overbearing even. Augustus could not disagree more. Maybe it shows how little people have protected him in his life, but it's giving Augustus butterflies, alright? It's sweet.

"He's spoken for," Chosen grinds out through his teeth, not even two steps back from an actual, God's honest growl. Augustus's eyebrows most definitely hit his hairline, but not even nearly so quickly as Mike reacts; he laughs. Flustered butterflies take flight in Augustus's chest, but now isn't particularly the time. Spoken for. He hopes he's brave enough to ask about that later. Somehow, he doubts himself already.

"What are you, his guard dog?"

"Do you have any plans to purchase something or are you just a big fan of wasting other people's time?"

"Better watch your mouth, you fucking fleabag. I bet your boss would love a call about aggressive behavior. I'd have your job in a minute flat," Mike says, his confidence not waning in the slightest. It's gross. Jesus Christ. A guy will just say he has a trust fund so loudly without ever saying the words. "How about I get rid of him and you and I can make a day of it?" he continues, leering at Augustus openly. Abruptly, Augustus feels every ounce of patience flow out of his body. Creep him out, sure, be one more gross person that makes people uncomfortable when they're on the clock, of course, but insulting Chosen is over the fucking line. The ceiling of his annoyance threshold is a lot lower when someone he cares about is involved, what can he say? He's squeezing Spencer's fingers between his own, all too aware of the other boy's desire to hop the counter and start kicking Mike's ass. Instead, Augustus leans close to his ear, letting go of Spencer's hand to hook his fingers in his belt loop.

"Go find Brianna, puppy. I can handle this," he says, sliding into a predator's grin. Chosen blinks at him for a second before flushing, nodding and heading toward the backroom that Brianna often occupies despite it being employees only. Mike smirks over the counter, unearned victory marking his features. Well, what goes up.

"Well, now that we're alone-" Mike starts, but Augustus does not let him finish.

"Get the fuck out of my store," he says with a full customer service smile, his tone fully level and just angry enough that it's coming through in his tone a little bit. Mike raises his eyebrows, still smiling. Some people are so fucking dense.

"Woah, kitty cat, no need to get testy. I'm sure your dog'll be fine after he has some time to cool off," he says, leaning in to the point that he's nearly across the counter at this point. "How's this: you give me your number, we go out to dinner later this week? My treat," he offers. Augustus taps clawed fingertips against the glass top of the counter. His smile slips into something cruel as he reaches across the counter, grabbing the collar of Mike's shirt by the fistful and pulling him just enough that he's barely staying on his feet. The bleat that this gets out of him is absolutely satisfying. People always remember that canis are predator genera, that they can cause massive damage if backed into a corner, but sometimes they take one look at the kitty cat ears and the soft, fluffy tail and get the completely wrong impression. Augustus is open to correcting that. Wolves, at least, hunt in packs. Felis have always been lone hunters.

"If you ever come back here again, not only will I let him, but I will help him make you a smear across the pavement outside. Is that clear?" he asks, yanking Mike's collar again and making his chest press against the counter in a way that is probably painful. Pity that. Mike scoffs.

"It's a fucking store! I'm calling corporate," he sneers, though his fear is so open on his face, in his scent, in how he holds himself. Good. People have been scared of Augustus his entire life through, and if he needs to make use of that, he's more than open to it.

"It's fucking Gamestop, Mike. I'm not that fucking worried about it. If I ever see you again, it will be on fucking sight, so watch your ass and get the fuck out of my face," he says, shoving Mike back by his collar with all the force he can muster. He stumbles back into one of their displays, but it was one of the ones Chosen had been talking about reorganizing before Brianna arrived, so that's fine. Mike doesn't say a word as he scrambles out of the store; if he was canis, his tail would probably be tucked between his legs. As it is, Augustus doesn't even pay attention to him any longer than it takes for him to get out of the store, not least of all because Chosen comes running out of the backroom as soon as the bell trills Mike's exit above the door, the third person today to be bodily over the counter as he straight up vaults it to jump on Augustus. Despite being surprised, Augustus somehow manages to remain upright, Chosen's hands frantic on his skin as he sniffs at Augustus's throat. He's probably trying to make sure Augustus isn't hurt. It's very sweet.

"There was noise. Are you okay? If you're hurt-"

"Puppy, puppy, I'm fine. I'm fine. Mike and I just had to have a bit of a discussion, and he tripped into a display on his way out. I'm totally cool," he says, smoothing his hands over Chosen's back to calm him, even if just a little. He doesn't even notice the return of Brianna and John before Bri is on their side of the counter again, eyebrows raised. John trails after her.

"Woah, dude," he says, eyebrows raised as he sniffs the air. There's a mark the exact color of Brianna's lipstick on the side of his neck.

"He calls you puppy?" Brianna asks, amusement shot through her voice. Chosen freezes but Augustus just pulls him in a little closer, slipping a hand into his hair. His desire to protect Chosen from things that make him anxious is getting bigger every day, a beast beneath his breastbone. Chosen is so brave, all the fucking time. He doesn't want Chosen to always have to be brave. Augustus makes eye contact with Brianna above Chosen's head.

"I do. I think I was probably making fun of him the first time but... yeah. Now I just do it," he says, shrugging his shoulders. Chosen pulls back to tilt his head at Augustus, a look of question making its way across his face.

"You're not still making fun of me?"

"Not for a while, puppy."

"Then why do you call me that?"

"Gee, I wonder," he says sarcastically, looking down at where his tail is wrapped around Chosen's wrist. "Well," he continues, "hour one is down. Only five more to go."

Augustus never raises his voice anymore. Ever since he learned how to read Chosen, he's observed every twitch of Chosen's ears, every movement of his tail, always aware of when he gets close to toeing that line. He keeps skillfully avoiding the moment when Chosen gets scared of the situation, even if it's not fear of Augustus himself. In turn, Chosen has minimized how much of a dick he is, figuring it's the least he can do. He plays with Augustus's tail, he pets his ears. He does everything he can to get that rumbling purr to come about again, even if that means doing something a little embarrassing in the interest of Augustus. He's doing a lot of things in the interest of Augustus these days. He isn't sure what to do about that, being as he doesn't want to change that. Discussing it with his mother seems to be the best course of action.

"I'm being stupid," he says, breaking the silence when he already knows what the reaction to that will be; he needs to say it anyway. To make it clear. He knows he's being stupid. This is why he talks to his mom about stuff before he talks to his therapist sometimes; his therapist is paid to listen to him. Mom listens to him because she loves him. No matter how many things are wrong with him, she loves him. She's a big reason why Chosen wants to save the world, all of the worlds- his mother knows the value of a human life, helps to save them every single day, and in a lot of ways, he wants to be just like her. Maybe a bit more proactive, though. Mom helps people after they've already been hurt. It's Chosen's job to make sure they never make it that far.

"Kiddo, you know I'm not gonna let you call yourself stupid. One of us had to deal with the terrible twos of a boy genius, and seeing as you were two at the time, I'm gonna say it was me," his Mom drawls, pushing Spencer's hair back and out of his face. He only feels like Spencer when he's with his mom like this, when he still feels like a pup, small and safe and a thousand other things he's trying to eradicate his need for. His want of. He's laying in his mother's lap with his sunglasses in a whole other room, left on his own bedside table before he had come and sought his mother out. She had been relaxing, reading in bed, but had put her phone down as soon as Spencer dragged his feet into the room with his tail low, leaning back against her headboard and inviting her adult son into her arms. He's so pathetic. He muffles his sniffles against his mom's shoulder, taking comfort in the thickness of her scent in the room.

Everything falls away with his mom. He's not the Chosen, he's not the savior of the multiverse, he's Spencer, Laura Agnew's pride and joy, her baby boy. The guilt, the shame, it all slides off his shoulders. He's just Spencer. That's usually the problem.

"I don't know if I. If I deserve to get better," he says, his voice weaker than he would like it to be. Chosen's sure that if this was the first time he had embarked on a conversation of this nature with his mother, she would react with much more shock. The first time he had come to her for something like this, he was six years old and he didn't understand why other children seemed to like him so little. His mother had been very honest with him; she always was. If the truth was hard, it was always accompanied by how much Laura loves him, but otherwise given to him as he needed it. You're different from other kids, she had said, but different doesn't mean wrong. You're incredible, kiddo. Someday, you're gonna save the world. Now, Spencer is aware of the fact that she had not meant that phrase literally, but he had already built his world view around the idea before he figured that out, so. Win some, lose some.

"Why do you have to deserve it?" his mother asks. It throws him for a loop.

"I- because- that is not a fair question to begin this conversation with," he settles on, unable to wrest an answer from his mind that satisfies him. His mother laughs, carding her fingers through his hair. There is no question of whether he is getting better. He's more sociable, less argumentative just for the sake of it, his temper isn't as short. Even when he started to blow up at that guy at work earlier this week, it wasn't the shit show it once would have been. He feels grounded. He just wishes it didn't feel so much like failure.

"Fair enough. How about this one: why do you think you have to deserve it? Same question, but you don't have to be quite so sure of yourself. That's the best I can do, that's the best I can do," she says; he grins. She performs this voice occasionally, typically when she's trying to cajole Spencer into something, where she speaks in the cadence of Rick Harrison from Pawn Stars. There had been several months of his life during which Pawn Stars was all he was willing to sit still to watch, and being as Laura wanted her high-strung pup to actually relax for at least a few minutes, they watched a lot of Pawn Stars. A lot of that watching had been done in a position much like the one they're in now. Chosen's chest aches. He doesn't know how to reconcile how old he feels in his bones with how young he feels in his head.

"I am getting better for a very stupid reason," he grits out, the confession as close as he can get to what he means in this moment. His mom's eyebrows draw together, eyes squinted and ears tilted at different angles. She's trying to puzzle him out. That's fair. He doesn't know what he's got going on either. He doesn't have therapy again for another two weeks; Anna, his therapist, is on vacation. Honeymoon, technically. He has briefly met her wife. She is very kind.

"I'm gonna go ahead and say that no reason is a stupid reason, but I'll follow you on this journey," Laura says, patting him on his head and running her fingers over one of his ears, grooming the fur. He snorts.

"I'm grown ass, you know," he grumbles, aware that he is not proving his own point but hers. His mother pats him on his head again.

"I know, kiddo. Tell me your stupid reason," she says, not letting him derail the topic now that he's brought it up.

"I am getting better because it pleases... it pleases an associate when I am in better condition mentally," he explains, unable to clarify which associate he means. His mom probably knows anyway. Only two people ever come over to hang out with Chosen, and they both know it's not Brianna. Laura hums.

"And why is that a stupid reason?" she asks, as if that is not immediately obvious. Spencer sighs. He can feel his ears twitch back. He hates how vividly his physiology displays his emotions at times. His mother, as a medical professional, has impressive control over her animalian traits. Her ears never twitch outside of her control, she never visibly sniffs the air, he's only ever seen her tail wag in their own home. They've discussed it; it's not that his mother is at all ashamed of their heritage, it's just easier in the workplace if her canine traits are minimized. Other genera often have an opinion of canis families, especially women and pups. A man can lose his mind, she had told him, but a woman or a child causing any kind of raucous will soon be reprimanded for it.

She was encouraging him, even at that age, to never let his voice go unheard. He wasn't a boy yet, at the time. Well, he's always been a boy. Well, sort of. There's a part of him still attached to that idea of his mother's daughter, looking more like her than his father. He has her ears. His father was ursus, and he doesn't have any of that in him at all. His more human traits grow more and more like his father's every day, however.

"My motivation for bettering myself should not rest in the hands of someone else. I should be stronger than this," he says. Anna's voice rings loud in his head: Don't should yourself. If you were meant to be doing something different than what you're currently doing, either there's something between you and there, or you'd already be doing it. If it's that important, the barrier is the thing you can fight. Fighting yourself isn't gonna solve the problem. She's exceptionally wise. It's very annoying.

"When you were very small," his mother begins, tilting his head with her hand to make sure he's listening to her, "When you were very small, I was not a very resolute person. I let people walk all over me, put their needs over mine, the whole nine. You know why I stopped doing that?" Chosen sighs, sure that he knows, but that's not the script of this conversation.

"Why?" he asks instead. Laura hums.

"Well, there was a little boy, and he was the greatest, most important thing I had ever done. And if people were able to walk over me, they could walk over him. And that wasn't okay with me. So I had to learn how to set boundaries for him, and that made me get better at setting boundaries for me," she explains, taking a pause as Spencer processes that. He must admit that response took him slightly by surprise. He was sure that one day she had realized that she needed to be treated with the respect she deserved, that she had grown a backbone overnight, that it was easy. He tries to imagine a Laura before she was his mother, shy and analytical and quiet Laura, the Laura that his grandmother seems to think still exists. And she changed for him. For him. "And it was so hard, setting those boundaries, becoming that person. But he needed to know that it was possible. That his Mama was gonna fight for him. So I changed. I got better." She kisses him on his head, nuzzling her nose over his ears.

"Did you ever... do you ever miss who you were? Before me?" he asks hesitantly, not sure he wants to know his mother's answer but knowing that it will most definitely inform his own, or at the very least his perception of his own. Laura hums once again, contemplatively this time, and rests her cheek against the crown of his skull.

"Sometimes, I did. A long time ago. I missed just letting things happen instead of going after them, or just not fighting the tide when it washed over, you know? But do I miss me? Who I was before you? I don't think so, pup. I changed for a reason, and it was a damn good one." He swallows. He is the hero of the multiverse. He is not going to cry because of the ferocity with which his mother loves him. He presses his nose into her anyway, even if it's not to hide tears. God, he loves his mom. She rubs one of his ears between her fingers soothingly, clearing her throat.

"Do you think getting better because of you instead of doing it for myself is a stupid reason?" she asks, her tone free of judgment, like she would understand either way. He snorts.

"You were a mother bettering yourself for your child. It's different," he says. The fact that he wants to get better because it makes Augustus happy? It's fucking pathetic. It's stupid. It's weak. You can barely call it getting better at all. He thinks of the calm of sitting in Augustus's lap, of petting Augustus's ears, of pressing his nose into Augustus's neck, of being soothed by Augustus's purr. He shouldn't want it, but he aches for it all the same.

"Any reason is a good reason to keep going and keep getting better, pup. A child, a friend, a class you want to take, a movie you want to see, an associate. As long as the person you're becoming still feels like you, it doesn't matter. There are no stupid reasons," she repeats. He pictures that young Laura in his head again. Becoming herself and raising another person at the same time. He doesn't think he would have been strong enough to do what she did at his age. "I'm really proud of you, you know." Chosen wrinkles his nose, squinting up at his mother's face.

"I have done nothing to be proud of," he says, meaning in the past days, but perhaps ever. He's a depressed, autistic adult still living with his mother who frequently deludes himself into genuinely believing that he is the savior of the multiverse. It's harder to remember that these too are also thoughts from a warped perspective, that neither the mania nor the depression is the truth. He's been in therapy long enough to know how to do that. He's good at it. He's so totally good at coping, probably the best actually.

"I'm always proud of you, Spencer. You know that. Just because you don't see all of the little things I do doesn't mean they aren't there," Laura says, tucking him back under her chin and peppering kisses on the top of his head. Spencer breaks into giggles despite himself; it's something she's done since he was a pup, mouth full of milk teeth, his mother sitting with him and smothering him with kisses in a way where the whole goal is to make him laugh. She's very silly, his mother. It makes his chest ache.

"Thank you," he whispers when they calm, his gratitude too fragile to stretch aloud. Laura presses a lingering kiss to his forehead, holding him against her for a second.

"It's my pleasure, kiddo."

"He keeps calling me puppy." His mom's ears perk up.

"Oh, that's much more interesting, how do we feel about that?"

He leaves his mom's room eventually, not really better but at least more settled, full chested and warm. His mother bettered herself for him, and any reason is a good reason. Augustus's smile when he picks Chosen up from therapy flashes bright in his mind. He has a pretty good reason.

Chosen told Augustus that he can come over whenever, and he's shown up without warning before, so he doesn't know why this time in particular is making him so nervous. That's a fucking lie. He's been journaling recently, trying to build a knowledge base of his own mental health in an effort to be more prepared for therapy whenever he actually goes. It's a lot of thinking about his feelings. He's nervous right now because rejection is still so fresh in his chest, open as a wound. Despite how much the Agnew house is the most trustworthy place Augustus has ever known, there's still that slim fucking chance that Laura or Spencer or Brianna even just won't want him there today. And that would be valid. But fuck, it would hurt.

The door is unlocked when he tries it without the key reflexively. He doesn't announce himself when he walks in the door like he does sometimes, too nauseous to even entertain the idea of raising his voice. He already doesn't like to do that around Chosen, ever cautious of startling the other boy when it just isn't necessary. He hasn't seen Chosen's ears go back in weeks. It's something of a personal achievement, honestly. It feels shitty, right, because all he's doing is not scaring his friend. That being an accomplishment? Makes him feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world. He's working on that. Just maybe not right now.

He gives Laura a three fingered wave and as much of a smile as he can muster on short notice. They're ships passing in the night once again; she's decked out in scrubs, tells him he's welcome to anything in the kitchen, that they're going grocery shopping tomorrow anyway. Nodding, he heads down the hallway. He can hear Laura lock the door behind her. Augustus doesn't speak for a moment when he walks into Chosen's bedroom. He didn't bother to knock as he entered this threshold either. Still, Chosen looks up at him like he's happy to see him, and that's exactly what Augustus needed to see. He stands to look at Augustus closer, analyzing his expression with his head tilted. He can tell that Chosen can tell that he's upset, which is so much nicer than actually having to put it into words. As much as he and Chosen don't communicate about their feelings still, Chosen reads him like a goddamn book now, and Augustus likes to think that he has a similar mastery of the secret language of Chosen's pantheon of micro expressions. Not the point right now. After a moment of internal debate, Chosen tilts his head back upright, looking up at him with soft eyes.

"Hold or held?" Chosen asks, always clear and to the point on this part of their relationship at the very least. It's an easy decision.

"Held," he says, and he tries to make himself articulate as to why, or even how, but it won't come out no matter how much he tries to force the issue. Chosen places his hand on Augustus's face, tilting his head to force the other boy to look at him. Augustus abruptly stops trying to make himself elaborate. It may be because looking at Chosen this close makes him forget most of the words he knows.

"Move me where you want me," Chosen instructs him, so fucking trusting and of Augustus. His own dads don't trust him. But Chosen. But Chosen.

He grabs the other boy by the hand, leading him to the couch in the living room, gentle as he pushes Chosen onto the middle cushion. Spencer hasn't tensed in the slightest, still looking up at Augustus like he's ready to do whatever is asked of him. Augustus would ask so much of him if he was brave. Born and raised a coward, he chooses to remain silent, crawling into Spencer's lap and tucking his nose into the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Chosen seems to take the concept of Augustus wanting to be held and run with it, pulling Augustus closer with just a grip on his thighs and tugging him til they're flush and hugging. The sheer amount of contact soothes something in Augustus he didn't realize was ruffled. Spencer's arm is firm across his lower back, his other hand carding through Augustus's hair with a bewildering tenderness. Does he even deserve this?

No. He's not going to let a fight with his dads make him backslide. Not again. Fuck that. His arms are around Chosen's shoulders, so it's easy to move a hand to pet one of Spencer's ears, gently scratching his claws across the surface. Chosen gives him about ten minutes of blissful silence, just lets him sink into his embrace and let his mind wander. Even when he breaks the silence to ask, he's gentle about it. He's so different from the Chosen he first met, brash and bold and borderline mean. It's hard to connect that first image with the man holding him right now.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks, sounding as if he won't be peeved either way. Still, Augustus pushes himself to answer.

"Fight. Dad." Augustus can't help how short he gets when he's like this. Anger is a storm he cannot tame, an emotion he prefers not to feel for the intensity of it, and that's likely part of why everything exploded today of all days. He's not even pissed off anymore, just so drained from it that he feels like he's dissolving in his body, anxiety still too loud in his head for him to turn off his mind. Chosen is helping a lot in that department. Extremely difficult to have hard hitting and poignant anxious thoughts when someone is holding him this close, knowing him this well. Chosen nods against him, just a brief jut of his chin.

"Ah. Which one?" he asks, probably having no idea that such a question might be a bit of a sore spot right now. And honestly, it's a fair question. Typically, he fights with Dad about money and Papa about everything else. Rarely do his fathers unite on anything anymore. Except, well.

"Both."

"About?" What isn't he fighting with his dads about right now? That would be a shorter list. They haven't gone on one about his job lately, but that's because they're pissed about his reviews right now instead. Something about his contribution to the family's reputation. As if he's ever really been a part of this family. And now this. Whatever. He likes that Chosen never says he's sorry about it, that Chosen would never feed him false sympathy and expect him to shit rainbows about it. Chosen doesn't get it, his mom is awesome and his dad did the least he could do and fucking left, but the magnitude of his attempts to do so do not go unnoticed.

"Most recently? My cousin just had a baby, and both she and her mom aren't in love with the idea of having a predator genera around the kid. So, they asked my dads to talk me into skipping family Christmas this year. And they agreed." It's the simplest way to put it, the most clinical, the way to get what happened out without letting it scrape its way out of his mouth. He doesn't articulate how much it hurts. How unwanted he feels. How much he misses when he was kitten soft and adorable, cute enough for his dads to just love him. He misses when they just loved him.

"They're going to family Christmas without you." Chosen's voice has that growly quality it gets sometimes, different from the sound of his fear, but not quite angry either. Close, maybe. But not quite. Protective, even. Chosen's arms are around his shoulders now, Augustus's hands fisted in the other boy's shirt and his head bowed against Chosen's chest. He clears his throat.

"Yeah. They're leaving me alone. For fucking Christmas." A growl fully rumbles beneath Augustus's head, Chosen's grip nearly tight enough to hurt just for a moment before he loosens back up; Augustus doesn't know how to ask him to just keep holding him like that, so close you can hardly feel the difference of space between them. He bunts his nose into Augustus's hair, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself with Augustus's scent alone. He clears his throat.

It takes him a minute to make himself say whatever's on his mind; Augustus knows by now how Chosen looks when there's something he wants, but doesn't know how to ask for. "So... come here. Brianna is already spending half of Christmas with us, and extended family doesn't come to visit til New Years. We wouldn't mind one more. If you want," Chosen offers, and Augustus has to sit up to look at him, because there's no way. But Chosen isn't joking. He looks serious, nervous even, but Augustus still makes himself ask.

"Do you want? I don't need a pity offer, Chosen, I can stick it out with my dads like I do every year, just have a few days at the house alone when they head out of state," he says, forcing himself casual as he shrugs a shoulder. He's not proud of exactly how much pity he would take right now, given everything going on at his house right now, but when isn't this much going on at his house? He can handle himself. He just needs to pull himself together.

"I do want," Chosen says, looking down at his lap, unable to make eye contact. Nervous. He wants this. Can't let hope build in his chest. The crash only hurts more when there's still hope inside of him to crush.

Reluctantly, Augustus makes himself ask more clarifying questions. "Your mom wouldn't mind? Or Brianna? It wouldn't be my first Christmas alone, Chosen," he says, knowing immediately that this was not the correct thing to say. Chosen pulls him back in against his chest with rough hands, little to no regard as he squeezes around Augustus's shoulders. He's holding him like he was a minute ago, and Augustus sinks into him all over again, pressing down that desperate desire to crawl inside of the other boy's chest.

"That will never happen again," Chosen promises. Despite himself, Augustus almost believes him. In the dark against Chosen's shirt, Augustus feels the most cared for he's felt in years. He doesn't remember the last time someone cared that somebody hurt his fucking feelings. It's insane, especially when this is Chosen. He knew Chosen was a little protective of him; it's impossible not to notice when Chosen actually barks at people who make him uncomfortable sometimes. Hilarious, but also kinda sweet. Despite not actually being Chosen's sibling, Brianna takes part in it as well sometimes, alternating between barking and hissing and confusing the hell out of anyone who catcalls her. It's fucking incredible to watch. The point here being that he didn't really know that Chosen would care about this. Not to this degree, most definitely. Sure, he came over here looking for comfort, but he was expecting primarily the physical variety. For once not smothering this particular instinct, Augustus pushes his head against Chosen's chest gently, marking him with his scent. Claiming him, just a little.

"What do you guys even do for the holidays?" he asks, trying to interject a chiller vibe to their intense atmosphere. Chosen hums, carding his fingers through the hair at the back of Augustus's head.

"Food and presents, the typical deal. We always get up early on Christmas day. Hot cocoa on the front porch in the cold, keeping Mom company while she has her morning smoke. I usually make breakfast, given it's one of Mom's only guaranteed days off all year," he says with a shrug; they've talked about that part before. Laura will take any shift they wanna give her as long as she gets two days without a single call from the hospital: Christmas, and Chosen's birthday. Chosen had told him this story with his head in Augustus's lap, Augustus's fingers tangled in his hair. It's a nice way to be told a story, to say the very least. This one isn't so bad either. Realization clicks in Augustus's head and he can't help the way he tenses, tail immediately swishing. Chosen pulls him back to look at him, head tilted.

"Won't presents be... awkward? If I'm here?" he asks. Yeah, he got gifts for Chosen and Brianna and even one for Laura, but he had been planning to just do that before or after Christmas in that very casual not-quite-holiday way that people give gifts to make clear that there is no expectation of reciprocation. Which there isn't, because Augustus doesn't expect anything of any of them. They're already so nice to him. Chosen squints at him.

"Why would it be awkward?" he asks in return, confusion open on his face. Bless him.

"I don't want anyone to feel obligated," Augustus says, not wanting to say it directly but getting as close as he can without doing so. Chosen still doesn't seem to get it.

"To do what?" he asks, frowning. Augustus sighs, frustration crawling in around his temples. There's no way Chosen is actually this dense. He's got to be fucking joking.

"Chosen, you're being purposefully obtuse," he says flatly, not moving from being on top of Chosen but honestly getting close to it. He's not gonna be made fun of while sitting on the guy's lap. That's not going to be how this goes down.

"Believe it or not, I genuinely have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Augustus," Chosen drawls, one eyebrow raised and an unimpressed quality joining the confusion on his face. Exasperated, Augustus sighs.

"People feel obligated! To get people presents. When they're around for Christmas," he explains stiltedly, much more vehement at the beginning than when he trails off, awkward and quiet. Chosen's look of confusion deepens for a moment before comprehension takes its place, quickly followed by helpless laughter. He leans forward to rest his head against Augustus's collarbone, still laughing. It's Chosen, so he's not hurt by his amusement but more so confused.

"You think we didn't get you gifts. You genuinely think that, don't you?" Chosen asks, voice incredulous even as he's still laughing. Augustus is the confused one now, because what the fuck? Why would they? He and Brianna are still establishing a friendship that doesn't directly involve Chosen, Laura has no reason to get a gift for her son's weird friend, and Chosen... he just didn't think Chosen was a gift giving guy, to be honest. Maybe for Brianna and Laura, but certainly not Augustus. Important people, that kind of thing. The laughter drains from Chosen slowly, leaving him looking up at Augustus with a furrowed brow and open contemplation. Augustus shifts under his gaze. "You genuinely thought we wouldn't get you gifts. Not even me?" he asks, his voice a little more fragile than before. Oh. He thinks this is an assessment of his character. Fuck.

"Spence..." he says, trailing off again and unable to generate the right thing to say. He doesn't know what the right thing to say would be here. It's not about Chosen, not really. Augustus doesn't remember the last time his dads got him anything besides money for Christmas. Certainly nothing personal in a long time, probably since he was in middle school with a three year hyperfixation on Scooby Doo. It's been a minute.

"I need to know how to make it clear to you that I care about you. That you can trust me. That I want to treat you well," Chosen says, stilted but sure, heavy with the weight of his honesty. Augustus sinks into Chosen, holding him just a little bit too tight. He doesn't know. He's not sure that he's ever had a friendship, a relationship, anything where he's fully trusted someone to treat him right. He's not sure that anyone has ever wanted to give him that before. He's friends with John, and by extension Billy, and by further extension several other people who play Magic: the Gathering, but it's not as if any of them are someone he would call in an emergency. If he had an emergency he'd probably call... Laura, honestly. Chosen, totally, but if he needed a real adult, Laura is probably the best one he knows.

"Just... keep caring about me? While I figure it out?" he asks, ten different kinds of insecurity threading through his voice. Chosen holds him a little tighter, arms wrapped tight around Augustus's waist. Despite being taller than Chosen by a reasonably large margin, Augustus feels engulfed by his presence, held together by his hands, his body, his care. He tries not to tear up at how nice it feels to be held like that, but something tells him that Chosen wouldn't even be mean about it if he did.

"Easily," Chosen says, certain as death and taxes, shot through with that stalwart conviction.

Christmas always comes a little too quickly, like time itself begins doing a hundred meter dash as soon as the clock strikes midnight on December 1. It's December 24th, and Augustus's stay in the Agnew house starts when he gets here; he's supposed to get here in less than an hour. For some reason, it has only just now occurred to Chosen to get anxious about the boy he likes sleeping in his bed, but that's only because he's a fucking idiot. Brianna always takes the guest room, to the point that it's practically just hers at this juncture. Which means that Augustus will be sharing Chosen's room. Augustus had offered to take the couch, but Chosen, who realizes intimately that he is a monumental dumbass for someone as intelligent as he is, wouldn't hear anything of it. Offered his own bed right up. Augustus didn't want to kick him out of his bed, so they're sharing. As a compromise. And definitely not because it makes Chosen's heart flutter in his chest, overwhelmed in only the best of ways.

"Checking the time on your phone won't make him come over faster. Maybe if you wanted your boyfriend to come sooner than you guys agreed on, somebody should have called him," Brianna says, feet crossed daintily on the coffee table as she flicks to the next page of her magazine. Chosen rolls his eyes. He's stopped trying to beat the boyfriend allegations; he's tired. If letting Brianna call Augustus his boyfriend makes it so he doesn't have to have that conversation (emotional in nature and so introspective for some reason), he'll allow it. This again has nothing to do with any fluttering in Chosen's chest. He just doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

That being said, his ears do perk up when he hears Augustus pull in the driveway. He usually parks out front on the curb, but since he's spending the night, Chosen could actually convince him to park in the driveway. He's got this thing about not wanting to be in the way that drives both Chosen and his mother insane. In the way. Of what? Chosen knows it's about taking up space. It's about making himself small. It's just that if he thinks about that too much, he's gonna give Augustus's dads a real reason to be scared of predator genera. He tilts his head in the direction of the door, indicating Augustus's arrival to Brianna. She doesn't even put down her magazine. That's fair. As soon as Augustus walks in he's going to-

"Oh, thank fuck, you're already sitting down," Augustus says as he walks in the door, closing it behind him and climbing directly into Chosen's lap, knees on either side of Chosen's hips. Apparently, his dads had been under the impression that Augustus would be waiting at home for them while they went off and did family Christmas without him, and found out that such was not the case because they saw Augustus packing this morning before they were heading out themselves. Augustus was texting him updates actively while having the conversation that followed that, a kind of blatant disrespect that has Chosen vindictively proud of him. Fuck them. Augustus deserves so much more. He pulls Augustus down against his throat, bussing his nose across Augustus's ears.

"How'd it go?" he asks, because at some point, Augustus had needed to actually argue his points and not just text him about it. Augustus grumbles, like a displeased version of the hum of his purr. Chosen scratches his back gently, scratching on the up pass and just rubbing on the down. Augustus relaxes against him even further. He doesn't know how Augustus's dads can even stand making this boy unhappy like this. This terribly sweet, funny, smart, nice, fucking incredible boy and they don't even fucking appreciate him. It's so stupid.

"Apparently I'm ungrateful," Augustus says, laughter curling around his words, but not even slightly in a good way. Chosen starts to ask, but Augustus continues, "Apparently, not sitting at home and waiting for them and instead going to celebrate Christmas with people who aren't even family makes me ungrateful, given all that they provide for me. You know, they didn't even have a fucking answer when I asked if I was just supposed to spend Christmas alone? Like they hadn't even thought about the fact that the only options were family and not family, and they had actively taken the first one away from me. Like what the fuck am I even supposed to do with that?"

"Christ on a bike, your dads suck," Brianna observes, putting down her magazine and joining them on the couch, taking one of Augustus's hands in her own. That had been a discussion as well, though one Chosen did not have to be included in, thankfully. Augustus and Brianna are learning how to be friends, and it's really nice to see and makes Chosen feel like his pack is coming together, and sitting here surrounded by them both makes him feel so warm, even given the circumstances. Augustus snorts.

"You know, I'm starting to agree," he says, hopeless laughter chasing the words out of his mouth. Chosen squeezes him a little tighter. He knows how hard it is to come to terms with that realization: the uniquely aging moment of realizing one or both of your parents will never love you the way that you deserve. He and Brianna might have had to come to terms with it younger, but that doesn't make it hurt any less for Augustus. He wishes there was something to say here. Some experiences don't really have a proper response. Every day, he's grateful for his mother. Not just for providing him a stable environment when his father left, but for providing one to his friends as well. Laura Agnew had only planned on one kid. Today, she has three.

They let him sit with it for a few minutes, just sitting and holding, before Brianna moves them to action.

"Alright, break it up, we're making cookies," she says, heading to the kitchen whether they choose to join her or not. Augustus pulls back enough to look Chosen in the face, raising an eyebrow. Chosen shrugs. Augustus shrugs back. Chosen smiles, shrugging again. Augustus leans down, bussing his cheek across Chosen's before pressing his face into Chosen's throat for a second.

"Thank you," he says, standing up and holding a hand out for Chosen. Chosen takes it, not letting go even when he's fully upright.

"For?" he asks, though maybe it's just that he wants to hear it.

"Caring about me." Chosen squeezes his hand. He wants to tell Augustus how easy of an ask that is, that caring about Augustus is like breathing or blinking, something his body does to continue his survival whether he thinks about it or not. Caring about Augustus is like that. Essential to survival. That, however, is an incredibly intense thing to say to another person, let alone a guy he hasn't been friends with for a year yet. Instead, Chosen says another true thing, keeping the rest behind his teeth.

"Thanks for letting me," he says, dragging Augustus to the kitchen to hang out with Brianna to circumvent the rest of this conversation. If there even would have been a rest of it. That would be terribly brave, and Chosen isn't sure he's willing to risk this yet. He's getting closer all the time, though. Closer all the time. Still, he drops Augustus’s hand when they hit the threshold of the kitchen.

"Oh, I see the lovebirds finally decided to join me. So, who wants to make cookies? Because I came in here and realized I, like, totally do not know how to make cookies. Nor do I particularly want to learn, so. Somebody else do it, because there should be cookies," Brianna says as they enter the kitchen, perched on one of the counters. Chosen breaks into a grin, gesturing for Augustus to get up on the counter as well, knowing that he doesn't have any particular affinity for the kitchen either. Chosen has cooked since he was a kid; it was one of the responsibilities he could take off of his mother's shoulders, like laundry and dishes, and he liked that ability to provide. So, Chosen cooks. Augustus had lit up the first time he saw Chosen in the kitchen, had complimented Chosen's cooking as if he were a restaurateur, he was charmed and charming and it made Chosen feel like this skill that he learned for survival could be a talent as well. He had never felt that way about cooking before Augustus. Proud. Accomplished.

"If I'm already turning on the oven, I'll use this opportunity to make the pull apart bread as well," he says, not least of all because cookies don't mean a lot to Augustus, but pull apart bread? It's something that Chosen makes for every holiday, and having tried some of the leftovers from Thanksgiving, Augustus had absolutely fallen in love with it. It's just cheese, bacon, garlic, spinach and seasonings. And his favorite bread recipe. It's a brioche dough base that he went ahead and put together the ingredients for yesterday; he's aware that he is somewhat pretentious. He's just also decided that it's cool as fuck, being pretentious and knowing things and being able to use that knowledge in the care and keeping of his pack.

"Augustus, put on a playlist. Brianna, pull up the Buzzfeed quizzes. Let's get this shit done," he says, his companions both immediately pulling out their phones as they sit across from one another on the counter. Brianna has one leg pulled up and her flip flop on the counter as if it's not December. Augustus has his legs crossed, leaned forward just a bit. Chosen reaches out to pet his ears on one of his passes to the fridge, sending Augustus blinking in confusion. He just grins back at him, walking out of his reach before he even recovers.

"Pick Your Favorite Things In Each Category To Find Out Which Christmas Movie Describes You To A T," Brianna reads, followed by an excited trill. "And she's topical!" she singsongs, shimmying her shoulders. The Buzzfeed Quizzes are a pre-Augustus tradition; Chosen has a bit of a policy. If he's cooking for anyone other than his mom, they have to sit in the kitchen and keep him company. Brianna, age 13, had decided to interpret that as a request for her to bring her laptop into the kitchen with them and make him take Buzzfeed quizzes with her. And you know what? It's fun. He doesn't even find it cringe anymore. It's a damn good time.

This quiz in particular comes out with a bunch of movies that none of them have ever seen; he and Brianna have always watched horror movies, if any movie, around Christmas, because it's one of the only genres they can both stand. Augustus had just straight up said I don't watch straight people movies. Which, well. Also true. They take I'm Willing To Bet Your Holiday Taste Buds Are More Rare Than You Think, But Let's Double Check, which Chosen thinks is a stupid name for a quiz, by committee, arguing each question as if it were an important debate. Chosen will die on the hill of defending frosted sugar cookies, and he will do so because he knows he is right. He's put together two batches of cookie dough by the time they finish their third quiz, Eat A Big Breakfast To Find Out Which Christmas Movie Character You Most Embody.

Chosen apparently most embodies Rudolph of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964). He does not see it, but apparently both of his companions do, so. Win some, lose some.

He rolls out dough balls for chocolate chip cookies, then sugar cookies as well. Is he going to make frosted sugar cookies? Absolutely, because they're excellent. Cookies in the oven, he goes back to the yeast he started activating earlier, going through the familiar motions of making bread. He went through a phase in ninth grade. It may have been directly related to his mother getting sick for some time that year. That is neither here nor there. While he's putting together the innards for the pull apart bread, they take Design A Romantic Hallmark Film And Uncover The Christmas Snack That Reflects Your Personality, according to which Chosen is apparently eggnog coded. He's not sure what that means either. Augustus, being who he is, chooses all of the batshit answers and gets assigned Sour Patch Kids. Brianna also gets assigned eggnog, though they answered entirely differently.

Does Christmas Or Thanksgiving Best Represent You Based On The Fancy Breakfast You Whip Up? does not impress either. By the time that Chosen has finished making the pull apart bread, it's almost time for the cookies to come out. Brianna tries to grab one off the pan immediately, but this is not Chosen's first rodeo, so he keeps it out of her reach successfully. He had just bitten the bullet and purchased icing for the cookies this year, unable to make himself suffer through touching raw egg white. The pre-separated egg whites were more expensive than the icing, so. He just cut out the middle man.

There's still about ten minutes left on the bread when he finishes icing the sugar cookies. He's done the same designs on the cookies since he was a kid, though there are some notable additions this time. Incorporation of purple, for one. An A cookie in addition to the S, B, and L. The tradition (if you can call something he and mom and Brianna made up when he and Brianna were thirteen or so a tradition) is to eat the letter cookies after dinner on Christmas day. Even if Augustus can't taste sweets, Chosen still wants to include him. He stills wants him to know that every tradition they have, there's room for him there. Chosen doesn't know how to tone down this desperation to make Augustus feel safe, and happy, and... and loved. He wants Augustus to feel loved. Augustus hops off the counter while Chosen is icing, entering Chosen's space to wrap his arms around him from behind. Chosen leans back against him a little bit, not pausing in his work. The A cookie is already done when Augustus looks, and from the way he squeezes Chosen a little bit and scents the back of Chosen's shoulder, he understands the meaning of it. You're wanted here.

Maybe it's a big message to hinge on a cookie. Still plastered to Chosen's back, he thinks Augustus gets it, though.

They end up eating the pull apart bread instead of Chosen making dinner as well; he puts some in a container for his mom, but mostly they go to town on the thing. It's good! Is it the most healthy of meals? Absolutely not, but it's Christmas Eve, and he's hanging out with his friends, and his chest is so full of star bright affection that he has no idea what to do with it. They pass the time like that for hours, laughter the soundtrack of their evening even as they turn on movies. Augustus tucks his head into Chosen's shoulder for most of the cinematic proceeds; he made the mistake of letting Chosen and Brianna pick the movie. It probably isn't one he'll be making again.

Brianna always goes to sleep early on Christmas Eve, some holdover tradition from her holdover traditional parents that she actually decided to keep. He knows he's not being fair, that they've learned and they've gotten better, and he's glad that Brianna has been able to reconcile with them and reconvene their relationship. It's just that Chosen is her best friend and he was there when they hurt Brianna bad when she came out, was there when they froze her out, was there for the three Christmases in a row that her folks told her they weren't going to bring her around the rest of the family unless she gave up all this gender nonsense. Thinking about it still sends a rolling rage through Chosen's stomach, accompanied by a growing desire for violence that will have his jaw locked from how he's clenching his teeth with the full strength of his bite. Brianna has forgiven them. That doesn't mean that Chosen ever will.

He also hasn't forgotten when Matthew Carson put gum in her hair in the fifth grade and how she cried when it was cut out. Brianna can forgive. Chosen will hold all of her grudges until somebody dies. It's what they do for one another. He doesn't know the last time he felt true anger at a mention of his absent father, but Brianna? Only one mention of him will have her spitting curses you'd never think she'd say otherwise. She's a good friend.

Point is, Mom crashed as soon as she got home from work, kissing him on his head and making him promise to get her up as soon as he wakes up in the morning. Brianna is in bed before eleven. Past then, it's just him and Augustus. He and Augustus are sharing the same bed. They're not even sleeping yet, but they're already laying down. His head is resting on Augustus's chest as he listens to the other boy explain the basics of setting up a deck for Magic: the Gathering as if Chosen is ever going to play. Hell, he'd probably try it for Augustus. That's fucking embarrassing. He presses his face into Augustus's sternum, rubbing his scent on the thin layer of his shirt. Augustus pauses in his speech.

"Everything okay, puppy?" he asks, gentle as he rubs his hand down Chosen's back. He has to talk himself up to it. It takes a second. It's not like he's laying there, skin to skin with Augustus and holding one another, and suddenly, he's brave. He has to talk himself up to it. He talks himself up to it.

"Why do you call me that?" Chosen asks, unable to just keep going like this, standing in the maw of doubt. Augustus hums, considering it for a moment.

"Do you want me to stop? Because I can. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Chosen," he says, and it's as if he's purposefully missing the point.

"The only discomfort it brings me is from the uncertainty that it engenders in me. I- I need to know what we're doing here, Augustus. I need to know what you want from me," he says, forcing the words out even if they hurt on the journey. Honesty is abrasive in his mouth, want too loud in his ears. Augustus puts both of his hands on the back of Chosen's head, pulling him up to look him in the eye. Chosen doesn't protest the movement. He wants this. He wants to know. Even if he's scared of the answer. Even if he's scared of the change.

"I want as much as you'll give me, Spencer." The way Augustus looks at him now is terribly disarming, comfort a calm thing in his hands. He leans into the touch, returning the look with what he knows to be a terribly enamored one of his own. Still, he has to ask.

"What if I want to give you more than you actually want?" he rasps, insecurity carving the certainty from his voice. Augustus smiles, breathtaking.

"Not gonna happen," he says, pulling him in and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Chosen kisses back enthusiastically, hands fisted in Augustus's sleep shirt. Augustus slips his hands into his hair, scratching along his scalp until he reaches the backs of Chosen's ears. His claws are gentle on the flesh there, careful in a way that makes Chosen feel almost delicate. He doesn't think he's ever liked feeling that way the way he likes it right now. He breaks the kiss and noses along Augustus's throat, finally scenting him as much as he's always wanted to. Augustus rubs his cheek along Chosen's, returning the gesture. Chosen, emboldened, slips a hand up the back of Augustus's sleep shirt. He's not even trying to start anything, would have no idea how to finish it if he did; he just wants to touch as much of Augustus's skin as possible, til there's not a single inch of skin between the two of them that doesn't share scent.

Embarrassingly, what actually puts pause on their activity is the yawn that Chosen can't hold back, pressing his face into Augustus's shoulder as the other breaks into giggles. Chosen nips him just because he can.

"Let's go to sleep, puppy. I'll still be here when you wake up," Augustus assures, touching carefully that insecurity that has lived in Chosen most of his life, that knowledge that if anything, he is easy to leave. By the grip that Augustus has on him, pulling Chosen against his chest and holding him close, Augustus would not agree with that sentiment. Chosen nips him again, gentle. Claiming and affectionate. Augustus scents his hair. Falling asleep has never been easier in Chosen's life.

He always wakes his mother as soon as he wakes up on Christmas morning. On his back and looking up at Augustus with sleepy eyes, for once he thinks it can wait. Augustus seems to agree, leaning down to kiss Chosen chastely but thoroughly, neither of them having any regard for morning breath if fixing it would mean separating from one another. Chosen tangles a hand in Augustus's hair like he's always wanted to, reveling in the immediate purr it pulls from his boyfriend. His boyfriend? They should talk about that.

"Are we dating?" he asks as soon as he breaks their kiss, too impatient of the answer for him to have any sort of social decorum about asking. Augustus chuckles and leans down, peppering kisses all across Chosen's face as if that's not the most flustering thing in the world. Knowing Augustus, that may just be the point. He tilts his head when Augustus goes to press another kiss on his cheek, catching the other boy's mouth against his. Augustus gives a happy hum. He kisses him a few more times, gentle and chaste, before he's willing to pull back, though it isn't like Chosen is protesting all that much. He tries not to fight battles he doesn't want to win.

"I think we've been dating for months, but I'd really like to call you my boyfriend if that's okay with you," Augustus says, as if there's any chance that Chosen is going to deny him. He leans up to kiss him again.

"As long as you'll have me, I'm yours," he says, earnest and honest. He doesn't know that he's ever thought of a better description for himself: savior of the multiverse, son of Laura Agnew, best friend of Brianna Boho, and completely and utterly devoted to Augustus St. Cloud. Augustus leans down to kiss him again before pushing himself up, standing and holding out a hand for Chosen as well. He stumbles on his feet as he stands, not expecting the way that Augustus pulls him directly into a hug. He returns it anyway, his surprise pleasant.

"I'm yours too, Chosen. As long as you want me, I'm yours," Augustus promises, kissing the top of Chosen's head. Flushing, Chosen gently shoves Augustus away from him, separating them enough that they can get somewhat dressed and brush their teeth. They're holding hands when they come out of his bedroom though, both somewhat unwilling to fully separate from one another. Brianna is already up, sitting with her laptop open at the dining room table. She clocks their linked hands immediately.

"Wait, like actually?" she says, not clarifying at all. Still, Chosen knows he's red, and he presses his face into Augustus's shoulder.

"Yeah," he confirms simply, fond and excited and so fucking safe in this space. He leans into Augustus, who accommodates him easily.

"Wait, before or after midnight?" Brianna asks, for some reason very eager for that information. Chosen looks over at Augustus, eyebrow raised. He shrugs.

"After, I think?" he says. He didn't even realize his mother was listening before he caught a balled up paper towel to the face, looking up to see Laura Agnew with her hands on her hips.

"Goddamn it, Spencer. Couldn't have been just a little braver, huh, kiddo?" she asks, sweeping through the room in her housecoat to grab her purse from the foyer. She comes back in with her wallet in hand, sliding Brianna a twenty dollar bill. Chosen closes his eyes, counting to ten. Patience is a virtue, but not one that comes naturally to him. He's getting better at it.

"Did you two have a bet going? On us?" he asks, though the answer is obvious. Brianna grins at him.

"I won!" she says, like that makes it all better. Looking over at Augustus, maybe it does. Maybe this is his family and maybe he's happy and maybe he loves them all so, so much, and maybe he's getting better. He leans up to kiss Augustus. He makes breakfast. He stands on his tiptoes to get things out of the cabinet before his tall, asshole boyfriend comes up behind him and is still able to reach things more easily than Chosen can. For what feels like the first time in a very, very long time, Chosen exhales.