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Foolish expected a lot of things when he and his roommate, Jaiden, decided to organise a little Christmas get-together. He expected the preparation; the cooking, the hanging up decorations, the buying ugly matching Christmas jumpers for the fun of it; he expected the giddy reunions with friends he hasn’t seen for far too long, the slightly awkward introductions with friends-of-friends he’s never met before; he expected the light dusting of chaos, the spilled drinks over kitchen counters and the hearty laughs that follow –
He expected a lot of things, and for the most part, his expectations were met.
What he didn’t expect was the man with the dark eyes dancing in his kitchen.
He’d noticed him earlier in the night when he walked in, trailing Roier and smiling in a subdued sort of way through cheerful introductions. Vegetta, he’d said, and Foolish couldn’t help but be pulled up short by the quiet twinkle in the darkness of his iris, blinking up at Foolish as if handing him something secret. A second later, the moment disappeared, swept up in vigorous handshakes and arms thrown around shoulders, and Vegetta became lost in the swell of people throughout the night – caught again in glimpses across the table as they ate, rolling his eyes affectionately at one of Roier’s jokes; in a high laugh, carried across the room and settling comfortably in the shell of Foolish’s ear even as he finds himself turned the other way. And now – now, here he is, alone in the kitchen as the door lightly swings shut behind Foolish’s back and the sound of raucous chatter muffles, swaying gently as notes of music still manage to edge beneath the crack of the doorframe.
It's here that Foolish feels it, really feels it. He realises it’s something he’s been ignoring all evening, some lurch of his gut; some hook and tie and pull that begs to bring him closer, closer. It’s unignorable now, so close, so close, and Foolish finds himself breathless and overcome with clarity, all at once – how is it that at the moment you find yourself taking the longest, deepest breath, familiarity filling your lungs like air, you lose it all, too, heart stuttering at the surface of your chest like it’s waking up from some centuries-long slumber, finally, finally?
“Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…”
The laugh that escapes Foolish, fond, is quiet, but the man in front of him turns anyway, somehow startled even as some curve within his movement suggests that this is something he was ready for, waiting, waiting. His eyes are wide, taking in the presence of another person where before he clearly thought he was alone – and then he smiles too, small, a little embarrassed.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise…”
“No – uh, no worries,” Foolish reassures him, hands waving away the apology. “I was, um. I was enjoying the show, anyway.”
And then, the man in front of him laughs.
Oh, says Foolish, only it isn’t aloud – this is something for him, some realisation deep within his bones that echoes within the shell of him. Oh, it’s you.
“Thank you,” Vegetta smiles, eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners, humour saturating his tone until it’s dripping with it, a sight so familiar it sends Foolish’s heart into a frenzy – love-crazed prisoner shaking at the bars of his ribs, screaming to be set free. “Would you like to… join me?”
“Of course,” Foolish breathes, of course, of course, I’d join you anywhere, anytime, just say the word. Vegetta’s eyes widen again, like he’s surprised – and then mellow, like he isn’t at all. Like he’s known all along that, no matter what he asks, Foolish’s answer will always be yes, of course.
“Here.”
Vegetta’s hand hovers in the air between them.
Foolish’s heart strains against his ribcage.
He takes Vegetta’s hand.
Once bitten and twice shy,
I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye…
“Fuck – sorry,” Foolish mutters as he catches Vegetta’s toe beneath his foot. Vegetta only laughs and pulls him closer, hand at his waist warm, firm, encouraging. The heart within Foolish’s chest is rejoicing, bursting free to circle the very line of Vegetta’s being, declaring a new owner for itself. Foolish has half a mind to call it back, chastise it, berate its carelessness; the way it trusts so readily – but as he allows himself to be gently tugged over the kitchen floor, dark, shining eyes leading the way, he knows that any attempt to prize his heart from Vegetta’s grasp would be useless. Not because Vegetta holds on too tight – no, he knows, somehow, deep within him, that this man is capable of letting him go. Instead, it would be his own heart that would cling, steadfast, because nobody else holds him, keeps him, knows him, the way that the man within his arms does.
Tell me, baby, do you recognise me?
Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me…
Vegetta hums along to the song. He watches their feet now, perhaps in the hope of diverting another accident before it happens, and Foolish finds himself smiling sheepishly as the other man catches his eye again – and smiles, like every moment looking away is just a moment spent waiting to see him again. Something about it – the waiting – is familiar to Foolish; even now, here, hand within Vegetta’s, waist held under his arm, every layer of Foolish’s skin is alight, straining forwards, distressed – it wants closer, closer, now, we’ve waited long enough, and Foolish sways with the force of it, stumbling.
Vegetta catches him.
Now I know what a fool I’ve been,
But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again…
“Careful,” Vegetta says quietly. He’d been pushed back a little, inches away from being pressed against the kitchen counter, and Foolish finds himself obsessing over it – how easy would it be to step closer, push further, have him there and keep him, forever, forever? Would he move away with a smile and a shake of the head? Would he shove Foolish from him and leave – leave him alone once more, once more, again, again –
“Sorry,” Foolish repeats. He does none of the things he thinks of. Instead, he stills, barely breathing, as Vegetta reaches for him. He reaches for him, and he trails a fingertip down the side of his face – and, oh, how it sings with his touch; Foolish doesn’t believe in angels but he thinks this is what they might sound like: like longing brought to its knees and knighted, graciously granted permission – finally, finally – to become what it has ached for, for forever. Like a heart, welcomed home.
Then Vegetta’s finger touches his lips, and it’s like he never left.
It’s meeting atop a tower, speaking slow steady clear as they try to understand; it’s waving goodbye and wondering when they’ll meet again; it’s gifts, graduating from friendly kindness to heart-stuttering excitement to take this, my heart, it’s yours –
It’s written in the stars and it’s you’re beautiful and it’s I trust Vegetta with my life and it’s yo confío en Foolish and it’s tú sabes si él me quiere mucho and it’s Vegetta can’t do wrong, not him and it’s you and me only, together in this life –
And then it’s wonder what Vegetta could be up to, right at this moment and it’s one day, I’ll see you soon enough and it’s bring him back, bring him back and it’s I’ll wait, and I’ll keep waiting and it’s he’ll come back, right? and it’s feels like I’ve just been waiting, since I’ve gotten on this island, just waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting –
“Don’t leave,” Foolish gasps, blinking as his head breaks the surface, memories from a life long abandoned filling his lungs, choking. “Don’t leave again.”
Vegetta frets, shushing and comforting, hands cradling Foolish’s face the same way he holds his heart: gently.
“I promised you I’d come back, didn’t I?” he whispers, barely a breath away, and that’s when Foolish decides that a breath is far, far too much.
Last Christmas, I gave you my heart,
But the very next day, you gave it away…
This year, to save me from tears,
I’ll give it to someone special…
Foolish feels it, perhaps through the press of their lips or the warmth of Vegetta’s hands, or, even, the beat of his most vital organ, so at home in another’s body – he feels it when Vegetta hands over his own heart. He’s never felt it before, not truly, the other man keeping it so close to his chest the last time they met, all those years ago – he’d been scared, Foolish remembers; scared to let it go and watch it be sliced through again, again, again, just like all the other times. Foolish had been patient, knowing as he did that he’d sooner throw his own heart away than leave a scratch over Vegetta’s, and now – now, that patience pays off as he balances the timidly beating organ within his hands, watching it slowly gain confidence as it realises that these hands are not here to hurt, but to hold.
I’ll give it to someone special.
“It’s you,” Foolish says against Vegetta’s lips, close. “Still you,” he murmurs, arms solid against Vegetta’s back, closer. “Always you,” he breathes, a kiss to the pulsing skin of Vegetta’s heart as he tucks it beneath his ribcage for safekeeping.
“You, still you, always you,” Vegetta repeats, reverent, and Foolish knows that this time, it’s a promise.