Chapter Text
His fingers typed the keys calmly but non-stop. He took a deep breath and stretched his back and arms, also his neck, and relaxed on the chair, sighing. He crossed his legs, sitting in a funny, and probably uncomfortable, chair, but he was perfectly that way, especially because he was elastic and had enough flexibility to place the instep of his feet on his tights.
“It’s four a.m, Prismo” a sleepy voice sounded lower as it should because he had his face buried on the pillow, Prismo grinned.
“I’m inspired” he didn’t even turn away from the computer and the keys started to sound again.
“Your sleeping schedule doesn’t exist…”
“It doesn’t” he confirmed, being proud of it, but he shouldn't. “Don’t worry, I’m going to sleep in a while”
“Liar”
Prismo turned to the bed on his left. The big bed was almost touching his knee, the sheets were moved as he got out of them and the pillows and cushions― excessive cushions from Scarab’s point of view― make it comfier for the bluenette. He stretched his hand and placed on Prismo’s knee, almost like an insistence, the pink-haired glanced at his hand and then his goldish eyes.
“Write it tomorrow”
“You know I can’t. I would forget it…” he said typing the keys without looking at the screen, he was experienced enough to do that, Scarab rolled his eyes. “I’ll type just the key words, I promise”
“You’d better” sounded like a threat. “I didn’t leave my silenced house and family and gave up my stupid job to live with a child who can’t have a normal sleep timetable…” Prismo laughed a bit and rolled his eyes, staring at the screen for a few seconds and then turning again to Scarab. “Actually none of us liked that job…” He said with a reflexive and thoughtful tone, indeed he was about to fall asleep again, but he was trying to keep his eyes open and trying to say as little incoherences as he could. Prismo nodded and made a funny face. “Are you done?” Prismo turned to the screen.
“Almost…” he answered, typing two more words and saving the document. It was a static PC, so, it didn’t matter if he left it switched on all night, even though, in less than three hours he would be awake, so, why would he switch off the PC?
Sometimes he thought he acted like a streamer or so, people he had the PC on almost all day, everyday and doing stuff almost all day… His eyes were destroyed, in an ironical way, of course. His eyes were tired and fallen, and he was exhausted all day, normally on the bed or with a yellow or goldish and orange blanket with a sun and half moon print, covering his body and the bed clothes almost all day.
“Got it…” he yawned and saved the document again, falling laterally on the bed next to the bluenette. “I had to, sorry”
“You always have to…” said the bluenette sliding his arms around Prismo’s chest and placing his head on his shoulder. “Don’t you dare to get out again…”
“Fine, fine…” he smiled and kissed Scarab’s forehead and surrounded him with his arms, closing his eyes slowly. “Night”
“It’s fucking four a.m”
“Good day, then?”
“Hush”
Prismo grinned, holding back his laugh and curled up even more comfier next to the place one. He caressed his blue short hairs and sighed, noticing Scarab’s caresses on his back bones, sliding his fingers through his back, drawing a descendent line, then an ascendent one inside his shirt. He didn’t get surprised by that, Scarab got used to it a while ago. The pink-haired loved it, it was soft and gentle. They might be simple caresses, but they were full of love…
…
Prismo and Scarab met on his last job, it was a coincidence, none of them were ‘destined’ to see each other never, because Prismo was on the second floor and Scarab worked on the sixth floor, in different modules and different systems, different dining rooms and different common areas. But Prismo was called by his superior to present a kind of project and Scarab get out of the same office, they almost collapse due to Prismo’s attentions was focused on the numbers over the doors to localise the office― it was his first time in the sixth floor after all― and not in what he had in front of him. Prismo paid a coffee to Scarab as an apology, and they kept in contact. Not because Prismo wanted to repair his bad reputation in front of the bluenette, it was Scarab who seemed to be interested in Prismo’s eccentric, cheerful and extroverted personality.
They didn’t share hobbies, nor manners, they were completely different, but what Scarab liked about him was his way to be, his manners, his clumsiness, his nervous ‘tic’ in trying to change a ring from one finger to other, just to realise he didn’t have his rings, and that made him even more insecure and nervous. Those little things. Scarab loved those little details.
The only thing they shared or the only common interest were books. They didn’t even enjoy the same kind of books, but Scarab’s curiosity overtook him when Prismo briefly mentioned he wanted to be a writer. Prismo didn’t want to get in, but Scarab made him.
Prismo didn’t want to talk about it because he had such a bad experience when he proudly mentioned he was a fantasy-action writer before. People rejected him and told him he was childish and that he had to mature and stop thinking about those things.
When Scarab proposed to him to be his beta-reading, he almost had a heart attack. It was totally unexpected. Ashamed, he accepted, he didn’t know if Scarab was doing it for his own heart, or he forced himself to do it. The first time he gave him a PDF with one of his last drafts… literally the next day, he returned to Prismo and when he analysed it― because Scarab told him he had added a few notes on some parts of it― he found another document on the Pen Drive named ‘Review’ and inside the document there were notes and opinions― not destructive feedback, just advice of even personal opinions― in almost all the pages.
Prismo felt overwhelmed at first. He even felt ashamed with some of the praises and compliments. He could believe what he was reading. The ‘review’ was a five pages document in which Scarab gave his personal opinion about the whole story. He gladly liked it, he loved the character’s development, he enjoyed the fights or action scenes, he was amused by the final plot twist… Prismo ended up completely blushed and embarrassed. He was not used to that kind of professional or semi-professional judgement to one of his novels.
“You should publish it, it’s good” were the first words Scarab told him when Prismo looked for him to ask about the review and all those notes on the PDF, all those colours and opinions… The whole document ended up completely full with pink, blue and yellow highlighted.
“Y-You were serious on all those notes?”
“Totally” he confirmed.
Prismo blushed.
“R-Really?”
Scarab analysed his flushed face and raised an eyebrow.
“You haven’t received feedback on a draft before, have you?”
“N-No…” he admitted. “I-I never… showed my work…”
“Why?”
“No one would like it” muttered disheartened.
“Well, I like it.” he said with an obvious voice, shrugging.
And that’s how and when Prismo started to gladly meet Scarab and talk long and wide on his drafts and his oldest projects, those who he had scraped a long time ago when people started to reject him for being a ‘childish’ person which only had in mind his fantastic, outlandish and crazy stories. He started to lose his self-esteem, so that, to abandon his stunning ideas of creating new whole words from scratch. Enthusiastically, Scarab listened to every bizarre idea Prismo had. Giving Prismo a chance to recover his confidence and trust in himself, allowing him to smile even wider every day…
And… Scarab fell every day even more for him, for his ideas, for his smile, for his light blue eyes… He had fallen for Prismo in all senses.
It was thanks to Prismo that Scarab realised a lot of things about himself and his job, he learnt which were his priorities, he discovered new interests and realised he actually hated his job.
He actually hated it being in front of a computer writing dull and repetitive articles to the economy department. He actually hated it being in scientific and formal meetings listing and taking notes to write even more articles for his bosses. Indeed, he realised he hated being surrounded by grey greedy hypocrites whose most important and relevant motivations were to exploit people like Prismo to gain even more than what they already have. And he realised he actually enjoyed reading stories and analysing them. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the best well paid job… But he gave up his world, his elitist world― being rejected by his family for that ‘ridiculous‘ decision― and dedicated himself to taking care of himself, of his mental health and got a job on an editorial board, being a draft judge and corrector.
Therefore, Prismo and Scarab ended up living together.
The pink-haired being the positivism and cheerful vibes from the home, except in the mornings if he kept awake until three or four a.m writing his stories, and Scarab being a sort of grumpy babysitter which the only thing he genuinely enjoyed in life was to hug or wrap his arms around Primo's neck from behind and lean against him while the pink-haired one wrote his stories. With a cup of coffee in his hands, if possible, and snuggling between his dishevelled and messy pink curls… Burying his head on Prismo’s curls was an addiction he would never imagine he would have.
…
He woke up in the morning heading towards the kitchen while stretching and rubbing one of his eyes to stretch himself. The lack of Scarab in his bed made him guided by his primary senses: smell and hunger… to head to the kitchen and find one of the greatest delicacies ever created in the world: a cup of coffee.
He wasn't exaggerating when he said that coffee was revitalising and also inspiring... Coffee was the elixir of life and also what kept him sane, or at least enough, to be able to write something properly and coherently.
Scarab had limited his coffee consumption due to his hyperactivity, and it had been a wise decision to tell the truth, because he would surely go without sleep for days in chains just to be able to write one more scene.
He would probably be dead among the trash, filth, natural disorder, and overwhelming disorganisation. But Prismo had managed to survive until that moment, the only thing that had changed was that thanks to Scarab and his... Ehm… habit… So to speak… of keeping everything clean until it was impeccable would be what in a way it kept him away from getting infected by dirt and rubbish…
Although Scarab was probably exaggerating, or maybe he was too traumatised by the elitist life of his millionaire family.
Curious that he would have abandoned everything for a nobody like him…
“Prismo, you're making that face again”
And Scarab still didn't understand how Prismo could be so disorganised but so transparent at the same time. The purity that was in his expressions was the only clean and easily accessible thing that Prismo had in himself… And Scarab had learned to read it perfectly.
“A quick thought, something unimportant, I swear…”
“It wasn't a quick thought…” he shook his head. “You overthought again…” he crossed his arms, staring at him as he set the plates on the table. Prismo swallowed slowly and sighed heavily, almost resisting like a prey on his last breaths… “Let it go.”
“I don't understand how you are in love with me…”
Scarab had to take a deep breath... How could his favourite and beloved creator of fantastic and happy stories have such a grey and pessimistic mind when he was feeling emotionally down due to the obvious lack of self-esteem that although Prismo tried hard to pretend he had, but in reality he was still as destroyed as when he met him?
“Prismo. Please... For the umpteenth time... No, not the umpteenth time, I don't even know how many times I have repeated this…” he approached and grabbed his cheeks, bringing him closer to his face, but without actually kissing him, just bringing him closer. “I love you, Prismo. I don't give a shit who I was, who I could have been and what I could have aspired to, if I left everything it was because of how much I love you and because I want to spend my life by your side…”
Prismo nodded slowly…
“So, please… I know you can’t believe me, I know you have those stages in your mind and you can't control it. But please. Don’t let it control you… Not in my case, not with this…” he held both his hands and intertwined their fingers. “All those nasty tricks your mind could play on you are just illusions. Anything would make me tell you apart… metaphorically…” Prismo incarnated his eyebrows. “Everytime you need me to remind you how much I love you, trust me, I would let all my work apart just to cuddle with you until you are okay… understood?”
“Y-Yes…”
“Morning kiss?”
“Yeah…” he grinned.
“Morning cuddles?”
“Please” hummed with a childish tone.
“Breakfast first?” asked, smiling and caressing his cheeks with his thumbs while Prismo surrounded him with his arms.
“Couch morning cuddles with a coffee” asked.
“All that my baby wants…” muttered, kissing his forehead.
“Thanks”
“And now your morning kiss…” Prismo smiled and they both shared a soft kiss.
Accustomed to Scarab's way of acting, Prismo was undoubtedly excited to sit on the couch. Generally Prismo could not stand in the same place sitting in the same position for more than five minutes… But the exception was in the way Scarab sat on his lap and how his kisses taste like coffee and that made him extremely perfect and unique. Scarab sat with each leg on one side of his body, straddling his body, and then sat down and while he ate breakfast, he placed delicate kisses on Prismo's cheeks, neck and shoulders. The curious thing about all of this is that none of it bordered on sexual intimacy, they were just small kisses with no ulterior motives and of course there was nothing that indicated that she would touch him lustfully.
Prismo learnt to differentiate between passion, lust, comfort and soft caresses. All of them seemed to be the same, but Scarab's face was what changed the topic or atmosphere in which they were involved.
Passion… Scarab's face was cryptic and ambiguous, his hands were soft, and the ascending caresses from the belly to the chest predominated, above the shirt and the sheet, his fingers usually played with the fabric and the lines of the print… Finally he reached his neck, and soft caress on his ‘beard’, with soft kisses in between.
Lust… A seductive smirk and his tongue sliding through his lips in a suggestive stare. The caresses were slow and torturing, in a straight descent line to his pelvis and tights, inside the garments and the blanket, and cold… his hands were cold, but playful and his kisses were suffocating and unstoppable…
Comfort and soft… Lovely shiny eyes, a grin on his face, calm and gentle. The caresses were getting inside his clothes— normally—, but they certainly didn't have any odd intentions. It was passionate, but it did not intercept that kind of caresses, it was romantic, and above all delicate. Every action was accompanied by a kiss.
None of them were the same, and something the thin line broke by switching between the ‘types of caresses’ as if they actually were pigeonholed into a specific type…
“You taste like coffee with a bit of… pancakes… and honey… with cream…”
“So specific…” emitted the bluenette.
“May I have one?”
“May I spoil you with food?”
“It would make me feel better, I guess”
“You're like a child”
“Your child”
“I’m not a father, yet”
Both of them laughed while Scarab got up and strolled to the kitchen while Peismo took a long sit from his coffee… suddenly realising…
“YET!?” He yelled, spitting out the coffee and coughing like crazy after choking and almost dying from shock.
Scarab came out from the kitchen with his eyes opened wider and smiled sarcastically.
“I was joking, babe”
I wasn't…
Prismo panicked. Scarab handed him a cloth to clean up the mess and then handed him the plate with pancakes with honey and cream, adding some strawberries. He grabbed the cloth and returned to the kitchen both to turn off the light and to pick up the things that were in the way and leave his own finished cup.
“Do you want me to sit on your lap again?”
Prismo thought a bit on it, and peeked at the dish.
“I finish and welcome you in my arms all morning” smiled.
Scarab smiled and sat next to the pink-haired, relaxing next to him.
“You were seriously joking about having a child, weren't you?” Prismo stared at him with suggestive and perhaps scared eyes.
“I could be, I could be not…” he grinned.
Prismo stared at him for more than half a minute. Scarab understood that intense look as an imperative need for the pink-haired man to confirm or deny what he had said. Almost like his life depended on it.
“I didn't think about it… I just said it… Typical things you don't process before you say them… I mean… It would be nice, but not yet…" Prismo nodded. “Indeed, I would like to be a father with you someday…”
From the mistrustful look Prismo had, Scarab immediately knew what the tanned one had on his mind.
“Yes, Prismo.” said in a decisive way. “I want to be a father. With you. Because I do love you”
Prismo felt ridiculous and silly for being so transparent and easy to read. Also felt unstable and hopeless. He felt stupid because Scarab had to remind him almost twenty-four hours a day that he loved him, and if it wasn't the whole day, it was half of it, since the other half was spent writing… Even the fact that Scarab had to repeat things to him so much made him feel miserable, he felt like a hindrance, like a stone in his shoe, as if his value was close to zero.
Prismo often lost control of his own thoughts and feelings and that was the result, that depressive amalgam that tortured him all the time…
“Prismo, listen to me”
When did he sit on his lap again?
“I’m here… Look at me, Prismo.” He held his cheeks. “Don't look through me. Look at me… Look at my eyes…” Scarab moved his face, softly and gently, and rested his forehead on the contrary. “That's it…” took a few centimetres of distance. “Breath and look at me… Hug me if you need to…” Prismo's shaky hands trembled and slowly got closer to his waist. “That's it…” he smiled a bit. “Talk to me… Don't keep it for yourself”
“I-I can't be… a father… not this way… I-I can't…”
“You can do whatever you want, honey…” he caressed his cheeks with his thumbs. “I’ll be here, I’m here… You won't be alone”
“You take care of me… I-I can't do a-anything w-without you. I-I’ll be a t-terrible father”
“Prismo, you won't.” Shook his head, rejecting utterly his disdain. “If I take care of you it is because I love you more than you believe… I want you to be alright and I want to stay here, with you…”
“I’m sorry…”
“Do not apologise, there's no need to”
“Sorry”
“Prismo…”
“Sorr—”
Scarab kissed him confidently and calmly.
“Please” Prismo flushed and turned his eyes away. “No more apologies, babe…” muttered. “It's everything alright… got it?”
“Yes…”
“Lovely” he smiled. “Now, let me fed you”
Prismo blushed.
“I want to spoil you and I want you to feel better…”
“Scrabby”
“Yes, dear?”
Prismo hugged him strongly. Scarab panted surprised by that sudden action. Scarab was pressed and tightly hugged against Prismo's body, which made the feeling clear to him and at the same time made him smile and return it immediately.
“I love you…”
“I’m glad you hear that, pinky curls”
Prismo flushed by the caress on his curls and grinned.
The End