Work Text:
Bettel dreads walking through the front door.
He knows it sounds stupid.
He already made his trip back home as long and winding as possible, y’know, thinking he could put off the inevitable if he simply flounced and floundered around until it grew late enough that Hakka had probably gone to bed, and then he can mwa-ha-ha slip in unnoticed. Real sketchy shit, he admits. Real Betster the Devious over here. But he’s never exactly had the best coping mechanisms. Entirely his fault, of course.
If he wants to sneak into his own house with the grace of a burglar and avoid Hakka’s inevitable interrogation, that’s his own damn choice.
It’s not even that he’s done anything bad.
No, quite the opposite.
He’s out of jester juice. Completely fucking out of it.
He’s lost the ability to be funny, which means he’s a failure at the only thing he’s good at.
He’d say damn it all and call it a night, too, but then he starts dreading waking up and having to talk to Hakka about it because his stupidly perceptive spouse can tell when he’s been crying, and if he doesn’t explain himself within the span of five seconds then Hakka will probably die of worry and then Bettel will have to deal with his new life as a widow and oh dear god, he’s not ready to be a widow, they didn’t cover that act in clown school before he dropped out and it’s like, really, really—
“Bettel?”
Hakka’s voice is soft in the dim air of the kitchen, and there’s a scrape of a chair before his face appears at the entryway, blinking back sleepiness.
Bettel tries for a smile, and curses himself internally for unlocking the door on autopilot. He always foils his own plans, too. That’s nothing new.
“Hi, honey.”
“You’re— what time is it…?” Hakka squints at the clock, reading nothing. “Whatever time that is. Did your show run late?”
“Uh huh.” He replies, fidgeting with his fingers, tugging at the tips of his gloves. “If I could just, y’know, squeeze past you, I’ll grab a snack and wash up and you can go to bed! In fact, you should be in bed right now.” His hands make some nonsense gestures, which just about sums up how he’s feeling right now. “Go to sleep, Hakka. You don’t need to stay up for me.”
“I know, but I just wanted to see your face.” Hakka takes the steps between them and takes Bettel’s wrists, floundering and fluttering as they are, and holds them still. “You okay, beautiful? You look spooked.”
“I’m fine. Really. So fine. Super fine.”
“Super fine.” Hakka repeats, smile tugging at his lips.
“Shut up.” Bettel breathes out some semblance of a laugh. He can’t help it. Hakka always makes him want to soften every sharp edge. “You know what I mean.”
“Okay, Mister Fine, well, it’s bedtime for you, too.” Hakka fusses over him for a moment, unhooking his bag for him and kissing his cheek. “No more of this bullshit.” His fingers fall to Bettel’s lapels, carefully prying his coat open. “And before you get any ideas, I’m just making sure your clothes don’t wrinkle in the morning. Jackets like this are expensive, you know!”
“I’m expensive, you know.”
“Can’t fold you up and iron you though, can I, pookie?”
“Ew. Not the pookie.” Bettel says, but he opens his arms and lets Hakka do as he pleases.
“You’re adorable.”
“You know I am.”
“I do,” Hakka coos sweetly, like he’s talking to a small animal. “Pookie-pookie poo. I wuv you, bubbo. Little bastard man. King of my heart. Love of my life. Babygirl.”
Bettel sighs and shakes his head.
“I will never beat you at this and I never want to.”
Hakka just cackles and gets on his tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek again.
“That’s right, baby,” he says with a grin, swaying like he’s got his own beat. “I’m the best.”
Satisfied with winning a competition they never even began, Hakka helps peel him out of his jacket and then hangs it up all nicely. He does the same with Bettel’s bag and hat, and steals his gloves while he’s at it, too. Before Bettel can predict his next course of action, the exorcist then immediately moves to pick him up, which has Bettel scrambling frantically like a pair of wet socks on kitchen tiles to hold on.
“Hey!” He exclaims, clutching onto him for dear life. “What’s the big idea?!”
“I can’t sleep well without you, so I’m just gonna kidnap your ass and take you to bed.” Hakka declares happily.
“Oh, great.” Sarcasm rings, and Bettel picks up. “You married me for my body.”
“I married you because I love you, idiot. Get in the bed.”
“Shower,” Bettel says weakly, fingers grasping at the air towards the bathroom.
Hakka just buries his face in his shirt and takes a big sniff of him. “You already showered. Don’t lie. I know you can’t stand being sweaty after your shows.”
“Did you just sniff me?”
“Yeah?”
“Dude. Come on.” Bettel grimaces. “Gross.”
“It’s normal! I’m just making sure you’re clean ‘cause I’m a clean bird!” Hakka protests, then gracefully dumps Bettel onto the bed before clambering in behind him. “You know we gotta be awake in a few hours anyway. You can do your fancy shower stuff, then.”
“Why do you have to say things that make sense?”
“I’m streamlining cuddle time! I’ll do anything to have more time with you, you know. I love you.”
“Love you too, babe.” Bettel looks away, not about to admit that he’s the one that’s been sabotaging their together-time for Hakka, because he can’t get over his own lack of self-worth. Sometimes, he’s flying with confidence, but when he’s in the pits, he’s in the pits. He feels bad again, but says nothing.
“Hey.” Hakka murmurs, shuffling up and pulling Bettel into his arms. “Tell me if something’s bothering you, okay? I’m a great listener. If you don’t tell me and you just go and be sad on your own, I’ll cry, okay? I’m here for you. I wanna hear from you. You mean a lot to me and I love you.”
“How do you always know when I feel like shit?” Bettel grumbles.
“You’re kind of easy to read,” Hakka replies, giggling. “But even if you weren’t, I’d still feel the same. I wanna hear the things you have to say. Lay ‘em on me, baby.”
“I’d rather sleep it off, honestly.”
“That works too,” Hakka nuzzles against him. “But before you go sleepies, you have to listen to me give you positive affirmations.”
Bettel groans loudly, but he can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of his mouth.
“I hate your affirmations.”
“You love my affirmations.” Hakka’s grin is so apparent that it colors his voice, soft and muffled as it is against Bettel’s shirt. “Okay, babe. Here we go. Repeat after me. I’m super sexy.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m super sexy.”
“I’m the funniest man on earth.”
“I’m not the funniest man on earth.”
Hakka’s knee hits the back of his thigh.
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Betsy, that’s not an affirmation.”
“Betsy, that’s not an affirmation.”
Hakka’s knee hits him again.
“Stop it! You bastard! Accept the damn compliment!”
“I’m the funniest man alive,” Bettel says reluctantly.
“Put some emotion into it.”
“I’m the funniest man alive!” Bettel says, in the most goofy and stupid squeaky clown voice he can muster.
Whatever his half-assed attempt at humor was, it clearly works, because Hakka’s laughter hits him in reverberations up his spine, and a fist pounds at his back as he exclaims, extremely fondly, “Oh my God, Bettel, you’re so stupid.”
“That’s my favorite affirmation yet.”
“I am going to attack you when you least expect it. Son of a bitch.”
“Oh, I’ve activated mean Hakka. I like mean Hakka.”
Hakka puts on a goofy voice this time, high-pitched and babyish, sounding sopping wet and frail in a way he most definitely is not. “I could never be mean to you, Betsy. I love you. You’re my little pookie. Chu chu kissy-kissy chu.”
“Enough, sweetheart. I’m never gonna sleep at this rate. I’m gonna have nightmares.”
Hakka squeezes him tight around his middle, dropping his baby voice. “I am going to fight the nightmares for you.”
“Is that why you keep kicking me in your sleep?”
“No, that comes with the Hakka package.” He says, his fingers wiggling around Bettel’s waist. “You have to turn around and hold me if you want me to stop.”
Bettel shifts, like clockwork, so he has just enough space to do just that.
They’ve been in many different cuddle positions so it’s not surprising to him to see Hakka pop up from the circle of his arms and grin with his cheek against the jester’s chest, but he thinks tonight is one of those nights where he really did need it, so he pecks the tip of Hakka’s nose and basks in the warmth of the grin that Hakka sends his way.
“Now I’ll only kick you 20% of the time,” Hakka says. “What a sick deal.”
“What a sick deal.” Bettel repeats drily, squeezing him to get that bright, happy stare off of his face, which accomplishes nothing because Hakka is equally as overjoyed to be pressed closer to his chest, it seems. “Can you— can you tone it down? I can’t sleep with you sniffing me either.”
“I’m not sniffing you,” Hakka says, muffled. “But you do smell nice. It’s like— what do you call it— aromatherapy or some shit. You’re like a nice scented pillow.”
“Oh, I see. You married me for my scent, like some sort of animal.”
Their bodies shake in tandem with Hakka’s soft, raspy laughter. “I married you because I love you, idiot. I’m gonna beat you up. Stop being a smartass and go to sleep.”
“You go to sleep first.”
“I will. I’m 'eepy.” Hakka cozies up to him, close as close can be. Bettel wishes that didn’t comfort him as much as it did. He’d never admit it out loud, but Hakka fits so perfectly in his arms that he’d have trouble sleeping without him, too. “Just promise me you’re not gonna stay awake stewing in your thoughts.”
“Kind of hard to promise,” he murmurs. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
“It’s all I ask, baby, all I ask.” Hakka’s smile is a soft, warm brand against his chest. “I love you. Sleep well. Wake me up if your demons are eating your face and you need an exorcist.”
Bettel snorts in surprise, not expecting the curveball, but endeared to it in the way he’s always endeared to Hakka. Maybe in the way he always has been.
“Jesus Christ,” he chuckles, almost breathlessly. “Hakka, are you trying to give me bad dreams on purpose?”
Hakka just grins, his eyes still closed and his cheek still just as squishy and just as warm. “It made you laugh, didn’t it? Goodnight.”
Bettel shakes his head. He doesn’t have a good response to that. What he does have is a wash of affection that he doesn’t know where to put down, so his hands trace the line of Hakka’s back and soothe him with a gentle caress. It’s more than any words he can say, and Hakka seems to get it, because he noses into Bettel’s chest until his hair is tickling his throat.
“Goodnight, gorgeous,” Bettel replies, placing a kiss on the spiky crown of his hair, knowing he’ll probably wake up with that hair in his mouth, with the way Hakka moves so much in his sleep.
Oh well. Some things are worth getting hair in his mouth for.
“Or, uh, good morning.” He says, a little sullenly as the clock blinks past midnight, but before he can even begin to feel bad about keeping Hakka up so late, he gets a swift kick in the shin, which has him choking to stop from laughing.
Hakka’s well-asleep now, but old habits die hard, it seems.
“Guess I’ll have to squeeze you a little tighter, after all.” Bettel whispers, cupping the back of Hakka’s neck and securing him against his body like a seatbelt. It takes everything in him not to kiss his silly little crown again. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
When Hakka’s body twists against him, straining to get another hit in, he just snickers under his breath. He’ll fall asleep to this, too, because that’s what he’s used to, but he can’t wait to tease Hakka relentlessly about this over breakfast.
“And please stop attacking me, for the love of God.”