Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Fabian is ten, his Papa tells him the story of how he married his mother.

It’s a gory tale, one that involves a cut eye and bodies hitting the deck. He tells Fabian of a love that sent him to his knees, that leads a man like him– fearsome and powerful, the greatest pirate to ever live– to start a family.

A love that gave him Fabian.

They’re out at sea as he does: the Hangman cuts through the ocean like a knife, waves spreading and tapering off from the sides. The wind rushes by, its force held captive in dark sails. The sun shines down on them, ropes casting shadows across his father’s face as he regales the crew, hushed for the moment, with his grand, epic tale.

Fabian sits in rapt attention, grey eyes bright with awe.

Papa talks of love the same way he does violence– it’s bloody, raw and intense. The kind that leaves you grasping for purchase, sinks its teeth in and rips off what it can. The kind that smiles like a sword to the neck.

The way he speaks of it makes Fabian shudder, just a little bit, though even at this age Fabian knows not to admit it. And so his Papa laughs and so does Mama, who’s loose-limbed and petting Fabian like he’s some kind of cat as his father tells the story, the other pirates milling about.

“Is that how I’ll know it’s love?” Fabian asks, his mother’s hand on his head. “When I lose my eye?”

His mother laughs, giggling around a glass of wine. “When, Fabian?”

“Papa lost his!”

“And I’d be damned if you did too!” His father stomps over, pulling him close. “Nobody messes with my boy– and lives to tell the tale.”

Despite the threat, Fabian relaxes against his father’s side, his warmth seeping through the rich cloth of his coat. “Okay,” He says, “Then maybe I’ll make sure she doesn’t have a sword.”

Bill Seacaster claps Fabian on the back, laughing heartily. Fabian isn’t sure what’s so funny.

Seeing his expression, something changes on his Papa’s face, morphing into something serious. His voice dips, low and gravelly.

“Aye, my boy, I will not have an in-law who cannot wield a blade–” His fist slams against the beaten wooden table, “I would sooner let dogs tear at my flesh before my darling boy chooses anyone less.”

“For there is one law,” His father says, gesturing out onto the vast blue of the sea. “One law that every breathing, skittering thing on this here plane knows.” Fabian swallows. “And do you know what that law is, boyo?”

The other pirates go quiet. Fabian dares not look away.

“The law of the– the law of the blade–”

SHING!

“THE LAW OF THE BLADE!”

His father stands, yanking Fabian with him as he stabs his saber into the table, the blade going clean through the other side. His reflection stares back at him with wide eyes.

Fabian jolts. His father’s grasp stays iron-clad around him, and he says, voice low:

“It’s kill or be killed in this world, Fabian,” His good eye smoulders, burning with an intensity that roots Fabian to the spot. “You best not forget.”

Fabian hesitates, nods–

Bill Seacaster’s voice explodes into something harsh, barking loud into Fabian’s ear, “WELL?”

“Yes, Papa,” He manages, straightening his spine. “I will– I will keep that in mind.”

His father smiles, toothy and wild.

“Good,” He says, and lets Fabian go.

He yanks his saber out of the table, sheathes it. And as he stomps off, “AYE, WHERE IS THE MUSIC?”

Pirates clamber out of barrels, songs filling the air. It is lively, catchy, exciting– and does nothing to quell the unease in Fabian’s stomach. His mother snores softly in her chair.

Cathilda approaches him, a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Kippers?”

Fabian’s face splits into a grin, despite himself. Something in him uncoils, relaxes as she pinches his cheek– “Thank you.”

Fabian Aramais Seacaster is ten, and he is out at sea, travelling the world with his Papa. The world is cruel and harsh and Fabian doesn’t know the half of it, yet– but he knows, now, that love is not without blood.

—

Fabian is sixteen, on his first day of Freshman Year, and he does what any student wanting to make a good first impression would do– he punches a half-orc right in the gut.

The crowd of students quiets, those nearby backing up with wide eyes. The half-orc gasps, collapsing onto their knees with a groan, holding a…

Fabian squints.

What is that?

Whatever they’re holding bends a little in their grasp, shining and metallic and– Fabian’s eyes go wide, lips stretching into a grin.

It’s a flower. This kid brought a metal flower to his first day of school.

Fabian’s grin relaxes into a smirk. Biggest kid around, he thinks. But certainly not the baddest.

The curl of his lip looks more like a sneer.

The polished metal shines, a silver petal catching Fabian’s eye. It reminds him of a saber, of a beaten wooden table.

“I'm Fabian Seacaster!” He announces to the clearly awe-struck and speechless crowd. Murmurs break out, and he stands his ground, flexing in his Owlbears jacket. “Son of Bill Seacaster! And I'm here to be great!”

Fabian ignores the groan of pain on the ground, the hushed speaking that follows.

He walks off into the crowd, fighting his delight when it parts for him, like the Hangman to the sea. Oh yeah.

A loud, guttural roar explodes behind him. Fabian turns, what the–?

Fabian gets punched. Right in the face and twice as hard. The half-orc’s eyes have narrowed into slits.

Wow, is all Fabian can think, staggering from the impact. He has never felt his skull more than he has in this moment.

Fabian catches himself, winds up for another punch. “Oh, you are on.”

(This, Fabian thinks, is the day his life changed forever.)

—

A lot of things happened on that first day. That first year.

He got sent to detention. He fought corn creatures and got his shit rocked by a table. He watched several people die– and several come back to life. He names his motorcycle from Hell the Hangman.

Somehow, somewhere, there was a sexy rat.

There’s a lot of fighting, enough that it sort of bleeds together. He gets kissed by Adaine’s hot older sister, who is mean and apparently evil but whose lipstick leaves stains on Fabian's lips. He falls ass over teakettle for her. She tries to kill them all anyway.

He goes to prison. He stays in prison, which surprises him a lot more.

It’s curveball after curveball after curveball. But what catches him truly off guard, hits him like a massive-as-sin dragon…

…Is that he made friends. Real, genuine friends that see Fabian underneath the Seacaster name. Friends that make him laugh, that don’t look at him with thinly-veiled contempt and jealousy, that he trusts and knows with certainty that they trust him back. His spirit lifts, filled with so much happiness and adrenaline and then–

–Fabian drives his sword through his father’s heart, just the way he was taught.

His father laughs, laughs, and laughs.

There is so much blood. There is so much fire. Wind rushing past him, an explosion rings in his ears.

He’s flying, Fabian thinks, half-blind and soaring through the air. He’s flying.

—

And then, he falls.

—

By the end of Freshman year, Fabian is smiling as he walks out of Aguefort, his friends bickering and laughing at his sides. He’s sixteen, and he’s helped kill a dragon.

His Papa’s eyepatch still feels weird against his face.

Fabian adjusts it. Once, then twice before he rides the Hangman. He sighs.

He’ll get used to it. Eventually.

They end up at Basrar’s again, who greets them with a cheerful wave. Everything is good, great even– Fig is marvelling at the guitar pick Fabian bought her, (in secret!) so is Gorgug with his holster and flower, (also in secret) Adaine with her shimmering gift card, (also also in secret) and Kristen with her book on world religion. (you get it.)

Riz, sitting at his left, clutches his engraved, leather-bound briefcase with careful, near-shaking claws.

(Fabian will never forget the look on his face when he saw the business cards. It made his cramped wrist so worth it.)

Fabian grins, and presents his own tin of car wax with flourish.

“Whoever did this,” He says, just as their ice cream arrives. “They must have been really, really grateful.”

Fig pauses, a spoonful of ice cream pausing in midair. “Grateful?” She echoes, “Why grateful?” Adaine makes a noise of agreement.

“Yeah, I was gonna say we have a fan,” She fiddles with her spoon in thought, “D’you think it’s because of prom?”

“Probably,” Fabian shrugs. “We did save quite a lot of lives.” He replies, casual as anything, and that’s that.

Beside him, Riz is quiet, his gaze piercing. Fabian tries not to shift in his seat.

Riz… Might be onto him. Maybe. Fabian isn’t sure.

(In a year, Fabian will come to know that face as Riz’s I-see-right-through-you face, and he’ll wonder how he ever thought he got away with it at all.)

He forgets about it soon enough– Fabian scoops ice cream into his mouth, howls with laughter in their booth as the hours tick by. By the end of it, his cheeks hurt from smiling and his body thrums with a pleasant, buzzing sort of happiness– even when closing time hits and they’re inevitably asked to leave.

Gorgug goes home, and so does Fig, who hugs them goodbye under a streetlamp. Kristen and Adaine head back to their apartment with Jawbone. They’re living at Strongtower Luxury Apartments now, and Fabian expects The Ball to come with, already calling for the Hangman–

Riz shakes his head, sheepish. “I’ll head back on my own. It’s not that late yet, anyway.”

So he bids the two goodbye, turning to Fabian, his ears drooping a little with… Is that embarrassment?

Fabian blinks.

Two things: It is that late, and there is no way Fabian is letting The Ball walk back home.

The Hangman, it seems, picks up on this. Its headlights flash threateningly at Riz, and Fabian winces– it’s alarmingly bright.

(Like, Kristen-cast-Ray-of-Light-in-the-middle-of-the-Basrar’s-parking-lot bright. It made Riz hiss.)

Riz shields his eyes, “Uhm.”

Fabian narrows his eyes. “Hangman,” He scolds, “Behave yourself.”

BUT SIRE, the Hangman revs in protest. THE BALL–

“Behave.”

The lights dim, going back to their normal glow.

…FINE.

“Thank you, Hangman,” Fabian pats the seat in approval. He looks back at Riz, who’s blinking a lot, yellow eyes adjusting back to the dark. “So, why’d you stay?”

Riz focuses back onto him, “I– I kind of wanted to. Talk.”

Fabian stares.

“Yeah, okay,” He says after a beat, suddenly nervous. Riz’s hands tighten a little around his new briefcase. “Do you want to walk, or…?”

Riz nods, “Yeah, just– we won’t be far,” He tells Fabian– or possibly the Hangman. Or both. “It’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” Fabian gestures ahead. His eyepatch starts to itch again. “Lead the way.”

—

The Ball is not known for his social subtlety.

This is what Fabian thinks as they walk, Riz on his left, chattering away, the warm streetlights overhead. He feels his good mood flicker away like a light.

“You know, I never really knew my dad,” Is how The Ball started this conversation, which. Immediately makes Fabian’s hackles rise, because while he may not be a detective, he’s pretty sure he knows where this is going.

Fabian tries to steer them away from this conversation, really tries– it just doesn’t work.

It’s not that he never told the Bad Kids about… It.

–In fact, he did. Almost immediately.

(“I am having a terrible day,” He announced, blood-soaked and singed as he grappled Penelope whats-her-name. “I killed my father, now can you please die?”)

Fabian grimaces.

He just… Never shared the details of it. Couldn’t bring himself to.

So here he is, walking side by side with The Ball, whose statements are starting to feel less like nudges and more like really pointed shoves. Not in a malicious way, just…

“–it was weird,” Riz tells him. “It was like, I'm finding out who my dad really was, and now I'm mourning him all over again. I guess I realized it kinda just doesn't stop.”

Fabian adjusts his eyepatch, forces himself to breathe.

…It hurts.

(Fabian gnaws on the inside of his cheek, fear and something much colder in his lungs when it sinks in, grief doesn't really go away.)

“It just gets smaller, I think,” Riz explains, looking so earnest that it kind of hurts to look at him dead-on. “Like a marble in your pocket. After so long, I can almost forget it's there, y'know?”

Fabian shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, “But,” He says. “It doesn't– disappear? Ever?”

Riz shakes his head.

“I don't think it does,” He replies, voice soft. “It gets bigger, some days. Like I'm carrying Adaine's huge orb around– and it sucks ass, 'cuz it's inconvenient and it gets in the way, but everyone looks at me weird when I complain about it, because we get it, Riz. It's been years, get over it.”

Oh. “Oh.”

Riz shifts his gaze back ahead, “Yeah.”

It's not fair, comes to mind, inane as it is. It isn't fair.

Fabian tries so hard not to look as shaken as he feels.

He feels like a child, rattled and crying over a broken toy. Except– except he isn't a child anymore, and this is so much bigger than a toy.

Fabian grits his teeth. His Papa is dead and buried, but just this year he was clapping Fabian on the shoulder and telling him to make him proud.

Anger and grief and fear wells up in his chest like some godawful balloon, and Fabian’s fists are shaking because why bring this up now– and he almost stumbles on some uneven sidewalk, so terrified that he will one day forget the way his Papa laughed.

Like Riz said he did.

Of course it isn't fair, Fabian thinks, his mind spinning and The Ball is still talking. None of this is fair.

“–and, I dunno, I guess it's nice. To talk about him, 'cuz there was a time when I preferred not to–”

The world isn't fair. Get the fuck over it.

“–bian? Fabian, are you listening?"

"Yes, Papa," Fabian blurts out. He pales, mortified. Fuck. "Shit. Don't– I was just…"

Riz doesn't say anything, just stares at him for a few, excruciatingly long moments. (It is agony unparalleled to anything Fabian has ever encountered.)

"I'm not judging you, Fabian," The Ball says, which sort of just makes Fabian feel like the opposite is true– "It's... It's hard. To lose someone you love."

At the mention of love, something rears its ugly head from the deepest, darkest recesses of Fabian's mind, clawing its way to the surface until, "You didn't kill him, though. Your dad."

Riz flinches. Fabian tears his eyes– eye, away. Maybe it would be better if Riz was on his blind side.

His hands shake. Fabian continues anyway.

"To be frank, I'm not entirely sure I believe that entire week happened at all," He remembers it the way he remembers movies– like all of it happened to someone else. "First I was in a jail cell, seething at my Papa, next I've knocked him out cold, and my hands hurt. Then there was fire, and then pain and my eye was gone. And then–"

He looks at Riz this time, and seeing The Ball's expression– worried, with something else that Fabian can't quite figure out– the words pour out of him, shaky and unbidden.

"And then I've killed him," Fabian laughs, but there's no humour in it, no mirth. "And it was awesome."

"You should have seen it, The Ball, I jumped off the balcony, my father's explosion behind me, it was, it was–"

Fabian swallows.

("I'll put you in the ground before I let you kill me," His Papa– Bill Seacaster growled, on that first day of school.)

“–it was really, really quite something," He finishes lamely. Riz is silent.

Since his father's death, Fabian thinks he feels more like an aching, bleeding wound than he is a person. Than he is a Seacaster.

His anger fizzled out somewhere there, forgotten on the ground. Fabian can’t tell if he feels empty or relieved.

Then, so quiet Fabian wonders if he imagined it, "Here," Riz says. He hands him a–

"Are you giving me your fucking business card right now?"

Riz flushes, "Yes! It's– it has my number, and I wrote my address on it for the gang– just take it."

It’s one of the old ones that Riz made, not the crisp, fancy ones Fabian made for him.

Fabian blinks, squints down at the card. Huh. So it does.

"You can visit if you'd like," Riz tells him, picking at his sleeve. "If you ever need company."

Oh.

(His chest feels… Lighter. It’s just that little bit easier to breathe.)

(Relieved, then.)

Fabian pockets it.

"Thanks," He mutters, no louder than a whisper. Riz smiles. (At least, he thinks Riz smiled. It was kind of hard to see him, because Fabian was actively not looking at him.)

"Inviting me back to your place, The Ball?" He says, just to be a shit. A small smile makes its way on his face. Riz deflates in relief. "As far as dates go, this one seems pretty sub-par."

The Ball laughs, "Eat shit, Fabian."

“I’m telling the Hangman you said that.”

A snicker. “Go ahead. Am I walking home, then?”

Fabian huffs, kicks at a stray pebble.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” He grumbles in reply, which is Fabian Speak for no, of course not, I’m a fucking gentleman, scowling as he calls the Hangman over for a ride.

Riz beams at him like he knows– and this time, Fabian doesn’t put it past him.

—

The Ball gets home safe. Obviously.

—

…Then, Sophomore Year rolls around.

Fig and Riz are missing, rattles around Fabian’s skull, echoing like a bell. Fig and Riz are missing.

What would Riz do follows him like a phantom, ringing in his ears. To the van, to the mall, to every fucking place he goes.

—

Fabian eats glass. It bleeds. A lot.

—

The quest goes on, days and nights with an incomplete party. It’s not awkward, just– a little off. Wrong, when Gorgug cracks a joke and there’s no cackle from Fig that cuts through the laughter. Fabian’s bag feels so light.

(He used to complain about it, too. The fact that Riz seemed to have dug out a Ball-shaped hole inside of Fabian’s bag, made a little place for himself in there. Fabian bites down a sigh.)

(He feels kind of… Hollow, now.)

Fabian looks out of one of the van windows, his mind starting to fade into sleep. He realizes, a little late, that he never did make use of that business card.

He tries to tell himself that he’ll still get the chance.

—

The next part of the story goes like this:

They find Fig, they find Riz.

They head to Leviathan. Fabian is ecstatic, until he’s not. Fabian believes in himself, until, until–

Captain James Whitclaw stands across from him, his mere presence a shadow looming over Fabian. There is screaming, blood and carnage and scattering pirates.

Fabian runs.

(Something inside him shatters.)

—

(There is a moment in Fabian’s memories, so hazy that he may as well have forgotten it.)

(Moonlight filters in through a window. He lies curled up underneath too-soft sheets.)

(The Hangman’s glow paints the room in warm orange streaks. Riz slumps against a nearby chair, his gun hanging off his hand. An untouched container of kippers sits on his beside table.)

(Here, in this memory between wakefulness and sleep, Fabian is loved.)

(He does not accept it quite yet.)

—

The sun rises over the ancient forests of Fallinel, clouds parting for the warm rays. Sunlight filters through the leaves.

Fabian sighs– he picks himself up, and begins to dance.

—

(It is deep in the Nightmare King’s forest, and Fabian ceases to exist. Perhaps he never did at all.)

(Here, Fabian is forgotten. Abandoned. Unworthy.)

(He closes his eyes.)

(This, he can accept.)

—

The rest of it goes like this:

They save the world. They save Cassandra. They all survived.

They go home.

—

Things, somehow, just fall into place.

…Sort of.

Here’s the thing: Fabian never really expected his… Thing, with Aelwyn to last. If anything, he’s surprised they made it this long at all.

And after two months or so of what was, admittedly, a fantastic time of getting his kisses in– Aelwyn pulls away, huffs like she’s annoyed (she is) and tells Fabian that this– she gestures between them– has probably run its course. Fabian pauses.

“Yeah,” is the first thing he says. Aelwyn looks surprised. “Yeah, I guess so.”

She gets off of him, then, lying next to him on Fabian’s too-large bed. With her warmth gone, Fabian starts feeling around for his shirt. “Well,” Aelwyn says, measured. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Aha! As Fabian tugs on his shirt, “That we are,” He turns to her, “Though, I have to ask–”

Aelwyn’s eyes flick over to him, her expression unreadable.

“–are you still teaching me how you do your eyeliner?” Fabian asks. Aelwyn blinks.

“Seriously?” She asks.

Fabian huffs, “If you don’t want to, you can just say so–”

“No, it’s not that,” Aelwyn’s voice goes soft. She’s always been composed, in their sort-of relationship, deliberate and teasing where Fabian was desperate– but here, at the end of it, genuine surprise shows through the cracks. “You want to keep talking?”

“I want to be friends,” Fabian corrects. He runs a hand through his hair, averting his eye. “If, of course, you’re…Amenable.”

Aelwyn starts to smile, “Amenable,” She echoes, disbelieving. The tips of Fabian’s ears start to warm. “You know, I think I might be.”

So, Aelwyn breaks up with him.

(At his phrasing, Aelwyn rolls her eyes, “Is it a breakup if we were never properly involved?”)

(“You had my tongue in your mouth two seconds ago,” Fabian deadpans. “I think we were properly involved.”)

And, semantics aside– Fabian is now fresh from a breakup. But the thing is, it doesn’t– well…

It doesn’t hurt.

Which– which is weird, right? It’s weird. Adaine, tell him it’s weird.

“Uh,” Adaine says, looking up from where she’s playing with Boggy. “Yeah, it’s weird. I mean– you were like, really, disgustingly infatuated with my sister. That was weird on its own. But now she broke up with you and you don’t care–?”

Fabian straightens up, “I care!” He protests, then falters. “I’m just… Not broken up about it, is all. Is that bad?”

“For Aelwyn’s ego, maybe,” Adaine muses. She shifts her attention back to Boggy, who croaks happily. “But seriously, what’s the problem? Aelwyn’s fine and so are you, this is good.” She pauses, squints at Fabian, who’s been fascinated by the top of the bunk bed, lying quietly. “This… This is good, right?”

Fabian groans.

“I don’t know,” He whines, with all the grace and drama of a teenager. “I don’t know, Adaine.”

Fabian’s eyebrows pinch together, chewing the inside of his cheek. What is his deal?

Adaine hums, waiting for him to continue. Her hand keeps petting Boggy.

Finally, Fabian speaks.

“Do you ever… Not know why you do things?” He makes a face, “Not– in general. I mean, sometimes…”

After a moment, he continues. “Like, why’d I say yes to Aelwyn?”

He squints hard at the top bunk, “Why was it not how I imagined it to be? It was good but it wasn’t– it wasn’t…”

Fabian makes a wordless, frustrated noise. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

“Why do you want to be sad about this?” Adaine asks, tilting her head. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

Fabian mulls it over, puts his hands under his head. “It’s like you said,” He replies. “I was so… Obsessed with the idea of, of being with Aelwyn, getting my kisses in, all that fun stuff,” Adaine makes a face. “Then it actually happened, and it was exciting, good, and I thought things were going great.”

“But then it ended,” Fabian frowns. “And I’m not even really sad? What is up with that?”

Adaine is silent for a few moments.

Then, “Why did you come to me for relationship advice, Fabian?”

Fabian bursts out laughing.

Adaine’s face goes pink, “I’m being serious, I don’t know how to help you! I feel like I’ll be saying like, all of the wrong things–”

“I thought–” Fabian doesn’t stop laughing, “I thought you were going to say something deep, something thought-provoking–”

Adaine rolls her eyes, but there’s no heat to it, her ears tilting a little in embarrassment. “Being the Elven Oracle doesn’t make me spew profound knowledge all the time, Fabian.” She tells him, picking at her sheets.

“I know, I know,” Fabian says, sobering. “It’s just nice, talking to you. Helps me get my shit together, somewhat.”

Adaine relaxes at that. A small smile makes its way onto her face, “Oh. Well, that's okay then.”

After a beat, she adds, “I'm sorry I couldn't help.” Fabian shakes his head.

“Don't be,” He turns to her, returning the smile. “At least you're here.”

For a second, Adaine looks like she's about to cry. He hands her her handkerchief without a word, looks away to let her compose herself.

“You can be really sweet, Fabian,” She says after a while, her tears dried. “I hope you find someone who treats you the same way.”

Fabian's heart warms, his mind drifting– a hypothetical sweetheart, with a hypothetical, kind smile. Hm.

“Thanks, Adaine.”

—

The Night Yorb awakens.

—

Summer ends. The sun shines over the world again.

On the first night after the first morning, Fabian goes home to an empty manor, full of cottage cheese and his mind numb with exhaustion.

(“Another day, another deed,” He’d repeated after his Mama, voice faint. She’s leaving. She’s leaving him again.)

Fabian thinks he might be too tired to feel too upset. For now, at least.

He sighs, kicks his shoes off before clambering into bed.

Fabian turns his night light off, gets comfortable under the sheets, and closes his eyes.

.

.

.

.

Hm.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Great.

The stillness, the emptiness of the manor is stifling, the silence loud in his ears. It’s too much, too little, and Fabian is keenly aware of the only presences left in his home– the snippy, musical pirates shoving themselves into barrels. Fabian grips his blanket tight.

He pulls out his crystal. His thumb hovers over the message app– before settling on his gallery, where he begins to scroll. Fabian smiles.

There’s a lot of new pictures, despite the whole eternal night thing. Pictures with the Bad Kids, with Squeem and Ecaf (damn her!) and all the friends they made along the way. He even comes across the part where Fig had stolen his crystal–

There are. So many pictures of Balthazar’s parrots.

Fabian snorts, and keeps scrolling.

It’s… Probably embarrassing, how much it calms him. Fabian looks through his gallery for the better part of an hour, the tension in him uncoiling, bit by bit. He laughs at shaky, poorly-lit videos recorded by Kristen, zooms in on pictures where Gorgug’s making a dumb face, Riz grinning wide and feral at the camera. The pang in Fabian’s chest recedes, his gaze soft as he comes across this one picture– The Ball, curled up in the Hangvan, Fabian’s Owlbears jacket placed over his shoulders.

Fabian lingers on this picture. Struck with a thought, he digs his wallet out from his pocket.

Riz’s business card is an old, folded and creased thing. Fabian holds it delicately, the pads of his fingers feeling the glossy surface of it. (The ones Fabian made for him are a sleek matte, of course. It’s just better.)

Right in the middle, Riz Gukgak written in a clean, professional font. Fondness seeps into Fabian’s chest. It creeps up on him like the tide– he doesn’t realize it’s there, growing and growing, until suddenly, it just is.

Of course I’m fond of him, Fabian argues with himself. He’s part of the Bad Kids. It’s part of having friends.

…Nevermind the fact that he would never say that out loud.

Fabian flips the card. Riz’s handwriting from freshman year stares back at him, messy and just barely legible text spelling out his address. It’s not perfect, the writing isn’t centered, the ink just that little bit smudged.

It’s so bad, Fabian thinks, fighting a bigger smile. It’s plain black and white, for fucks sake. Where’s the flavor?

He tucks it back in his wallet anyway.

By now, Fabian feels himself start to drift off into sleep, his breaths evening out, his body lax under the sheets. His phone flickers shut beside him.

The silence doesn’t feel so bad, anymore.

On his first night alone, Fabian manages to sleep.

—

Over the next few weeks, this happens less and less.

—

Here’s a peek into Fabian’s routine.

Everyday, he wakes up at 6am. He gets dressed, half-awake as he puts his eyepatch on and digs through his closet. He kicks any stray clothes into a corner of his room.

He grabs a drink from the milk fridge and heats up whatever takeout he left in there overnight. The milk smells a bit weird today, and Fabian wrinkles his nose– but his stomach growls, and he grimaces, drinking it anyway. He’s got a strong stomach. It’s fine.

When he’s done eating he rinses the glass with water and leaves it in the sink with the rest, adding to his takeout pile as he brushes his teeth, checks his crystal.

The rest of the time is spent making sure he doesn’t look as tired as he feels.

He greets the Hangman, heads to school, and he’s the Maximum Fucking Legend all over again.

Fabian is cool, suave, and he’s doing just fine.

—

Like most things, it starts with a bad milk fridge.

Fabian’s shaking, gritting his teeth as he sits in his kitchen, his crystal clutched like a lifeline between his hands.

His head pounds, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His body is sore, his muscles wrung tight and exhausted from bloodrush practice, bruises blooming all over. Fabian grinds his teeth.

He’s so fucking hungry.

Tears sting at his eye, frustration welling in him as he stares at the screen– Dimension DoorDash is currently facing technical difficulties. Please try again later.

It is later, Fabian wants to scream. It’s been two fucking hours.

He shuts his crystal, lets his head hit the edge of a counter with a grunt.

Fabian breathes in deep, his hands clenching at his sides. He lets it out, but it shakes, hitches as he tries again, in and out, like how Adaine told him she does. In and out, in and out, in and–

The weight of it all is crushing, is the thing. The weight of– of classes and practice and events at his house, of doing everything he can to fill his manor, this empty space that echoes and whispers in his ears and drives him fucking insane.

The weight of knowing he’s the only one looking after himself even when he’s tired as shit, worrying about school while he worries about what people think of him while he worries about how the hell he’s gonna figure out the laundry situation.

It’s the cold in his chest when he remembers there’s nobody waiting for him at home, that he could come back late into the night or not at all and there would be no one there to worry–

Fabian isn’t taking deep breaths anymore.

He misses his dad, is the thing. He misses his Papa.

Fabian’s breath stutters, his heart aching with the weight of grief.

Because for all his intensity and hair-trigger threats, for all the times he’s scared Fabian sometimes– he never would have left him like this, and Fabian knows it.

He winces. Shame curdles in his chest.

…He doesn’t hate his Mama.

Fabian shuts his eye tight. He doesn’t– he could never. He doesn’t hate her, didn’t even when she wasn’t there, even when all she did was lounge around and drink wine and stay in her sensory deprivation egg. He didn’t hate her even when he needed her and her eyes were hazy with drunkenness, but he did hate the wine. The stench of it, the way it jostled in her hands…

Fabian’s breaths are shallow, hitching and catching in his throat.

Cathilda was always there, though. Always, always. She was a maid but she was there in all of the ways Hallariel wasn’t, gentle to him when Bill couldn’t be. She took care of him when he was sick and gave him kippers when he was sad, held him when his Papa had shaken him and he couldn’t understand why. Cathilda, who’s seen him at all of his lowest points and found something worth loving anyway. Who helped train him, helped raise him, helped with everything–

Cathilda, who’s in Leviathan.

Fabian sniffles.

He misses her. Misses them. All of them, misses when the house was loud despite its size, when he could count on food on the table and he didn’t live in filth.

It’s embarrassing, shame rushing through his veins, his bones, heating up his skin. He wishes he knew how to do all these things but he doesn't, he doesn’t. And now he’s crying in his kitchen while starving because he doesn’t know how to fucking cook–

Fabian’s hands are white-knuckled and trembling.

He needs someone. He doesn’t know who, but he needs someone.

Fabian tries to steady himself, wiping at his eye as he hovers over his contacts. He’s never been great at asking for help.

He might as well call someone he knows will pick up, right?

He lets his crystal ring–

“Yo, why are you awake?”

Something in Fabian unfurls, just a little bit. That was barely the first ring.

Fabian clears his throat, “I feel like I should be asking you that.” Riz huffs.

“You’re the one who called me,” He points out. “Anyway, I’m just doing school stuff– what’s up?”

“I…”

A lump forms in Fabian’s throat, the words trapped. He didn’t actually think this far.

“Fabian?”

Fabian’s expression crumples, he doesn’t know how to explain this at all.

A sniffle rips out of him. Fuck.

"Are you crying?" Riz asks, surprised. Fabric shifts on the other end, like Riz just pinned his crystal between his shoulder and cheek, “Fabian, what's going on?”

Fabian curls in on himself tighter, screws his eyes shut. He thinks he hears a door swing shut through the speaker.

Riz's voice crackles a little, then:

"Are you okay?" He asks, voice quiet like they're sharing a secret. And maybe they are. Maybe they are.

Fabian clutches his crystal, "No," He replies, voice wobbling like a petulant child. "No, The Ball, I am– I am the complete opposite of fine."

“Did something happen?”

Everything, “I don’t…” Everything and fucking nothing, “No.”

More crackling, “You don’t know?”

“No, I mean, I know. But nothing– nothing happened, I’m just, just. Not…” Fabian feels the words die on his tongue, shame burning through him as he hears himself. “…I’m not okay.”

Because of what? His mind hisses. Because you’re too helpless to stand on your own?

Some man of the house you are.

For a moment, Riz is quiet. Fabian thinks the gears are turning in his brain right now, formulating the right response, maybe a way to let Fabian down slowly– who calls at 11pm on a Tuesday?

Fabian Aramais Seacaster, that's who, he thinks bitterly. He stares at the wooden grain of the fancy, messy kitchen cabinets, and wonders who the hell that even is.

Riz speaks up again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks. Fabian thinks of Jawbone, and, no offense to him of course, but…

No thank you. “Rather not.”

“Okay,” Riz pauses, "Do you... Want to come over?"

Fabian blinks.

“What?”

“Do you want to come over?” Riz repeats. “Mom wouldn’t mind, as long as we’re quiet. And I got a bigger bed. You could sleep over.”

At Fabian’s silence, Riz tacks on, “But only if you want to.”

"Really?" tumbles out of Fabian’s mouth. "I mean, yes. Just– I can?"

Riz huffs, “Of course you can, dude. You just gotta ask.”

“Oh,” Fabian swallows, “Do you– sorry. Do you have food? Because I’m kind of starving right now.”

“Uh,” Riz pauses for a moment, “We have some leftover pizza, is that…?”

“That’s perfect,” Fabian replies. “I’ll… I’ll be there then.”

“Awesome,” Riz says.

“Great. Bye.”

“Bye–”

Fabian hangs up. For a few moments, he just stares ahead of him, breathing in to steady himself. His hands have relaxed at his sides.

Okay, he thinks. Okay.

Fabian forces himself to stand, and goes to call for the Hangman.

—

(SIRE, the Hangman revs, coming to life. Fabian swallows. ANOTHER LATE NIGHT ADVENTURE? TO WHERE DO WE HEAD FORTH?)

(“Strongtower Luxury Apartments,” Fabian replies, wincing when the Hangman roars.)

(IF IT IS COMPANY YOU SEEK, the engine glows a fiery orange. SURELY, WE COULD GO TO MORDRED MANOR INSTEAD–)

(Fabian lets out a deep sigh, “Not now, Hangman. Please.”)

(The Hangman quiets to a rumble. Fabian thins his lips.)

(“Just take me where I need to go.”)

—

The thing is, Fabian was expecting Riz to push.

Because he’s always been like that, you know? Trying to get to the bottom of things, find what he can fix and what he can’t– and while it’s gotten slightly less intense over the years, Fabian can’t help but expect it as he’s invited into the Gukgak residence, a tension in his shoulders and back that Ms. Skullcleaver would tut about.

Fabian smiles, polite as he thanks Sklonda for letting him come over, grins when Riz drags him into his room, a steaming plate of leftover pizza in his grasp.

When they get there, Fabian's practically expecting it: Alright, tell me what's wrong.

The door opens. Riz pulls him inside. The door closes behind him.

…The questions don't come.

Fabian breathes out, relieved.

Riz’s room is, in some ways, exactly how Fabian expected it to be.

There’s the clue boards, the red string and scissors atop a little study desk that’s absolutely flooded with files and papers. There’s a wardrobe cabinet tucked into a corner, one corner of it propped up with what looks to be heavy books. His three piece suit, neatly hung up, separated from his other clothes.

A mirror stands nearby, covered in a sheet. Fabian doesn’t ask.

“There’s this movie I was saving for one of the party's movie nights,” Riz grabs a heavy looking laptop and places it on the bed. He flicks on the night light by his bed, turns off the lights as he explains, “But you called and I figured, hey, it might be fun to watch it now, you know? I heard it's good, and I’m pretty sure it’s based on my dad.”

Fabian follows him onto the bed, loose-limbed where Riz is cross-legged, and grabs a slice of pizza to eat. He huffs in amusement, “What, another spy movie? Not every one of those is about your dad, dude.”

The laptop boots up. Riz scoffs, “Yeah, and not every pirate movie is about yours.”

“That’s so different,” Fabian argues, his mouth moving around a mouthful of pizza. Shit, crumbs– “Spies are like, in the shadows and in disguise and all that sneaky shit. How would anyone even know?”

“If you saw the trailer you’d get it.”

“The Ball, are you dodging the question–?”

Riz smacks his leg, “Shut up. Movie’s starting.”

Fabian laughs, sits up against the pillows, and does as he’s told.

The film’s good, Fabian thinks, his eye drifting from the screen and onto Riz, his face illuminated by the glow of the screen. It’s good. He likes it so far.

It’s a bit weird, seeing Riz like this. Not weird weird, just the same amount of weirdness that Fabian feels whenever he sees Riz in anything less than his normal, stuffy getup. He’s wearing an old, sort of baggy SigFigs shirt, accompanied with pajama pants that’s a truly heinous shade of purple– Fabian thinks he might have gotten it from Kristen.

Riz watches with wide eyes, enraptured by the movie, and Fabian watches him. In a totally cool, non-creepy way.

Honestly, it's a miracle Riz didn't notice him.

Fabian notices a few things, here– the way Riz is leaning forward on his hand, bitten-down nails tapping at his cheek. His ears, always so expressive, don't so much as twitch at the sounds of gunshots and glass shattering onscreen– but they do when the main characters surge into a kiss. A smile ghosts Fabian's lips.

(This isn't a good light for this, but Fabian thinks Riz's freckles have lessened. Which is a damn shame, they made him look–)

(Fabian wrenches his gaze away.)

(…Stupid Night Yorb.)

Fabian finishes the pizzas in record time, eventually putting the plate on the nightstand and fully leaning back, his eyelids drooping. He wasn’t expecting to be this tired, but maybe he should have, suppressing a yawn so Riz doesn’t think he’s bored. He’s not. He’s just so…

It’s something about the dim room, the faint, flickering glow of Riz’s dingy nightlight. Something about the sounds of the movie ebbing and flowing through Fabian’s consciousness, Riz solid and there at his side. It’s quiet, but it isn’t, and Fabian isn’t alone.

Riz is here.

The last few things Fabian remembers thinking, his gaze drawn to the back of Riz’s head…

That hat was a crime to us all, he thinks, and almost laughs. Just look at that hair.

His eyes grow heavy. His breathing evens out.

His best friend at his side, Fabian sleeps easily for the first time in weeks.

—

…When Fabian blinks awake, the room is dark, the lamp turned off. There’s no laptop in sight, and Fabian lays undisturbed in his spot.

Undisturbed, aside from the blanket that’s been pulled up to his shoulders.

Huh.

Dim streaks of moonlight seep into the room, the curtains half-drawn and pretty translucent as it were. It’s still dark out, but his mind clears, his vision growing sharper. Fabian lets out a quiet yawn. He stretches the heaviness of sleep out of his body, wringing it from muscle and bone.

He sits up, feeling around for his crystal–

“Mmh,” Riz murmurs in his sleep. He’s lying next to Fabian, on his side and snoring quietly, his expression pinching a little when Fabian moves– so he stops. Waits a few moments, until eventually Riz’s expression smooths out, evening into something more relaxed.

Fabian lets out a breath, one he didn’t even know he was holding.

It’s not the first time they’ve slept together. (In the literal sense, not anything weird.) It’s far from it, and frankly, this time they’re sleeping in a place less cramped together– but there’s something about this time that makes Fabian more… Aware of things.

Things like how Riz was basically curled up at Fabian’s side, leeching off of his warmth like always. Things like how Riz's tattoos look under the moonlight, dark lines inked all over his arms.

Things like Riz’s slow, even breaths in the silence of the room, like how nice it is to actually see him look at peace for once.

Don’t get him wrong, Fabian likes how feral and triumphant and excited Riz can get as much as the next person, (who doesn’t?) but it’s… Nice, to see him actually resting. Cassandra knows he needs it. Knows they all need it.

Really nice, Fabian thinks absently, his gaze tracing the slope of Riz’s cheek, the way dim light graces his features, softens his harsh angles. A sharp tooth peeks out past his lips as he snores, his ear twitching in his sleep. Hm.

Fabian, not for the first time, thinks that maybe The Ball should be a tiny bit more popular than he actually is. Maybe. Just a little bit.

Fabian tears his gaze away.

With careful, gentle movements, he finally finds his crystal. He angles the screen away from Riz, fucking hell that is bright–

3:24 AM, the screen reads. Way too early to be fully awake. Awesome.

Fabian sighs, and begins to extract himself from the bed. (That’s a bit dramatic– he was just careful not to jostle Riz, it’s not like they were cuddling–)

I just want some milk, Fabian thinks as he sneaks out of the room. Just some nice milk, and I’ll be right back.

It’s a habit he’d picked up recently, borne from restless nights at Seacastor Manor. Nights where he needed something soothing to drink, and the milk fridge was kind of all he had to work with. (That, or locked away Elven wine, expensive and far too familiar.)

(The key to it is hidden away, kept underneath a false bottom of one of Fabian’s bedroom drawers.)

(He’s pulled it out only once, and did nothing but turn it around, stare. Fabian remembers feeling vaguely ill.)

(He put it back pretty quickly after that.)

Fabian makes his way to the kitchen area, and freezes. Sklonda turns from where she’s making coffee.

“Uh,” Fabian says. “Hi.”

Sklonda offers a tired smile, “Can’t sleep?” Fabian shrugs.

“Woke up,” He replies, moving closer to the fridge. He points at it, “I was gonna, you know, get milk. It helps sometimes.”

A beat. Fabian doesn’t move.

Sklonda blinks.

“Are you waiting for me to– yeah, kid, go ahead,” The coffee machine gurgles behind her. “You can grab a mug here.”

Fabian moves to grab a mug there.

He’s not trying to be picky– he grabs the first one he sees, a black mug that has the words ‘UnLicensed Private Investigator’ on the front, and suppresses a small laugh. Yeah. That checks out.

As he’s pouring the milk, “Does he use this one a lot?” Fabian asks. He’s not sure why he does. Sklonda grins, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“He does,” She replies, hot coffee dripping slowly into her mug. “He uses it everyday.”

Sounds like him. “Maybe I should get him one too,” Fabian hums. He places the milk back in the fridge, “Like, one of those big round mugs that look like bloodrush balls.”

Sklonda’s grin falls. Fabian doesn’t notice.

“I mean, it’s nearly Yulenear,” He says, more to himself than anything. Perhaps he should go shopping soon. “I could have The Ball written on it or something.” Or I could make one myself, Fabian thinks, eyebrows drawn together as he takes a sip. Could do that, dust off his tools…

His eye catches on Sklonda’s expression, and he stops mid-sip, his milk moustache peering past the rim. “Oh,” Fabian swallows, tense. “I wasn’t trying to compete with your gift or anything–”

Sklonda shakes her head. She’s frowning as she picks up her coffee.

“Why do you call him that?” She asks, which is. Uh. Shit. “Where’d it come from?”

Fabian hesitates. Sklonda’s eyes narrow.

What’s he supposed to say, here? He’s not sure ‘Ragh shoved him as a ball into a trash can’ is gonna win him any favors with Sklonda, and he’s kind of used to people not liking him but it’s a whole different thing when it’s your best friend’s mom– but he doesn’t want to like, lie?

Sklonda’s still just looking at him, her gaze unflinching. Even.

…Fabian regrets leaving the room.

“It wasn’t,” He wipes the milk off his face, his ears twitching as they pin down. “I don’t know how much The Ball– er, Riz told you, but I know it didn’t start off… Great. It was a mean– it was a mean nickname. I’ll admit that,” He’s so fucking this up. “But.”

Sklonda raises an eyebrow, “But?”

“But I don’t mean it that way,” Fabian says, then winces. “I know that’s– I get that that. Sucks. I know I was a dick, and I’m… Trying not to be, anymore?” He fiddles with the handle of the mug, feels the slight chill of the milk against the body of it. He sighs, “Sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you– it was meant to put him down, now it’s not. It’s– affectionate. Riz is– Riz is great.”

Then, before he backs out of it: “He’s my best friend.”

His ears grow warm. Goddammit. “If he didn’t like it, I’d stop,” Assuming he’d tell me at all, comes to mind, his mind flashing with mirrors and ‘Baron isn’t real.’ “I promise.”

(“It’s okay, everyone needs a least favorite friend,” Riz said once, light and casual.)

Fabian’s chest curdles with regret.

He would. He swears he would.

Sklonda sighs, her features relaxing. “That’s as much as I can ask for, I guess.” She takes a sip of her coffee, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all intense with you there. A mom’s gotta worry, you know?”

Guess so. Fabian waves a hand, takes another sip. “It’s quite alright. I understand.”

Sklonda hums. The clock in the living room feels louder than it should be, filling in the silence. Fabian’s half-thinking of an excuse to leave– “Say, you don’t wanna heat that up?”

Fabian blinks. “What?”

“Your milk,” Sklonda says. “Riz used to do the same when he was a kid. He’d heat it up in the microwave, then he’s out like a light.”

“You can put milk in a microwave?” Fabian blurts out, eyes wide. What a fucking game changer. “Since when?”

Sklonda laughs, “Since always?” She gestures for his mug, pushing herself off the counter. “C’mere. I’ll show you how to do it so it doesn’t overflow.”

Fabian follows, peering down at his mug. “Should I put more in?”

Sklonda plugs in the microwave. She turns to look as well, “No, that’s enough. You don’t wanna put too much,” As Fabian hands it over, “The medium setting should work fine on any microwave. Don’t wanna set it too hot.”

What happens if you set it too hot, Fabian thinks, but bites his tongue. Mama always said not to ask stupid questions. Just do as she says.

1:00, the timer says, the buttons beeping softly when Sklonda presses them, the numbers faded with use. “Around a minute or two and you’re good,” She explains. “I dunno about yours, but this one’s medium can be pretty hot already, so. One minute.”

Fabian makes a mental note of that. “Got it.”

After a few seconds, Sklonda pulls the mug out. “Get me a spoon,” She says, then begins to stir. “You’ve gotta do this every fifteen seconds so it doesn’t boil over.”

Fabian just nods. He thinks he should feel… No, not patronized… Ashamed, maybe? Embarrassed that he doesn’t know this shit? But instead it just…

Sklonda taps the spoon against the rim, places it back inside.

Fabian watches the mug spin slowly, eyes drawn to the movement. The machine thrums, a low droning noise that feels kind of soothing with the warm light, a weird comfort in the dim light of this kitchen, and the clock ticks away in the living room, just a few feet away.

It’s nice, is what Fabian settles on. It’s not often someone bothers to teach him this kind of stuff, so. It’s nice. He appreciates it.

It takes a bit more stirring, and after that first time Sklonda lets Fabian do it, the smooth surface of the ceramic bordering on hot against his palms. He doesn’t mind, though. It’s not that bad, and by the end of it he takes a sip and…

“Holy shit,” Fabian’s eyes are wide. The milk soothes his throat, warm and comforting as it makes its way down. “I’m doing this every night,” He tells her, and Sklonda grins. “Thank you.”

She shakes her head, “It’s nothing, kid. Glad to help.”

“Riz is so lucky,” Fabian says, then jolts. His milk sloshes around, nearly spilling, shit– “Not that I’m– you know, ungrateful. I’ve just never…” Never what? Spent time with my mom outside of practice? Been taught this stuff?

Fabian waves a hand, “Don’t worry about it. Point is,” He stares down at his cup. “He’s lucky. To have you.”

Sklonda looks at him, considering.

Please don’t ask, Fabian thinks, fighting a grimace. Please, please don’t ask.

After a moment, Sklonda speaks.

“Thank you, Fabian,” She tells him. “You’re a good kid.”

Oh, huh.

Fabian tries for a smile. Am I? He thinks, leaning against the counter. Am I, really?

The silence is comfortable this time, the two of them standing there for what feels like hours. The clock keeps ticking, a steady rhythm.

Then, “Take care of Riz for me,” Sklonda says, her voice soft. Fabian opens his mouth– “I know he’s capable, more than capable, even, but… You’ve seen him.”

Fabian swallows, nods.

“He gets so… Caught up in it, you know? The searching for answers, the looking for clues– someone’s gotta make him stop, take a breather and drink some water every now and then,” Sklonda’s gaze moves to Riz’s door, then sighs. “The way he’s going… It’s not healthy.”

“And I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried to stop him. But he takes after his parents and just– that boy just keeps going, and I wonder sometimes if he’s ever gonna stop.”

Fabian doesn’t say anything, only listens as he takes another sip.

“It’s a big fucking world,” Sklonda says, sounding far away. “And it doesn’t care if he’s safe.”

No, Fabian agrees. His mind flashes with a shattered mirror, deep scratches in the floorboards. It doesn’t.

He looks at Sklonda, and he knows she’s thinking the same thing.

Fabian cups the mug in his hands, “I’ll look after him,” He promises, meeting Sklonda’s eyes. Exhaustion comes off her in waves. She smiles anyway. “He already looks after all of us.”

Sklonda looks, for a moment, like she has something to say about that. Fabian supposes he can’t blame her.

A small grin, “But the Bad Kids look out for each other, too,” He tells her. “We’ll take care of our little angel.” Sklonda laughs.

“Now that nickname, I approve of.”

Fabian laughs along, “Fitting, isn’t it?” Man, Riz would hate this. “He’s so, like. Bright.”

“Comes with being a Gukgak,” Sklonda says wryly. Fabian huffs, smiling, but doesn’t disagree. He’s seen the picture– his dad was hot, dude.

“He really is something else…” Fabian murmurs, eyes forward and far away. Riz is a lot of things– badass and nerdy and sweet all wrapped up into one. He’s an awesome rogue, and Fabian’s witnessed him eat Kalvaxus with his mom, shoot the fingers off someone in an interrogation– but he’s also the same guy who insists they’re the Photosynthekids, who wrote a three-part essay in his school yearbook and answers him on the first ring.

Fabian’s mind drifts, back to the way being by Riz’s side felt safer than home, to the warm, solid weight of him at his side when he woke up. The stupid hat he ditched. The frustratingly kind of perfect hair. The tattoos he got while fucked up at Leviathan. He’s just so fucking…

“I think I love him,” Fabian blurts out. Sklonda looks at him with wide eyes, “I mean– shit. Shit.”

What the fuck, Fabian thinks, neurons firing then giving up. What the fuck. What the absolute fuck.

Where the hell did that come from?

“I…” Fabian’s mouth opens, closes again. Rinse and repeat as the words tumble in his throat. His face is scorching. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Sklonda puts her cup down, “Hey, it’s okay–”

“I don’t– does this make me gay?” His mind spins, reeling and whirling around. “Not that there’s anything, you know, wrong with that, I just– I just…” Spent eighteen years of my life thinking I’d fall in love with some princess, a diplomat’s daughter, but here I am. Not disappointed or anything, just really majorly super freaked out. Because what the fuck.

(A memory arises, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t have a sword.”)

No, seriously, what?

“Fuck.”

A hand on his shoulder startles him out of it. “Fabian,” Sklonda says, voice firm. “Breathe, kid. Breathe.”

Fabian takes a deep breath in, “Alright, good. Now let it out,” Sklonda instructs. “Good. Keep doing that.”

As he does, she looks him in the eye, and says, “Now, I’m not gonna pretend to have the answers for you, Fabian, but what I do know,” She gives him a squeeze, calm in a way that quells the storm brewing in Fabian’s head, if only somewhat. “Is that you’ve got time. It’s a lot to figure out, but you’ll get there, kid. Don’t rush.”

Fabian breathes out, lets the words sink in. Don’t rush.

“…Thank you,” Fabian says, voice shaky. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Sklonda shakes her head.

“Don’t worry about it,” She replies. She glances at the window, right where the sky has begun to lighten up, just a little. “You should get some sleep while you can. Clear your head before school.”

Fabian nods, and finishes the rest of the milk, his eyelids finally starting to droop. He washes the cup, (yes, he knows how to do dishes now) and before he heads back to the room–

“Come over whenever you’d like, okay?” Sklonda tells him. “You’re welcome here, kiddo.”

The words echo in his head, circling around like a hurricane. You’re welcome here, kiddo.

He thinks that Fabian from a year ago would’ve forced a smile, thanking Sklonda with all the politeness of someone who’s had it better all his life. He thinks of that Fabian, and he thinks of the way his chest hurts actually, like, right now.

It takes Fabian a second to find his voice, his good eye watery as he blink-blink-blinks the tears away.

“Yeah,” He rasps out, his throat tight. “Thank– thank you.”

She smiles, and here Fabian can really see the resemblance, Riz really does take after his mom. Something warm settles in his chest. “Goodnight, Fabian.”

His hand twists the doorknob, “Goodnight, Sklonda.”

Fabian steps back inside Riz’s room, shuts the door. Riz is still sleeping in the same position, but…

Fabian sighs, flips on the light.

“Alright, how much of that did you hear?”

Riz keeps sleeping, snoring softly against a pillow. Fabian rolls his eye. Yeah, no, he’s not that heavy of a sleeper. He’s not a heavy sleeper at all.

“Riz.”

No dice.

Fabian sighs again, “The Ball.”

Yellow eyes blink open, “Ugh,” Riz scowls, sitting up from his bed. “What gave it away?”

Fabian smirks, chin held high as he sits on the bed. “I just know you that well,” Riz scoffs. “Fine. You don’t stay in the same spot when you’re asleep.”

Riz blinks, “Really?” Fabian nods.

“Really. Do you know how many times you’ve stolen my place in the Hangvan when I go out to pee? A rude amount, The Ball, that’s what.”

Riz snickers.

“So how much of that did you hear?”

Riz falters, “Uh.”

He doesn’t meet Fabian’s gaze, “Only the tail end,” He replies, something odd in his voice. Fabian tries not to tense. “Sorry, I got… Curious.”

He knows, Fabian’s mind hisses. He knows exactly what you said.

His lungs squeeze, just a little, his chest growing tight.

Fabian manages a smile, waves a hand. “Don’t be, The Ball. I would have done the same.” Probably. Maybe?

Riz gives him a look, would you?

Fabian elects to ignore this. “Come on,” He says, settling back under the sheets. “Let’s just… Go back to sleep, yeah?” At Riz’s hesitation, “We’ve still got school tomorrow.”

Riz relaxes, somewhat. He looks relieved. Fabian tries not to take it personally.

“Yeah, good idea,” Riz mutters, fluffing his pillow before he lays back down.

They stare up at the ceiling. It’s silent, almost uncomfortably so.

Also, there’s a bright, glaring problem.

“…Are we keeping the light on?” Riz asks. Fabian groans. “‘Cuz like, I think I can sleep fine with it– you’re the one who gets fussy about this stuff.”

Fabian huffs, his one eye shut tight. “I don’t get fussy,” He protests, just because. Riz laughs in disbelief. “Shut up! I can– this is fine. I’m cool about this. Chill.”

Riz snickers, “Are you?”

“I’m sleeping. Don’t interrupt a guy when he’s sleeping, The Ball.”

“‘Course,” Riz replies, fighting another laugh. “My bad.”

“It’s late. If I keep this up I’m gonna get eyebags.” Fabian shudders. Riz snorts.

“You kinda already do?”

That wakes him up. “Do I really?” He asks, sitting up. He turns to Riz, “Do I– stop laughing, are you serious? The Ball!”

Riz only laughs harder, covering his face with his hands.

Fabian, defeated, stands up to check in the mirror. That little shit.

As Fabian squints at his reflection, “Don’t forget to turn the lights off while you’re there!” Riz calls out, snug under the sheets.

Fabian flips him off without looking. Riz only cackles in response.

(They do, eventually, turn the lights off. He just wishes Riz wasn’t so smug about it.)

(Fabian falls asleep with a smile anyway.)

—

The thing is. Nothing changed.

Nothing changed, Fabian tells himself the next day. Echoes and repeats when his gaze lingers and the urge to get close wells up like the tide. Riz groans at something Fig said, (something about becoming a Paladin?) and Fabian listens. Tries. Stares.

Riz turns to face him, head tilted in question– and Fabian laughs, way too loud at something Gorgug said, clapping him on the back.

(“Wow, Fabian really liked your joke, Gorgug,” Fig teases. Gorgug just looks confused.)

(“Was it that funny?”)

It’s just– impossible to act “normal,” now. Impossible to look at Riz and talk to him and touch him without feeling like it gives him away. (Though, if he’s being honest, it’s more The Ball doing a lot of the touching? He’s always climbing Fabian and tugging at him and– normally it’s like fine, sure, whatever. He’s used to it and it’s nice but right now it’s like Riz’s touch burns.)

Like there’s a bright neon sign at his back screaming I’M IN LOVE WITH RIZ GUKGAK to the world with each joke, each word that tumbles out of his mouth.

“The Ball,” Fabian whines, face flushing when he feels Riz opening his backpack, tipping backwards at the sudden weight– “You have not fit in there since this summer– get off me!”

(In a good way, Fabian corrects hastily. In a good way, of course. The best way.)

Riz scoffs, “Yeah man, I know. Lean back a bit, I think you accidentally put one of my notebooks in your bag.” Fabian groans.

He makes a show of it– literally bending over backwards for Riz, the tips of his ears warm and hopefully not noticeably red– but he does it, anyway. Leans back and holds that position while Riz rifles through his backpack. Ugh.

Ziip!

“Are you done?” Fabian deadpans. Riz grins, waves a blue notebook at him.

“Yep!” He chirps, claps Fabian on the arm. “Thanks, dude!”

Fabian rolls his eye, waves him off. The ghost of Riz’s palm lingers in his skin, cooling quick. Fabian tugs the sleeves of his jacket down.

(It’s more like if he doesn’t pull away now, he thinks he never will.)

Nothing changed, but everything did.

—

Unfortunately, the mystery with the Rat Grinders and Principal Grix doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass (ha!) about his ongoing crisis. Which, honestly? Kind of rude.

The weeks go on.

Slowly, very slowly, Fabian learns to deal with it.

—

(“When you think about me, why do you always bring up The Ball?”)

—

He can’t hide this forever.

This, Fabian knows. A fundamental truth that stretches out before him. He’s never been particularly good at lying– to himself? Maybe. But not to his friends. Not to Riz.

He supposes he should’ve seen it coming, the fact bubbling to the surface one hot afternoon. Fabian lays sprawled out on the couch in Riz’s apartment, Sklonda out at work as Riz scrutinizes his clue board in the living room. Fabian suppresses a yawn.

They’ve been at this for hours– well, he says they, but what he really means is Riz has been at it for hours, while Fabian gives the occasional input and mostly scrolls through his crystal.

It’s nice, though. He kinda feels like he’s helping.

“Is the hat a part of the thinking process?” Fabian asks, lips tugging up when Riz turns to him, unimpressed. “What?”

Riz shakes his head, and rearranges some clues. “Fuck you, dude.”

“I’m just saying I thought you ditched the hat,” Fabian says.

“Yeah, but I still have it.”

“You’re indoors!”

“I like it,” Riz replies. He squints at the board, deflates. He sighs, flopping down next to Fabian. His stupid dress shirt is pulled up to his elbows. He turns his head to face him, “Is it really that bad?”

Strands of green hair stick to his forehead from the heat. Fabian swallows.

“It’s not that it’s bad,” Fabian starts. Riz raises an eyebrow, and Fabian nudges him with his leg. “I’m being serious, it’s not that. You just have– You have nice hair, and your stupid hat gets in the way of that when you wear it. That’s all.”

Riz’s eyebrows jump up. His yellow eyes blink, wide and surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks. Fabian could groan, how does he not know?

“Seriously,” Fabian echoes. “With hair like that, I’m almost jealous. I bet you don’t even know you have a fanclub.”

Riz jolts, “You’re making shit up.” Fabian snorts.

“Am not,” He insists. He stretches his shoulders and back, feigns casualty when he adds, “You’ve got people charmed, The Ball. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Riz frowns, going quiet. Then, “…I just thought they were being nice.”

Fabian laughs. Riz doesn’t. Ah.

“Does it bother you?” Fabian asks. The apartment feels still, sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Riz shrugs.

“I don’t know. Yes? No?” He grimaces, “It’s nice, I guess. But it’s not like I’m interested in anyone like– like that.”

Fabian feels his heart sink, just a little. “Oh.”

There’s something unreadable in Riz’s eyes, something that makes Fabian’s palms sweat and heart rate pick up, itching under his skin.

“You know that, right?” Riz asks, softer. Fabian feels his stomach pool with dread.

Play dumb. “Know what?”

“Fabian.”

Fabian’s heart roars behind his ears, “What?”

Riz swallows. Fabian’s eye follows the movement.

“…I– I heard what you said. To my mom. You know what I mean.”

Fabian can’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t know how this went so wrong so fast– can’t they just, go back to the damn clue board–?

He just shrugs.

“I guess I do.”

Riz picks at his sleeve, chewing on his bottom lip and peeling off the skin. Fabian has half a mind to tell him to stop that–

“Sorry. To spring this on you,” Riz mutters. “Just… You know, right?” Fabian’s eyes dart back up. “That I can’t– love you the way you, you…”

Riz says love in a whisper, hushed like if he speaks it too loud something will break. He sits there, tensing and curling up in shame because of Fabian. Because of his stupid feelings.

And– Fabian knows. Of course he does.

…But hearing that still stings.

It must show on his face, even as Fabian breathes out, tries to rein it all in. Riz swallows, looking away. Fuck, what does he even…

Fabian sucks in a breath, steels his nerves. Cassandra help him.

“Can’t?” He repeats, aiming for something like levity and missing by a mile. Riz curls in on himself tighter. “What do you mean can’t– it’s, it’s you do or you don’t, right?”

Riz doesn’t answer. He’s so wound tight it’s painful.

Fabian hesitates, “Right…?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Riz hisses. His hands are shaking. Fabian, selfishly, wants to grab them. “Don’t make me fucking say it– not cool, Fabian. Not cool.”

“I’m–” Fabian wishes he could just. Undo this entire conversation. “I’m not following.” Riz sighs.

He relaxes his posture– or, more accurately, he slumps. Riz looks up at Fabian, “I don’t know what you want from me, man,” His voice breaks a little, and he grinds his teeth, rips his hat off his head and holds it tight between his little claws– “I don’t want to… To say that I don’t love you. I do. I love all of you.”

Fabian stares real hard at the messed-up curls on Riz’s head. He stares really, really hard.

Riz makes a noise of distress– something between a whine and a hiss. “It’s just not the way you want me to, Fabian,” He says, and this time, this time he sounds just a hair away from tears. “I– you’re my first friend, you’re my– you’re my best friend, dude.”

Riz’s shoulders shake.

“And I don’t wanna lose that,” Riz tells him, claws digging into his poor hat. “‘Cuz I can’t– can’t, love you. Even if I want to, because you’re awesome and you’re pretty and you’re my best fucking friend–”

“You think I’m pretty?” Fabian blurts out. When he meets Riz’s eyes, he sees they’re filled with tears. “Sorry. Continue.”

Riz doesn’t. Fabian wants to bite off his own fucking tongue. Riz looks down.

As in, fully down– Fabian can’t see his face anymore.

“Riz–”

He hears a sniffle. Guilt burns through him like an explosion.

”Riz,” Fabian repeats, softer this time, panicked. His hands hover at Riz’s sides, wanting to hug but what if that’s– is that okay–? “Listen, it’s– it’s okay. We don’t– I’m not–” His throat tightens, another sob making its way out of Riz. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Riz trembles, hands covering his face. He makes a sound like he’s muffling another cry.

“What, because you love me?” He asks, which is just. That’s so unfair. “Don’t… Punish yourself with me, Fabian.”

Punish? “What the fuck are you talking about?” Fabian says, lost. Riz wipes at his face with his arm. “I’m staying because you’re The Ball, you’re– you’re my best friend too.”

Riz doesn’t reply to that. He takes a few moments to cry, shaking when Fabian decides fuck it and pulls him in– like he would’ve done earlier, if they were talking about literally anything else. Fabian rests his chin on Riz’s head, and wills the tightness in his chest to go away.

Riz leaves tear stains on his shirt, so small in Fabian’s grasp.

It doesn’t work.

“Why me?” Riz croaks, his voice muffled into Fabian’s chest. “Why’d you have to fall in love with me?”

How couldn’t I, Fabian wants to say. The words push at his throat, Literally, tell me. How couldn’t I?

Fabian swallows around the lump in his throat, and says, “I just answered that,” He smooths a hand down Riz’s back. “You’re my best friend.”

“I’m…” Riz breathes out, shaky and warm against Fabian’s chest. “Is that really all there is to it?”

Fabian doesn’t know why that hurts.

And before he can speak, “No, no,” Riz whispers. “This is different.”

Riz looks up, finally, his eyes red-rimmed. “You don’t feel like this towards the other Bad Kids.”

Fabian blinks, and wonders if cupping his face is too much. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Is it like Aelwyn?” Fabian shakes his head again. Riz looks confused. “Ivy? Mazey?”

“What we have is different, The Ball,” Fabian tells him, the tips of his ears growing warm. Riz’s eyes flick over to them for the briefest of moments. “It’s– it’s different.”

Riz looks him dead in the eye, and asks, “How?”

Fabian stammers. “Well– for one, you’re nothing like Aelwyn, or Ivy,” He fumbles for his words, reeling from the whiplash of Riz crying and now he’s being interrogated– “And Mazey is so cool but she’s kind of, like, really out of my league if you think about it–”

Riz’s eyes go wide.

“–but you, you… You know me. And you actually see me and I know the others do too but you’re–”

“Fabian.”

He stops in his tracks– “What? What’s with that look?” At the following silence, “…Riz?”

“I don’t think you actually love me,” Riz tells him, eyes wide like he’s cracked the code. Fabian’s heart goes cold. “I think– I think you just like that I’m unavailable.”

Fabian’s thoughts go to a screeching halt. His mouth hangs open in shock.

What?

Riz keeps going, possessed with a sudden energy. He leaps off the couch, gesturing as he paces.

“I mean, think about it– it’s the one common thing, right? I’m nothing like the others, but Mazey was different too because she’s actually nice so it’s…” He turns back to Fabian, falters. “…It’s that. You don’t really like me.”

There’s… Something in the way that Riz says it, some desperate quality to it that makes dread and shame and regret pool like tar in Fabian’s stomach, makes his chest tight and lungs heavy. It burns like lit gunpowder, digs into him like shrapnel. Makes him wonder why.

Why the fuck would he say that? Is one thing, Why does he look like he doesn’t even believe it? Is another.

Why does he look like he’s trying to convince them both?

Fabian doesn’t say anything– just stares at him, his grey eye unreadable. His mind wars with his emotions, confusion and frustration and hurt circling through him like a hurricane, a storm out at sea. Riz closes his mouth.

Fabian clenches his fists, lets them relax. He feels his confusion-hurt-anger burning through his veins.

Then, “What the hell, Riz.”

Riz flinches, “Fabian, I’m just trying to–”

“Why do you look so relieved?” Fabian snaps. He goes to stand, his head is pounding, “I– I tell you you’re the most important person in the world to me, and you, you–”

Behind him, “That is not what you said–”

“–does it disgust you that much?” Fabian spits, whirling around. Riz looks stricken. Fabian’s good eye burns, “That I love you? Shit, Riz, I wasn’t even gonna ask for more.”

“I’m,” Riz stammers. “I’m not…”

He tapers off. Fabian feels his heart sink like a shipwreck, torn apart by the waves. He tries to go out the door–

Riz grabs him by the sleeve, “Fabian.”

He’s not strong. He’s never been that strong, he’s a tiny fucking rogue.

Fabian stops anyway.

“Let go of me,” Fabian grits out. He doesn’t look at him. “Let me leave.”

“I’m sorry, Fabian,” Riz says, voice tight. “I just don’t wanna– I don’t want you to love me because I won’t have you. Don’t you get that?” He pleads, his hands shaking on their grip around Fabian’s jacket. “You deserve someone that loves you back.”

That’s not it, Fabian’s mind screams. He feels like he’s splintering to pieces. Were you even fucking listening to me?

Fabian pulls his arm away– he feels Riz’s claws catch on the fabric, just a little, as he puts a hand on the doorknob and turns.

Fabian leaves the apartment without another word.

—

In the next week, Fabian lets his wallet bleed.

He’s coping, Fabian tells himself, jaw set as he pays for another massage, another cool jacket, another self-care set he’ll never get around to opening. It’s fine. He’s got more than enough money.

Fabian narrows his eyes, staring at the heap of new stuff in his room. It’s– it’s nice. This is nice, having new things. It makes him happy.

…It makes him happy.

Fabian sighs, and leaves them to collect dust.

Yeah. Definitely.

(He’s coping, alright? He’s allowed to do that.)

Seacastor Manor stays open practically everyday. Fabian thinks that the added noise helps.

…He doesn’t tell any of the Bad Kids. He doesn’t even know where he’d begin.

(And, well, it’s not like he’s getting any messages from Adaine about it. So he’s pretty sure Riz doesn’t either.)

It’s fine, Fabian thinks, throwing himself into dance practice, into bloodrush, into being Maximum Legend. His body protests, but it’s– it’s fine. It’s whatever. He'll get over it soon.

(The memory burns, though. Like an active stove, red-hot and painful.)

(So he doesn’t touch. Doesn’t look at it, doesn’t think of it, doesn’t dwell.)

At night, Fabian puts on some shitty, nostalgic pirate movie, and leans back against his pillows.

He eats expensive ice cream, alone.

—

His peace doesn’t last long.

“What’s up with you and Riz?” Kristen asks, appearing at his side. Fabian jolts, slams his locker shut.

“Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Bathroom’s right there,” Kristen replies. “Anyway. Riz has been looking for you. I mean– he keeps finding you, but you also keep running away.”

Fabian scoffs. He tries to leave, but Kristen follows. “I’m not running away.”

“You’re running from this conversation.”

“I’m walking.”

“That’s a power walk.”

“I have practice.”

“You literally don’t!”

Fabian walks faster. So does Kristen.

“How the hell would you even know that?”

“Gorgug said so,” Kristen replies, keeping up with his power walk like it’s nothing. Cassandra, he misses when she was scrawny. “And Riz has like, all of our schedules.”

Right. “Of course he does,” Fabian spits, more biting than he expects. Kristen frowns.

“Dude, what’s your problem?”

Fabian bristles. He whips around to face her, “What’s my problem?” He asks, anger bubbling to the surface. A couple of students stop to look. “I’m the one with the issue?”

Kristen looks taken aback. “Fabian, I literally have no idea what’s going on,” She says. “None of us do, you’re just– avoiding us! Fig thought you were mad at her until Riz showed up!”

His skin prickles from all the eyes on them, agitation tearing at his restraint. “Why would I be mad at Fig?” And what the hell did Riz say?

“Man, I don’t know!” Kristen shrugs helplessly, “Why aren’t you eating lunch with us?”

Students start to whisper, eyes glancing between them. Fabian glares at them.

“The hell you think you’re looking at?” He spits, eye narrowed at the crowd. “Hot goss, a new big scoop, is that it? Well too bad!” He grabs Kristen, who yelps as she’s dragged outside. “We’re going to have a private, civil conversation! Between friends!”

As the doors shut, he peeks his head through again:

“Vote Applebees!” He screams, before letting the doors close again.

“Woah,” Kristen’s eyes are wide, just following Fabian as he leads her to the Hangman, waiting patiently in a quieter part of school. “Thanks.”

Fabian huffs, “Did you have to go in that hot?” He asks, eye trained forward. “The Ball has been working his ass off on your campaign, you know. You can’t just give people something to gossip about like that.”

“I know that,” Kristen scowls. “And like, seriously? I’m the one giving people something to– you dropped us cold turkey!” Fabian’s jaw goes tense. “Mind explaining that?”

They arrive at the Hangman, its engine whirring to life at the sight of him. Fabian sighs.

He leans against his motorcycle, “I’m not leaving for good or anything, I know I should’ve– explained, that,” He tells her, a hand at the back of his neck. “But things have been… Complicated, between me and– and The Ball. I’m sure you’ve noticed. I just didn’t know how to…”

Kristen settles on his good side, bumping his shoulder with hers. She gives an encouraging smile. “How to…?”

Fabian relaxes, smiles back. “I just didn’t know how to fix it,” He confesses, something cold in his lungs, regret in the lines of his face. “And frankly, Kristen, I don’t know if I can. So.” He kicks at the grass, “There.”

Kristen pauses, considering. “It’s that bad, huh?” Fabian does a little half-shrug.

“It is to me.”

“Seems like it’s pretty bad for Riz, too.” Kristen says, not unkindly. “He’s been worried about you, and he said it’s his fault.”

“That’s not–” Fabian frowns. “That’s not fair.”

“What d’you mean?”

“That’s not fair to him,” Fabian replies, expression pinched. “Not that it’s all on me, I just– listen, I’ve had all week to think about this–”

“I’d hope so.”

“–so I’m just saying, he hurt me but it’s not… All him,” After a beat, Fabian groans. “I’m gonna have to talk to him again, aren’t I.”

Kristen pats him on the shoulder, wincing in sympathy. “What’s that thing you guys say? Spring break, I believe in you?”

“It’s near Yulenear,” Fabian whines miserably.

“Moonar Yulenear, I believe in you,” Kristen corrects. She squeezes his shoulder, and says, “Hey. Look at me.”

Fabian turns to her.

“I dunno the situation between you guys right now, but it sounds like a lot,” Please tell me this isn’t a freshman year Kristen speech all over again, “And what I do know is that whatever it is, it’s not gonna be the thing that breaks you. I hope.”

Fabian gives her a look, Kristen just grins.

“Seriously, man! Photosynthekids for life!”

Fabian leans away, half-heartedly batting Kristen away as she laughs, “That is never going to stick.”

“It already has!”

“You fucking wish, Applebees,” Fabian retorts, but he’s stifling a laugh. “But, uh… Thanks. For,” He gestures between them. “This.”

Kristen snorts, “Don’t sweat it,” She says, standing back as he gets on the Hangman. “I’ll tell Riz you’ll talk to him soon, then?” Fabian nods.

“Yeah, I’ll– Tell him I’ll message him when I’m ready.”

Kristen gives him a salute as he drives away, and Fabian feels lighter as he laughs, laughs, laughs.

—

(A message, sent: hey. can you come over?)

(Fabian’s phone chimes right away.)

(corusfe, the message reads. Another chime: *course. i’m omw)

(Fabian smiles, despite himself.)

(…He missed him. A lot.)

—

The thing about planning conversations, Cathilda once told him, is that it always goes flying out the window when it actually begins.

Fabian’s quiet as he leads Riz to his bedroom– it’s cleaner than it’s been in months, clothes put away in a laundry basket he bought and his bed made. Fabian thinks Cathilda would’ve been proud.

Riz hasn’t said anything either, something that makes Fabian’s skin prickle and his hair stand on end. It’s awkward, silent in a way they never really are, and it’s all so fucking uncomfortable that Fabian thinks he might just explode, hands itching for his battle sheet for reasons even he doesn’t understand.

Fabian coughs, sitting on the bed.

“So.”

Riz just stands there, arms crossed as he chews on his lip. He’s just staring at Fabian.

Fabian pats the space next to him, “Are you just gonna stand there, or…?”

“Oh,” Riz says, his eyes wide. “Uh. Okay.”

He sits down next to him.

…Neither of them speak.

Eventually, Riz cracks. “This is fucking unbearable, dude.”

Fabian bursts into a laugh. Light returns to Riz’s eyes, lips tugging into a grin, “Like, I don’t think we’ve both been that quiet in my life–”

“I wasn’t sure what to say!” Fabian tells him, shoulders relaxing, the tension ebbing down. “Good day, The Ball, how have you been? How’s the weather–?”

Riz snorts, “Boring small talk does not suit you–”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Riz laughs. Fabian lets himself uncoil, a smile settling on his face.

“I missed you,” Fabian says, voice soft. It’s only been a week. Riz looks surprised.

“I missed you too,” He croaks out. His hands start to shake. “Fabian, I…”

The words seem to rip themselves out of him, “I’m so sorry.” Riz tells him, his expression crumpling as Fabian scoops him up into a hug– Riz clutches on immediately. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I know it was wrong–”

“The Ball–”

“–and I know it was unfair of me so I get why you got mad and left but that sucked, Fabian, that really really sucked–”

“The Ball.”

Riz’s claws dig into the fabric of his clothes, gripping tight. “I thought you were leaving and it was my fault,” He whispers, the words wrung out of him like it hurts. “I freaked out. I thought it was over. I really didn’t…”

Cassandra help him, “Riz.”

Riz’s breath hitches, his mouth clicking shut. Fabian lets out a breath.

“Look at me.”

Riz looks up, yellow eyes wide with unshed tears. Fabian’s heart squeezes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Fabian tells him, an edge of promise in his voice. “I was hurt, and pissed, yes. But I’m not leaving.”

Fabian swallows, “You all mean too much to me for that.”

He relaxes his hold on Riz, a small huff when Riz clings on just as tight. “That’s why we’re talking now, yeah?” He murmurs. “We can figure this out.”

After a few moments, he runs a hand down Riz’s back, “Relax.”

Riz shivers. Then, slowly but surely, he starts to let go.

“Okay,” He rasps, scooting away a bit to give them some space. He wipes at his eyes, “Okay.”

“Ready when you are,” Fabian rumbles. Riz nods.

Then, “That thing you said, before you left,” Riz wrings his hands. Fabian tries not to tense. “Let’s start there.”

Fabian just nods.

“That wasn’t– what you told my mom. You… You said you love me,” Riz picks at the sheets.

“Yep,” Fabian agrees, ears twitching.

“Then,” Riz swallows, steeling himself. “You said I was the most…” His cheeks grow a darker green, “The most important person in the world to you. That’s what you said.”

Fabian feels his cheeks, his ears warm too. He nods, “I did say that.”

“Did you mean it?” Riz asks. The words are barely out of his mouth when Fabian responds:

“Yes.”

There’s a long, agonizing pause.

Riz stares at him, his gaze scrutinizing. It pins Fabian to the spot, makes him want to avert his eyes and shift in place, anything to feel less seen.

Riz stays quiet. Fabian swears he can see the gears turning in Riz’s head, a mental clue board or something up there, taking his sweet time–

Fabian cracks first, “Fucking hell, Riz, are you going to say something or what–?”

“Those two things,” Riz starts, thank the gods. (Cassandra. Whatever.) “Aren’t the same thing to me.” He says slowly, looking at Fabian like he’s gauging his reaction. Fabian blinks at him.

“I do know that now, yeah.”

“Then what–” Riz stops, eyebrows knitting together. He looks, not for the first time, like he’s trying to solve a case. Fabian wishes that that would stop being cute. “Which one is it?”

Fabian opens his mouth– “Is it a both are true type of thing? If that’s the case, then how do they connect? Is it, like, you love me because I’m important to you, or–” Riz pauses.

His mouth thins into a line. It's not unlike the look on his face when he prepares himself for battle, readies a shot. Fabian’s heart sinks.

“Or am I important to you because you love me?”

Riz averts his eyes, laughs in such a forced, stilted way that barbs tangle around Fabian’s throat. “Because I don’t think I can love you the same way, Fabian. Ever.”

Riz’s voice shakes, “But if anyone asked me, I’d say that you’re the most important person to me too.”

Oh.

“–And I want you to stay. I just don’t know if– if I can ask that of you. If that’s fair.”

Oh.

Fabian stares at him. His eyes are wide.

“What are you saying?” He asks, sounding strangled. “What are you…”

“I’ve done my research,” Riz takes his hand, calloused and scarred and bigger than his own. He looks up at Fabian, “There’s… People can have, like, all sorts of relationships,” He explains, “Some people don’t kiss, or have s-sex, but they’re still… They’re dating, or something like it. Whatever it is is up to them.”

Riz’s cheeks are flushed a dark green, “For lack of a better term, I want us,” He laces their fingers together, both palms sweaty and shaking and kind of gross. He holds on anyway. “To have something like that. If, if you’re…”

He trails off, looking hopeful and nervous and adorable as he stares up at Fabian– whose brain might be melting out of his ears, just a little bit, his mind caught on the words I want us and repeating it endlessly like a broken record in his head. He feels kind of dazed.

“You’re serious?” Fabian says at last. “This is real?”

Riz blinks, “What? Yes, of course I’m serious–”

Like a puzzle piece clicking into place, Fabian grins.

“Then I’ve got some good news for you, The Ball,” Fabian surges forward, ignoring Riz’s yelp as he scoops him off the bed, “You are not ever, ever getting rid of me!”

Startled laughter tumbles out of Riz, “Fabian!”

“Riz!” Fabian cheers, looking up at him as he laughs, every inch the little angel the Bad Kids used to call him– sharp teeth and all. Fabian grins until his cheeks hurt, giddy and set alight.

“I’m going to keep loving you,” He says, like a statement. Like a promise. “And I don’t care if you don’t love me the same way– I will keep doing it, I will stay.”

Riz’s eyes have dilated, a dark blush creeping up to the tips of his ears. Fabian drinks up the sight like liquid gold.

Fabian’s voice settles, quieter as Riz shifts in his grasp, his hands on Fabian’s shoulders. “I’ll stay,” He tells him again. “It’s not a punishment. Not to me.”

“Not if it’s you,” Fabian says. “Alright?”

Riz opens his mouth to speak. Closes it again. His hands are shaking where they’re gripping Fabian’s shirt.

Riz, for the first time Fabian has ever seen him, looks rendered speechless.

Fabian wishes he could take a picture, bottle this moment up and keep it forever. (Fuck, his cheeks are sore from smiling.)

“Well?” He asks. Because he can. Because he thinks he already knows.

Riz blinks, like he’s rebooting.

“Uh,” Very eloquent. “Yes. That’s– fuck, I’m…” Riz swallows, “You want– me? Even if– even if I don’t want to kiss you,” Fabian nods. “Or, or have sex,” Nods again. “Or any of that.” Nod city.

A giddy smile creeps onto Riz’s face. “Even if I don’t want anything to change?”

“Yes, The Ball, do keep up.”

“Fuck off,” Riz laughs. The sound is bright enough to cause radiant damage. He leans forward in Fabian’s grasp, “You’re the worst.”

Fabian huffs, and doesn’t dignify that with a response.

Their foreheads rest together, their breaths intertwining, basking in each other’s presence. Fabian thinks time might’ve stopped, there– he definitely wouldn’t have noticed.

After a while, Riz speaks.

“I think I’d like handholding, though,” He whispers, “And– and more touching. In general. I like being near you.”

And, like he has to ask, “Is that okay?”

Fabian thinks about a business card, tucked into his wallet since the day he got it. He thinks about breathless laughing fits and cramped booths at Basrar’s. He thinks about being seen.

“Yes, Riz,” He replies. “That is absolutely okay.”

Fabian Aramais Seacaster is eighteen, and Riz Gukgak is staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky, the sun and moon.

The world is cruel and harsh and Fabian knows it like a scar– but he knows, now, that love is whatever the fuck he wants it to be.

—

fin.