Work Text:
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Vylad pours a cup of freshly brewed coffee across the room. The scent of it crawling its way throughout the room, to Laurance. It’s just them alone together, for now, and Vylad is highly aware of the heavy silence that fills the kitchen. He draws a breath of the bitter soaked air and lets it linger in his lungs as he waits for even the slightest reaction to the words he threw out.
Laurance hasn’t been back long. These moments of just the two of them are far and few between, much further than either of them would like. That in mind, Vylad doesn’t think these thoughts are reciprocated.
Whenever it’s just them, Laurance is quiet.
His shoulders drop, and his eyes glaze over. He’s with Vylad in the literal sense, but he’s not actually present. Of course, this is one of the first things he's noticed since his return. It makes him nervous, worries him. It’s in stark contrast to what Vylad believed to be his normal self, when he was loud and playful. That part of him is still there, but he notes that it seems to only be reserved for when Laurance is around a larger group of people.
Was he not worthy of his contagious happiness? Or was what he was seeing fake?
The potent smell of coffee beans is yet to be cut by responsive words. Instead, he finds Laurance himself brewing silently in the kitchen chair across the room.
He tries not to take it to heart. What he’s been through, it was a lot, and he doesn’t even know the half of it. Vylad was there a much shorter time in comparison to Laurance, and if he still wakes up in a cold sweat remembering what had happened there, he could only imagine what Laurance must be experiencing.
Rather than prompt him again, Vylad assumes he would like a cup. His hand is never forceful when unnecessary. Besides, he knows Laurance like the back of a horse's head. He’s sure he remembers how he likes his coffee.
Vylad reminisces about the time before all this. They weren’t nearly as..bonded.. as they are now, but even then there was a flicker of something special they both held toward each other.
A particularly fond memory that comes to mind were their shared mornings. This is how he recalls his preferred order of coffee.
So it is to be recreated. Vylad pours the drink into the mug he remembers Laurance reaching for the most frequently. A deep navy blue with a slim handle. Then, he goes for the next step, what makes the drink palatable for Laurance. Five cubes of sugar, placed gently into the mug so as to not cause a splash. Alongside that, a decent dose of vanilla cream. The hint of a smile comes to Vylad as he basks in the comforting familiarity of the coffee order.
Finally, he stirs in the mix-ins with the daintiest spoon they own. He lifts the cup to his nose and takes in the sweetness before turning back towards Laurance.
The only thing missing from this routine is his voice.
Laurance remains sitting still in the chair, eyes lowered to the table. Even when the coffee is placed in front of him, he doesn’t look at him. Rather, he opts for a subtle shift in posture, his hand running up his own forearm before gliding back down, where his nail-bitten fingers wrap around his wrists.
The self-soothing motion is one that seems new to Vylad. When was this habit acquired? More importantly, what triggered the need for the sensation?
He looks down on Laurance, eyebrows drawn up in concern, “I made it the way you like it, promise.”
Vylad doesn’t know why yet, but the rejection of the beverage cut deeper than he would’ve thought, and puzzles him even more so. But rather than push it, he simply sits down beside him with his own cup of coffee, black with three sugars, and drinks it with the pleasure of just being in each other's presence, even if it’s not the same as it was before.