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It's late in the evening when Cross wakes up, and his room is dark. Below his window, the lamps of the courtyards dance in the last remnants of sunlight, and he watches them for a moment, still slightly dazed with sleep.
His neck hurts from how he slept, as does his back. Beside him, Epic grunts, and then stretches, one arm thrown in front of Cross's face.
With a yawn, he asks, "Good nap?"
Cross shrugs. Then, "I thought your Grace didn't let you sleep."
"Nah, I just don't need sleep," Epic says, sitting up fully. "I can go weeks without even dozing — I could probably go forever. But I like napping, when I can." Quieter, he murmurs, "When the nightmares let me."
Politely choosing to not acknowledge that last bit save for a lingering hand on Epic's shoulder, Cross stands with a stretch of his own. With a flick of his wrist, he attempts to light the lamp on his nightstand, but it flickers out on his first try.
Epic watches intently as Cross flicks his wrist again, and this time the lamp lights, bathing the room in its glow.
"My magic doesn't always fire right when I first wake up," Cross says, a bit self-consciously. "It's a little temperamental, sometimes."
"That's why you mostly fight physically and supplement that with magic, I guess," Epic says. "Makes sense, considering your Grace."
Cross nods, sitting back down beside his friend. "I learned to fight before I learned magic." He doesn't add that his teacher having an affinity for a completely different type of magic made things difficult. Lady Toriel showed him all she could, but there was a big difference between her flames and his bones.
"Another product of your upbringing?"
"Yes." Cross averts his gaze — Epic's intent stare makes him feel small, but in a much different way than his father's had. His father made him feel like he was about to be vivisected. Epic made him feel vulnerable in ways he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Before he can regret it, Cross blurts, "Did you mean it? When — when you said you wouldn't…"
Epic frowns. "When I said I wouldn't let anything happen to you?" He takes Cross's hands in his own. "Yeah. Every word." His face is serious, and Cross can't look away. "I won't let you end up in the same situation that you were in in Nix. Ever."
"...Why?" His voice is small. "Not — not that I don't appreciate the sentiment," Cross clarifies quickly. "But just… You just met me."
"I like you a lot Cross," Epic replies, squeezing Cross's hands. "From… from the second I met you and you said you just wanted to protect everyone in your care."
"That includes you," Cross mumbles. Boldly, he leans forward and bonks Epic's forehead with his own. He feels more than hears Epic chuckle slightly as he nuzzles against Cross minutely.
"It better," Epic says, but his tone is joking. "But someone has to protect you too. And it might as well be me." He pauses, and then says resolutely, "It's going to be me."
He's close enough that Cross can feel his breath as he speaks, and he considers his options.
Epic's face is so close…
"Something on my face?" Epic teases, nuzzling his cheek against Cross's.
Cross stumbles over his words a bit, before settling on, "What — what you said before. I like you a lot, too." Quieter, he says, "You made me feel so welcome when I got here… and you make me feel like I fit in. Like I was meant to be here. I've never — I haven't ever felt like that before. Nowhere has ever felt like home to me before."
Epic must see him looking, or else have the same idea, because in the next second he turns his head oh-so-slightly…
And he's kissing Cross.
It's soft and chaste, and embarrassingly, Cross can feel tears coming to his sockets. It's the most gentle touch he's felt in years, and the feelings conveyed in it are so much.
When Epic pulls away, his hands come up immediately to thumb at the tears collecting in the corners of Cross's sockets. Wordlessly, he pulls Cross into a tight hug.
"I've never… had someone do that because they like me," Cross mumbles hesitantly, burying his face in the shoulder of Epic's coat. "I think I've mostly just been, well. Notches on a bedpost."
"I'll kiss you more," Epic murmurs, bringing a gentle hand to Cross's skull, stroking at his cervical vertebrae. "If — if you'd like, I mean."
When Cross twists his head to look at Epic, still keeping it tucked in the crook of his shoulder, his… friend? is flushed. "No pressure," he squeaks, seeming suddenly nervous.
"I'd like that," Cross replies softly, pulling back to make eye contact, and taking Epic's hands again. "I'd — I'd like that a lot."
Epic grins, and obliges him.