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Five was exhausted. Too many days and nights running on fumes. Too many FlufferNutter sandwiches left stale on a cold countertop. Too many numbers and theories and running replacing the stillness he longed for. The apocalypse, god, the apocalypse. It was all over. The equations, and the fear, and the rage.
Finally, it was over. Every timeline was sorted, and everything was back to its proper place. At long last, he could enjoy a quiet moment, with you.
“Love?” Called Five, as he entered the estate through the roof door. He stood at the top of a large staircase; Stained glass windows giving color to the light, and bathing him in radiance. Gripping the wooden railing, he stared, searching the lower level; He’d learned not to assume safety of anyone, not even those he loved the most.
And then you stepped into view, small paces across the stone landing, blood splattered across your forearms, god he hoped it wasn’t your own. Shoes covered in dust and grime, your hair tangled, red caked in its ends. You looked up at him, and as a gash down his cheek dripped blood onto his suit coat, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His hair was also tangled, and bits of it stuck up in odd places, it alarmed you, you’d grown used to him clean cut and sleek.
His eyes seemed so heavy, and his frame so deflated; A disheveled stand-in for the man you’d grown to love.
This Five was not the same.
Your Five was full of commanding glares, nervous fidgeting, and sometimes, if you were lucky, that sweetly maniacal laughter.
Not this.
The man before you wore a tired expression, his eyes full of earnest worry. It hurt you to see him so vulnerable.
“Hey,” You croaked. The sound came out much quieter than you’d meant it to, and you hoped he wouldn’t worry. You cleared your throat. “C’mere.” You also didn’t mean for your eyes to look so pleading, your brows creased and tired lines crossing your features. Maybe you weren’t the same either.
Five slowly made his way down the steps towards you, and once he met you on the landing, he took your face into his warm hands. He looked at you for a long moment, and then closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours.
“I wasn’t sure we’d make it out,” he whispered. You almost couldn’t believe your ears. Five? Unsure? But still, you wrapped your arms around his frame, letting your eyes fall shut, “Me neither.” You felt him shudder against you, and then the wet tears, one by one, falling onto your shirt and cheeks. Yours joined them soon after, the weight finally crashing down on the two of you.
Gradually, as the tears kept falling, you held on tighter and tighter, and before you knew it, you had reached the floor. A mess of salty sweat, caked mud and tangled limbs, you lied with him, sobbing.
It felt like even now, the world was ending. Every awful thing you’d witnessed flashed in your mind. Every drop of blood, every person you’d had to kill and every person you hadn’t been able to save.
And god, your Five, your darling Five, had gotten the worst of it. Had been forced to make the toughest decisions, survive the harshest conditions, and had still ensured everyone else made it out alive.
You gasped for air, clutching your darling’s shoulders as wave after wave of sobs wracked through you. How could you have let this happen? How could you have allowed the universe to make him suffer so greatly?
The two of you stayed that way for a long time, gradually sinking deeper into one another.
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When you awoke, wrapped in Five’s arms, the first thing you saw was the moonlight, shining in through the stained windows.
Salt dried to your cheeks, and your eyes still puffy, you turned your head back towards Five’s chest, and nuzzled into your makeshift pillow.
He, evidently, had also woken up, carding a hand though your hair, trying not to get it stuck in any knots. “We should shower,” he whispered, groggily. Though you weren’t very comfortable, this spot on the floor was as close as you’d gotten to a bed in too long. Maybe you could stay here a little longer. You’d missed your fiance, and you’d missed this kind of stillness, enjoying the silence together.
As you were thinking, however, a sharp pain cut through your back. The tile floor, you realized, offered no support to your sore limbs. “Yeah, alright.” You knelt, then stood, slowly. You took his hand and pulled him up, and you kept hold of him on the way down the hall.
As you began to run a bath, Five got out wash-cloths and rubbing alcohol, bath salts, and heavy duty shampoo. The tub filling, you and Five stripped down and got to work cleaning up; Gingerly disinfecting wounds, scrubbing away dirt and dust and flecks of blood, and finally, washing each other's hair out in the sink.
Carefully, you stepped into the bath, and finding that it was not too hot for your injuries, beckoned Five to join you.
With your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you, you sat in the quiet once more. The smell of lavender carried through the room and ricocheted off the tile walls; It had always been your favorite, and though he was a little hesitant of flowery scents at first, you’d gotten Five accustomed to it aswell. Now, the fragrance brought with it a sense of domesticity, of belonging and calm.
“Five?” you began, still looking ahead.
“Yeah?” His voice in your ear was like burnt honey, gravelly and tired, but much more relaxed than before.
“Where do you want to live after all of this?”
A pause. You weren’t sure you’d ever stumped The Amazing Five Hargreeves. It seemed a little ironic that you did now, when you hadn’t even tried.
“I want a house with you…Maybe somewhere woodsy? And windows. Lots of Windows.”
You were glad to offer him some kind of distraction. You hoped imagining your new lives together would at least help a little.
“I want…brick archways that lead to a garden, and an open veranda with a big swing. The swing has to face the East, and we’re gonna need a big side table for all the coffee and early breakfast-.”
As he continued, you delicately turned onto your side, pressing your face against his warm chest.
“-Plenty of coasters too, and fresh fruit, so we’ll need to be close to a good farmer’s market.”
Maybe giving him control of something, even imaginary, had been a better idea than you’d thought. His voice had evened out now, a deep, flowing rhythm that could’ve easily put you to sleep. You looked up at him, a lazy grin on your face.
“Can we learn to bake too?” You asked quietly, “Maybe fresh bread? And scones?”
His lips parted for a split second, his brows creased, and in his eyes, you were sure you could see his heart melting as he sighed softly.
Finally he gave you the same, lazy smile and rubbed his nose into your wet hair, “Anything you want.”