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The weight of grief is pulsing in the house. In every room, there seems to be shards of emotional volatility scattered on the floor, jagged and harsh edges Chester has to dance on tiptoe to avoid stepping on. This time, he’s dancing in the background of their living room, where a seemingly focused Parker has locked his gaze on his computer at the dining table. Same pose, same image, same idea as always - “cute top”, etc, etc, - except Chester knows it’s different today. It’s been different.
“Hey,” Chester says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.
Silent. Then, without looking up, Parker gives him a “Hey,” blank tone so well delivered that if Chester closed his eyes he probably wouldn’t see a difference between this moment and any regular Tuesday. But he’s not, and it’s not, and now Chester is thinking urgently of another thing to say.
“Eat breakfast yet?” Parker asks, still not looking up from his computer. The blond man is startled by the question, both because he didn’t expect Parker to reply, let alone speak again, and because it’s such a thoughtful question. Of course he knows his best friend cares about him. He knows that. Obviously. It’s just so… well, so unexpected, especially in the wake of grief. Sure, let’s go with that.
“Uh, yeah,” Chester replies, silently cursing himself for taking a Light Yagami monologue amount of time to respond to a three-word question. “Did you? I didn’t see any dishes in the sink.”
Silence again, only interrupted by the soft tapping of keys. Chester doesn’t know who Parker's talking to or what he’s doing - he doesn’t usually reply to emails without telling his roommate what house they’re going to first, but the blond figures it’s not really his problem at the moment.
Parker stops typing, suddenly and abruptly, leaning back in the embrace of the wooden folding chair and running a hand through his black hair, still matted with sweat from the freak heat of the last week’s nights and the sleep sweats Chester knew his best friend was prone to. “Not yet, but I did the dishes this morning. Figured I leave it to you a lot, so I’d do ‘em today.”
“Oh,” Chester says, once again surprised at Parker’s thoughtfulness and then ashamed that it’s surprising to him. “Thank you.”
There hasn’t been a funeral yet. Parker’s in charge automatically as the only child, and he’s been willfully ignoring all the calls from, well, everyone who could possibly be involved. When Chester’s asked him about the constant stream of notifications, he’s denied they’re anything but spam. Again, Chester wants to bring it up, suggest that Parker throw the task to his aunt, or at least that he start to get moving on it because, as morbid as it is, the body’s not going to last forever. The two of them literally work in death and demons, they know all too well about the longevity, or lack thereof, that bodies possess.
“Mmm,” and then Parker throws one last, slow glance at the laptop screen before sighing again and closing it gently. He stands up, pushing the chair out. Apparently neither of them knew how far away from the table Chester was standing, because he ends up accidentally chest-to-chest (more like chest-to-park, he thinks with an internal deranged giggle) with Parker. Now, Chester’s not short by any measure, especially not compared to Parker, but now the couple inches the brunette has over him feel like miles. He feels very close to his best friend’s bare skin (which is admittedly washed out - Chester keeps telling him to get some damn sun instead of holing up in his room all the time, but given the circumstances he’s felt it would be inappropriate to remind him for another month or so), especially in the tight-fit black tank top he slept in.
Catching the weirdness of himself and this moment equally, Chester backs up, clearing his throat. Parker gives a grim smile that comes off more as a grimace. “Think I’m gonna take a shower and then head to the store, so if you want anything, just text me, okay?”
Chester throws up a thumb, thinking it’s probably better just to keep his mouth shut until he figures out what to say. Parker nods in response, pulls on and zips up a hoodie in a quick two movements, and begins to make his way up the stairs.
Damn it.
***
When Parker comes home, he throws the groceries in the fridge, organized in their own little sections as per usual. He feels the odd urge to smile, maybe even laugh, after seeing the orange juice resting in the door of the refrigerator - the knowledge that Chester will be happy to continue his borderline disturbing morning routine of eating Lucky Charms in the blood of a citrus fruit prompts a warm glow in his chest. The physical expression of any form of joy on his face, however, refuses an appearance, and a part of him hopes to see Chester in the living room when he gets back, just to know there are signs of life in the house. When that doesn’t happen, he decides to just go outside - the weather app on his phone declares sunset will occur sometime in the next twenty minutes, and he’s always loved sunsets. Just ask his best friend, who is not, uh, currently here, but whatever. Parker can be alone.
Why wouldn’t he be alone?
***
Chester hears Parker open the door to the house, mess with the fridge for a little bit, and then go outside after a minute or two. He’s pretty sure he’s memorized his talking points about support and grief and emotional repression and all that shit (points he’d been planning out on a PowerPoint for the past hour and a half), so now Plan Fix Parker is a go.
Gingerly (blondly?), the blond trudges down the stairs, making his way to the back door. He opens it without triggering the tell-tale creak, employing the precision of someone who’s lived here for, what, six years?
God. Six years. No way.
It takes him a second, but eventually he spots Parker sitting in a branch of the apple tree growing in their yard. He’s facing the sky, probably to see the sun set in - Chester checks his phone widget - 10 minutes.
Deliberating only takes a moment before Chester is climbing a goddamn tree, reaching Parker’s branch in a matter of seconds. He gives himself a little pat on the back and pushes himself up so he’s sitting about a foot away from Parker.
“Hey, bro,” Parker says, words muffled by the apple in his mouth. It’s fall, and it’s practically tradition for their tree to give away an inhuman, cyanide-factory level of apples around this time. Chester can feel his mouth watering at the sight of the freshly bitten apple resting in Parker’s hand.
The brunette follows his gaze before doing that weird grimace-smile thing again and handing Chester his bitten apple. Chester’s cheeks start to bloom with heat, not enough to combat the chill in the air but just enough to make him feel embarrassed.
“I’ll get another,” Parker explains, breaking the silence. “There’s a branch right here.”
As his best friend rummages around in the foliage for another apple, Chester quickly cycles through his talking points with a deep, stabilizing breath. “So, uh. Man-”
“Dude,” Parker interrupts, emerging from the curtain of leaves with a fruit clutched in his palm. “I know you’re trying to get me to talk about it.”
Oh, shit. That was fast. “I-”
“I don’t want to, okay? Talking about it’s just gonna make me mad, and we agreed I gotta work on my anger issues, so I’m not doing it.”
At this, Chester’s left speechless, so he looks away, eyes falling to the teeth marks in the yellow-red skin of the apple and the scraped-out crater of white flesh beneath. He plays with the pretty fruit for a moment, a small shiver running down his arms and legs, before feeling warmth approach his torso. Suddenly, he’s yanked to his best friend’s side, no distance between them. Parker unhooks his right arm from his jacket and drapes that part of the cloth around Chester’s shoulders. “Hey, man, I’m… I’m sorry.”
Chester pulls the cloth around him, slipping his arm into the right sleeve and feeling the pleasant warmth of the place where Parker’s arm had been. “I just want you to be okay, Parker.”
Silence for a moment. Then another. Chester’s beginning to consider arguing with him again until he hears a sniffle.
Parker’s not allergic to anything. And he hasn’t been sick.
Chester's head turns almost instantly to see an unexpectedly crying Parker trying to hide his red eyes in the collar of his jacket. Hesitantly, the blond’s left arm hooks around his friend’s midriff, pressing his head into the taller’s shoulder.
“Fuck,” Parker says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Now it’s happening. I didn’t want this to happen to me, man.”
“Parker,” and Chester hugs him tighter, forgetting his hang-ups for just a moment to console the crying man next to him. “I’m here.”
“I just didn’t think he’d die. Y’know?”
Double oh, shit, that was fast. Plan Fix Parker failed successfully?
Parker continues. “I mean, when they tell you ‘your dad has cancer’, you’re scared, sure, but it’s like ‘there’s chemo’ and ‘there’s treatments’ and ‘we’ll be praying for you’ or whatever. It’s not real yet. You do the ‘right’ things - you go on walks, you bring him shit from the house to the barren fucking hospital room. You bestow as much love and affection as you can, and it’s still not fucking enough? It’s not-” and once again, Parker begins to cry, more violently this time. He buries his face in his best friend’s shoulder, clings to Chester’s torso, shaking as his racking sobs chase each other through his body. Chester, unperturbed by the wetness slowly seeping through his t-shirt, rubs Parker’s back.
“I…” but Chester realizes he doesn’t actually have to say anything. Maybe he shouldn’t; maybe he should just let Parker have his moment of unrestrained emotion, let the glass break and stay still instead of scrambling to pick up the shards in his way. Yeah. That’s what he’ll do, he decides, tangling his fingers in Parker’s hair, rubbing his scalp gently and tracing a circle around the strands that always seem to stick up. Parker continues to rest his head against Chester, the wet cloth he lays on thoroughly chilling the blond to an uncomfortable degree, and though he swore he wouldn’t bring it up, an involuntary shiver runs through him from head to toe.
Chester curses himself and his intolerance for the cold as Parker lifts his head up, red-rimmed eyes unframed by the usual pewter glasses making lazy contact with his own. They take on concern, a feeling no one but Chester should be experiencing, and only directed towards Parker.
“Still cold?”
What can Chester do but nod?
Parker eyes the patch of skin showing through Chester’s white shirt, then looks back up to Chester. A slow, steady fire rises in his gaze, one Chester hasn’t seen for a while, a long while, and he doesn’t know how he got there but suddenly Chester Beckington is in Parker Hajiaskari’s lap on an apple tree branch surrounded by jacket and arms and Parker scent. There’s never been a time or place in which the blond would have allowed himself to imagine this, but now it’s happening. A glance at the ground and he laughs, then laughs harder looking back at Parker’s stubbly, confused face (one thing that, interestingly, he doesn’t play up for videos). “What’s this about?”
In spite of himself, Parker grins, an odd grin that’s half kid-on-Christmas and half self-gratified smirk. The latter half is usually incredibly annoying (because it’s often prefacing the blond doing a household chore or a dreaded task rather than Parker) but Chester is strangely drawn to it now. “I’ve never found a better way to warm someone up. Have you?”
Now it’s Chester who’s split in half - the part of him that would say Going inside, for one and climb down and the part that would lean in closer and say I have a few more ideas. Neither of them win, and he sits there speechless, sprawled across the denim-clad legs of his best friend, wide blue eyes scanning Parker’s visage for signs of trickery. His skin is melting every place it touches Parker’s. It’s safe to say Chester isn’t cold anymore, so point Parker, two-all.
That old Facebook cliché of ‘blank fell first, but blank fell harder’ comes to mind as Parker gently grips the blond’s chin and pulls him down to eye level. Soft pink lips land on Chester’s delicately and gracefully.
He fell first. And he’s falling harder.
Where does that leave Parker?
That, however, is a query Chester has no time or brainspace to pay mind to - he’s focusing too hard on keeping Parker’s lips on his, tasting what he’s never had access to and may never have again for as long as humanly possible - apple, caramel, vanilla, and something bitter on the tongue, reminiscent of alcohol but not quite.
Through the haze - Hendrix’s or Swift’s? It’s definitely some violet shade - of a kiss, even as powerful as a kiss he’s been dreaming of for - what, ten? An even more shocking number than six - years, he can’t help but think that Parker’s not in the right headspace, he’s not thinking clearly, and even if this is what he ends up wanting after he’s done processing his grief, it wouldn’t be right to act on it now. Painstakingly and not without regret, he breaks away, panting for much longer than he’d expected.
“God, I’m hot,” Parker grins, pulling the fabric of his hoodie away from his chest to fan it. Chester wants to agree, maybe open his mouth and stick his tongue out, crank up the Camel by Camel music, roll his eyes back, why don’t you go all the way to Humiliation Station and put some cat ears and a maid outfit on, Chesty boy? Pull yourself together, he mentally chastises, bracing himself with hands on Parker’s hips.
“Parker,” Chester says (okay, gasps), making eye contact for what must be approximately 0.0001 second before the brunette hungrily swoops back in for another kiss, this time sheathing his fingers between locks of Chester’s hair in a way that makes the blond melt into him. He cradles Parker’s jaw with his thumbs, applying the softest pressure possible, and at this point he’s gone from sitting on top of his best friend to straddling him in a matter of milliseconds.
It’s a wonder the branch is still supporting us, Chester thinks, right as it gives way, letting the two men fall straight into a pile of leaves. Somehow they haven’t stopped kissing. Guess they meant it when they said you ‘fall’ in love.
He has to break away for the sake of the continuity of his life, but he keeps his hand on Parker’s face as the breath slips back into his lungs, running the other through the hair on the back of the latter’s neck. “Parker, I-”
“Please, Chester,” Parker intones, his fingers still in his roommate’s hair. “Please, even if you’re gonna say something, wait till tomorrow. I know what you’re thinking and I don’t wanna hear it tonight.”
God damn it. For someone who acts so impenetrably oblivious, he’s sure damn good at reading minds. Chester sighs and hugs his best friend, legs still wrapped around Parker. After a moment, the already-familiar warmth of fingers in his hair disappears, reappearing on his back as Parker returns the hug. “Okay. M’sorry, Park.”
“You’re good, Chester,” the brunette hums, rubbing circles on Chester’s back as he presses a soft kiss to his roommate’s neck. “Totally good.” Chester’s face feels hot, his whole body does, but he’s trying his best not to focus on that - no matter how in shock he still is from that first kiss (because holy shit, goddamn, who gave Parker permission? Who- how- Chester can’t even think), this moment is still not about him and it won’t be until he senses some serious healing.
Suddenly, he blinks, and he’s in the air. “Dude. What are you doing?”
“It’s cold,” Parker says. He’s grinning again, arms supporting Chester’s back and legs. “Wanna go inside, watch a movie? I’ll make popcorn.”
Chester groans, playful, landing a light punch on Parker’s arm as a matching smile spreads on his face. “I know you don’t wanna talk, but I feel like Netflix and chill is kind of a quick step forward, man.”
“Chester,” Parker questions, tone even just like earlier as he pushes open the screen door, but eyes blazing with that same lively spark, “who said anything about chill?”