Work Text:
The restaurant is quiet after closing time, the only sounds coming from Fadel's broom sweeping across the tiled floor. His shoulders ache from the long day, his mind heavy with numbers that won't add up; rising costs, taxes, suppliers increasing their prices. He hasn't told Style about any of it. Every time Style asked if he was okay, Fadel just said he was fine.
The door bursts open with its familiar creak.
"Good evening krub!" Style announces, his voice too loud for the empty space. He's grinning, but his eyes search Fadel's face immediately.
Fadel looks up, offers a small tired smile. "Hey."
Style walks over, his usual confident stride a little too bouncy tonight, like he's trying to compensate for Fadel's quiet mood. He kisses Fadel, lingering longer than usual. "Missed you today," he says against Fadel's lips.
Fadel hums in response, returning to his sweeping. Style grabs a dish towel and starts wiping down tables, chattering about his day at the garage, about the new competing business that opened nearby, about his friend Tul’s latest disastrous date.
Fadel only half-listens, nodding at the right moments. His mind is still on tomorrow's orders, next week's payroll.
Style stops mid-sentence, putting his hands on his hips. "Okay, what's going on with you?"
"Nothing. Just tired."
"Bullshit." Style steps closer, taking the broom from Fadel's hands. "You've been like this for days. Talk to me."
Fadel sighs. "People get tired, Style. I have work to do."
"So take a break! Let's do something fun tomorrow. Just us."
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
"I can't just take days off whenever-"
"One day," Style insists. "One day won't-"
"That day could make or break everything!"
Style frowns, “What do you mean?”
“Forget it.”
“Tell me.”
“Drop it, Style.”
“How can I just ignore the fact that you’re not okay?”
“I am okay. Damn it it’s like you’re not even listening.”
“Since you’re this tense, we should go to the seaside tomorrow. There’s something about the sea that makes your problems seem smaller.”
“That’s stupid.” Fadel snaps, louder than he meant to.
The words hang between them. Style's face falls, his playful energy vanishing. He steps back like Fadel struck him.
"I was just trying to help," Style says quietly.
Fadel runs a hand through his hair. "Not everything can be fixed with your outings and jokes, Style. Some things are serious."
The hurt flashes across Style's face so clearly it makes Fadel's stomach drop. He reaches out immediately. "Style-"
But Style is already tossing the dish towel onto the counter. "If my help is so annoying, I'll leave you to your serious problems."
The door slams harder than necessary.
***
Fadel tries calling Style. Then texting. Then calling again. Nothing.
The next day is worse- radio silence. By evening, Fadel drives to Style's house only to find he's not there.
"Went to see Kant," Style's dad says, eyeing Fadel knowingly. "You two have a fight?"
Fadel just nods, too tired to explain.
“Style is incapable of staying mad at someone for a long time.” Style’s dad says in an unexpected show of support, “Hang in there. You two will be fine and back to trying to get pregnant in no time.”
Fadel appreciates the reassuring words and the fact that Style’s dad doesn’t ask Fadel what he did or lay blame on either one of them. The pregnancy remark? Well, mpreg is a family thing amongst the three of them by now.
***
The next day at the garage, Style stares at his buzzing phone for the hundredth time. His chest aches, partly from anger, but mostly from missing Fadel. Missing their late-night talks at the restaurant, the way Fadel's arms feel around him when they sleep.
His dad brings him lunch, pointing at the bandage on Style's finger. "You only hurt yourself when you're upset."
"Relationship problems," Style mumbles around a tiny bite of sandwich.
"Ah." His dad sits beside him. "You going to fix it or keep sulking?"
"It's not that simple. Fadel really hurt me."
His dad smiles gently. "And what does sulking solve? That boy's trying to apologize. Let him."
Style huffs but knows his dad's right. The loneliness has been worse than the anger and hurt.
“It’s the method, okay dad? My boyfriend upsets me, I give him the cold shoulder for a while to get a point across. That’s how people date.”
“Really? Because I’m just trying to have enough peace to sleep well at night. Dragging out arguments is a thief of peace.”
“You’re old and from a different time. You don’t understand.”
Style’s dad chuckles, unfazed by the insult, “So, what point are you putting across by giving Fadel the cold shoulder when you’re just as miserable as he is?”
Style thinks long and hard about that last question his dad asked him.
A day later, he finally breaks and texts Fadel back: Come by the garage tonight.
***
Fadel doesn't hesitate. The moment he sees Style, he crosses the space between them and pulls him into a crushing hug. He buries his face in Style's neck, breathing him in, pressing apologetic kisses to his skin.
Style tenses up for just a second before melting into the embrace. His arms come up around Fadel like they belong there.
"I'm sorry," Fadel whispers. "I didn't mean any of it."
"Then why say it?" Style pulls back just enough to see Fadel's face.
Fadel leads them to sit on the floor of the tyre bay. Slowly, haltingly, he explains everything - the rising expenses at the restaurant, the fear of failing, the weight of it all.
"Why didn't you just tell me?" Style asks, hurt but understanding.
Fadel brushes a strand of hair from Style's forehead. "You worry about the restaurant more than I do sometimes. I didn't want to add to your stress. You have enough going on here as well."
Style takes Fadel's hand. "We share problems. That's what we do." He hesitates. "I'm sorry if my... style of helping gets irritating."
Fadel shakes his head firmly. "It’s never irritating. I admire how you stay lighthearted through everything. I think... I was jealous of that."
"Jealous?"
"You laugh through your bad days. I just... cook for hours or snap at people or…throw knives at the tree in my backyard."
Style smiles softly. "Doesn't mean it hurts any less. You stab tree trunks, I laugh. Different coping."
Fadel nods, pressing their foreheads together. "No more keeping things from you. I promise."
"Partners," Style says firmly. "Through thick like always. Don’t ruin a system that already worked for us in the past."
Fadel finally smiles properly for the first time in days. He notices Style's bandaged finger. "What happened?"
"Work accident." But they both know it's because Style was distracted and upset.
Fadel brings Style's hand to his lips, kissing the injury gently. "I changed my mind. Let's go wherever you want tomorrow."
Style's whole face lights up. "Really?"
"What the heck," Fadel says, leaning into Style's shoulder. "The problems will still be here when we get back."
Style kisses the top of Fadel's head. "You won't regret it. I have ideas. Seaside, sex on the beach, sand in all the wrong places on our bodies, traumatizing some child that’s passing by, conceiving our first child on the beach….I’ll walk you through the rest as we drive there."
Fadel laughs, and for the first time in weeks, he believes everything might actually be okay. Hope starts with laughter.
-END-