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Phoenix Drop is serene in the early morning. Laurance pulls his blanket tighter around his shoulders, his shield against the chill in the air. The sun slowly peaks over the statue of Lady Irene, barely visible through the dark green leaves of the trees. The sky is hues of orange and yellow, and Laurance thinks of his sister.
His eyelids feel so heavy, but the sunrise is too beautiful to miss. Watching the sky slowly change from dull greys to warm oranges to light blues is the only worthwhile reason Laurance agreed to start waking up earlier. (If Garroth still wants to assume he’s making Laurance want to be more proactive about this health, that’s on him. He’s dealt with enough of his complaints to earn that assumption.)
Body aching, he desires nothing more than to crawl back into bed, where it would still be warm and cosy. He could drag Garroth too, and they could sleep the morning away, and emerge when the sun is higher in the sky and Laurance feels less tired.
Because who wants to feel exhausted on their birthday?
He’s earned himself that right, he thinks. Laurance is old now; he turns twenty-six today (supposedly. Months in the Nether and not knowing your actual birth date have skewered his sense of aging a little). Soon he’ll be complaining constantly of aches and pains, like Dale does every chance he can get, and his back will be giving out on him every five minutes. He’ll be able to retire from guarding soon.
Maybe that’s a tad overdramatic. Aches and pains are something that comes with the territory of his occupation, and his back is fine. For now. Twenty-six just sounds old, when the people he surrounds himself with are mostly younger than him. (Screw Dante and his youthful energy.)
At least Laurance feels younger than Garroth. He’s not, really, but with how the other man carries himself like he has the world resting on his shoulders, he appears a decade older than he is.
Like now, when Garroth pushes the door open like it has personally offended him. Laurance can hear how he drags his boots across the balcony floor, as if his body is made out of lead. When he hears the telltale clink of chainmail, he understands why.
The weight shifts to his own shoulders when Garroth drapes himself over Laurance like a cloak, becoming dead weight on his back. “Morning,” he mutters, O’Khasian accent thicker in his tiredness.
Basking in the warmth pressed against his back, Laurance smiles. “Good morning.”
Slowly, Garroth’s arms slide down to hold him around the waist, squeezing him slightly in a half-hearted hug before loosening. Blonde curls tickle his neck as Garroth rests his head on his shoulder, sighing contently.
“Did you fight off any scary monster last night?” Laurance asks, making idle conversation. He can tell himself it has nothing to do with the accent slipping through and the way it makes his stomach flip, but he just wants to hear Garroth talk.
“No, but I found that mole Brendan’s been complaining about.”
“Finally.” Laurance lazily pumps his fist. The mole has been evading him for days. Bad peripheral vision and hunting do not pair well together - it had escaped each time he’d seen it. Its stupid, taunting squeaks had been haunting his dreams. “What did you do with it?”
“I was going to capture it and see what Kiki suggested,” Garroth says, and pauses for a second. He hums, and the vibration sends a shiver down Laurance’s spine. “But Grey Wind had other ideas.”
The pleasant feeling in his stomach becomes one of disgust. “Rest in peace, Mister Mole.” He holds his hand to his heart in a mocking gesture. “You won’t be missed.”
Garroth huffs a laugh, and buries his face into the curve of Laurance’s neck. His soft lips send another shiver down his spine, pressed to a sensitive part of his skin. They stand like that for a while, enjoying one another’s presence.
Laurance doesn’t mind being used as a post to lean against as he reaps the benefit of warmth radiating for Garroth’s body. The chainmail digging into his side is uncomfortable but manageable, with only a thin layer protecting his skin from the cold metal.
As he runs a hand through Garroth’s soft hair, he takes in the moment. These times are few and far between when it comes to Garroth, so the ones Laurance does receive are all the more appreciated.
It isn’t that Garroth isn’t affectionate - he just shows his feelings in other ways. He’ll make Laurance a cup of tea before his patrol, or he’ll wash the dishes after they share a meal. He ‘isn’t a touchy-feel-y person’ as Aphmau often puts it whenever he is the subject of a conversation (especially when she needs to remind Levin and Malachi not to bombard the man with hugs whenever they see him). For as long as Laurance has known him, he’s been the same. At first he assumed it was some strange reaction to his childhood, and what little Laurance knows of his father’s treatment of the family, but he’s come to understand that Garroth just likes his own personal space.
But when he’s tired or worried about something, he’ll seek out comfort. His hand will find Laurance’s under the table as they’re trying to figure something complicated out, or he’ll tangle their legs together when he’s trying to sleep.
The only other times Garroth will initiate a cuddle is when he wants something. It’s the best kind of manipulation Laurance has ever been subjected to.
And that’s when it clicks. “What do you want?”
The body behind him goes rigid. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“C’mon, you’re never like this unless you’re desperate for something.” Laurance rolls his eyes fondly at the predictability of his Head Guard. “What is it?”
There goes his hope for a relaxing birthday.
“Dante’s sick,” Garroth admits after some hesitation, “and nobody else will cover his patrol. I’d do it myself, but…”
“You’ve been up all night.” Laurance sighs through gritted teeth. “Today was supposed to be my day off, Garroth. It’s-.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
The request strikes him as odd. Usually Garroth, against his own better judgement, would cover the morning shift if a situation like this arose. His pride often comes before his own health, which is something they’ve argued about time and time again. Laurance should be grateful his lectures are finally sinking in, but truthfully, he’s disappointed.
It’s been a familiar feeling this week. Laurance saw Cadenza yesterday, and she mentioned nothing about his birthday, when she’s normally more excited about it than he is. KC should’ve asked him what cake he wanted, as she does for everyone else, but he hasn’t heard from her for a while.
Laurance is a grown man. If a few people have forgotten his birthday, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t the end of the world. He can ignore the way his heart squeezes when he agrees to cover the shift, and Garroth only mumbles and thank you. He’ll bite his tongue when Garroth retreats inside to bed without so much as a ‘Happy Birthday’.
-
Laurance stomps up the stone stairs to the Lord’s house. His frustration this morning is slowly boiling, threatening to spill over the more he has time to consider his start to the day.
The broken strap hanging from the side of his armour is indicative of his struggle to get ready for the morning. He’d been enjoying the extra attention from Garroth as he changed from his night clothes into something clean, paying more mind to the blush slowly rising on the other man’s face and his wandering eyes than what his own hands were doing. It’d taken five times to fix the first strap down without looking, and the parallel one just wouldn’t fit. He’s grown too frustrated with the damn thing, forgotten his own strength, and it had snapped.
And then there was Garroth himself.
“I’m sorry for asking, Laurance,” he said, apologising for what was probably the seventh time that hour. “It’s just bad timing.”
“I’ve already said, it’s fine.”
“Yes, but-.”
Laurance bit his tongue to keep from snapping. The tea cup burns his hand as he squeezes it. “It’s fine. Go to bed.”
Still hovering around like an unwanted fly, Garroth stared guiltily down at the floor. “C-could you… you need to patrol outside the gate. Brian saw something there yesterday, and we need to be extra cautious.”
Laurance groaned. “Can’t I just sit in the gatehouse? It’s a better vantage point.”
“No.” That was blunt.
“Why?”
“Don’t ask questions.” Garroth slips easily into his Head Guard persona, his face becoming expressionless. He crosses his arms, and Laurance knows there’s no point arguing.
And that hadn’t even been the worst of it.
Garroth held the door open for him, seeing him off with a less grumpy attitude from before. “Sor- Have a good day.”
Deciding to give him one last chance, Laurance stopped and asked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Confusion flitted across Garroth’s features for a second. He tilted his head in the way Laurance normally finds adorable, but today only served to irritate him. Then, he blinked. “Oh. Right.”
The fucker kissed him on the cheek, and sent him on his way.
Laurance takes his outburst of anger out on Aphmau’s door, knocking on it harder than needed. Instant regret floods him when he remembers she will probably still be asleep at this time.
Zoey answers the door, looking relatively unimpressed. “I am awake, you know. There’s no need to-.” She looks up. “Oh! Laurance!”
It’s hard to force a smile. “Hey, Zoey.”
Snuffling can be heard from behind her, and a snout pops out from beside her skirt. A figure appears in the window, and Laurance assumes it’s what he’s here for.
“Do the dogs need walking?” He reaches a hand down to pat whoever is trying desperately to lick him. Assumedly Jiggy, the most excitable of the pack.
Bumping the dog gently with her hip, Zoey nods. “That would be good. How long will you be with them?”
“‘Til my patrols over,” Laurance informs her, picking idly at his fingernails. “Can I have the lead too? Phoenix never listens.”
“Yes, yes. Just give me a moment.” As Laurance goes to step inside, customary whilst the dogs are collared up, he hears the door slam.
“Oh.”
He knocks again, utterly confused.
“Just a second!” Zoey calls from inside. “Wait, Levin!”
The door opens again, this time revealing a small boy with a cheeky grin. Laurance can’t help but return his smile, warmth blossoming in his chest at the sight of him.
Levin is growing up far too fast. He seems to have grown a few inches taller each time Laurance sees him (which is fairly often), and his mop of light blonde hair grows a few inches longer.
It’s wild and messy, and greasy under Laurance’s hand as he pats his head. “Hey buddy,” he greets, bending down to be more on Levin’s level.
“Lar!” He’s almost knocked off balance when the boy barrels into him, clinging to him tightly. “I missed you!” His slight lisp comes through on the ‘s’.
“I missed you too, Levin,” he says, squeezing the boy. “You’re up really early, though.”
“We hav’ to plan the par-!”
“I found it!” Malachi screeches from the top of the stairs. He comes bounding down, taking them two at a time, and sounding like a small herd of elephants.
When Laurance finally looks inside, he spots a familiar head of electric blue hair at the table. Whatever anger disappeared at the sight of Levin comes back tenfold when he realises Dante is lounging on Aphmau’s dining table.
“You’re supposed to be sick.” Laurance points an accusatory gloved finger at the teenager. With his free hand he pats Malachi on the head and takes the lead handed to him.
“I am!” Dante claims, his voice cracking. He coughs violently, and it’s unconvincing. “I’m really sick, Laurance. Zoey’s giving me medicine for it.” He sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve.
“If I get back later, and find out you’ve been lying…” He leaves the threat open-ended, and grins wickedly when Dante looks terrified.
With one whistle, the dogs come bounding out of the front door, and Laurance is set to chase them down the hill when they set off without him. One day he’ll finally teach them recall.
-
Patrolling on foot is a laborious, never ending task. On days like these Laurance misses Ungrth more than ever, for both his company and his convenient ability to fly. From in the sky Laurance used to have the best vantage point imaginable, and he used to score more than a few awesome entrances when he’d hop down for the saddle to attack a bandit.
But those days are over.
Ungrth is no longer able to join him on patrols, but at least Laurance has the knowledge that he’ll fly again some day. He’s taken some solace in the explanation Aphmau gave him from the other Wyverns. Often, he finds himself speaking to the soul stone the statue of Lady Irene cradles in the hope that Ungrth will remember his words in his next life. Perhaps it will be some comfort to the newborn creature navigating an unfamiliar world alone, as Ungrth was for Laurance.
His next breath is shaky. Laurance wipes away the tears brimming in his eyes and forces on a smile for the playful dog bowing before him.
Aphmau’s pack is a good substitute for Ungrth. They’re the best company in the village some days, when Laurance isn’t in the mindset to bring Malachi along. They want nothing more than to play for hours, and throwing sticks for them is the perfect distraction from the boredom of wandering the same paths for hours a day.
Today, the activity is a good distraction from the miserable mood Laurance is in. Throwing sticks for Jiggy and petting Cookie’s fluffy tummy isn’t the worst way to spend his birthday, he supposes.
A thwip sound echoes through the forest, and four sets of paws smack against the dirt floor as the pack, sans Thorgi, chase down the stick. Laurance cheers as Phoenix catches it in midair. He whistles them back to prevent a nasty fight over it, and sighs when all but one dog comes chasing back.
Phoenix takes off in the opposite direction, hurtling at impressive speeds out of Laurance’s vision.
“For Irene’s sake.”
Laurance is convinced this dog despises him. He listens to Aphmau, lets her ride him even, and he’ll perfectly execute any trick Garroth asks of him. Even for Dante, whose nervousness around dogs even shakes Thorgi’s unwavering confidence, he’ll walk nicely on a lead. But when it comes down to Laurance, Phoenix is like a naughty child. There are enough bite scars littering Laurance’s arms to prove his point.
“Phoenix!” he hollers through cupped hands. Birds fly from the trees at the sudden noise, rattling the branches overhead. “Here, boy!”
When there’s no sign of the dog’s return, he sprints in the direction he last saw him go in. The others follow behind, Thorgi sticking by his side the whole time. They pass the invisible barrier that marks the edge of Phoenix Drop’s territory, headed deeper into the forest.
Laurance calls for Phoenix until his throat feels raw and his head hurts from his own volume. Even Jiggy and Cookie join in, barking loudly for their brother to return.
Eventually, he has to stop. His lungs are burning painfully from the overexertion, and it’s a struggle to catch his breath. Puma whines pathetically beside him and licks the hand braced on his knee as he bends over.
With one last deep breath, Laurance yells the missing dog’s name again. He squeezes his eyes shut, honing in on his hearing.
There’s a distant bark.
Thorgi’s ears prick up, and he finally leaves Laurance’s heel. Laurance can barely keep up with the hurtling speed, even with his superior stamina.
At some point they reach a clearing, and the sight causes his heart to skip a beat. Phoenix stands, stick held firmly in his mouth, as a black bear corners him by a thick tree trunk. The poor dog trembles, unsure of what action to take.
Wasting no time, Laurance steels himself. He unsheaths his sword just in case, prepared for the situation to take a bad turn. Wildlife can often be unpredictable, and he cannot afford to allow any of the dogs to be hurt this far from the village. Aphmau would never forgive him.
“Hey, ugly bear!” Laurance shouts, internally cringing at his choice of words. “Get out of here! Go on! Scram!”
As if they somehow understand his tactics, Cookie and Puma begin to bark and run around, circling the clearing. Jiggy barks, chasing his tail, which would’ve been hilarious if the situation wasn’t so dire. With enough noise, and motion, they capture the bear’s attention.
It stares for a minute, that feels more like an hour, before disappearing off into the forest.
Laurance takes a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He can barely hear the dog’s barking excitedly over the deafening beating of his own heart, but he calls Phoenix over anyway. Almost collapsing in relief when he listens, Laurance hooks his fingers under the dog's collar and attaches the lead to it.
“Naughty boy,” he murmurs into Phoenix's fur, petting him aggressively. “Never do that again.”
-
The day drags on, and Phoenix drags Laurance. Despite his aching legs he allows himself to practically be walked by the dog, feeling guilty for excluding him from the game of catch the other dogs are playing. Thorgi makes up for it some, wagging his tail each time Phoenix comes to sniff his behind. They play a little, almost tripping him up a few times as they weave between his legs and roll around by his feet.
The rest of his patrol is uneventful, which is a relief. No more bears to scare away, no bandits to arrest, and no more runaway dogs. Boring is preferable to dangerous in this case.
But the lack of any distractions leaves Laurance mulling over his own thoughts.
Has everyone really forgotten his birthday? Each time he passes the gate he half expects to see Cadenza waiting for him, apology on the tip of her tongue and present in hand. The only way she wouldn’t have realised is if she hadn’t checked her calendar.
When they were children, Cadenza would be the one up bright and early on his birthday. In the years he lived with Joh, before Cadenza and Hayden moved in, she’d appear in his room, red-faced from running across the village, with a beaming smile and hastily made cake in hand. When they lived together, he’d be unwittingly awoken by a sickening amount of motion. Cadenza broke his bed once with how high she jumped. They’d spend the day playing, sometimes alone, often with the other children around the village, before returning home for the time Joh finished his duties. The evening would always end with the same tradition - hot cocoa and presents.
Laurance remembers the year he turned ten. It’d been a rainy day, meaning the two of them played inside. He’d forced Cadenza to play the damsel in distress whilst he was a knight battling to save her. Ungrth was ‘slain’ many times that day. Half-asleep tucked up in their beds, they’d drank their hot cocoa and listened to Joh tell a story, one of Laurance’s favourites about a frog and a princess. Then, Hayden popped his head into their room and announced there was one more present they’d forgotten to give him.
The sword was a beautiful emerald colour, hand-engraved with wyvern scales. Laurance had treasured it for years. It was his pride and joy, the best gift anyone had ever given him.
It lies with Joh now. He didn’t feel deserving of such a beautiful blade when he couldn’t even use it to protect his Lord, and dearest father. Laurance hopes Joh can use it to protect himself in the next life, the way he failed to do so in this one.
His lips tremble. “Damn it,” Laurance mutters to himself, wiping his eyes. “What's wrong with me today?”
His thoughts never used to be so dark. Bad memories were once few and far between, stored away in chests never to be unlocked. Laurance never used to have such volatile or extreme reactions to these sorts of things; he used to be able to put on a cool facade.
Then the Nether happened. More eloquently, his mind was significantly altered.
Being a Shadow Knight doesn’t feel all that different. Sure, he doesn’t need much sleep anymore, and he never gets hungry, but Laurance used to run on little energy anyway. Sasha and Vylad were never so emotional in the amount of time he spent around two of them.
It was Gene. That bastard had done something within his mind. He’d reached inside with his magic and fucked up the years of hard work Laurance put in to supressing his uglier emotions. He’d released demons to run amuck, and fed them until they became too fast and strong to stop.
(Sometimes, Laurance is afraid he’ll lose to them. Garroth tells him he’ll never let that happen, but he doesn’t think either of them are strong enough.)
Laurance bites his tongue until he tastes blood. The pain stops his darker train of thought.
Today isn’t the day to dwell on his trauma. If nobody else will make today nice, he’ll do it himself.
“Okay, doggies!” he calls, grinning at the attent pack. “Who wants a treat?”
-
In hindsight, scaling a tree alone wasn’t Laurance’s smartest idea. It seemed safe enough before he began climbing, but once he’d picked the apples and thrown a good amount down for the dogs to play with (and finished laughing after one bonked Phoenix on the head), he realised he had no safe way of getting down.
In his defense, he managed to get half way down before he lost his footing.
Rubbing his sore back, Laurance sulks. Screw Garroth and his insistence on walking patrols - he sits outside the gate, resting against it. Phoenix isn’t happy about being tied to the metal gate, but Laurance doesn’t care; it’s what he gets for running off. Cookie, Puma and Jiggy are enjoying their apples, chewing happily and throwing them around in the air like toys. Thorgi sits a little further away, ears on alert as if he’s taking Laurance’s own job more seriously than he is.
His own apple was juicy, if a little sour. Phoenix tries to snatch the core from his hand, whining when it gets pulled away from it. Laurance laughs wickedly as he teases the dog, holding it just out of his reach. After a minute, he tosses it for him to finish.
Half an hour passes, and most of the dogs are asleep. Jiggy is curled in Laurance’s lap, enjoying a scratch behind his ears.
Out of curiosity, Laurance does something rare and fishes out the pocket watch - not his own, but the communal one passed around the Guard for better timekeeping (originally Garroth’s, given the O’Khasian symbol carved into it. Laurance scowls at it). When the time reads two o’clock, he blinks.
Closing and reopening it, as if that will change the time, he realises it’s two hours past his patrols end. Time had flown by, apparently. Laurance had spent half of his birthday herding a pack of dogs.
And whoever is supposed to be on patrol this afternoon is two hours late.
Laurance is going to kill someone. He doesn’t care what their excuse is. He’ll sic these hungry, tired dogs on them and then finish off the job himself. And then he’ll find Dante and end his sick, miserable life too for forcing him to cover his shift.
As if sensing his rising anger, Brian comes sprinting down the path from the village. He hollers an apology through panting, disappearing to open the gate.
“What the fuck, Brian?!”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” the teenager squeals, dodging the half-hearted smack Laurance aims at his helmet. “I totally lost track of time, and- and-!”
“I don’t care!” Laurance roars.
The volume of his own voice surprises even him, and Laurance immediately covers his own mouth. He swallows, and guilt comes flooding in to wash away the anger that’d been boiling all day.
Brian is still, unmoving. Without his helmet Laurance imagines his eyes are blown wide.
“Sorry,” he mutters, staring at the floor. “I’m… It’s been a long day. Don’t worry about being late.”
If Brian mutters something as he walks away, Laurance doesn’t hear it.
-
Back bruised and legs as heavy as lead, Laurance descends the stone staircase. Nobody had been home, so he used the spare key to drop the dogs off at Aphmau’s house.
Come to think of it, the village seems eerily quiet. Usually someone is about, but Laurance doesn’t remember spotting anyone on his way back. Brendan isn't in the fields and there’s no children’s excited calls from the beach. It’s strange, but Laurance doesn’t have the mental capacity to worry about it now.
There was no trouble outside the gate, and there are no unrecognised ships docked, so he assumes people have decided to stay inside today. (If only he had the same option.)
Laurance wants nothing more than to finally collapse into his bed. Garroth will probably still be asleep, so he’ll have the added satisfaction of waking the bastard up, whilst he gets to bask in the warm bed for his afternoon nap. There’s some rabbit stew leftovers from yesterday too that he can heat up for dinner later. He’ll treat himself to two bowls to make up for the shitty day.
Laurance opens the door, surprised to find it unlocked.
He takes two steps in before he realises something feels off. His hand goes to his sword’s hilt, and his mind races with a million possibilities.
“Surprise!”
And look, Laurance isn’t easily scared. He faced opponents twice his size, survived months in the Nether, and initiated the first kiss with Garroth Ro’Meave. He laughs in the face of death.
But forgive him if the entire village of Phoenix Drop screaming Surprise! at him when it was the last thing he expected to happen makes him jump a little. (Okay, a lot. And perhaps he screamed a little.) (Okay, a lot.)
Cadenza is the first to rush to him with a beaming smile and her arms wide open. He almost collapses in her embrace, legs like jelly from the spike of anxiety.
“Happy birthday, little brother!” she says, a little too loudly, in his ear.
“By the fucking Seven, Cadenza,” Laurance rasps out, holding her at arm’s length. “Never do that to me again!”
Once Dante is finished laughing himself silly, he approaches Laurance with an air of shyness. “Are you going to hurt me?” he asks before coming too close. “I can explain.”
Laurance holds his arms open, lulling the boy into a false sense of security. When Dante hugs him, half way through wishing him a happy birthday, he twists his ear as hard as he can. Guess who’s laughing after that?
“You little rat,” he berates playfully. “Sick, my ass.”
“It was Lord Aphmau’s idea! Blame her!” Dante cries, holding his sore ear. “That hurt!”
The accused woman looks over upon hearing her name, leaving her boys with Zoey as she comes to join them. “Happy birthday, Laurance! Do you like your party?” she asks sheepishly. Aphmau rocks on her heels, looking at him hopefully.
The guard station is decorated nicely. There are fairy lights hanging from the ceiling, giving the usually dim front room a soft glow. Green banners scatter the walls, skewiff - most likely Malachi’s doing, as the boy isn’t the most accurate when it comes to decoration (his painting skills leave a lot to be desired). The desk usually used for boring, boring paperwork is full to the brim with cakes and sweets, and the dining table has been carried through and filled with food. There’s ice cream.
“Thank you. I-I really appreciate this.” He curses himself for becoming so shy, but how is one supposed to react to a situation like this? Laurance has never had a party thrown for him before, let alone a surprise one.
Thankfully, Aphmau puts him out of his misery with a hug.
Slowly, he manages to greet everyone and give his thanks, loosening up after a few minutes and a root beer from Dale. Cadenza hovers nearby, often joining in on whatever conversations Laurance is having.
At some point, she pulls him aside. “Dad really wanted to be here today, but he wasn’t able to make it. He wanted to say he’s sorry, and that he hopes you enjoy your gift.”
Laurance will send him a letter tomorrow. For the rest of today, he’ll enjoy his damn birthday.
-
The alcohol in his system leaves him warm and happy. He laughs easier and finds himself smiling at nothing. It’s pleasant - a much better feeling than he’s had all day.
Malachi clings to him, babbling about something to do with his and Levin’s toy soldiers. He’s wished Laurance a happy birthday six or seven times already, maybe more.
Dante keeps apologising and stays a small distance away, lest his other ear be injured. But he dances with Nicole and KC, eats cake like it’s going out of fashion, all the while smiling as bright as he did the first night he came to Phoenix Drop. Laurance wishes he were like this more often.
Aphmau and Cadenza are debating something in the corner with the other women, and Dale - for some reason. Laurance suspects he was drunk before he even arrived. It’s hard to understand what they’re talking about, but hears the words blood and once a month and he veers to the other side of the room with Malachi in tow.
Everything is great. Laurance is having fun, dancing with the children and laughing at Logan and Donna’s antics whilst attempting to parent Yip. The content feeling settled in his stomach is a far cry from the outburst he had earlier.
But something is missing. Someone is missing.
“Hey,” Laurance says as he approaches Dante. To stop him from retreating he gets a firm grip on his arm. “Where’s Garroth?”
The little bastard smiles as if he knows something Laurance doesn’t. “He’s asleep.”
“What the Hell? He’s sleeping through my party?” Laurance frowns. He’s in half the mind to storm upstairs and rattle the man awake.
A hand on his shoulder stops him. Dante shakes his head. “He’ll be down soon, just needs a few hours. He stayed up to help us set everything up.”
Perhaps he’s too quick to assume sometimes. Laurance’s chest feels heavy with something - probably guilt. He spent the day angry with Garroth while he spent the day preparing this wonderful party for him.
(Hindsight is a wonderful thing, and Garroth is a terrible, horrible liar. Laurance should’ve realised something was amiss this morning.)
Deciding to let the poor man have his rest, he simply nods to Dante. Malachi pulls him away to dance again, and then to eat way too much food for his little body. Laurance is stuck rubbing his stomach for a while, but it doesn’t matter. He gets to watch the bright smiles on everyone’s faces.
Maybe today was worth the wait.
-
Half asleep, reading his new book (a gift from Emmalyn), Laurance is snuggled in bed. He’s a little intoxicated and way too stuffed with cake, but it’s okay. His eyelids feel so heavy.
The next thing he knows, the bed is dipping beside him. He gasps awake, but the scare isn’t as big as the one he experienced earlier. It’s much more pleasant, too.
Warm, strong arms wrap around him and pull him close. His book falls off his chest, discarded somewhere amongst the mess of blankets he’s buried under.
“Finished cleaning?” he mutters into the sweet-tasting skin of Garroth’s shoulder. He presses a lazy kiss to it. “Finally.”
“Some help would’ve been nice,” Garroth comments teasingly. When he shuffles, the bed shakes a little. “But yes, it’s done.”
“Thank you.” Laurance leans to press their foreheads together, staring into Garroth’s stupidly blue eyes.
Garroth frowns, rolling his eyes. “It’s just cleaning, Laurance.”
“Not just that. Thank you for today.” And he means it. The morning might not have been the best start to the day, but this, Laurance can declare firmly, has been a good birthday.
(Sneaking away from the party with a tispy Garroth might’ve been the highlight. But nobody else has to know that.)
“I still feel terrible, lying to you.”
“How about you make it up to me?” Laurance suggests, wiggling his eyebrows playfully.
“For that, you’re getting nothing.” The warmth surrounding Laurance disappears as Garroth turns away, taking his embrace and the blankets with him. He groans, chasing it.
“No, no, I’m sorry,” he tugs at the blankets, “come back. You still haven’t said the thing.”
There’s a slight smile tugging on Garroth’s lips when he rolls over, one that’s often only reserved for when he believes nobody is looking. With his disheveled hair, under the warm glow of the fairy lights he’d stolen from downstairs, Garroth looks beautiful.
The kiss they share is sluggish and a little sloppy, but butterflies flutter in Laurance’s stomach nonetheless.
“Happy birthday, Laurance.”