Work Text:
Klaus
There’s nothing like a quiet Friday night with my man. I’m whipping up some Noodles-a-la-Klaus for him, and we’re going to watch Planet Earth on Disney+ because Christian hasn’t seen it, and it’s amazing. So is my dish even if it’s simply buttered noodles with Italian seasoning. I know Christian likes it, and that’s what matters. That and making sure I am using the correct good butter, dried herbs so he doesn't feel like he’s eating grass, and freshly-grated parmesan cheese. Throw in some grilled, seasoned chicken and I’m set while Christian passes on the meat.
As I plate it, Darce bursts through the door and slides on their socks into the kitchen while waving their hands in a wide circle. I don’t react anymore. Their big entrances are so commonplace, they’re no longer dramatic. They sometimes startle Christian, but even he’s become used to it now that we are spending nearly every weekend here.
“Do you like your parents?” they ask by way of greeting, and I’m taken aback. It’s not the lack of hello but the seeming randomness of the question.
“Yeah, generally. They piss me off sometimes, and I’m sure I annoy them, too, but they’re not bad. Why?”
Darce sits down at the counter, and I instinctively grab a bowl and dish them up some noodles so they stay out of Christian’s and my bowls. They take a bite and start talking as they chew.
“Nothing really,” they chomp. “We moved here–” smack “to be closer–” swallow, gulp “to Tara’s family. They’re moving up here to be near the baby and so they can help out.”
“That’s good, right? Muffin!” I call towards the bedroom where Christian’s been reading, letting him know dinner’s ready. Darce takes another bite, and I drone out their chewing by listening to water flowing and a faucet turning off, and then Christian appears waving his damp hands to dry them. Darce waves back, mimicking his gesture in what I think is meant to be a kind greeting.
“Hi, Darce,” he says, picking up his bowl and lifting it to his face, smelling it before smiling at me and sitting down.
“All good?” I ask him, starting my own meal. He’s an easy person to make food for now that I understand his specific likes and dislikes. He nods and begins eating, but he doesn’t answer until he’s done chewing. At first he doesn’t say anything, but he gives me a thumbs up, and my heart swells.
“Perfect, Chewy,” he says as he takes another bite. Darce continues talking and eating, and I notice Christian frown at the sound and spectacle of their eating,
“It is, it’s just–” Darce starts, mouth still full, but I interrupt so they can finish chewing. Christian taps his foot against mine.
“You don’t like them?” I offer. They finish their bite and sigh.
“I do. They’re lovely. They’ve always been kind and welcoming, even as Catholics. It's just making me sad.” They push the food away from them with a small, “That’s good, by the way.”
I don’t like that they’re sad, but I don’t understand why they feel this way or what the issue is. I also don’t like wasting food, yet it was better to give them some than have them try to eat mine. I frown and gesture for them to continue.
“What, why I’m sad?” Darce asks, and I confirm. “I guess it’s because I don’t have a relationship with my own parents. By choice, mind you. They’re awful, toxic people, and we’re all better off without them, but…”
As they trail off and look at their hands, Christian responds, “But you mourn them and what it could have been.”
Darce’s head bolts up, and they shout, “That’s it!” Christian recoils slightly, and I know it’s because of the volume and intensity. It’s like the Peanuts cartoons my dad used to watch with us when Lucy makes Schroeder spin in the air. Maybe I’m just too desensitised to their general chaos.
“Christian, you’re a genius,” they crow, and he moves closer to me. I rub the small of his back soothingly.
“Well, that makes perfect sense, actually,” I reply calmly. “It’s alright to feel that way and to wonder how it might have been. I think we all go through that a little when we come out to ourselves and to others.”
“What do you mean?” Christian asks. “Was I supposed to be sad about this?”
He’s not joking. It’s clear he’s confused, so I explain further. “It’s like, all I heard from my family — and society, too — was ‘when you get married, when you meet your future wife, when you have children…” Realising you don’t fit into that dream can be weird. Yes, we can get married now and we could have children, but it’s not what we were brainwashed to believe, and for me, that stung.”
Christian turns towards me and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry it made you sad.”
I squeeze my lovely, thoughtful, compassionate man back. “It’s alright, Muffin. I have all I need now. That’s what matters.”
“Awwww,” Darce says. “That's sweet, but it’s not about me. I’m still sad about my family.”
“It sort of is about you,” I say, loosening my hug but remaining attached. “We have you and Tara, and you have us. We can be our own little family.”
“And your gran, too, love,” Tara says from the doorway. We turn to face her. “You left the door open.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Darce sighs, slipping off the stool and walking into Tara’s arms. Tara holds them, rubbing their back.
“One more thing,” Tara begins, looking at Darce who nods quietly. “We know you don’t want children, but how do you feel about being godparents?”
“Yes!” Christian exclaims. I have my doubts, but if he’s game, I’m in.
“It’s official,” Tara says as the two of them embrace the two of us. “Family.”