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If one more Valentine’s decoration made an obstacle of itself, Julian was going to incendio the lot of them.
“Wes—Hey—” Julian gripped him by the shoulders and spun him around. They’d wound up in the loo in a secluded area of the house, the lights dimmer and the music dulled through thick walls. Westley shook with each ragged breath. His eyes—glassy and dazed—looked through Julian, rather than at him.
“Did you take anything?” Julian asked seriously. Westley shook his head vigorously, his eyes still wild but more focused now. “Okay—Good, great. How much have you had to drink?”
“I—One. Just one—Um, beer,” Westley said, his voice hoarse and erratic as his breathing.
Julian nodded, soothing his hands up and down Westley’s arms and coaxing a few more necessary answers from him—if he got it himself, if it popped like it should, if he left it alone at any point, etc. He knew the man knew better than that. But he also needed to check all his boxes to make sure Westley was safe before he started dealing with the more likely issue at hand.
“Good. Okay, then we’re fine, Wes,” Julian said reassuringly. Westley was crying now, his mind seeming to snap back from wherever it had taken him and leaving only raw panic and sorrow in its wake. “Just having a bad day, yeah?”
“I was fine—I don’t—There were so many inferi—” he rasped.
The way Westley’s face crumpled—the way he seemed a breath away from shattering in his hands—tore through Julian’s chest like a dull blade. It never felt like enough, trying to help him through these moments. All he could do was be present and weather the storm. And he would do it. Every time, without question.
“Come here,” Julian murmured. He grabbed Westley’s glasses and set them on the counter, pulling him tight against his chest and cradling a mess of strawberry blond against his shoulder. “It’s just you and me,” he mumbled into his hair. “You’re okay.”
Sobbing eventually devolved to shuddering breaths across Julian’s neck. Westley pulled back, sniffling and grimacing. “I’ve wrinkled your shirt to hell and back. I’m sorry.”
“S’fine,” Julian huffed in amusement. “Not like it was wrinkle-free to begin with.” He cupped Westley’s face, running his thumbs over his cheekbones and brushing away any stray tears. Westley leaned into the touch, and his fingers trailed up, gripping Julian’s wrists loosely. Julian’s heart leapt into his throat.
“I find it extremely unfair that you can still look this good after crying that hard,” he teased, grinning when Westley raised an eyebrow.
“How much have you had to drink?” Westley chuckled.
“Meh. Half a beer, maybe. Left it in the game room somewhere.”
Westley’s face fell, and he glanced down, clearing his throat. “I—Ah…I’m sorry I pulled you away for so long. I think I’m going to head home. Have a cuppa. Watch a movie, or something.”
Julian was about to do something incredibly stupid.
It wasn’t that strange, he guessed, that he’d almost forgotten how soft Westley’s lips were. They had been outright plastered the last time he’d tried this. It felt different this time—tasted different. Like they were the same two puzzle pieces they’d always been, but this time—this time, they were facing the right way and everything slotted in just right. Like they’d taken the time and grown into each other. Like maybe tonight the stars had finally aligned, and—
They broke for air, foreheads pressed together, and Westley laughed breathlessly. “I just had an episode, and now I’m snogging my best friend in the loo of some stranger’s house,” he snorted, his eyes screwed shut.
Fuck. “I’m so sorry,” Julian said quickly, a pit fast-forming in his gut. “I didn’t really think that one through.”
“We’re ridiculous,” Westley continued, not really seeming to acknowledge his apology. His lids stayed hooded when he finally opened them, staring at Julian’s lips, biting down on his own. It was driving Julian mad.
Then, Westley looked up. There was a fire behind his green eyes, screaming that he wanted to do something incredibly stupid, too. Julian wasn’t sure he was breathing.
“I love you.”
Everything felt frozen for a beat, and Julian was sure now that he definitely wasn’t breathing. He felt a bit fuzzy, actually.
And he realized a bit late that he hadn’t responded—because now Westley’s eyes weren’t quite so open and hopeful. He was avoiding looking at Julian at all, in fact, and they weren’t touching anymore, and Westley was leaving, and Julian still hadn’t fucking said anything. The door clicked shut, and it took a long moment for his brain to catch up.
But then it was too late. Because Westley left on his own. And when Julian asked Garreth to keep an eye on Anissa, there were no questions asked.
That was, until he went home to find the flat empty, and his pleas to talk—or to at least know Westley was somewhere safe—were met with a text ‘Goodnight.’ and nothing else. When he’d returned to the party alone and angry, there were, of course, a lot of questions. None of which he cared to answer, choosing to drink himself as stupid as he felt instead.
⊱☆⊰
By all that may or may not be holy, Julian wasn’t sure he’d ever been so grateful for the wizarding world’s hangover solutions. Because fucking hell, did he outdo himself this time. He’d spent the day running on caffeine, nicotine, and a text from Westley just saying ‘with mum.’
He’d been ignoring the several texts from Aquaria calling him a wide range of foul names.
The key hovered over the lock for a moment, and Julian inhaled deeply, taking in the rich blend of spices seeping into the corridor. Westley was home—cooking a late meal as he always did—and that was a relief and absolutely terrifying in equal parts. His breath released slowly, unevenly, and he slotted the key before he was too tempted to turn back and drive around a bit more. He stepped in and dropped his things by the door.
What was he even supposed to say? The walk to the kitchen felt like it took an eternity, worse every second he stepped closer and his flatmate still hadn’t brought his attention from the stove. Julian knew he could hear him. Westley was ignoring him intentionally. A simple ‘I’m sorry. I love you, too,’ wasn’t going to cut it.
“Wes?”
“Hm?” The low bun against Westley’s neck shifted as he glanced between tasks, but he still made no attempt to regard Julian properly.
There was a very fine line between bold and daft. Julian had a tendency to blur that line often. Westley scolded him for it…frequently, if he’s honest. More often than not, though, he praised him for it. He stepped into the cramped kitchen, only hoping if he crossed into daft territory, it wouldn’t be bad enough to receive a hot spoon to the face.
Tentatively, Julian wrapped his arms around Westley’s waist from behind, propping his chin on his shoulder and peeking into the pan. “What’s for dinner?” Westley stiffened, and his stirring faltered, but didn’t stop.
“It’s just ravioli.”
The mess across the kitchen insinuated it was all just made from scratch. Bits of fresh pasta, produce, random dairy wrappers, and flour covering the counter.
“Seems…time consuming,” Julian murmured.
“It was.” Westley turned everything off and pulled the pan from the heat. “I meant for it to be done before you got here.”
“S’fine. I quite like this, actually,” Julian nuzzled into Westley’s hair, a pleasant tingle trailing along his skin as he watched the wash of pink crawling up his neck. “Can we talk now…?”
Westley sighed, low and resigned, like he’d been preparing himself the whole day. “Please, Jules, just forget I said anything.” He pried himself away and sidestepped to start cleaning.
“Let it sit for a few minutes, and I’ll plate it. Ani said she’s out tonight, so it’s just us—” He was just being bloody stubborn now. Westley gasped as Julian grabbed his hips, spinning him to stand face to face and crowding him against the counter.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that last night,” Julian said apologetically. “You were vulnerable, and I feel like I took advantage of that. I didn’t mean to, I just—”
“I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I didn’t want it,” Westley huffed.
“Tell me again,” Julian demanded, his eyes pleading. “Tell me so I can respond the way I should’ve last night.”
“Julian—”
“Please,” he whispered, slipping his arms around Westley’s waist again.
Westley watched him solemnly—like he was waiting for another rejection—and there was another rush of guilt, knowing it was Julian’s fault he felt that way.
“I love you,” Westley said quietly.
Something bright and hot unfurled where Westley’s fingers splayed across Julian’s chest, and a lopsided grin split his face. “I love you.”
The corner of Westley’s mouth twitched up, a bit of the intensity from the night before returning to his eyes. “Say it again.”
“I love you.”
“Again.”
“I love you so much,” Julian gushed, peppering kisses across Westley’s face. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”
“Okay! Okay—” Westley giggled and threw his arms around Julian’s neck, pressing a kiss to the little devil behind his ear. “Fuck, what are we doing?”
“Being ridiculous,” Julian whispered in his ear. Stubble brushed against his jaw as Westley smiled, and it sent a spark up his spine. The churning in his stomach drowned out the steadily pooling heat, however, reminding him he’d only had a bit of toast…almost twelve hours ago. His head dropped to Westley’s shoulder with a groan. “That smells so good. I’m so hungry.”
“I hope so,” Westley mumbled into his neck and worked a hand into Julian’s curls, scratching his scalp gently. “I spent almost four hours on it.”
Julian groaned louder. “I’m gonna feel so bad if it tastes like shite,” he chaffed. His laugh cut into a strangled moan as Westley jerked his hair back to give him a warning look. He grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth, revelling in how quickly Westley’s eyes darkened.
“Dinner,” Westley said pointedly.
“Dinner,” Julian agreed, smiling happily as Westley pushed him away to turn back to the counter.
They ate in relative silence, their confessions laid bare and settling in fully. Julian glanced up from his plate every once in a while, finding Westley’s olive green eyes already on him over the rim of his glasses. He’d grin, relishing in the bashful flush of Westley’s cheeks as he looked away.
“You’re so fucking beautful,” Julian mused and leaned over the table, brushing his lips against the man's ear.
Westley flushed deeper and slapped a napkin across his face. “Kiss arse.”
Julian's lips twisted up wickedly, and he slipped from his chair to kneel in front of Westley's, shifting the furniture to lean into Westley's lap.
“I'm not kissing arse,” Julian purred. “I'm making sure you know how much I appreciate your cooking. I have to thank you properly.”
“Nothing about this is proper,” Westley chaffed and pinched his cheek. He was still smiling, though, and it set everything in Julian on fire.
“It's late, and you have work in the morning,” he said softly.
“I do,” Westley agreed, smoothing his thumb over the red mark on Julian's cheek. “Go shower, stinky. Let's get to bed.”