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The air is heavy with tension as they ride the elevator up to Great’s condo. Neither of them speaks, so the only sound is the whir of the machinery and Tyme’s measured breaths. Great suppresses a sigh; he doesn’t want to have the conversation he knows is coming. It was supposed to a nice day, a date day on one of Tyme’s rare full days off, and now the whole thing has been overshadowed by conflict and hurt feelings.
Tyme bodies his way trough the elevator doors before they’ve fully opened, leaving Great to trail behind him. He has the keys, so he doesn’t know why Tyme is rushing ahead. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Great unlocks the front door and gestures for Tyme to step inside. The atmosphere feels toxic and volatile, and Great thinks, fuck it, leaning against the island with his arms crossed.
“So, are we going to talk about it?”
Tyme glances up at him where he’s bent over, still untying his shoes (his laces are always tied into double knots, and Great wonders if that’s a doctor thing). “Talk about what?”
“Don’t play dumb, Tyme. You know what.”
Tyme just shrugs, toeing off his shoes neatly against the wall.
Great throws his hands up. “Oh my god, okay, then I guess I’ll start. Firstly, a question: do you always have to be so—so… quixotic?” he finishes in English.
Tyme stares at him like he’d suddenly grown another head. “What?”
Great blushes under Tyme’s stare, but continues anyway, “Quixotic. It means, like, super idealistic. A bit unrealistic and impractical.”
Tyme continues staring at Great, only now his eyebrow is raised and he looks distinctly unimpressed. “That’s what you’ve been learning in your English classes? Words like quixotic? Did you memorize that one just to torment people, or what?”
Great scoffs. “No, I memorized that one so I’d be able to use it when people were being it.”
Tyme crosses his arms, his other eyebrow raising to join the first. “So you think I'm being ‘unrealistic?’ What were the other ones? Oh, ‘idealistic’ and ‘impractical.’ That’s what you think?”
It doesn’t take a genius to recognize the hurt behind the words, and Great pushes away from the kitchen island with a sigh. “I’m saying that you don’t need to fight every battle you find yourself in the vicinity of. It’s okay to let things go, not everyone needs a white knight riding in on a stallion—even if you’d look so hot on a horse,” he says, smoothing his hands down Tyme’s chest in an attempt to calm him.
Tyme takes Great’s wrists in his hands, the touch gentle, and Tyme takes it as a good sign. “They were calling you names, Great. Slurs. What was I supposed to do? Just ignore them?”
Great raises his shoulders and lets them drop wearily. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called a slur, and it won’t be the last. It doesn’t—well, I shouldn’t say it doesn’t bother me, of course it bothers me, but it doesn’t… mean anything? I guess is what I’m trying to say?”
“I don’t understand how it doesn’t mean anything to you. If someone called me”—Tyme swallows back the word—“that, it would definitely mean something to me.”
“That makes sense, for you,” Great says, rubbing soothing circles over Tyme’s heart. “I’m your first non-straight actual relationship, right?”
Tyme nods, frowning. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’ve known I was queer for… a long time. I've been in other queer relationships, I've been a 'target.' Those guys aren’t the first people to call me names, and they won’t be the last.” Great shrugs again. “It’s just an occupational hazard. It absolutely sucks, and those guys are going to hell for it, because I can guarantee whatever they said to me they’ve thought and done worse to others, but the world is not necessarily a kind place for people like me. People like us,” he amends when Tyme opens his mouth.
“I just don’t like seeing you hurt,” Tyme mumbles. The rigid lines of anger that were holding him up have softened and he sways forward, resting his head on Great’s shoulder.
“I know,” Great coos, bundling Tyme against his chest. “And I love that about you. But this one didn’t hurt me, baby. Not really. I’m okay. I’ve got you, after all, how could I not be okay?”
He feels Tyme laugh, and Great knows he’ll be okay.
“Same here,” Tyme murmurs, pressing a kiss to Great’s pulse point.