Chapter Text
The first time Fourth realizes it... it isn’t anything big.
No sudden moment, no overwhelming feeling. Just something small.
“Don’t touch that.” Gemini freezes mid-air, hand hovering over one of the pots. “Why not?”
Fourth doesn’t even look at him, carefully adjusting a leaf. “Because you’ll kill it.”
"I will not!”
“Remember when you named a cactus and still managed to let it die.”
Gemini gasps. “That was emotional damage, not neglect.”
Fourth snorts, finally glancing at him—and there it is.
That stupid grin.
The one Gemini makes on purpose, just to get that exact reaction.
The garden settles into something quiet after that. The soft sound of water trickling from the hose. Leaves shifting gently with the breeze. The faint warmth of the late afternoon sun resting on their skin, warm but not too much.
Fourth goes back to tending his plants, he moves from pot to pot, fingers brushing over each leaf like they’re something fragile... Something worth taking care of.
“You’re hovering,” he mutters.
“I’m observing,” Gemini corrects, crouching beside him anyway.
“You’re annoying.”
“You let me in.”
Fourth pauses.
“…You keep coming back.”
Gemini grins. “Exactly.”
There’s one plant Gemini keeps reaching for. Small, slightly hidden behind the others. “Don’t touch that one,” Fourth says quickly.
Gemini raises a brow. “You said that about the last five.”
“This one’s different.”
“How?”
Fourth shrugs, eyes dropping back to the leaves. “…It’s sensitive.”
Gemini hums, studying it for a second longer than necessary. Then, softer, “Like you?”
Fourth flicks water at him. “Shut up.”
Gemini laughs, but it’s quieter this time.
“Hold still.” Fourth frowns. “What—”
Gemini leans in before he can finish, thumb brushing lightly across Fourth’s cheek. “…You had dirt,” he says.
They both freeze.
The world doesn’t.
The leaves still move. The water still trickles.
But something—something shifts.
Fourth steps back first, a little too quick.
“I didn’t ask.”
Gemini drops his hand just as fast. “You’re welcome.”
Then, Gemini just decided to watch him, like he always does.
Fourth used to think happiness had to be something big. The kind that changes everything all at once. The kind that stays.
But big things—big things don’t last.
He learned that already. So he doesn’t reach for them anymore. Instead, he settles for this.
Cool tiles under his feet.
Soil pressed into his fingertips.
The quiet rhythm of watering plants that don’t ask for anything more than consistency.
And Gemini—loud, annoying, always too close. Somehow fitting into all of it like he belongs there. He starts to notice something else.
The way the air feels softer.
The way the light catches on the edge of a leaf.
The way laughter comes easier when Gemini is around.
Something small. Something quiet. Something that doesn’t ask to be noticed, but stays anyway.
“It’s just small things,” Fourth says suddenly.
Gemini tilts his head. “What is?” Fourth shrugs, eyes still on the plants.
“…The ones that stay.”
Gemini doesn’t joke this time.
“…Yeah,” he says.
“Hey, Fot” Gemini says suddenly. Fourth hums, not looking up.
“Do you think plants get tired of you talking to them all day?” Fourth pauses, then flicks water at him.
"Hey!" Gemini yelps. “You talk more than I do, Gem,” Fourth mutters.
“That’s because you don’t talk enough.”
“And they listen better than you.” Fourth added.
“That hurts. I’m your favorite.”
Fourth slowly looks at him.
Gemini’s already looking back.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Too—
Fourth looks away first.
“…You’re annoying.”
Gemini just laughs.
But softer this time.
But if Fourth had looked just a second longer, he might have realized—some things were never meant to stay small.
But deep in his mind, he still thought that maybe it’s nothing, maybe it really meant to stay small.
Maybe it’s just another ordinary day in the garden.
Another moment that will pass, unnoticed.
But later that night—when everything is quiet and Fourth is staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, he finds himself thinking about it anyway.
The way Gemini looked at him.
The way his hand felt—warm, careful, like it mattered.
The way something so small, felt like it lingered longer than it should have.
Fourth exhales, turning to his side. “…It’s nothing,” he tells himself. It has to be.
But in the garden, tucked between the others. The small, sensitive plant Gemini almost touched rests quietly under the moonlight—untouched, but not unnoticed.