Archive of Our Own

Azul's hand combs through your hair in a delicate, gentle caress. Your sleeping figure lies still in the comfort of his bed, taking a midday nap, as he watches over you. Your chest rises and falls slowly, calmly.

You look so small, just a tiny bump in the plush mattress...

Azul wasn't used to this, this fragility of yours unsettled him.

Part of him found it unfair that you had gotten to see his own shameful fragility; ignoring all his bravado, the image he fought so hard to build, before he even knew yours existed. He thought your image was genuine, hell, he envied it. How could you be so effortlessly charming and magnetic while he busted his ass off trying to replicate it, and still only managing a cheap knock off of the magic you exuded naturally?

But now, in the silence of his bedroom, Azul comes face to face with a heart wrenching truth:

You just faked it better.

He was trying to investigate your emotions and understand your feelings, had been for weeks, but only recently did you let him in on that little secret: you were tired.

Socializing didn't come naturally to you at all. The effortlessness of it came, ironically enough, from a herculean effort on your part and at your expense.

"It's a mask", you said, "It's acting. Do it for long enough, and people won't realize it's not your actual face."

He remembers that. He remembers how chilling it felt to hear it. And how awfully seen he felt, having done it too for the exact same reasons as you.

"People don't like me without it," you said, "They know I'm an outsider, even with the mask, but as long as I play along so do they. People like me better with it. They hate me without it."

He knows how that feels. His mask was carefully made for the same reason—but yours, he thinks, is nothing short of a masterpiece.

You had Night Raven College's biggest observers, like himself and Leona, completely fooled. You had THE Vil Schoenheit fooled, even. People could see right through Azul's mask with enough digging, but yours?

They'd be lucky to realize you had it on at all.

"What are you staring at?"

You ask, snapping him out of his musings. Your eyes stare into his, exhausted and hollow. His hand, still tangled in your hair, quickly retreats to his side.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was, until you came in."

Your reply sounds off without it's usual cheerful tone. Too flat, devoid of any spark. He misses that the most, your spark. He doesn't believe it to be part of the mask, even if you argue otherwise.

Azul watches you roll over to his side, the blanket shifts over you. Your cheek is squished against the pillow, it looks cute.

"I see..." He trails off, unsure how to proceed.

Should he leave you be? Do you want to be alone? You came to his room, surely that means you are, at least, accounting for his presence there. Right?

"Well, then." He says, "I won't interrupt you. I will—"

You grasp his arm.

"Lay with me."

Azul's whole body tenses on instinct, then relaxes once he reminds himself it's just you. He's not a touchy person, to be allowed inside his space at all is to be honored with his trust, but he makes an exception for you. Because he understands, on a bone deep level, what it is like to feel unloved.

"Of course."

Azul leaves his seat on the bed, quickly discarding most of his outer clothing. Hat and coat go on the rack, shoes by the door, vest in the laundry pile for dry cleaning—he sees some of your clothes there as well; you must've been here a while. He'll take those as well on his next laundry run. The first few buttons on his shirt are open before he returns to your side.

Azul noticed your gaze following his every move, from the beginning, yes.

You're watching him the whole time. He feels it, but doesn't mind it.

You stared often, even moreso in this state, to communicate when speaking became too demanding. It was reassuring to know you wanted him there, so, as soon as he sat back on the bed, Azul wasted no time in crawling under the covers and humoring your wishes.

You grab him immediately, arms snaking around the small curve of his waist. If Azul wasn't so preoccupied with concern, he'd yelp and complain of your boldness—must you really squeeze him so tightly-?

"...Thank you."

You mumble against the small sliver of his bare chest, exposed by the undone buttons, and Azul prays you can't hear his heart thrumming against his ribcage.

"Really," You squeeze him again, "Thank you..."

He stares at the wall behind you, lips pursed into a pout as he begrudgingly curses your propensity for clinginess and his own propensity to humor it. He sighs, more to himself than at you, before bringing his hand to the small of your back.

If you get to hold him like this, then it's only fair he gets the same. A fair exchange, the way Azul likes it.

"What heartfelt gratitude... Is being your personal nap pillow all I need to earn such sentiments?"

You giggle, Azul feels his heart skip a beat. He realizes, suddenly, how much he has missed hearing that sound. How long has it been since he's heard it?

Too long, he thinks, Far too long.

"Hehe! Maybe, but..." Your palm runs up and down his back, your lips brush against the hard outline of his collarbone. "You're a lot more than that..."

Your soft reply sends a wave of heat to his face. Who gave you the right to speak so boldly? Frankly, he ought to-

His train of thought is abruptly side railed when your teeth nip his neck. Azul gasps, albeit softly, and looks down to see your face: you're staring into nothing, chances are you bit him out of habit.

He sighs again.

"...And you are a lot more troublesome than you look."

Azul runs his hand down the curve of your spine, stopping just shy of your lumbar, when you mumble something intelligible.

He doesn't register it at first, thinking you to be mumbling nonsense, but when he touches your spine again and you make the same noise he can't help but ask:

"Did you say something?"

You reply, but it's too quiet to make out. He lowers his head to yours, asking again.

"Did you say something? Apologies, I didn't catch it."

You try speaking louder, he sees how even that is too big of an effort to you.

"...that felt good. my back hurts, a lot hurts, do it again...?"

Oh.

Oh.

You're in pain, of course.

"...Lie on your stomach, if you would."

Azul watches as you stare at him, quietly asking if he's sure, and, after he nods, you slowly turn your back to him and lie flat on your stomach.

"...If you'll excuse me—" He touches the small of your back, fingers sliding underneath your shirt.

It's not the first time he's helped with your pains, and it won't be the last. Azul leaves a bottle of oil on his nightstand for this very purpose. He takes it, putting a few good drops on his hand and pressing his palm against your lower back.

"Hmh...!" Your pained whimper is so small and pitiful, Azul feels his chest clench as he presses harder. "Ow! Yeah, right there-"

You always carry a lot of stress on your back, Azul can feel it in the way your muscles tense, tight like rusty coils, and the way your bones pop under his expert touching.

He remembers the first time you'd asked him to massage you: a sheepish request, after learning of his strength and interest in masseuserring. He obliged you then, and every other time after that. Never were you so vulnerable as when you were in his bed, at the mercy of his hands, mask off, smile off, just you in your raw, albeit exhausted, form...

He likes knowing you trust him. He despises the idea of anyone else touching you as he has. Only he can make you moan and whimper like this, only he has the right.

Azul barely realizes you stopped him until you grab his wrist. At first he wonders if he did it too hard, if he hurt you, but then you kiss the back of his hand and his mind halts all thoughts.

He has half a mind to ask you what you're doing, but by now he has a good understanding of your wants and desires; even when you're silent; so he lays back down and pulls your body against his.

"Better?" He asks.

"Hmh." You mumble, a hint of a smile in your words.

You're perfectly happy to curl into his embrace, Azul bemoans his lack of arms (albeit briefly) and gives you a squeeze. You make a small noise of content, he slides his hand across the expanse of your back and buried his face in the top of your head.

You're so small when you're vulnerable, so pliable... He cannot help but think of how easy it'd be to manipulate you, in this state. It's a less-than-moral habit, but one he knows you wouldn't judge him for.

That's the magic of your relationship: the understanding.

You've come to known the worst parts of him and came back for more, he feels completely at ease with you. Or as at ease as he can be, given his way of being, and that's enough. He knows you're the same, and that's all he cares to know.

Any other day you'd be teasing Azul for his clinginess, because he is clingy. He holds you tightly like you're a precious thing he cannot let go of, and his lips leave light kisses amidst your mess of hair. You snuggle in the curve of his neck, your rightful spot to be.

"...Thank you." You say, barely above a whisper, and Azul answers you with another squeeze.

"You're very welcome." He caresses your back, slow and steady.

The world fades into a soft, gentle hum as Azul slowly lulls you to sleep with his touch.

"Good night, Azul..."

Your voice is tired but sweet. Azul is ready to stay like that for hours, for however long it takes until you feel better. Not many people can say they've earned his full attention, but you can. His attention, his trust, his whole being... All yours, and you're always demanding more.

You fall asleep quickly, and even as you slumber you cling to his body like he'll disappear. You want him, you need him... How very. He likes that greedy side of yours, he likes you; and although he won't say it out loud, his actions are deafening.

Azul will watch over you, watch the slow rise and fall of your chest as you sleep in his arms. This moment is his to take, this affection is his to indulge in, you are his for the taking.

Thus he watches, watches so you can sleep soundly and recover your strength to live another day. No matter how tired you are, there will always be an octopus in your corner to keep you steady in all eight of his arms. He hopes you know, he hopes he never has to say it out loud, but he can at least admit to himself how much you matter, how much he loves you.

Once you wake up there will be teasing, there will be provocations, but he can't find it in himself to care. You can tease him however you like, as part of your shared game. So long as you're there, refreshed, he'll take it.

Azul pulls the covers over his treasure, making sure you stay warm, whispering his words like a heartfelt little secret.

"Rest well, my dear..."