Archive of Our Own

Courtland Gentry ran and he ran and he ran. His lungs burned with the effort and his hand, clutching his injured ribs, was stained red with blood.

Twigs snapped underneath his steps and he cringed with every noise. He'd lost track of where he was ages ago, all of his focus was placed on putting one foot in front of the other—on surviving. In the forest the trees started to blend together, for all he knew he was running in circles. There was no sign of civilisation or buildings as far as he could see, he hoped the men chasing him found themselves as lost as he was.

It wasn't like he'd planned to be stuck on foot in the middle of no where. He had to abandon his car a while back, after one of his pursuers rammed into him so hard he span out of control. The roads were frozen and hard to drive on already without the added struggle of getting chased and shot at.

That was why he was sporting a nasty gash on his head, a slight limp and his ribs felt like they were crushing his insides. Thankfully, the adrenaline kept him going.

After god knows how long sprinting, he realised that he could no longer hear the footsteps following after him anymore. Still, he didn't stop. He couldn't rest now, no matter how much he wanted to, if he stopped running for even a second he didn't know if he could keep going anymore.

First, he needed to get somewhere safe.

Especially from this cold. The frost bit into him and, even with his body warm from the exercise and the jacket around his body, he felt the cold creep into his bones. His muscles burned and his joints ached with every movement in an agonizing combo.

Then he spotted it.

A small little garage, all the lights completely off and it was to the side of the roads where no one would think to go.

He stumbled his way to the building, tumbling to the floor to rest against the wall. He was hid around a corner, away from the bigger house nearby and out of view of the road or path. Hopefully, no one would notice him.

His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, breaths coming in quick and panting, and his heart was still running a mile a minute.

He risked a glimpse at his chest and winced immediately. It was not pretty, it wouldn't surprise him if his whole body was just one big bruise. Luckily, it didn't seem to be too bad—by that he meant lethal—but it definitely was going to put him out of commission for a bit.

He covered it back up and rested his hand back over it. Before he tried to figure out what to do next, he needed some time to get his bearings. If there was a town nearby, maybe they would have a shop with something he could use and a phone to contact an extraction. It was fairly late in the night though, so the chances of anywhere being open were slim. If he were lucky (which he was decidedly not), there might be a 24/7 gas station or anything open for him to use.

His head hit against the wall. He knew he should have been more prepared for this job. Things never went simple in this business. He had done what he needed, his target had been taken out, but the fallout that followed hadn't been anticipated.

You live and you learn.

Or, he would if Sierra didn't kill him for his monumental fuck up. He really should contact them. In the crash he'd lost his phone and ear piece though, so he'd need to find someplace to do it, which meant he should get up. He should keep moving. He should…

His eyes were so heavy.

Lars was woken up by the sound of a thump against his walls. He grumbled a bit, upset over having his rest disturbed and turned to go back to sleep. It wasn't unusual for him to hear some strange noise out there, the benefit of living out near the wilderness, most likely it was just an animal.

As everything went quiet again and sleep was right on the horizon, his ears picked up the sound of faint breathing. Loud enough to distract him and odd enough to draw a lot of questions.

What if it wasn't an animal? What if the animal was hurt? What if it was Karin or Gus and they needed help? His mind nagged at him, telling him to at least investigate.

Cautiously, he slipped out of bed and grabbed a flashlight. It would be easier for him to fall back asleep if he just checked and saw it was nothing.

Sliding on his slippers, he ventured outside.

When he rounded the corner of his home, he saw something entirely unexpected—a man. Not only was he a total stranger, but he was covered in grime and injuries. His eyes were closed and Lars' heart was racing with the possibility that maybe he had died.

Oh no, what should he do? Check for a pulse? Call 911? Go get Gus and Karin?

The injured man stirred and groaned, and Lars let out a breath. Thank the Lord, he wasn't dead.

Court pried his eyes open as a bright light hit his eyelids. It took him a few seconds to adjust before he realised what he was looking at. A man standing over him. Immediately, he tensed up, ready to fight, until he realised the stranger was unarmed. Not only that he was in his pyjamas and wrapped in a small blue blanket with bleary, tired eyes.

"Are you… okay?" Lars asked meekly, shining his flashlight right at him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Court managed to grunt out, relaxing a tiny bit. Although he had been trained not to judge people by their appearance, this stranger looked like he couldn't hurt a fly. His hair was ruffled from sleep and he had slouched posture, making him seem smaller than he was.

In any case, it was clear he was in no way affiliated with the people who had been trying to kill him earlier so it was probably fine. Even without any weapons, Court knew how to protect himself.

"It's alright," Lars glanced away, blinking tightly, "Do you need help? You're bleeding."

"I'll be fine," he tried to play it off. As soon as he attempted to move, it would become very apparent that was a lie, so he stayed sitting down, suppressing his shivers.

"Uh, no offence… You don't look it…?" He shifted on his feet. Lars' heart was hammering in his chest, he wanted to run away and hide, but he couldn't just ignore a man in need. It wouldn't be right to. All of his life he had been raised to help others, church service after church service had the same message. "I have a first aid kit you can use."

"I don't want to impose, really I'm fine."

"… Please," Lars looked down at him with glistening, pleading eyes. "I don't mind."

Courtland swallowed hard. "Okay…" Though, he told himself it was because he did need to treat his wounds, really Court thought, 'How could he say no to those eyes?'

It was a struggle to stand, he had to put all of his weight against the wall and he couldn't help the amount of groans that slipped out. The stranger stood close-by, his eyebrows knitted in worry. His hands fidgeted slightly as though he wanted to help, but wasn't sure how.

"I'll, uh, get the door," he muttered and ran a bit ahead.

Now that he was standing, it was easier to move, although he still had to use the wall to stabilise himself. He stepped into the small building and hesitated. Lars followed in after him and closed the door. "You can sit."

Then, he disappeared, reappearing a few seconds later with the first aid kit he promised.

Groaning, Court sat down on the edge of the sofa. It was likely he was going to get blood on it and he already felt guilty. The man was offering so much and all he was going to do was take. He had nothing he could offer him in thanks.

After handing off the first aid kit, Lars stuck next to the sofa. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, struggling to find any words to say. "Can I help? In any way?"

"You've helped more than enough," he smiled reassuringly, searching through the first aid kit for the things that he needed. It seemed mostly untouched, he took out some of the cleansing wipes and some bandages.

Still, Lars hovered around him, in case. He didn't really know what he would have done if the man said yes to his offer of help. While he had helped injured animals before, and hypothetically knew what to do, he knew he wouldn't be able to touch him without any pain.

As the man lifted his shirt to clean his wounds, Lars rushed to turn away—the movement on pure instinct.

Courtland paid him no heed, he couldn't exactly blame him for looking away; the man had probably never seen an injury like it. He carefully wiped down the area, wincing and grunting, his abs flinching to the touch.

Carefully, Lars snook a glimpse back. With a proper look at his chest, Lars became even more sure he should call for an ambulance, yet he didn't and nor did the person ask for one. His stomach turned imagining how painful it must have been.

It wasn't just the bruising and blood he was looking at, though his eyes couldn't avoid it, it was his body. It felt oddly scandalous to glimpse at a complete stranger's muscles underneath his shirt, all slick and shining with blood and sweat. His ears burned to a shade of red. Though, he wasn't sure why, he had seen men shirtless before; it was natural, even if he personally refused to shed his layers.

Lars didn't usually pay attention to things like it. Bodies were bodies, freaky and strange.

This one was no different. So, why didn't it feel that way?

Six smoothly stripped himself of his jacket and went to work bandaging some of his cuts and scrapes on his arms. It was obvious that he had done it tons of times before. More often than not he had to take care of his injuries alone, this was no different.

Eventually, Lars managed to pry his eyes away, blinking rapidly. "Is there anything else?" he mumbled, "Food? Drink? Clothes?"

The image of the man in his clothes almost seemed silly to him. Lars wore cardigans and sweaters, not the kinds of things that he would wear. The man was in a bomber jacket and a black t-shirt, a lot more modern and stylish.

"Thank you, but I should get out of your hair," he grunted as he stood up.

"You're still hurt," Lars pointed out.

"It's okay-"

"No, you should rest," his voice hardened, stern and serious but with an edge of confusion like he couldn't conceive of a reason why he wouldn't stay. It was just a fact of the world—when you're injured, you rest.

Despite having just met, it didn't appear as though he was being given much of a choice in the matter. Sure, technically, Court could have left easily, he was strong enough that no amount of force would keep him back, but the invitation was so hard to reject. Lars was being very kind and caring, and a warm place to stay sounded heavenly. Plus, he didn't want to be rude.

"Just for the night," he relented.

"Stay for as long as you need," The man smiled and it radiated a warmth that Court was unfamiliar with. "I'm Lars."

"I'm… Court," he replied. He couldn't exactly give the man his code name without arising suspicion, and the thought of giving him a fake name after all he was doing felt… wrong. He had opened his home to him. "I'll leave in the morning, I wouldn't want to disturb you."

"You wouldn't disturb me," he argued, "I don't have many guests… Just… I don't have a spare bed…"

Courtland shrugged, "I'll stick to the sofa." He doubted he would be able to sleep anyway.

"Oh! Clothes!" Lars suddenly exclaimed, rushing over to his wardrobe.

"No, thank you, I'd only get them dirty,"

"You can have a shower?"

Court chuckled, "I do need one…"

Lars' eyes widened, "That's not what I-"

"No, no, it's okay, just thinking aloud." He stayed standing in silence for a few seconds, before he realised he didn't give Lars a straight answer. With the bandages he couldn't shower, but he really didn't want to stain the man's sofa. "Okay, I'll clean up a little."

Lars fumbled for a moment trying to find something that wouldn't look too weird on Court, then offered it up to him. Just a plain shirt and some plaid pyjama bottoms.

"Thank you," he gently took the pile off of him, their hands brushing just slightly.

Lars' face scrunched up almost imperceptibly as if in pain and he retracted his hand, "Okay."

Court opened his mouth to comment, but closed it just as fast. It would be impolite, and it wasn't like it was any of his business. So, he just entered the bathroom. He discarded his clothing and used a washcloth in the sink to properly clean himself down, washing the dirt and blood off of him.

A couple of minutes or so was all that he could manage before the fatigue hit him. After drying, he tried on the clothes that he'd been given. Along with the shirt and bottoms, he'd been given a cardigan, not his typical style. They were a little tight around his arms, but they were soft and comfortable. Probably some of the most comfortable clothes he had ever tried on.

Once he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw that Lars had set up some blankets and pillows on his sofa for Court to sleep with.

Lars lifted his head to look at him and then immediately turned away, suppressing a chuckle. He had been right, he looked so ridiculous in his clothes. It was just so against the cool image he had before that it was funny.

Confused, Court glanced down at himself. Had he put his shirt on inside out or something?

"Thank you again," he stated as he sat down on the sofa, letting himself sink further into the cushions. He'd already lost count of the amount of times he'd expressed his gratitude. "You're a real angel."

Lars' stomach fluttered strangely, twisting like it did when he was anxious, "Anyone would do it."

Courtland knew from firsthand experience that was not true, yet he could also tell that arguing would be pointless. From what he could tell Lars was painfully humble and sort of stubborn. It was always the kindest people that couldn't see their virtues. "Well, you were the one that did, so thank you."

He lay down on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, as Lars climbed into his bed across the room. Silence descended on them.

Court couldn't help but wonder what he had done to deserve such humility. The blankets on the sofa were as comfortable as the clothes. Six couldn't remember the last time he had felt so comfortable, never when he was a child, nor in the Sierra program. Most nights he slept on the floor or wherever he could manage or, most commonly, not at all.

If anything the comfort made him uncomfortable in an awful twist of fate. He couldn't really appreciate it.

The burning and throbbing pain of his entire body regardless of his position also made it quite difficult.

In his bed, Lars tossed and turned. His eyes kept landing on the stranger sleeping on his sofa. Curiosity was eating away at him, but he also knew better than to ask, especially when he was trying to sleep.

He forced his eyes closed and waited for sleep to come. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Court materialised again.

There were flashes of flesh, deep voices and angels. Heat crept up his neck.

RING. RING. RING.

On his bedside table, his alarm started to sound. Groaning, Lars sat up and turned it off, his eyes were still heavy. His sleep had been fitful at best. For the entire night after being woken up by the injured Court, his thoughts kept racing. A million different questions on his mind.

Who was the man that he had invited into his house? How had he been injured? Where did he come from? Did he have a home to go back to? A family? Friends?

Then, when he finally managed to drift, he was plagued by strange and uncomfortable dreams.

Shuffling out of bed, he got started on his regular morning routine. Breakfast and coffee, getting changed, brushing his teeth. The muscle memory of everything nearly distracted him entirely from the man laying down on his sofa. To the point he had even almost sat on him, before he went scrambling to catch himself.

Court had his eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep. Internally, he was sorting out his plan for the day. He needed to get in contact with his 'employers' before they assumed he was dead or worse defected.

He had half been tempted to sneak out during the night and get it all over with, but for some reason, it felt like a betrayal of Lars' hospitality.

The least he could do was say goodbye.

Gently, Lars poked Courtland's body, the layers of clothing between them suppressing the stinging pain of the touch. With Dr. Berman treatments, it wasn't as bad as it once was but it was still harder with new people. "Hey…?"

Court cracked an eye open to show he was awake. "Morning."

"Yes, morning," Lars stepped back, "I'm off to work… So…"

"Have a nice day," he smiled, still not moving an inch. He was in the perfect position for the least amount of pain, a tiny movement would send aches throughout his body.

"Oh, thank you," he smiled back at him, his eyes crinkling, "I'll be back at around 6. Please, don't make a lot of noise. My brother's family are in the house next door and-"

"They won't even know I was here," he replied, knowing it to be true. Court was literally trained to leave no trace and attract no attention. Although, he had accidentally attracted Lars' attention… that was a one off. "If you could not tell anyone about… me-"

He sighed in relief, nodding, "Okay… See you…?"

"Bye."

Once the door closed, he went back to staring at the ceiling. There was no click of the front door locking. Either Lars was a very trusting person or he didn't want Court to feel trapped. Either made sense; it was probably both. He had to have been naively trusting to bring an injured Court into his home in the middle of the night.

The out was good. Court should go. He really should.

But the sofa was so nice and he was in so much pain. Why couldn't he just lay down for a couple more minutes? There was no rush really. He'd completed the job, the man he had been hired to kill was dead and he had no immediate other commitments to worry about.

He could just say he went into hiding after the injury. Play up the whole 'I almost died' thing.

He closed his eyes again, and let himself rest.

The lack of sleep was getting to Lars. All the noise in the office was overwhelmingly loud—all the chatter, the clicking of keyboards, the coughs and sneezes. It felt as though his hands were in balls the entire time.

He had barely gotten any work done. The words on the computer and on his paperwork refused to process in his brain, he read the same sentences over and over and over again.

"You doing okay, Lars?" Margo poked her head into his cubicle with her usual bright smile and cheerful attitude.

"Fine," he replied curtly, tightening and loosening his fists.

"You've been acting a bit off today."

"I said I'm fine," he huffed, standing up and storming off. He didn't know where he was going. He just needed the noise to stop.

His feet ended up leading him to the bathroom where he sat down in a stall. Guilt pang through him at the way he spoke to Margo and he was filled with the need to apologise. She had been nothing but kind to him.

After Bianca's death, she'd become a close friend of his. Even though their relationship hadn't worked out…

Lars hadn't understood why it didn't. If anything, it should have been perfect—he and Margo got along great, she was fun to be around and he could even handle her touch a bit more than others. Everything was what he wanted… except it wasn't… It wasn't like what was between Gus and Karin at all. It all felt like nothing more than a friendship. Nonetheless, he tried to make it work—he really loved Margo—until she sat him down and told him that she had been feeling the same way and maybe they really should just go back to being friends.

It made everything easier. There was less pressure for him to do everything right and be the perfect boyfriend.

Margo had been so understanding and kind then, she deserved better…

He slumped down on the toilet, rubbing his eyes. Everything was just thrown completely off.

He couldn't stop thinking about Court either. By the time he got home, he would probably be gone. It would all be as though he never even appeared in the first place. The entire stay he couldn't stop mentioning leaving, even risking his injury because of it. Maybe he was running away from something chasing him. His life could be in danger. Why hadn't Lars asked him more questions to make sure he was okay?

He rocked back and forth, trying to calm his thoughts. No one looking at him or talking to him helped.

But then, he had to leave the toilet and return to the noisy office eventually. Still, he got through it. The coffee from the break room helped too when his eyes started feeling heavy and he got worried that he might actually fall asleep at the desk.

Of course, he had stopped at Margo's desk and placed down her favourite snack from the vending machine as an apology to her.

Once it finally got closer to the end of the shift, his eyes were glued on the clock. The second his shift was over he ran out of there. It was probably the quickest departure he'd ever made from the place. Usually, he at least tried to say some goodbyes. He just couldn't take it anymore. He needed out. Plus, he wanted to see whether Court would still be home when he got back or whether Karin had accidentally discovered him or if he'd revealed himself or…

The drive back home was a tad more rushed than usual. Lars never broke the speed limit or did anything that would be reckless or dangerous, but there was a sense of urgency to his driving.

When he pulled up outside the building, everything looked fine. Nothing was out of the ordinary or different.

Then, he reached his home and he caught a whiff of something in the air. The smell of food cooking. When he opened his front door, he found Court standing at the cooker. He had some beef from the freezer on the stove.

"Hey," he said in greeting. "I hope it's okay that I sort of raided your fridge. I just wanted to make you dinner as thanks. And to say goodbye."

Lars' tongue wasn't working. All semblance of speech had ran away from him, abandoning him.

It was a kind gesture. Lars wasn't sure why he was having such a reaction to it though. Karin cooked for him all the time, even people in town cooked for him occasionally. Yet, he'd never had this sensation of his heart getting grabbed so tightly.

He wondered if this was what it was like for Gus when he came home to Karin's dinners.

Then, something caught his eye. "You're still bleeding," he pointed to a fairly small red stain on his shirt, sticking to the man's chest. It wasn't from any of the wounds that he'd bandaged the day before, instead it was seemingly another injury that had gone unnoticed.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he said, pulling the shirt over his head in one fluid movement, "I can help get the stain out."

Court's entire bare chest was on full display.

The blood-stained shirt was suddenly the furthest thing from Lars' mind. The muscles were some of the most defined that Lars had ever seen, but what his eyes gravitated to most were the scars littered across his form like lines on a map. He should have known this wasn't the man's first injury from the lackadaisical approach he had been taking.

They were deep and many were old and Lars couldn't imagine how painful they had been. Lars liked to believe he could handle pain, every day he had to face it with people touching him both accidentally and on purpose, but this was something else.

Lars' entire body felt abnormally warm and, for some reason, his mouth ran dry.

Courtland hadn't noticed the way that he had completely frozen, or the way his mouth was slightly agape. He was more focused on rushing to plate the food and find where he could soak the shirt.

Lars was glued to the spot, just watching Court. His attention was drawn to his back, a wholly normal and not at all interesting part of the body. Yet, he was transfixed by the way that his shoulder blades moved and the line of his spine. There were scars there too. He was littered with them and with bruises.

"Go ahead and eat," he suggested while he continued to sort out the shirt.

Quietly, Lars sat down at the small dining table and took small bites of his food. Even though he didn't have much of an appetite, it would be rude not to eat. When Court came to sit down opposite him, he was wearing the shirt from the day before, which was now clean even if it did have a few holes in it. Lars stared down at his food and at the table as he bit into his food.

Court joined him in his silence, shifting his attention between his food and the man sat across from him. He wanted to thank him again, but it was starting to feel like all he said. Repeating it so often only cheapened the word. It was just that he had nothing else he could say to express his gratitude and let him know just how much it meant to him.

"Do you have to go?" Lars asked, finally breaking the silence. If Court walked out that door again, he was going to get hurt. Lars knew it. Whatever caused those injuries wasn't a one of accident, Court was clearly in some dangerous business. "So soon?"

Courtland struggled against the pleading eyes of the man across from him. "Unfortunately, yes."

While Lars had been away at work, he'd gotten the chance to call up Fitzroy on the garage's phone and relay that he was alive and needed a little help getting out of the small town he'd found himself in. Since it wasn't top priority and there was still an enemy search on for Court, the extraction wouldn't come right away, but it would be best for him to get out of Lars' hair.

"Where will you stay tonight?"

Court didn't have a good answer. "I'll find-"

"The nearest town is a drive away, and you don't have a car. It's already dark out, it isn't safe to walk."

"I'll call-"

"There's not many taxis around here either. No hotels too."

Sighing lightly, Court said, "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I… just want you to be safe."

Lars' eyes were glimmering, as if on the verge of tears.

His posture softened, and he couldn't find the relentless stubbornness to be anything but sweet. "Alright…"

"You'll stay?"

"One more night," he relented. Tomorrow he'd have to figure out where to head off to next and come up with a plan that even Lars couldn't argue with.

Smiling, Lars stood up and picked up the empty plates from the table. "Good."

Quickly, Court stood up to take them off of him. "I'll do it."

Lars shook his head, "You cooked. I'll clean."

"I want to. As thanks."

"I don't need that," he walked away and started to turn on the tap.

"Then," Court picked up a cloth from the side, "I'll dry up."

The argument echoed what he heard between Karin and Gus, silly little disputes over silly little things that Lars had never understood. It made no sense to him, until that moment where he just wanted Court to let him look after him. It was frustrating for him to ignore that and keep pushing, but he was doing the same thing.

They fell into a rhythm. Rather than pass the objects directly to Court, he placed them on the side for him to then pick up.

It only took a minute or so, even less time than he would take on his own.

It felt like he was playing house.

That night sleep refused to come again. The memories of the day still lingered in Lars' mind and his body still felt unlike itself. It was like he was coming on with a cold or something.

Court lay on the sofa, trying to make the most of his last night of comfort before he was back on the road. He knew he still wouldn't be able to sleep all that well, a couple hours at most, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Why were you hurt?" Lars suddenly interrupted the silence of the room, his voice small and soft. He half-expected Court not to answer, assuming maybe he'd fallen asleep and the question would just be left in the air.

"… I was after some bad guys," he replied, trying not to reveal too much. Both to avoid breaking confidentiality and because he didn't want to worry the man. "I stopped them, but got hurt in the process."

"Oh." There was a brief silence, "So, you're like a police man?"

"Sure," he replied, though he didn't quite like the comparison; memories of his incarceration bubbled up. "I put some bad men away."

He wasn't sure if Lars understood what he meant—he wasn't sure he wanted him to. The thought of him looking at him differently after the confession tightened his throat. Despite only having known him for a day, he cared what he thought…

"Don't worry," Court added, "I wont let anyone come here and hurt your family. You're safe."

Another moment of silence fell over the room. Court thought for sure that Lars had lost any faith in him, had seen him for the cold blooded murderer he was. He wouldn't be surprised if he wanted him out of the house altogether.

"I trust you," Lars said at last.

Court wished he didn't. It would have made everything so much easier.

The warmth that Lars offered was smothering. Soon Court would have to leave and go back to the cold world he knew, and that felt for a moment impossible. Everything about this home was everything that Court had wanted. It was the dream.

But that was all it was—a dream. A short and fleeting dream that he would forget once he woke up.

Lars would quickly forget him; he'd become a vague and strange memory.

That would make it easier. He was, after all, just a stranger to Lars. They weren't particularly close or friendly. He would leave no impression like he always did—he was Six, the ghost, the gray man, nothing.

"What do you do?" he asked back, because it was polite and because he wanted to know. It was like getting a glimpse into another life, another world entirely.

"Nothing as interesting…" Lars answered, "Just boring office work."

God, it sounded great to Court. Okay, maybe just in theory. Court would probably get bored after a few days in reality… All of his life had been adrenaline and fights and desperation. He was the animal his father made him, all he knew was violence.

For the few days he did have, it was nice. He wasn't bored yet.

They talked more during the night. Small things, nothing ground breaking. Lars talked about his family, mainly his brother and his wife, and his daily life. Court couldn't say much, so he listened and asked questions. It was evident in his voice how much he loved his family and the town, you could hear the pride all over it.

Court closed his eyes and imagined a world where he didn't have to leave—where this was his life. Living in this home with Lars.

The next day, Lars called out sick from work. He didn't like to do it, in fact Lars enjoyed the structure that work gave to his day, but he really did feel ill.

His heart wouldn't stop beating at a million miles a second, his face was red hot, and he felt nauseous all of the time. Yet somehow he never felt like he was going to throw up. His lack of rest was also giving him a headache and a weariness that he knew would not make him productive. Whatever it was, he hoped it would go away soon.

His boss told him it was okay and that he hoped that he got better soon and that was that.

Afterwards, he lay back in bed. "You're not feeling well?" Court asked across the room, having heard the call from his spot on the sofa.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Lars glanced over surprised by his voice.

"Was already awake," Court dismissed casually, sitting up in the bed. His hair was a bit messed up from sleep and Lars had the sudden urge to touch it and stroke it down. A hot flush rolled over him and he blinked hard. "You okay?"

"It's nothing. A fever."

"You do look red," Court commented, standing up and ignoring the pain roll through him. It was getting better at least. "You should have some water."

"I can do it," Lars fought back, rushing to beat Court to it and getting lightheaded in the process. He was used to looking after himself when he was sick. When he was young, he always had to—he would make himself some soup and sweat it out in bed. Especially after Gus left.

"Do you need some medicine?" Court ignored his protests, searching through his cupboards. The bottom of his shirt rode up his body revealing his mid-section as his hands rummaged through.

"Ha!" Lars gloated, running over to his bathroom and retrieving his cold medicine before Courtland had a chance to find it.

"Good," Court said, not at all upset over the 'loss'. Instead, he offered up the cup. "Here you go."

Lars took it, carefully avoiding Court's hand, as, at the same time, Courtland reached out without thinking with his other hand to check his temperature. Lars flinched back, the jolt tipping the water back spilling it slightly on his shirt.

Court moved his arm back instantly, horrified at himself for his clear misstep, "I'm sorry."

"No. Its not-"

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Court and Lars froze, their eyes meeting as if caught in the middle of something scandalous.

"Lars?" Karin's voice carried through the building, "Are you okay? You're late for work."

"I'm okay!" he said loud enough for her to hear without shouting.

Court scanned the area for the best hiding spot and, in an instant, he was gone. He had slipped into a nearby closet, bringing his body flush against the back wall and hiding among clothes. Lars watched hesitating to say something to him.

"I'm here if you need anything," she offered, her voice losing volume partway through as he approached the door. He didn't open it.

"I can handle it," he answered, "It's nothing."

"You don't usually miss work over nothing," she shifted on her feet, trying to fight against the cold, "I'm just worried about you."

As much as he loved Karin, she always pushed and pushed and pushed. It was nice until it wasn't. He tried to appreciate her as much as she deserved, which was probably more than he could give. "You don't have to be."

"I know, but I am. We're family, Lars."

Court wanted to avoid eavesdropping on their conversation, it wasn't any of his business, but he couldn't just turn off his hearing and their voices carried right to where he was hiding.

Despite himself, Six felt a pang of jealousy. From the sounds of it they were close, she really seemed to care about him. Family… To Court that had been a curse and an inaccessible want. His family was dead or long gone. The brothers he did have probably couldn't even remember him anymore. It had been so long since he had seen them. To them, he was dead.

"I can cook you some soup if you're not feeling well." Karin refused to give up.

"Just need some rest," Lars smiled and hoped it was convincing enough. Ever since he was young, he had been a terrible liar. Most people just didn't really take the time to notice it.

"Okay, okay, fine, but don't hesitate to come see me if you need anything. Okay?"

"Alright." He knew it wouldn't end there. When it came dinner time, she'd most likely knock on his door again with a bowl of soup prepared especially for him. That was just the kind of woman that she was. "See you."

He didn't move from the door until she disappeared down into her house.

"You can come out now," he announced.

Slowly, Court de-tangled himself from Lars' clothes and slipped out into the main room. "I'm sorry to make you lie to your family like that."

Lars just shrugged. He would have probably dismissed her the same way even if Court wasn't there. As much as he was getting better at reaching out to others like the doctor asked, he didn't like to feel like a burden. Karin had a young kid at home that needed looking after, Lars was an adult he could handle himself.

"Soup is a good idea though," Court commented, approaching the kitchen.

"I can do it," Lars said, following after him.

"I know," he grinned at him, his eyes wrinkling, "Just rest, please."

He put a hand to his chest, feeling the speed pick up once again, "Maybe I should…"

In the time of his pondering, Court had found the soup and was already making preparations for it. "Definitely."

With the fight lost, he huffed and climbed back into bed. His head was heavy with his tiredness, but he tried to sit up and stay awake. The soup would only take a small amount of time before it was finished and he didn't want it to go cold.

Court watched as Lars fought to keep his eyes open, his head falling slightly down and bouncing back up. "Take a nap," he suggested, "The food won't be done right away."

"I'm not tired," he argued, stifling a yawn.

Court exhaled a laugh through his nostrils, "You're practically falling asleep already."

"Am not…"

Shaking his head, Court went back to cooking, letting the air go quiet. After a few minutes, he could hear the soft breaths of Lars sleeping. He glanced over and he was still sat up, his head resting against the wall next to him and his arms were still crossed as if angry that he had fallen asleep.

Soon the soup was finished, and Court was stuck in a hard place. Wake Lars up or let it go cold.

Asleep, Lars didn't turn away when Court glanced his way like usual. Court found himself losing track of time as he stared, watching the slight movements of his face. It was cute.

Sometimes he'd twitch his moustache or wrinkle his nose, mostly he just looked peaceful. His eyebrows were relaxed and his face serene. Court couldn't help but wonder what it was that he dreamed about.

Eventually, he caught himself and looked away, realising how creepy it was to stare for so long. That was when he spotted the then cold soup on the side. Rushing, he stood up and warmed it on the stove before approaching the sleeping man.

"Lars," he spoke gently at first when he tried to wake him up, but soon increased his volume, avoiding being too loud and risking attracting the attention of his family in the nearby home. After what had happened earlier, he was hesitant to touch him. It was clearly a boundary for him, which Court couldn't fault him for after he had confessed to basically being a murderer the night before.

Lars hardly even stirred.

Carefully, he risked a quick and light poke, "Lars, wake up."

Finally, his face scrunched up and his eyes started to open. He grumbled sleepily, and Court couldn't help but find it utterly adorable. "Morning, sunshine."

Lars woke up with an ache in his neck and Courtland kneeling down next to him, his face so close to him. Once again he felt that strange twinge in his gut. The sleep hadn't fixed him of that, though it had some of his other issues—mainly his banging headache. "It's morning?"

"Just a joke," Court explained, standing up. "Your soup is ready."

Lars stretched and groaned while Court served him a bowl. "Thank you."

"Feeling any better?" He asked as Lars carefully blew on his spoon full of soup.

"A bit."

The corner of Court's lips curled upwards in a genuine smile, "Good."

Lars whipped his head away, a rush suddenly running across his skin. Again his face felt hot and his body uncomfortable and strange. It seemed to get worse whenever he saw Court for some reason, it made no sense. Maybe he needed to go see Dr. Berman…

"Are you still hot?" Court squinted, examining his face.

The attention made Lars squirm in his seat, staring into his bowl of soup to not meet his eyes. He gave a short nod.

Without saying a word, Court stood up and made his way to the bathroom. Once he finished his soup, Court came back with a wet, cold cloth in his hand. "Here," he offered it to him, "Is it okay if I…?"

Lars swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded. Usually, he would have said no—too used to his own independence—but, in that moment, he was overcome with the desire for Court to do it. Even if the thought was scary.

Gently, the cold, wet fabric touched his forehead. Simultaneously, his heart was quick and thunderous and soft and warm. Rather than painful, the touch left his skin tingling. With how close they were, Lars could see the close details of Courtland—the tiny hairs, the moles, the freckles, his veins.

Court moved carefully, his attention heightened entirely on Lars for any sign of distress. With how uncomfortable he had been by his touch before, the change was strange and confusing.

Lars' eyes fluttered closed, hiding the tears stinging in them. He didn't understand why they came, but they always did. He always cried. It wasn't like he was sad or upset, he didn't feel much at all other than contentment.

He supposed it did feel nice to be looked after.

When he opened his eyes, he tugged the corners of his lips up in a soft smile, "Thank you."

"It's the least I could do." He lay the cloth flat on his forehead and left with the empty soup bowl. Only the noises of the water and cluttering of dishes filled the room as Court went and cleaned up the mess he'd made in the kitchen.

Lars watched him from his spot in the bed. Even though he was wearing his shirt, he couldn't stop picturing the scars he knew lay behind the fabric. When he had been wiping his face, he's caught a glimpse of some down his sleeve. "Do you like your job?"

Court hesitated, fumbling with the bowl in his hand. "I-" It was a loaded question, and one he couldn't really get into with all the confidentiality he was sworn to. "I like helping people. It's nice to feel useful…"

"Even though you get hurt?"

"It's inevitable," He shrugged, "Someone has to do it."

It wasn't like he got much choice in the matter.

"You're a good person," Lars stated, the words sounding sincere and true coming from his lips.

Six didn't reply, instead he stared down at the plate in his hand. He wasn't too sure whether he was a good person. He tried to be, he tried to save people, but he'd killed twice as many. Maybe that was just the cost so that actual good people like Lars could exist. As if he were some sin eater.

"Do you like what you do?" He redirected the question back at him. Usually, he could get Lars talking if he did that.

He hummed, "Yeah. It's structured and easy and I don't really have to speak to people if I don't want to. The people there are nice though. There's Margo, and Kurt, and…" There he went. Just like Court had expected he started rambling.

It was nice to get the focus off of himself again. Something about Lars made Court want to tell him everything like he'd forgive all the bad things he did and leave him feeling better. That was dangerous. Not only for himself but for Lars. The less time he spent talking about himself, the better.

To him, Lars' life sounded all the more interesting.

After he was finished, drying off, he sat back down to continue listening. That was of course when they were once again interrupted by a knocking at the door.

Court sped back to his hiding place the instant the first knock was sounded.

When Lars went to the door, he expected to find Karin stood there. Instead, it was Gus. He was stood sideways, as if ready to leave at any moment. "Karin asked me to invite you for dinner," he said, his words hesitant as if he were distracted. "Did I hear you talking to someone?"

"On the phone," Lars lied. "With a friend."

"Right…" His voice sounded apprehensive, less so in disbelief and more in confusion. "Who was it?"

"You wouldn't know them."

"Its not someone else you 'met online' is it?" There was concern knitted into his features, though Lars wasn't quite sure why. Things had been great with Bianca even though they'd met online.

"No."

"But I wouldn't know them?" Lars could tell what Gus was thinking, that he was questioning it because everyone knew everyone in town.

"We met when they were passing through town…"

"Huh…" he scratched his head, "Well, nice of them to keep in touch…"

He nodded, smiling politely, and waited for his brother to leave.

Gus looked back at the house, glancing at Karin watching them from the door. She was constantly trying to bring Lars and Gus closer together like how close she was with her family. It was a sweet thought, though misguided. "Karin's just worried is all… With what happened with Bianca, and you and Margo-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted. No matter how much he seemed to tell them that, they didn't believe him.

"It's been a few days since you've been round for dinner," Gus pointed out. Lars never used to have dinner with them at all before Bianca, she brought them all together. If it weren't for Court, maybe he would join them but he didn't want to exclude his guest.

"Been busy."

"With this 'friend'?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he shifted like he was getting ready to leave. "Just, the doors always open to you, alright?"

"I know."

When Gus eventually left, he let out a sigh of relief. "Maybe you should go to your family's for dinner," Court stated as he climbed out from his hiding spot once more.

"I'm not hungry."

"Suppose I did just fill you up on soup," Court spoke lightheartedly.

"Exactly." Then, in the next breath, he completely changed subjects, "Oh! You should see me chop up fire wood. I'm really good."

The sudden burst of energy from the other man almost made Court chuckle. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah." Weirdly enough, he was. He still felt hot and his heart still felt like it was racing, but for some reason it no longer scared him. The cloth must have cooled him down.

There was a brand new feeling to him. "I wish I could take you to the lake. It's amazing. We have this really cool tree fort there that Gus and his friends made when they were little. The water is really pretty too. Probably frozen now."

Court was enthralled. It was amazing how much Lars managed to find to talk about. He literally talked the entire day away. Before they knew it, it was night and they were laying in bed while Lars continued to talk. For once, Courtland managed to nod off peacefully for an entire night…

In the morning, they had breakfast together. Lars beat Court to the punch, making them both some egg, bacon, toast and coffee. As he ate, Gentry forced out his brooding thoughts over it being the last proper breakfast he'd get in a while.

His mind just couldn't let him enjoy the good things.

While Lars had made breakfast however, Court had taken the opportunity to prepare his lunch. He'd never really had a home made lunch before, but it seemed to just be a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

"I'll see you later," Court said as he offered the lunch bag. It was his way of telling him that he wouldn't leave yet. There was no where else for him to go while he waited for Fitzroy's extraction anyway. At least at Lars' it was safe and warm. He didn't want to think about how hard it would be to leave the more he stayed.

"Thank you," Lars took it from him, hardly reacting as their hands grazed lightly. When he reached the front door, he paused.

Court tilted his head, "Everything alright?"

Lars blinked hard, not looking in his direction. "You look nice today." Then, he was gone.

Glancing down, Gentry didn't spot anything out of the ordinary with his appearance. He was simply wearing another borrowed sweater. In spite of that, Court burned red.

Lars practically skipped into work that day. He greeted Cindy brightly, trying not to think about when she called him sunshine. He hardly even rolled his eyes at Kurt and made sure to properly apologise to Margo for the day before the last.

"Why're you so chipper?"

He was asked the question in some variety throughout the day. He would just shrug and smile and move on.

When he looked at the pictures of his family and friends and Bianca on the wall of his cubicle, it felt wrong for Court not to be there. Naturally, he couldn't be. He was in hiding at Lars', no one knew he was there. Still… He felt like he belonged there.

Despite the circumstances of him landing on Lars' door and the short duration of his stay, Court had slid seamlessly into his life. Like a missing jigsaw piece fell into place. It was something Lars always knew he was missing when he left the house, seeing the neighbours and the families at church and the people around town.

The workday felt different when someone was waiting at home for you.

Time somehow moved faster and slower. Sometimes he would get lost in his thoughts and minutes would go by in a flash and other times the clock took forever to tick. His leg bounced constantly.

When he ate his lunch, he was reminded of him again. His broad shoulders and large arms as he dexterously swiped the knife across the bread. A laugh was caught in his throat at how absurd it looked. This was someone strong and big and yet there he was in a tight sweater making him lunch.

All over again he was hit with a crashing wave of desire to be back home.

Near the end of the shift, Margo approached his cubicle, asking if he wanted to spend some time together that day. From one glance, Lars knew Karin was behind it. Margo looked stiff with her eyebrows knitted in concern, unlike her usual bubbly self.

"Sorry, I have plans," he replied, filling up his briefcase so he would be ready to leave as soon as possible.

"Oh!" She perked up slightly. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing a friend." Though, the words felt strange in his mouth—the label of friend didn't quite fit his relationship to Court. Sure, they only knew each other for a couple of days but they were more than that.

"Have fun!" She beamed at him, clearly happy for him.

"Another time," he suggested as he started to stand to leave. It was a little early but he could at least get his coat and things on, so that the instant the clock ticked over, he could go.

When he did get back home and he opened the door, he was greeted by a soft smile, "Welcome back, sunshine."

There was no better sight.

Court was stood at the stove with dinner almost ready for him. Once he hung up his coat and removed his boots, he went to stand next to him, glancing to see what he was making. Despite not touching him, he could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. It was soothing like all of the fatigue from a day at work was being washed away.

"Smells good," he commented.

"Don't get your hopes up," Court joked, "I'm not the best cook."

"That's not true," Lars argued, his hand for itching to reach out and offer some comfort. "Your lunch was delicious."

Court's head whipped around to face him, glancing down at Lars' hand that was lightly gripping onto the bottom of his sweater. The soft familiar feeling of the fabric distracted from the burning and helped him feel calm in spite of his fast heart.

They were so close. For a second, Court's attention flittered down to Lars' lips and he was almost choked by a long forgotten feeling—longing. It struck him so hard that his legs almost gave out from under him and he had to keep his hands steady. Unaware of the feelings being lit in Court's soul, Lars just stared with his kind eyes and trusting face.

"Thank you," he responded, quickly turning back to the food in front of him and avoiding Lars' eye. His senses were entirely locked into the one small point of touch between them. "Hard to mess up a sandwich though…"

"Not impossible."

He let out an exhale, conceding, "Not impossible."

While Courtland cooked, Lars watched and unconsciously his thumb stroked the sweater, also moving back and forth against Six's hip. When Lars finally let go, Court's heart shrivelled and he yearned for the touch to return.

Rather than letting it show, he sat down and ate dinner with him. Lars told him all about his day and what he'd been up to and who he'd seen. Like usual, Courtland listened.

"Tomorrow, we should go to the lake," Lars suggested, "Karin and Gus will be out for a bit to have baby Elinor looked at. They wouldn't even see you leave."

It wasn't a good idea.

"Alright," he said in opposition to his better nature. With how much Lars mentioned it, he couldn't help but be curious. It was important to him, like a piece of himself that he was sharing. How could Court deny him that?

The lake was beautiful.

Leaving the garage had felt uncanny, especially getting to see the town past where he had been. For the entire drive, Lars pointed out things to him and talked while Court took everything in. It was like getting a more complete map of Lars' world.

This time his walk through the forest felt like a stroll, completely unlike the night he had met Lars.

The lake was frozen over completely. A big white disk in the earth. Lars talked about how his brother and his friends would play hockey on it, making up their own goalposts and rules as they went.

"What about you?" Court asked, "Didn't you play?"

"Not really…" he responded, a faraway look in his eye, "I was too young, but I did like to skate around."

"I grew up in Florida," Court confessed, saying anything to distract from the sad glimmer on Lars' face, "Not much ice around there."

Lars stared at him with a wide mouth, surprised by his willingness to share after all his secrecy. He leaned in with keen interest, "What was it like?"

Court shrugged, "Hot." He didn't really have what most would consider a normal childhood. Instead of spending time with friends, he was dragged to gun ranges with his father where he was expected to be at his best or risk becoming the target. "I used to go swimming a lot."

"I hate swimming," Lars hugged his legs.

"It's freeing," Court stated. It was some of the only time he'd be able to get away from his father. He remembered taking his brothers out to learn, because if his father tried he'd likely end up just throwing them in the deep end and expecting them to figure it out themselves.

Lars shook his head, "No, it is not."

To Lars it was uncomfortable. He felt naked, especially without his mom's shirt, and everyone else was so exposed and fleshy. Lars liked his layers.

"Agree to disagree."

Court stretched his legs out, leaning his back against a log and staring at Lars' back. The man was talking, but Court wasn't taking any of the words in—he was trying to capture the moment in his mind like a photo.

Lars glanced back at him after a while of him being silent, catching him in the act of staring wistfully with warm eyes and a soft, bittersweet smile.

As soon as their eyes met, they both turned away, Lars facing forward and Court to the side into the empty woods. He opened his mouth to say something, to clear up the awkward air and save himself the embarrassment, but before he could find the words, Lars was silently shifting backwards so that he was sat closer to Courtland.

When he was settled against the log, Lars' hand rested on the ground of the small gap between them. They weren't close enough to touch, but it was close enough that Lars felt the shift in the air.

Court didn't move, he didn't speak, he hardly even breathed. One moment Lars wanted space and the next he was closing in. He couldn't work it out.

To fill the silence, Lars started humming. Just a small tune at first. Then, the lyrics started to flow out almost by themselves, as if they had a life of their own. Slowly, it built. It grew louder and Lars more assured, especially when he noticed Court turn his head back around to watch.

Court let out a breath once he finished the song, "You're incredible."

Lars glanced down at his hand between them. "I'm not…"

Something unsaid was left in the air. Court could see there was more that he did not want to say. "Where'd you learn to sing like that?"

"I used to be in the church's boy's choir," his hand on the ground fiddled with the dirt.

"Bet you stole the show."

Lars snorted, "I was too shy. You could barely hear me."

"So, I just got an exclusive show?" Court spoke lightheartedly, trying to downplay how affected he was. "I'm honoured."

"Yeah…" mumbled Lars, still refusing to move his eyes from his hand. The last time he had sang to someone it had been right by the lake to Bianca. In the spot just a few steps in front of them was where he had kissed her for the first and the last time.

Lars hadn't been sick, and a part of him had always known that. What Lars was feeling was a lot worse, a lot more dangerous, and a lot more painful.

He liked Court. He liked Court too much.

When Court's hand slid off of his lap and landed palm up next to Lars', of course he saw it and of course he thought about moving his hand just an inch closer. He didn't do it. Instead, he looked away and started to ramble about the lake. Nothing too deep or even personal, just general information on when it usually froze and for how long and about the safety required when walking on the ice. Anything to detract from the fluttering in his gut.

Oblivious, to the feelings stirring in the other, Court listened with open curiosity.

Getting Court back inside was a little harder than sneaking him out. When they returned to the house, his family were back too. Neither of them had been tracking their time while they were at the lake to figure out when they should leave. Usually, Court would be a little more cautious and organised.

Lars rummaged through the car to find anything they could use, before passing over his blue blanket that his mother had made for him. "Use this to cover your face."

It seemed a little unnecessary considering neither his brother nor sister-in-law would recognise him, but Court didn't argue. He'd seen the way Lars carried the thing everywhere, he could tell it was important to him.

With the blanket wrapped around his head and the smell of Lars strong in his nose, they made a rush to Lars' home. If anything the obvious secrecy would make them stand out more if they were spotted than if they had casually just walked to the building. Yet, Court had to admit, it felt a bit fun. Especially with Lars giggling next to him.

"I've never had to sneak in before."

"Huh, maybe I'm a bad influence," Court joked. When he was younger, he'd sneak out and back in regularly, at least when he knew he could get away with it.

Lars just stared at him in utter confusion, "No, you're a good guy."

Court didn't know how to respond to such a genuine and heartfelt argument.

"Can I have…?"

For a second, Court wasn't sure what Lars was referring to and gesturing about, then he remembered. "Oh, here," he handed over the blanket, immediately missing it's warmth, "Thanks for letting me use it."

When Lars took it, their hands grazed once more; it was quick but it still sent a shiver down Court's spine. This time Lars didn't wince or show any sign of pain, though he did blink hard and rush away.

Lars' whole body felt as thought it was buzzing like a bee's nest. He clutched the blanket in his hands tighter, hoping that it would calm the erratic beating of his heart.

The rest of the night went just as it typically did. Together, they made dinner and ate and talked and even played some scrabble. Lars beat him horrifically; Court didn't even stand a chance.

When it was finally night and Lars was sat on the edge of his bed, getting ready to sleep, he stated, "I have church tomorrow morning."

Court rested an arm behind his head and glanced over at Lars. He wasn't sure what he wanted him to say. "Have fun."

Lars nodded as if he'd answered some question and climbed under his covers. "I'll pray for you."

Court suppressed a laugh—he needed more than prayers in his life, it appeared as though they did him no good. Coming from Lars though, he knew it was from a place of genuine care. "Thanks."

That night, Court stared up at the ceiling, dread stirring in his stomach. He never let himself stop and catch a breath and this was why. He didn't want to get attached and comfortable before he had to keep walking again. Always pushing the boulder up the hill, lest he be crushed by it.

Of course, that morning the phone would ring. Lars was almost ready to head out for church when he picked it up. "It's for you," he said and they both knew what it meant.

It was all coming to an end.

After the call, Six got changed back into his old clothes, the fabric feeling cold against his skin, and both of them hardly spoke a word. There were simply no words for him to say. Nothing was on his lips or mind; he wouldn't let it. If he stopped for a second, he would suffocate.

"Can't you stay?" Lars' voice was small, nearly inaudible yet filled with so much weight.

Courtland didn't turn around; he couldn't turn around. If he did, he didn't know what he would do. One look at Lars' teary, sad eyes might destroy him, might shatter all the strength and all the fight he had left in him.

"I'm sorry," he replied, his hands tightly balled up to grip onto the final shred of resolve he had remaining. Fight was everything he had—without it what was he? Dead, most likely.

Behind him, he could hear Lars' sharp and wavering breaths and he knew the man was crying. He couldn't turn around, he had to remind himself over and over and over, even as his heart felt like it was being torn fully from his chest and every single neuron in his brain was firing for him to comfort him in some way. To stay so he didn't have to feel the pain anymore.

Staying was an impossibility. He had always known it. He was bound by duty first and foremost from which there was no escape.

Other than death.

"I have to go," Court had to force his voice to stay strong, to not fail or falter. In just a few short days, he had experienced a whole other life, a living dream, and how it was time to wake up. "I'll never forget you."

Lars stared at Court's back, blurry from the tears in his eyes. "Yeah… Me either…"

It would be impossible for Lars to forget him. A couple days and his life felt forever changed. Court was something he never would have dreamed, such an unexpected surprise that nothing would ever come close.

The sadness was unbearable, but even worse was the anger. Court owed him nothing—the entire time he had been there he had known that he was going to leave—yet he felt betrayed all the same, abandoned and left on the side of the road. Court refused to tell him why he couldn't stay, just that he couldn't, and that only made him more frustrated. It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair how he came and bulldozed his life and then could move on like nothing happened. It wasn't fair that Lars had grown to care about him so much over the short few days. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't.

A part of Lars wanted to grab onto his coat and never let him go.

The desire racked through his entire being and threatened to come true, and then Courtland took a step forward and everything was crumbling down. Breathing was hard and his throat tightened.

"I did really like it here," Court said as he reached the door, "Thank you…"

Lars' legs wouldn't move, his vocal cords wouldn't vibrate or work, he was paralysed to just watch as the door swung closed.

And Court left his life forever.

He didn't get the chance to tell him how he felt, or to even fully process it himself. No, that would come later. After days of being shut in his room, of him crying into his pillow, of forgetting for the briefest moment before he pulled open the door to his garage after a days work. The pain followed him for more days than he had even known Court.

It was thanks to Karin really. Naturally, she had noticed his shift in mood and was set to help cheer him up.

Usually, Lars would shrink away from the pity and the sympathy, but he was trying to be better and he knew spending his time alone in the home he shared for even that brief moment was only making him feel worse.

Sometimes he found himself talking aloud as if Court was still there to listen. At night, he could almost see his shadow where he used to lie. Sometimes he even cradled the sweater he had worn that Lars refused to wash since he had left. Slowly the scent of him was fading. Along with any sign he'd been there at all.

He tried not to think of what Court had to be doing out there while he was sulking, of the scars and bruises and blood.

Karin thought it was Bianca that he was missing. That the waves of grief had reared their head again, sending him into a crushing depression once more. She placed a hand on his shoulder that he tried to relax into rather than flinch. "Love is tricky… But, even when it hurts, it was better to have experienced it once than not at all…"

Love…

Had that been it?

Lars supposed it could have been. If they'd had the chance to see it through.