“Astrid,” Bren says, exasperated, “please come get your boyfriend.”
“He’s your boyfriend too,” says Astrid, almost cross, already halfway to them.
“Why’s he only my boyfriend when he’s drunk–” Bren starts, and then catches Astrid’s eye and starts laughing hysterically.
It’s not funny. It’s really not. Or at least, it shouldn’t be. But Bren’s laughing so hard he’s almost choking, and he can’t stop. They’re such a mess. Such a predictable, naive, lightweight collective mess.
Astrid’s looking at him funny, the corner of her mouth twitching like she can’t decide whether to join him in his sudden burst of insanity or Wulf on the floor.
“It’s okay, Wulf,” Bren says when he’s caught his breath. “It’s–mein gott, it’s okay, you just…caught me off guard. Let’s not do that when you’re drunk. Alright?”
Wulf slumps forward, nuzzling his face against Bren’s knees, and Bren reaches down to catch his hands. “You need help, beautiful,” he whispers, and kisses the top of Wulf’s head.
Astrid kneels carefully next to him and starts rubbing his back. “Help, or a coping mechanism that doesn’t involve him throwing up in our bed.”
Astrid rolls her eyes. “I forgot, your highness, your incredibly special, perfect four poster chosen one bed.”
There’s a long moment before Astrid looks at him in a “let’s get this moving” sort of way, and Bren sighs. “Alright, big guy. Up we go.”
He nearly falls over tugging Wulf to his feet, but Astrid quickly positions herself under one arm, and between the two of them they manage to wrestle him into Bren’s bed. He’s pretty much asleep by the time he hits the pillow. Bren makes a face, uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe the tears off his face. “Poor guy,” he whispers.
“Are you as worried as I am?” Astrid asks, impossibly quiet.
Bren wavers, preoccupied with running his fingers through the close-shorn fuzz on the back of Wulf’s neck. “I–we shouldn’t.”
“It’s not a crime to be worried about our friend.”
Bren flashes her a dangerous look. “Why would it be.” It’s meant to be a question, but…it’s not.
“I–that’s what I mean. Bren.”
Bren takes a deep breath, trying to force his own heart rate to still. He can still feel Wulf’s fingers on his waistband, see the wild, haunted look in his bloodshot eyes. “He’ll be okay,” he says, with more confidence than he feels. “He just needs to sleep it off.”
Astrid’s mouth thins to a hard line, but she starts tugging the comforter out from under Wulf so they can actually get underneath it.
“We all just need to get used to it,” says Bren. He takes another long breath. There’s still blood under his fingernails. He’s scrubbed his hands, but it’s sticking. “He–we’ll be okay. Astrid. Love.”
Astrid looks up, captured suddenly by the endearment, a blush spreading under her freckles. “Yes?”
“We’ll all be okay. We have to be.”
in honor of drei canon (for like idk the third time now?) please have an excerpt from the giant fucking drei fic i’ve been writing for over a year now <3
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
baratheonpilled
prguitarman
