Five times Spar noticed Vellum's style + one time Vellum noticed him back
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Because if I wanna have mindless fluffy shit to read, first I gotta write it.
Read on AO3 or below, except on Tumblr I can't be damned to worry about formatting or notes. Tws in tags.
Chapter 1: Pins
It feels different to be back at S.U.I.T.S again, like slipping into a pair of shoes Spar hadn’t worn for a while and remembering, in a moment of pleasant surprise, that he’d already broken them in. The bustle of too-early risers follows Spar off the street and through the antechamber. In the lobby, sunlight leaps through rows and rows of square windows, hitting the floor tiles at just the right angle to shower the room in warm iridescence. A smile reached Spars lips without his thinking. Things feel right.
“Agent Spar!” A voice calls. Naomi, his favorite security guard, an insectile altered. “How was Cloven Heart? I hear you had quite the time.”
“I couldn't complain about the company, at least. Visiting family was nice.," Spars says. "Though I’m glad to be back.” He accepts a firm clap on the shoulder, and gestures Naomi on hir way.
But si doesn’t move, letting hir hand linger as she stares at him with a knowing set of compound eyes. Si takes a long sip of hir coffee. “The company, huh?”
Spar hesitates, long enough that a human carrying a tower of file boxes has to swerve suddenly to get out of their way. Spar only just manages to catch the top box when it slips, and tuck it under his arm. The human slips away, oblivious.
“I, uh, don’t know what to tell you,” He lies. “My aunts are sweet, I’m gonna miss Hilde’s cooking every day ‘til I head back.”
“Some of us can see in infrared, you know." Naomi points a spindly finger at hir eye. "Even if most folks can’t tell, you’re blushing.” With a wink, si finally, mercifully gets on hir way.
Spar watches hir go, and only when he’s absolutely sure si’s turned a corner does he allow his grin to shrink to something small and private. There is someone he’s looking forward to seeing, today.
But Agent Vellum is nowhere to be found among the swarm of field agents that ambush him when Spar steps off the elevator. There's only a split second of peace for his eyes to rake through the crowd before Spar feels a familiar grip on his waist. He pulls up his knees just in time to avoid kicking anyone as Xbala lifts him overhead, to much applause. Someone grabs the file box from his hands, and Soare shrugs it off.
Xbala's hollering something that shifts rapidly between aggrandiosities, wordless, excited sounds and the chorus "that's my partner!" And Spar is laughing without being entirely sure why. He shakes any hand that grabs his and responds to the statements he can't quite hear over the din with a "thank you, thank you," and a few well placed winks. Someone hands him a shot glass of clear liquid, to which he says, "What time is it?" And hands it to the person calling something like "if you won't-" He endures bumps, and shoulder rubs, and one brave soul ruining the perfect coif of his hair — he barely spares a thought to the knowledge it'll dry all wrong. Spars with his people again, one group of them, anyway. And things feel right.
Eventually Agent's trickle away, and Xbala sets Spar back on his feet. He gives her a glare, the bite of which is probably dulled by the aforementioned bad hair.
She shrugs, "Wasn't my plan."
"Yeah, and Mayor Governor Thorne's alive and well," Spar gripes light-heartedly, following her back to their adjoined desks. "Who else could it be?"
Xbala's incredulous look is enough to suggest an answer, but the presence of two travel cups on his desk confirm it. Spar snatches one at random and holds it close. Close enough to his face to the infrared appearance of his cheeks. Underneath — those he's distracted momentarily by the incredible smell of oolong — is a note.
Sorry, I'm not very big on crowds, but I know you are. We did good. Welcome back. Let's talk soon. X
-V
Spar keeps the tea near his face while he slips his coffee, and only puts it down to take a closer look at the note, reading it over a few times, and checking the back.
Only then, when he looks up, does Spar notice Vellum. He stands with his back toward the room, head bent far down in that way that can only mean he's speaking to Jack, who's hidden from this angle. As if on cue, Vellum glances over his shoulder. He's smiling around a cup, identical to the two on Spar's desk. He blinks, once, slowly, in greeting. He looks…nice.
A moment too late to be smooth, Spar holds up the note.
Vellum closes his eyes, and shakes his head fondly.
Spar takes a half step forward, and Vellum glances at Jack.
It's pointed — not just yet.
So Spar nods, and stares, and feels his cheeks start to ache with the force of his face's determination to make him look like a lovesick idiot first thing in the morning. As Vellum turns away, with the briefest expression of regret, Spar is struck by the slight curl of his hair, how it falls freely behind his ears and sways when he moves. It's not moussed back, he realizes, Vellum uses pins. He always used pins, before pieces of their luggage disappeared in the train incident.
Vellum is back at S.U.I.T.S, back in Vassa Natura. He looks comfortable. He looks like himself. He looks right.
There's something about the mental image of it — Vellum holding his hair back, lips curled carefully around the delicate metal, placing each pin with that expression of absolute focus Spar finds so adorable. Spar can't help but imagine the scene in his apartment's bathroom, Vellum making eye contact in the mirror, keeping his lips pressed tight together while his eyes narrow in a smile. Maybe Spar would brush his hair. Help somehow. Heck, learning to give a Sorel braided pigtails without yanking her out of his lap had been a challenge, braids on Vellum would be easy. It would give him a reason to run his fingers through the salt and pepper strands, to feel Vellum lean into his palms, his shoulders going slack with a sigh that filled Spar's chest with an infinite sense of warmth.
Spar forces himself to look anywhere else in the room, sinking into his chair with a long-suffering exhale. Xbala is staring over her spectacles when he gathers the wherewithal to notice.
Spar raises an eyebrow, but she only goes back to reading her report, letting out an amused huff.