Ethereal Skies
Summary: Waiting for a comet to scorch the skies, you and your best friend, Theseus, spend a night in a hammock outside, closer than you’ve ever been before.
Word Count: 3,364
Pairing: Theseus x Reader
You have friends, you have best friends, and then you have Theseus, your dearest friend of the past seven years, the one friend who knows everything there is to know about you just like you know everything there is to know about him. The two of you are inseparable, which is why you’re currently sitting on the top step of his family’s small back porch, watching him tug a rope around the squat trunk of an ancient, towering oak.
“Need some help there, Mr. Lumberjack?” You call out, half-teasing as you remain perched on the sun-warmed steps, a cool glass of lemonade pinched between your fingers, yellow and gold in the gentle rays of the slowly setting sun.
Theseus squints at you from across the yard, pausing his work for a moment to watch you raise an eyebrow and sip the sweet lemonade, the sugar light on your tongue.
His cheeks are a deep red, the consequence of demanding to do this himself rather than utilize magic, even though the May weather insists on being stuffy and overbearing. But despite his obvious discomfort, a wry smile graces his face. “Help would be appreciated, but I’d hate to be the first to make you stand and put some work into something.”
You tilt your head, crossing your legs at the knee. “Well, you do know what they say about princesses.”
The signature mess of dark curls that drive the girls at Hogwarts mad hang over his forehead, threatening to droop into his dark eyes. He swipes at them with a dirt-covered hand, also wiping away the sheen of sweat covering his forehead. “That I do. I just wish I hadn’t befriended one. It hasn’t gotten me any of the gold I wanted.”
You make a face at him, wrinkling your nose, earning a laugh from Theseus, a kind sound that drifts with the gentle spring breeze. Overhead, birds sing within the tangle of oak branches and green leaves, a chorus in time with the scrabble of squirrels scaling the two trees.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” He asks as he turns back to the tree, tugging once more on the rope, ensuring it’s taut and that the knot he wove with the fraying stuff is strong and sturdy.
You swirl the ice in your glass, watching him work. “But you love me, you know.”
“That I do.” Straightening, he rolls the sleeves of his dirt-streaked white button-down to his elbows, places his hands on his hips, and sighs, studying his work. “Well, halfway there.”
A few minutes of silence between the two of you pass, interrupted only by Theseus’s grunts and quiet curses. You take the moment to stretch out and lay on your back, eyeing the clouds and the streaks of green and lavender that already droop low into the lovely blue of the day.
It’s strange to think that only a few hours earlier, you’d been at Hogwarts, accepting congratulations on the completion of your final year, wishing old friends well and exchanging address for letters. You’d been so worried you’d lose so much, but now, here in the Scamander’s backyard, listening to Theseus let loose a particularly creative string of curse words directed at the rope, with a glass of Mrs. Scamander’s homemade lemonade in your hand, you’re happy. But then, that shouldn’t seem such a shock, you figure. It’s how you always feel with Theseus around.
“So,” you ask, propping yourself up on one elbow to watch Theseus struggle with the final knot, “when do you think you’ll be done?”
“Are you serious?” Theseus calls back, sitting in the dirt, feet pressed against the tree to help him yank it into a tight knot.
“It’ll be sunset soon. I don’t want to miss it, not when you’ve been promising this moment for the past seven years.”
He sighs and gives the rope another tug. The blue cloth of the hammock stretches, and it finally begins to look like somewhere you could relax. “You know, part of me wishes I hadn’t made that promise when we first met. If I’d known you’d never forget, I might’ve kept my mouth shut, found another partner for that potion.”
“It’s not my fault you were the first person I met who was as fascinated with Halley’s Comet as I was. Or that you thought everyone has as bad a memory as you.”
Theseus chuckles, then shoves himself to his feet, letting the end of the rope drop from his hand. “God help the man that marries you.”
You make another face but elect to otherwise ignore his jab. “You dodged my question.”
“Did I? You had a question?”
“Theseus,” you whine.
He laughs. “Don’t worry, the hammock’s done. Ready for comet watching.”
“Finally,” you say, setting your lemonade aside and springing to your feet.
“But,” Theseus says, raising his hands as you stand, “we can’t use it just yet.”
“What?”
A soft breeze ruffles his hair as he makes his way toward you. “I promised my mum we’d have some supper with her first. So turn around and head in.”
You drop your shoulders. “But the hammock…”
“Will stay there.” He hesitates for a beat, then looks over his shoulder at it. “Hopefully. If it doesn’t, we’ll be glad we put off lying in it.”
You sigh but oblige him, letting him loop an arm around your shoulder as he makes it to the porch. You wrinkle your nose as he does. The hot sun and work had not left him in a great position. “Any chance you can fix how bad you smell before supper?”
******************************************************************************************
Theseus is leaning against the tree when you finally manage to escape Mrs. Scamander’s stories and offers of more food.
Ankles crossed, eyebrows raised, and a smirk waiting under the color-streaked dusk sky, he whistles as you hop down the porch steps and land barefooted in the cool grass.
“You’ve gotten slow in your old age.”
“And you’ve gotten mean. Only one ‘thank you’ to your mom? She’s going to be heartbroken.”
He shrugs. “She’s fine.”
“Heartbroken.”
He sighs as you step up to the hammock. “I’ll apologize later. For now, we have a comet to spot, right?”
A wave of excitement bubbles through your stomach. This is it. This is what you’d been waiting for for so many years. “Finally. Now are you going to stand there and smile or help me up?”
Theseus still grins but does help, holding the hammock steady while you roll in. It’s cozy. The fabric soft, the blanket Theseus had dragged out of the chest of blankets even softer, and with the quiet chirps of crickets and soft songs of the birds flying around the house, you think you could spend the rest of your life right here, under the green and pink and yellow and deep, deep blue sky, stars blinking down at you, Theseus standing next to you, and nestled away from the cool of the dusk air in a warm blanket.
“Are you going to move over?”
You clasp your hands behind your head, staring up at the sky, listening to the soft gust of the wind blowing through the leaves above. “I don’t know. It’s awfully peaceful here.”
“You were warned.”
“What—”
You don’t have to time to finish the question as Theseus jumps in, sending the hammock swinging and you flailing wildly, grasping for anything to keep from rolling out.
You only manage to roll face first into Theseus’s chest.
“You,” you mutter, face still against his chest, cheek hurting as the button on his shirt scratches it every time his chest moves with his laugh, “are an ass.”
You peel yourself away from him and roll as far away as you can, which really isn’t far at all, much to your simultaneous disappointment and relief.
Theseus smells better now, like cinnamon and spices, for which you’re grateful. And he’s warm, much warmer than the chill beginning to fall over the yard as the sun creeps out of sight. But he’s also an ass.
He grins down at you, cheeks ruddy, hair messy again. A sight. “But you love me, right?”
“Some days, I wonder.”
He nudges you with an elbow and you roll your eyes.
“So,” he asks after a moment of silence, “what do you want to do?”
“I want to watch for a comet in peaceful silence.”
“Oh, then you definitely picked the wrong friend.”
“Clearly,” you say, returning his sarcasm with ease. It’s always easy with Theseus. Everything is. It’s half the reason you’re still as good of friends as you are.
Theseus huffs after half a minute of silence, flips on his side, and scoots down so you’re nose-to-nose with him. Heat radiates off of him, and it burns your cheeks as he cocks an eyebrow and smiles. “Let’s play a game.”
“Theseus, we’re trying to watch for a comet that only comes around once every 75 years. We only have one chance to see it. If we miss it tonight, you’re going to have to tie up a hammock at 92, and I don’t really want to see that.”
“But I’m bored,” he whines. “And it won’t come out for at least an hour, right? So let’s play a game, have some fun. Come on, please?”
You study his gaze, but it’s earnest, pleading, and you sigh. “Fine. One game.”
His grin widens, and excitement sparks in his expression. “Okay. What do you want to play?”
You want to roll away and groan and ask why he didn’t already have a game in mind, but he’s so near, and so warm, you don’t really want to distance yourself, so you just shrug. “Truth or dare?”
“Boring. Besides, I don’t want to move for a dare. I’m comfortable here.” He moves to brush the hair from his forehead, but his fingertips brush your hand, leaving a trail of heat behind them. You suck in a breath and raise your chin, meeting the challenge you’re not certain he put forth.
“Then just truth?” You know you may regret this, may hate yourself for this, but it’s the only way to get Theseus to stop whining for a little while.
“Why not? Could be fun.”
“Could it? I think I already know everything I want to about you.”
Theseus rolls his eyes. “Ha. You’re hilarious. I’ll start. Let’s see...”
“Why do you get to start?”
“Because this was my idea.” You open your mouth to protest that, but Theseus cuts you off before you can. “You fancied Dylan in the fourth year, didn’t you? And you have to tell the truth.”
“I—” you press your lips together, trying your best to glare at him when he’s so near. “Fine, maybe I did. A bit.”
“Yes! I knew it.”
“But you definitely fancied Tella Storhaven.”
He makes a face and shakes his head. “Not my type. Your turn. Let’s see, what embarrassing thing can I make you admit now?”
You swat at his shoulder, and he laughs. The sound sends flames back into your cheeks, and you want to roll your eyes at yourself. You’re getting ridiculous.
******************************************************************************************
“You don’t really like my mum’s stew, do you?”
“Look,” you begin, “your mom is a wonderful cook—”
“But that’s a lot of onion, isn’t it?”
“It’s a ton of onion,” you say, laughing with Theseus. You’re tucked against his chest, his arm around you, your ear to his heart so you can hear the gentle thrum of its beat. Two hours have passed with no sign of the comet, but you’d fallen into a perfect limbo between drowsy and happy, the sort of space that exists only in dreams. And it certainly feels like a dream, lying here in the hammock, pressed to Theseus’s warm body, legs tangled with his, listening to the crickets chirp around you, staying warm in his arms as the hammock sways in a gentle, cool breeze, but reality still swirls around you in the light still burning in the kitchen, and the visit from Theseus’s little brother an hour earlier.
Still, you imagine you could spend the rest of the night here, tucked under Theseus’s arm, and still not be tired of being here.
“It really is a lot of onion. I mean, don’t get me wrong, my mum’s wonderful, but how can she expect anyone to taste anything other than onion in that? It’s a shock, really. That’s why I feed it to the creatures when she goes to the market.”
You gasp and laugh, smacking his chest. “You told me it was good for them.”
“No, no way. I just wanted it out of the house so we didn’t have to eat it all week.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “You’re the worst. The literal worst.”
“Says you, Miss I-Totally-Didn’t-Add-The-Extra-Ingredient-to-Tella’s-Potion.”
“Okay, but she deserved it.”
“Uh-huh. The literal worst?”
You grin. “Okay, maybe we’re both the literal worst.”
“That sounds better,” Theseus says, quieter now, hand brushing up and down lightly on your back. Your stomach flips at this, but you tell yourself you’re being silly. It’s just that you’re tired, that you’re near him, that you’re laughing so much. But as you think of your next question, Theseus shifts, pulls you nearer, and your heart pounds.
“Your turn,” he murmurs, voice low, nearly hidden by the quiet peace of crickets’ songs and the squabble of squirrels above.
You stare at the light in the kitchen window, considering, but it blows out. Newt’s doing? Mrs. Scamander’s? You can’t tell from here.
“What’s one unrealistic goal of yours?”
“Unrealistic?”
“Mmhmm,” you hum. The hammock sways gently, slowly, rocking the two of you back and forth.
“Hard to decide when I could do anything, really, that I wanted. I mean, have you seen this face?”
“Too much of it.”
You know he’s grinning his crooked grin without needing to look. “Now that was a low blow.”
“You set yourself up for it.”
“True, true.”
You breathe deeply, the smell of spring, of grass, of the remnants of the cookies Mrs. Scamander baked after supper float through the air, mixing with the slight smell of cinnamon.
“So?” You finally prompt, lazily poking Theseus in the stomach. “What’s your number one unrealistic goal?”
Theseus hesitates, and you blink heavily, listening to the beat of his heart speed the slightest.
“Hmm? It is embarrassing or something?” You trace a triangle in his arm, waiting for an answer about dragons or ruling the Ministry or saving the world or something. Nothing comes.
You crane your neck to find that his cheeks are tinged pink.
”It’s embarrassing?”
He stops running his hand up and down your back to instead rub the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Mortifying?”
“No.”
“Dangerous?”
“I—” he stops himself, shrugs, and looks back up at the stars.
“It’s dangerous?” You roll away the slightest to better meet his eyes. His one hand remains on his neck, but the other, the one you’re practically lying on, catches onto your shoulder. “Ooo, now you have to tell me. Come on, this was your game.”
He huffs out a sigh but meets your eyes again andt his time, there’s a hesitance in his gaze, an uncertainty you’ve never really known from Theseus before. Your breath catches in your throat.
“Well?” You ask, a little breathless. “What is it?”
“It would be,” Theseus starts, then stops, then rolls his eyes and starts again, hand still on the back of his neck, cheeks a deep red now. “Well, it would be to kiss you, I suppose.”
“Oh.” You say. Then, “Oh,” again, because what else are you supposed to say in a moment like this?
“Yeah.” He laughs once, but it’s humorless, born of nerves more so than a joke. And though he’s holding your gaze, he’s clearly nervous.
“And that’s dangerous why, exactly?” Your heart pounds in your chest, nerves alight with every graze.
He smiles now, a genuine smile. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want to risk that just to chase after some…some…desire.” He says ‘desire’ as though it’s not quite the right word, but it sends flames into your cheeks.
“Oh. I see.”
Theseus sighs as an awkward silence stretches on. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. I should’ve said something else. Shouldn’t have told you that.”
Your mind is spinning, but as he begins to roll away, you hurriedly assure him. “No, no. It’s okay. But, uh, you do owe me another answer.”
He looks at you from the corner of his eye, frowning down at you. “Why?”
“Well, I asked for an unrealistic goal. You still need to give me one.”
It takes Theseus a moment to understand, to comprehend, and you wait with a held breath and cheeks that are ablaze as he processes. “Wait, you…”
“You really think I wouldn’t kiss you? I mean, even if it’s just to have a story to make Tella Storhaven angry?”
Theseus’s shock morphs into joy then a laugh. “Oh, that’s the only reason, huh?”
“I didn’t say it was the only, but it definitely wouldn’t hold me back. But,” you ask, dropping your voice and raising your eyebrows as Theseus rolls back onto his side to face you, “what will people think?”
Theseus chuckles, and the nerves that had been present are fading now, replaced with his usual calm confidence. “Well, I suppose somebody somewhere owes someone some money. I know there were bets on this.”
“And your mother?” Though you say this jokingly, there’s an edge of honest worry. You like Mrs. Scamander too much to risk angering her.
“Quite honestly, I think it would make the old woman’s year.”
You giggle, relieved and overjoyed, on edge as Theseus brushes his hand against yours again. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you know your breaths must sound shaky to Theseus. “What would she say to you calling her old?”
“Hm,” he hums, running his hand up your arm, “I think she’d be grateful that I’m finally thinking realistically.”
“Lucky you,” you manage as Theseus stops his hand at your shoulder, hesitating.
“Are you sure,” he asks, running the tip of his thumb over your jaw, gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes to search your expression, “are you sure you’re okay with this? That you want this?”
You nod. “I’m sure.”
Theseus smiles a wide, crooked smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he cradles your cheek in his hand, running his thumb over your cheekbone. “Lucky me,” he murmurs again, and he is near, so near you cannot breathe.
Theseus closes his eyes as his lips lightly graze yours, then pause. A question unspoken.
You answer by deepening the kiss, pulling Theseus closer, your cheeks burning, heart flying.
When the kiss breaks, Theseus leans back, grinning like a fool, still cradling your face.
“Well, not so unrealistic after all. This face really can get me anything. Hey!”
He breaks into a laugh as you hit his shoulder. “Ass.”
“But you love me,” he says with a grin.
You roll your eyes and turn away, looking toward the sky, praying he can’t tell how your face is burning, hear how your heart is pounding, but it’s perfect timing as a streak of white burns above, flying over the two of you.
“Theseus, look!”
He glances up, only a second at the comet blazing through the sky, before looking back to you.
“You’re really going to miss this twice-in-a-lifetime moment?” You ask, nudging his shoulder to try to convince him to watch it take its slow arc through the sky.
He smiles, soft now, gentle, and runs a hand over your forehead, knocking hair out of your face. “It’s nothing compared to what I’m looking at.”
“You’re a dork,” you say, but you’re unable to resist the smile that crosses your face, and as the comet burns above, you lace your hand with his and take a deep breath. The future and all its anxieties await you, but here, now, next to your best friend, under an ethereal sky, you know only joy.
