#fg's writing

[fox-guardian]

FINALLY, a piece of actual writing coming at ya!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

100 Days Incident Free, a Mouthwashing Time-Travel Fix-It (abandoned after 4 chapters BUT with bonus concept art content)

we got curly going through it, we got anya POV, we got. some old art. i hope you enjoy it despite its limited-ness, and if you do enjoy it, let me know!!

i put content warnings in the tags of the fic itself, but there's some blood and gore, bit of body horror in a way, and mentions of canonical suicide and references to anya's assault. (and if anyone thinks i need to add any tags to the work, do let me know i'm not very good at this yet aksdhalksdh)

[fox-guardian]

idk how to advertise this but I MADE S4 JMART ANGST. TEA-FLAVORED.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Rated G, ~1k words, martin is sad and a bitch and i love him so much, etc.

[fox-guardian]

was struck with inspiration this morning and cranked out some fluff.

~1k words, light angst, mostly fluff, and there's mag 200 spoilers so ye

----

three times jon was clingy, and one time he wasn't

Martin could tell that Jon was unsure of how much space he should be giving him once they had gotten out of The Lonely and into the safehouse. He had been staying close, but not too close, ever since they’d arrived. Just lingering by the doorways of rooms Martin was in if he himself didn’t have any business in there. By the end of the first day there, though, they had talked about boundaries and decided that hugs were fine. More than fine. Martin wouldn’t mind if Jon gave him hundreds of hugs a day. He didn’t say that, exactly, but he implied something close to it. Close enough that it wasn’t too difficult for the two of them to tuck in next to each other on the only bed in the safehouse, albeit with a bit of space still between them. Baby steps.

Martin woke up the next morning with a warm presence pressed against his side, a head pillowed on his chest, and an arm draped across his middle. His heart swelled as he looked down at Jon’s sleeping face, peaceful yet looking very grumpy about being unconscious. He knows it’s just the way his eyebrows are shaped, but he just looked so mad to be so peacefully asleep. It took everything in him to suppress a giggle at the adorable sight.

He laid there, feeling all warm and fuzzy until he realized he needed to use the little gentleman’s room. He slowly tried to extract himself from Jon’s sleepy embrace, before feeling a squeeze around his middle and hearing a soft noise of protest coming from the sleepy man beside him. He froze, listening for another sign that Jon might be awake. When he heard nothing, he tried to wriggle away, only to be pulled back again, with another sadder sounding noise of protest from Jon getting muffled by his chest. Martin’s heart melted, and he carefully shifted back into lying comfortably on the bed, wrapping his arms around his beloved.

He could hold it, just for a little while longer. He had a very important person to cuddle with until then.

----

Martin woke with a start as he always did, now. The nightmares quickly fading from his memory, only leaving behind a cold sweat and a chest heaving with quickened breath. As he took in his surroundings, he began to ground himself. He saw their bedroom, the edge of their bed, the drawers and the bedroom door. He could hear the faint sound of wind whipping outside, and distant screams. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see newly-turned-white curls peeking over his shoulder, and he could feel arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and a face buried into the back of his neck.

He laid his hand over Jon’s, gently stroking over his knuckles. He knew he was awake. He didn’t sleep anymore. He felt him nuzzle in closer, and hold him tighter, clinging like he was afraid Martin would disappear if he let go. Martin didn’t mind. Jon was holding him so tightly to try and make him feel safe, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t working. He shifted, cuddled closer to him, and didn’t fall asleep again.

----

Upton House was quiet. No screams, no crawling monsters, no eyes in the sky. Just the warm sun peeking through the curtains as they rested in bed. Martin knew they wouldn’t be able to stay long, what with Jon becoming so confused and disoriented already, but that was okay. This would be enough for now. So on their first proper morning waking up in their quiet little room in Upton House, Martin was more than happy to stay in bed for a while. Especially if it was with the man currently sprawled on top of him.

Jon’s head was pillowed on his chest, his arms tucked under Martin’s sides, and his legs draped around him, guarding him like a reverse turtle shell. But this wasn’t Jon’s way of guarding him, really. This was just Jon indulging himself and being comfortable being affectionate with him. Martin was glad he felt safe enough with him to be this way, not to mention how cute it was.

He looked down at the top of Jon’s head and saw that his hair was growing in black again at the roots, and at the center of the whorl at the top of his head he saw a small bald spot forming. He thought about growing old with Jon, and being able to kiss each other’s deepened crows feet, wrinkled hands, and empty patches where hair had been. He thought about how likely that outcome would be, realistically, and softly kissed the tiny space on Jon’s head.

He shifted slightly, and Martin rubbed his back to soothe him in his sleep, and then allowed himself to slip away again into that soft bliss with him.

----

After everything, they were safe.

He shouldn’t be alive. Or at least, that’s what the guilt tells him. His heart had stopped, but the doctors had pulled a bloody miracle and saved him somehow. So he supposed he had died. Again. If only for a short while.

But now, he was safe. They both were. Safe in a warm bed, somewhere else, with sunshine peeking in through the curtains at them. Jon was awake, and Martin was plastered to his side, face buried in his chest and hand tucked under his chin there. Jon was comfortable, and happy, and surprised that he had woken up before him. He wasn’t much of a morning person, especially not when he was going to sleep with Martin every night. It was hard to wake up so early while feeling that safe and warm, but here he was, on that rare occasion that he woke up first. He wanted to take advantage of it, to make a nice warm breakfast for the two of them to enjoy in bed. How lovely would that be?

After a few minutes of fantasizing, he finally decided to try and wiggle away to actually make the food. But a heavy hand slid across his front and tucked itself under his side, pulling him close, a muffled sound of protest coming from Martin as he nuzzled into him.

Jon paused, heart melting, and looked down. Martin’s face was still buried in his chest, and he wasn’t moving now. Just lying still against his side, warm and comforting, holding him so tightly. Jon shifted again and Martin squeezed him, making a sad little sound before he lifted his head to look at him with the sleepiest puppy-dog eyes Jon had ever seen. His hair was a mess and he still looked half-unconscious, and Jon’s heart melted into a puddle. He settled back down, and stroked Martin’s hair back into place, rubbing his back with his free hand.

Breakfast could wait. He had a very important person to cuddle with until then.

[fox-guardian]

The First of Many Hugs

A couple of days had passed since Jekyll and Lanyon crashed into each other's lives. They became fast friends, Lanyon showed him around their university campus, they shared their dreams of scientific discovery, they even lived not far from each other's dorms. One would say they were close for new friends, close enough -- in Lanyon's eyes, at least -- that handshakes and tipping hats simply wouldn't cut it in a casual setting anymore. 

They were both ready to part ways and to return to their own dorms for the night. Jekyll lifted his hand to tip his hat to Lanyon when he looked up, startled at how close he was to him. Before he could react, Lanyon's arms were wrapped tightly around his body, so tightly he could hardly breathe for a moment. He tensed up, afraid. What had he done wrong? Why was he being restrained? Had he misjudged his new friend? But before he could think of an answer to those questions, the moment passed and Lanyon released him, steadying him at arms length, smiling. 

Jekyll didn't know how to respond to... that, so he just smiled back. Lanyon gave him an odd look, Jekyll could see gears turning in his head and he seemed to come to a conclusion.

"Oh!" he said, letting go of him, "I'm sorry, do you not like being hugged?"

"Hm?" was all Jekyll could say, still shaken from the hug, though he was relieved he hadn't gotten himself into any trouble. 

Lanyon looked earnestly at him, his brown eyes full of awkward guilt. "I never asked, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed. I like giving big hugs, you see, but I suppose I got ahead of myself." He punctuated his sentence with a guilty chuckle.

"That's er, that's alright." Jekyll said, trying not to sound stupid. He decided his fear wasn't an ideal response, so he came up with an excuse. He smiled, "You startled me, that's all." He mimicked Lanyon's chuckle as a sign of forgiveness, "Shall we try that again?"

Lanyon laughed his hearty laugh and outstretched his arms, waiting for Jekyll to meet him halfway. Jekyll matched his pose and stepped forward, letting him wrap his arms around his torso. He let himself relax into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Lanyon's shoulders and matching his intense grip -- slightly less intense than the first hug, however -- and smiling to himself at the warmth of it. He took in the reassuring pressure of Lanyon's thick arms around his back, and the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting against his own as he sighed. He sighed himself, and as he took in that breath, he caught the faint scent of coffee. He noted the tickle of Lanyon's pale hair against the side of his face. He would've forgotten himself if it weren't for the somewhat jarring "pat-pat" of Lanyon's firm hand upon Jekyll's back, and the hug ended. 

They bid each other a proper goodbye and parted for the evening. Lanyon left still feeling a tad guilty for startling his new friend, while Jekyll left pondering this new sensation. It had been so warm and pleasant. The closest thing he could think of to relate it to was wrapping himself tightly in his blanket, but that wasn't nearly as firm. Not nearly as... alive, as that embrace.

...

Days had passed since Jekyll's first meeting with Utterson. The tension that had been between them had subsided already, and he was enjoying his new friend's company. He and Lanyon were an interesting pair to watch, as they were so different from each other. Lanyon's booming voice and boisterous nature contrasted starkly with but also complimented Utterson's calm, soft-spoken one. He began noting their differences in mannerisms as well, such as Lanyon's dramatic gesticulations as he spoke versus Utterson's subtle change in expression as he did, or Lanyon's habit of gently slapping him on his upper body with the back of his hand to show enthusiasm versus Utterson's habit of keeping his hands to himself and instead gasping softly or doing little "oohs" or "aahs" when enthused. Jekyll found Utterson to be, at least in contrast to Lanyon, very dull. And he relished it immensely. 

Soon enough, there came a day that all three young gentlemen parted ways at the same time. By now, Jekyll and Lanyon had made hugging each other goodbye their usual, so he wasn't surprised when he went in for another tight embrace. He stepped back and Lanyon turned to hug Utterson as well, and he realized that he may end up taking a turn to hug his newest companion.

Jekyll and Utterson had only shaken hands thus far, and even that simple and common occurrence was so was notably different between he and Lanyon. Lanyon's large, knuckled fingers gripped firmly, almost challenging the other person to grip harder themself, while Utterson's handshakes -- while appropriately firm -- were made notable by the softness of his palms and the way his small fingers wrapped gently around the other person's hand. 

He waited patiently for Lanyon to let go of his new friend, and as Utterson turned towards him, he outstretched his arms welcomingly. Jekyll stepped forward almost eagerly and smiled at him. He felt Utterson's arms wrap around him. He felt his face nestle between his neck and shoulder. It was gentle, very gentle. His arms did not crush his ribcage or even grip him in a way that he would describe as tight. They simply rested comfortably upon Jekyll's back. The soft weight of his arms was comforting to him, like a warm blanket laid upon him, only heavier. 

He felt Utterson's soft body against him as well, warm and pressed tentatively against his chest. Jekyll gently wrapped his arms around his shoulders and as he did so, he caught a whiff of what smelled something like a library. Like dusty, old books, though it was not unpleasant. He also smelled, only very very faintly, something like baked goods. He sighed, melting into Utterson's embrace. It was so warm and gentle and comforting. He could've fallen asleep right there, snoring into that soft, blonde hair. He wrapped his arms tighter, resting his head between his arm and Utterson's head.

Then Jekyll felt, through what was at least eight layers of clothing between them, the faint but rapid thumping of Utterson's heartbeat. He snapped out of his trance and pulled back from him. That hug had lasted... a few seconds too long, he decided. He looked at Utterson, who wouldn't meet his gaze, but instead turned his now reddened face away from Jekyll.

"I..." Jekyll started, nervous. He couldn't think of an excuse, so he just smiled. "I'm sorry..."

"That's alright," said Utterson, still half turned away from him. "I like hugs."

Jekyll could see in his face that he was kicking himself, though he thought it was an acceptable response. Maybe not the best one, but better than any excuse he could think of for himself. 

"Well, it was lovely seeing you again." He said instead, giving a slight bow.

"Y-Yes it was very lovely." Utterson responded. He seemed to want to leave as fast as Jekyll did. 

They bid each other goodbye and off Utterson went, walking quickly to his own dorm. Before leaving himself, Lanyon leaned over to Jekyll.

"He gives good hugs, doesn't he?" He said, smiling that rosy Lanyon-smile.

"Oh, yes, it was- it was nice." Jekyll said, unsure of just how much of his excitement he should express.

"I call them Utter-hugs. His whole family gives the best ones."

"Really?"

"M-hm, very pleasant. I don't blame you for lingering." He didn't seem to be any shade of sarcastic, so Jekyll accepted his input with a smile.

They bid each other a final farewell and retreated to their respective dorms. That night, Jekyll stayed awake, thinking about that ever-so-gentle embrace, and found himself trying to recreate it with his pillows and blankets to no avail. The warmth of his body heat, the weight of his arms wrapped around him, the faint beating of his heart... The sheer life of that embrace could never be replicated with shallow blankets and empty pillows.

Meanwhile, Utterson laid in bed, awake, for several hours, unable to think of anything other than the way that Jekyll had simply melted into his arms at his embrace.

[fox-guardian]

Sleeping at His Desk

It was around two o'clock in the morning. Jekyll had yet to retire to his bedroom to sleep, and had instead elected to stay up and work in his lab, and to lie his head on his desk when he finally became too tired to continue.

As he sat there, slowly drifting off to sleep, he awakened slightly by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. They were even and familiar, he'd heard them many times before. Jekyll decided not to acknowledge Poole as he quietly came inside. He felt him hover near him, and heard a shuffling of cloth. He felt Poole gently drape a blanket across his shoulders and smooth it down onto his back. Poole lingered there for another moment before leaving even more quietly than he had come, and Jekyll finally drifted off to sleep.

....

It was one in the morning and he was exhausted. He had his face buried in his arms, hoping his sleeves would absorb the tears he silently cried into them. He was just so tired. He feigned sleep as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Poole entered once again. He hovered around Jekyll, and quietly turned off a burner that wasn't heating anything before once again draping a blanket across his back, gently smoothing it down as he did so. He sighed this time. Jekyll could feel the disappointment and pity in that breath.

Poole exited quietly, and once Jekyll could hear his footsteps no longer, he pulled the blanket around him tighter, and began to quietly sob.

....

It was half past one o'clock as Jekyll sat with his forehead pressed against the edge of his desk, frustrated with his work. As he went over his various life decisions that got him to this point, he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He didn't move. He didn't have the motivation to. He just pretended to sleep.

Poole entered quietly, and hovered over his master, seeming to analyze his posture. He gently draped the blanket around him, smoothing it as he did so, and then Jekyll heard him walk over to a corner of the room, and start messing with something cloth. He believed it to be his jacket that he had left by the door. Poole set it down next to Jekyll, and then very carefully removed the glasses from Jekyll's face. He set them aside and then very gently lifted Jekyll's head, sliding the folded jacket beneath it, and setting it back down. He left quietly, and when he'd finally gone, Jekyll let out a sigh.

....

It was almost three in the morning. Jekyll lay with his head in his arms, his glasses still on his face, though he was too tired to remove them. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, but they were different this time. Slower, more cautious, yet louder. They must not be as familiar with which stairs creaked the loudest. He listened intently, but didn't have the energy to do anything.

The person quietly entered the room, and cautiously stepped towards him. He had already shut his eyes to feign sleep so he couldn't see the person in the room. Part of him wanted to assume it was simply a different servant, but another part also thought that it may be an intruder. The familiar smell of old books and the soft "Tut-tut", however, put Jekyll more at ease.

He felt Utterson slowly drape the blanket across his back and shoulders, smoothing it down with hands much smaller than Poole's and gently tucking it around him so as to cover and stay covering as much of him as possible. He carefully tugged his skewed glasses from his face and set them aside rather loudly, the clack of the frames against the desk accompanied by quiet sounds of mild panic. It was very difficult not to laugh.

A lock of hair fell against Jekyll's closed eye, his glasses had been propping it up, he supposed. It was very annoying. He was in the process of deciding to fix it after Utterson left when he felt him gently push the lock of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. He seemed to linger there for a moment, gently tracing behind his ear. He finally pulled his hand away, and sighed quietly, though it seemed a mix of wistfulness and pity. Then he whispered very softly, "Sleep well, Henry... And sweet dreams."

It was as though his words had acted as a sort of permission, because by the time he had left the laboratory, Jekyll had already drifted into a peaceful sleep at his desk.

[fox-guardian]

For uni days- Possibly a night where Jekyll and Utterson are alone... Together?

Utterson couldn't study. He wanted to, of course, and he had been doing so very well for a while. Then Jekyll knocked upon his door. He said he came to study with him, but Utterson had a feeling he just wanted company. He didn't mind though, he always enjoyed Jekyll's company. When he wasn't passionately going on about the latest developments in his scientific theories -- which Utterson loved to listen to, despite understanding none of it -- he was rather reserved, sitting in his own mind. He would sit quietly, and the two of them would then be studying together in warm silence. 

Jekyll had been sitting next to him, "studying" for a little while, and eventually adjusted himself in such a way that his right hand always happened to be in Utterson's field of vision. It was silly, he thought, that the sight of Jekyll's hand would be so distracting, but it was. He couldn't help but gaze at it, getting lost in the little things that made it Jekyll's hand. The subtle blue veins contrasting with his pale skin, the pink tint at his fingertips, a tiny freckle near his wrist, his fingernails that were long enough to occasionally click upon the desk, and the tiny hairs on the back of his hand and fingers. Those long fingers with their slightly bulging knuckles, those knuckles with wrinkles where the flesh is thin at the joint, that way the joints moved as he gently rubbed the side of his thumb with his fingertip. There was even a small paper cut on his thumb, an odd gap where a nail must've partially broken off, and faint little marks on his knuckles and around the base of his thumb. 

As he silently remarked all the little curves and edges and bumps and blemishes, he suddenly became aware that the hand had become tightly curled into a fist, so tightly that the knuckles had gone white. He glanced up at Jekyll's face to see it red, his left hand covering his eyes as he strained, biting his lips closed. His glasses had been folded and placed in front of him.

Utterson placed his hand gently upon his arm, "Jekyll, are you alright?"

Jekyll took in a deep breathe through his nose, and responded with a voice made only from breath, "I am."

"Are you sure, dear? You seem..." he looked at his still white-knuckled fist, "...tense."

Jekyll took in another shaky breath, "I'm.... fine."

Utterson gently lifted Jekyll's fist from the table, and it uncurled in his hand. He gently opened it to find little curved dents where his fingernails had dug into the skin. He looked back up at Jekyll, and ran his hand up to his shoulder.

He spoke gently, "Henry, dear... Will you look at me for a moment?"

After a moment, Jekyll shook his head.

"Please, dear? I just want to look at you."

Slowly, Jekyll turned towards him, pulling his hand away from his face. His eyes were red and puffy, faint tearstreaks shined on his cheeks. His lips were red from biting them shut. Utterson lifted his hand and gently brushed Jekyll's hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Jekyll bit down on his lips again and closed his eyes.

"What's wrong, Henry?" Utterson asked.

He shook his head silently.

Utterson looked him over, he was slowly pulling into himself.

"That's alright, dear," he said, recognizing that he didn't want to speak, "come here."

Jekyll let out a strained "no." 

"Dear..."

"I..." he struggled to keep his composure, "I can't.... I'll... I..."

Utterson hushed him gently, "I know dear, I know. It's alright. But I think you should. It would be best."

Jekyll finally leaned forward, pushing his face into Utterson's shoulder, letting him gently wrap his arms around him like a blanket. He gently rubbed Jekyll's back as he began crying into his shoulder. He felt him grip the front of his vest in his hands, holding onto him tightly. 

Utterson held him close as they moved to sit on the edge of his bed. That lasted for about half a minute before Utterson laid down, his legs hanging over the side of the bed, bent at the knee, while Jekyll curled up next to him, sobbing into his chest. Utterson gently rubbed his back with one hand and played with his hair with the other. 

"It's ok, dear, it's alright," he said, "I know you said you didn't want to tell me what's wrong, and I understand, but... you know you can tell me anything. Anything at all."

He didn't tell him anything. It was a very long time until he could finally bring himself to speak. His voice was strained as he tried to keep his sentences in one piece. 

"T-Talk to me. P...Please." He pleaded.

"I... I have been."

"No, I mean...." he paused, fighting back another sob, "About something, anything. Anything other than this."

Utterson, now put on the spot, went completely blank. What could he say that would take Jekyll's mind off of whatever it was that was bothering him? He continued gently playing with his hair as he looked around the room, searching for a conversation topic. Then he felt Jekyll's hand grip his vest tightly once again. 

"Jekyll," he started.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Hold out your hand, like this." He reached his right hand up towards the ceiling, spreading his fingers out. Jekyll shifted and did the same with his left. "Look," said Utterson, "See how different they are?"

"What?"

"Look, your fingers are all long and pretty and mine are just little sausages." He chuckled, wiggling his little sausage fingers.

Jekyll turned his face up to more or less face Utterson's, "My fingers are pretty?"

"I-I mean, objectively, yes," he said, realizing his word choice.

"But they're all knobby-"

"They are not ‘knobby’," he interrupted, "you just have prominent knuckles. Have you seen Lanyon's? That's what knobby looks like." 

Jekyll laughed at that, just a little bit. He looked up at Utterson's hand as it hovered above them. "Your hands are so round compared to mine." His voice was starting to even out.

"I suppose they are, yes."

"And so small~" You could hear the smile in his words.

Utterson sighed, "Yes, they are rather small. Your fingers are really long, though."

"They aren't that long, your fingers are just short!" They laughed together for a moment, then paused. 

"Look closer," Utterson said, softly, pulling his hand closer to their faces, prompting Jekyll to do the same. "Look at the even smaller differences, like how your veins are more visible there."

Jekyll pointed, "And how you've got that little freckle on your knuckle just there."

"Yes, and how your fingertips are so pink."

"They're not that pink, yours are just as bad as mine! I'm just more pale."

"But it's not bad, it's..." it took a moment to find an appropriate word, "...neat."

They fell quiet once again, simply staring at each other's hands. Jekyll started reaching a finger over towards Utterson's hand. "Your hands look so soft,” he mused. "Almost as soft as they actually are."

Utterson turned his hand around a few times, "I suppose so. That's what happens when you've got chubby little hands like mine."

Before he had time to react, Jekyll pressed his fingertips to Utterson's palm. "It's nice, though. And not just the plumpness, but the skin, too." He lightly ran his fingertips up the length of Utterson's fingers. It tickled a little bit. He wrapped his fingers around the back of Utterson's hand, gently rubbing the palm with his thumb. "So soft," he whispered reverently. He turned his head, resting his cheek on Utterson's chest. He then pulled his hand down to rest it upon his chest as well, still gently holding Utterson's hand.

There was a final pause between them before Jekyll asked, "Utterson, are you alright?"

"Um, y-yes," he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"I can feel your heart, it's beating very fast at the moment."

"Ah," he said. "So it is." He paused, "Are you erm, feeling any better?"

Jekyll adjusted himself, nuzzling further into Utterson's chest and curling up closer to him. He whispered, his voice relaxed and happy, "Yes... I do feel much better now."

Utterson sighed and happily resigned himself to play the role of pillow for the evening. He took his free hand and began gently rubbing Jekyll's back again, to which he responded with a deep sigh.

"Thank you Utterson," he whispered. "How can you be so good to me?"

"Because you're even better than me," he replied. 

"That's impossible," he said, "I've never met a soul as good as yours."

He chuckled, "I'm just glad you're feeling better, Henry dear."

He smiled, completely melting into Utterson's warm embrace. "Mm. Much better."

[fox-guardian]

The Figure In The Trees

“Lanyon should be joining us soon,” said Utterson. He and Jekyll were easing their way into Hyde Park, walking among the trees as they waited for their friend to arrive. The sun peeked through the leaves, warming Utterson’s face as the breeze gently pushed his hair across it. He looked over at Jekyll, draped in his usual black, though he made the color seem more alive. At least, he usually did.

“Is everything alright, Jekyll?” Utterson asked, setting a gloved hand upon Jekyll’s shoulder.

“Ah,” Jekyll turned to face him, “I haven’t gotten much sleep lately, that’s all.”

From his position, Utterson could see the dark circles beneath Jekyll’s dark eyes. His usually bright attitude was drained from him, and he seemed to sway slightly, as if wanting to rest.

“Do you want to sit down, Jekyll? You look exhausted." 

He raised his hand dismissively, "I-I’m alright, Utterson, thank you.” He glanced between the trees, “Besides, there aren’t any benches nearby.”

Utterson looked around and noticed they happened to be in a very discreet cluster of trees. “Well,” he started, “we could sit here.”

Jekyll scoffed, “Lanyon was meant to bring a blanket, we can’t just sit in the dirt.”

Utterson looked at him incredulously, “You didn’t object to that before, when we went on that little trip.”

“That was different, people couldn’t see us then.”

“If we sit down here,” he pointed to a thick tree a couple feet from them, “no one will see us.”

Jekyll looked at the base of the tree, then at the trees surrounding them, then he sighed, exhausted, “Alright, just for a few minutes.”

“Of course, dear.”

They sat down at the base of the tree, setting their hats aside. Jekyll let out a sigh and he slouched. 

Utterson looked at him with concern, “Are you sure you’re alright? Why haven’t you been sleeping well? You haven’t been staying up, have you?”

“Not on purpose, I…” he sighed.

Utterson softened his tone, “What is it, dear?”

“I just… I keep having nightmares. Any sleep I do get is restless but otherwise I… I’m too afraid to fall asleep.”

“Henry…” His voice full of sympathy, he placed his hand upon Jekyll’s shoulder once more. “Would it help to talk about what the nightmares were? It always helped me as a child." 

Jekyll turned away, reluctant. 

"I won’t mock you.”

Jekyll sighed, “Just… strange figures. Twisted people, twisted rooms, a golden snake with glowing green eyes… I don’t recall much of the dreams themselves but they frighten me terribly. It’s gotten to the point where I…” he trailed off, deeply hesitant.

Utterson leaned closer, listening intently, “…Yes, dear?”

“…I’m so tired I suppose I’ve started… dreaming while awake.” He laughed. It was forced and desperate.

“Oh, Jekyll… Just how much sleep have you not been getting?”

“…I haven’t slept more than two hours in the last three days.”

“Jekyll!”

“I can’t help it! I… I don’t want to have those dreams again.”

Utterson sighed. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, and Utterson glanced back over at his friend starting to nod off, only to jolt back up again. This repeated several times. Utterson glanced around, checking again to make sure no one could see them, and no one could. He turned back to Jekyll to see him making an odd face, staring towards a tree. 

“Do you see something?” he asked, seeing nothing in that direction.

Jekyll turned to him, “Hm?”

“You had a look on your face.”

“Oh I…” He turned back to the tree, looking around it, “It was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Utterson received no response. “Jekyll, do you want to try and rest here for a little while?" 

Jekyll scoffed, "We are resting.”

“No, I mean as in- Oh, you know what I mean.” He adjusted himself into a more relaxed position, and then patted his thigh twice. Jekyll stared for a moment, glancing from Utterson’s face to his leg. Utterson kept gesturing to it. “Well?” he asked.

“You… want me to use you as a pillow?”

“You say that as if you’ve never done it before.”

Jekyll gasped in an offended tone, “I know but, not here! People could see…”

Utterson gave him a look, but relented. “Well, my offer stands.” Jekyll turned away again, but glanced back a few times, trying to hide his desire to sleep on that leg pillow in that peaceful little cluster of trees.

He looked away one last time and looked out into the trees in front of him. It was darker there, and the longer he stared, the more he started to fade. His thoughts melted into incoherent blobs and his eyes started fluttering. Just as his head started leaning forward, a shadow up ahead seemed to move in an odd way. He jolted upright, looking for the odd shadow, but all was well again. 

A minute later he began fading again, and as he stared into the trees, he saw it. It was only in the corner of his eye and he wasn’t sure if it was really there or a trick of the light, so he elected to ignore it. Then it moved again. Slowly but surely, out of the corner of his eye, Jekyll saw a figure that was not him peeking from around a tree. It looked like him. More specifically, it looked very much like how his parents liked to dress him up for events. But it wasn’t him. He didn’t look like that. There was something deeply unsettling about its mere existence in those trees. He was sitting there next to his dear friend, and that thing was staring at him from the corner of his eye, peeking from behind a tree. He knew it wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real because if it was, Utterson would have said something. He knew it wasn’t real because it haunted his dreams. Dreams aren’t real, and therefore, neither was it. 

It started getting too bold. It started moving away from Jekyll’s periphery. It was too close, he didn’t want to see it clearly. He blinked, and forced himself to move, adjusting his sitting position. It was gone. He jumped at the touch to his arm.

“Jekyll?” Utterson asked, reaching his hand to gently stroke Jekyll’s back.

“I’m alright, I…” He trailed off for a moment, grounding himself to the waking world with his friend’s familiar and comforting touch, “I’m alright.”

“Jekyll.” Utterson said simply, giving him a look and patting his thigh twice once again.  

Jekyll looked at him and sighed, he couldn’t resist a lap nap. He happily laid his head down upon Utterson’s lap. He was warm and soft and familiar. He laid on his side, taking off his glasses and handing them to his friend. He sighed once more and relaxed, taking in the sight of the green trees around him. He listened to the birds, he watched the patches of sunlight change shape as the branches shook in the breeze, and he watched the shadows move once again.

He paid it no mind. It was just a shadow. Just a tree. Just a branch. Just a bush with a perfect porcelain smile and glass eyes.

He jumped, and felt Utterson jump too. He then heard the gentle rustling of a glove being removed and felt Utterson’s soft fingertips gently pulling the longest dark curls from his face. He melted into the touch, turning himself to lay on his back. He felt himself begin to fade as those gentle fingertips played with his hair, and he shut his eyes. He adjusted himself until he was comfortable, then wanted to look at Utterson’s face. He wanted to see that round, soft face and those kind, blue eyes once more. Perhaps they’d soften his dreams. 

He opened his eyes, but instead of the kind, blue eyes of his friend, he was drawn to the dark, empty, glass ones of the face above and behind it, the ones framed by a gruesome smile with lips pulled too far apart and cheeks pushed too far away but never up into those glassy eyes. He screamed, and instinctively grabbed Utterson and pulled him towards him. The result being them holding onto each other, Jekyll half-sitting up and Utterson slowly being dragged downwards.

“HENRY! What’s wrong?!” He pleaded. 

Jekyll didn’t respond, he simply stared up into the tree, searching for that face that wasn’t his. But it wasn’t real, it didn’t exist. He felt Utterson’s hand cup his cheek and he looked at him. Finally he stared into that soothing and familiar and deeply concerned blue.

“Henry? What did you see?” He asked once again, much more softly this time. Jekyll stared at him, his eyes shifting between Utterson’s, he couldn’t tell him the truth, not the full truth at least. 

“I… I was just seeing things… It’s alright now…” he said, quietly and through shaky breaths. 

“Henry…” 

It was soft and gentle and full of worry. There was something in it that Jekyll couldn’t identify. It was punctuated by Utterson’s thumb gently stroking his cheek. He rested his head against Utterson’s shoulder, holding onto him so tightly. Utterson gently rubbed Jekyll’s back as he leaned back up against the tree. Jekyll melted once again and went limp, settling into one of those postures that looks uncomfortable despite being very comfortable in practice. 

He chuckled to himself, “I need sleep.”

…

Lanyon found them at the base of a tree. Jekyll appeared to be very much unconscious, and Utterson seemed to have at least dozed off. As he approached through the bushes, Utterson woke up and gave him an embarrassed wave. 

Lanyon looked at the man Utterson was trapped under and at the picnic basket in his own hand.

“So… no picnic?”

[fox-guardian]

A Little Bit Homesick

((requested by @donutcassaroll))

It was the late afternoon and Jekyll and Lanyon were more or less relaxing in Jekyll's dorm. Jekyll was sitting cross-legged on top of his desk, bored, studying the small, faded marks on his hands, while Lanyon sat in the desk chair, his head resting on his hand.

Jekyll looked over at him. "Something on your mind?"

Lanyon huffed, "Have you noticed how Utterson's been lately?"

"How do you mean?" asked Jekyll.

"Has he not seemed... off lately? A bit more reserved than usual, perhaps?"

Jekyll thought for a moment, "He has been quieter than usual. Is he alright?"  

"I don't think it's anything too serious, or he would've told me." Lanyon paused, thinking. "Maybe he's just stressing about some assignment, or someone said something to him and he's hung up on it."

"Does that happen often?" asked Jekyll, alert and concerned.

"No, but it's still a possibility. Either way, he's in less than good spirits..." Lanyon sighed.

"...The weather, maybe?" Jekyll offered. "It's been rather dreary lately."

"No, I don't think so. He sort of likes duller weather."

"Hm." Jekyll nodded. 

Lanyon racked his brain for any clue he may have missed. "Maybe he's homesick? He did mention wanting to visit home but being too busy for it."

"Homesick?" Jekyll asked. "How does that happen?"

Lanyon gave him a funny look, "It happens when you miss home. It makes you ache to return, hence the sick part."

"Oh..." Jekyll shrugged. "I suppose I'm simply immune." He looked over Lanyon's expression and searched for a way out. "Is there a cure for being homesick?"

Lanyon shook his head, "It varies from person to person, but generally I would say he just needs to be cheered up somehow."

Jekyll looked out the window, as if searching the sky for an answer. Something caught his eye moving in the grass outside, and he got down from the desk to take a look. He continued staring at the little wandering fluffball as he spoke.

"Lanyon..." he started.

"Yes?"

"Utterson likes cats, right?"

....

Utterson was at his desk, reading over some recently sent letters from his mother. It felt like it had been ages since he'd seen his parents, though it had hardly been a month. He sighed, thinking of his old bedroom and the fireplace, and his mother's cooking. His reminiscing was interrupted by a knock at the door. He huffed, wanting to be left alone, but when he heard a familiar, dorky, and mischievous giggle from the other side, he decided it would be best to let Jekyll in.

He opened the door to find not only Jekyll standing there with a grin on his face, but also Lanyon, mirroring his expression. He eyed them suspiciously and noticed Jekyll was cradling a dark mass of fluff. 

"....Hello, gentlemen."

Jekyll grinned wider, he seemed to be struggling to contain his excitement. "Hiiiiiii~" he said. Lanyon stifled a laugh, his face red as a strawberry. He looked like he might explode.

"...Right," Utterson said, "what is that?" He pointed at the mass of raggedy, black fluff Jekyll was carrying.

Jekyll and Lanyon shared a look. 

Utterson sighed, "What have you two done this time?"

"Weeeell," Jekyll started, "we noticed you were feeling down lately-"

"-So we wanted to cheer you up somehow!" Lanyon finished.

Utterson's face contorted into a tired and nervous grimace, "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Jekyll and Lanyon shared another look before turning their gaze to the fluffball in Jekyll's arms. He adjusted himself and the fluff moved, two ears perking up and two orange eyes slowly opened. A pink and toothy maw opened up in the mass of dark fur as the ragged street cat yawned. 

Utterson's eyes widened and he gasped, covering his mouth for a moment before reaching out to the kitty. "Oh, where did you find this beautiful darling?"

"Jekyll saw it from his window," Lanyon started, "and we know you liked cats so-"

"-So we followed it around and got it to come with us!"

Utterson was mid-pet when the realization hit him, "We can't have animals in here! We'll get in trouble!"

"Oh don't worry, we snuck it in very carefully, no one saw." Jekyll said with confidence, passing the cat to Utterson. 

Utterson cradled it in his arms like a baby, gazing into its whiskered face as it purred. 

"Feeling better?" Lanyon asked.

The cat started kneading the air as Utterson's eyes got misty. "Yes," he said, his voice cracking.

Jekyll and Lanyon, startled by his sudden state, got immediately concerned. 

"Oh dear, are you alright?" asked Lanyon.

"Is something wrong?" asked Jekyll, already half hugging him.

Utterson kept looking at the cat, "He's just... so cute."

"Who? The cat?" asked Lanyon, relieved.

Utterson's composure was broken and his diction devolved and Jekyll and Lanyon could hardly  make out "Yes, the little kitty baby~!" He continued cooing happily at the cat as Jekyll and Lanyon broke down laughing. The three of them then spent the evening petting and playing with their new buddy, succeeding wonderfully in raising Utterson's spirits.

As the fun came to a close, however, it came time to get rid of the cat somehow. Not wanting to simply let it back out into the world without a home, Utterson decided to pay a visit to his parents' home the next day to deliver the new addition. He figured it would function as a perfect opportunity to catch up.