#frozen hearts

[rubydart]

meeting again

[sleepdeprivedrpf]

I was reading this fic on ao3 called frozen hearts and the writer deleted it because a troll was saying it was AI. I love the story and hope if somehow they see this they don’t let it get them down and come back eventually when they’re ready and finish the story.

[sensacetionalshady]

more Frozen Heart!! Swallow island gang babies <3<3

[thedelulusolulu]

Webtoon recommendations based on LnDS bias

Xavier:

I Am the Villain

My Crush Got Possessed by the Duke

Zayne:

Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story

Frozen Hearts

My In-Laws Are Obsessed with Me

Rafayel:

The Fish I Loved

The Crown Prince Scandal

Sylus:

Mafia Nanny

Purple Hyacinth

The Age of Arrogance

Till Crimes Do Us Part

Caleb:

In Between

Childhood Friend Complex

[lushrue]

frozen hearts pt 8

simon gets his time in the spotlight! just a heads up, updates may slow down a little bit more since my semester starts next week, but i'm gonna try my best to stay consistent! feel free to send asks in between chapters if you want more of these boys!

cw: angst (if you squint), simon's got issues

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, keep pushing, 4, 3, almost there, 1.

simon groaned as he re-racked the barbell, wiping some sweat from his forehead and sitting up on the bench. these morning workouts were sacred to him. they were a chance for him to clear his head, think about nothing for a little while. with the heavy metal blasting in his ears, there was nothing else to worry about. except today, it wasn’t working quite as well as usual.

“struggled a bit at the end there.” price’s voice came from behind him. john was his dedicated spotter, always hovering right behind him. simon hadn’t been able to convince him he didn’t need one, not after he got lost in his head once and nearly crushed himself under the weight of his worries and the metal bar. he grunted in reply, grabbing his water from where it sat beside the bench. “jus’ havin’ an off mornin’,” he muttered, taking a swig from the bottle. as open and honest with john as he was, he didn’t want to admit just what had thrown him off.

it was you. beautiful, irresistible you that he got to have all to himself tonight. his thoughts hadn’t stopped since he sent you that text, all but demanding you go on a date with him. he’d never considered himself as having a felicity of expression, but that had felt more brutish than his usual offhand comment to you. he’d agonized over that text for hours, writing and rewriting and asking kyle for advice and then rewriting again. it still hadn’t quite come out how he’d wanted it. you’d responded favorably enough in your usual cheery manner, but he couldn’t help but worry about what your true thoughts were. did you hate him? did you think he was an ass for being so direct? or did you like the more direct approach? do you want to be with everyone else and not him?

the truth was, he wasn’t sure if he deserved you. he’d had to overcome that roadblock with all three of his men, placing trust in them that made his skin crawl to think about. his bloody, beating heart laid in all of their hands. he was just lending it to them for a while. it had taken him so long to give them that privilege and they’d always treated it with the reverence and care it deserved. simon wasn’t ready to hand himself over to you like that just yet and tonight would be the most vulnerable he’d ever been with you. it had kept him tossing and turning all night, eyes red-rimmed and bleary when johnny rose to kiss him good morning. price had tried to convince him to take his workout easy today, the exhaustion hanging heavy on his bones like a winter coat that was two sizes too big. pushing himself felt good, though. if he pushed himself, he could focus on the ache in his muscles rather than the tightness in his chest.

john walked around the bench, kneeling in front of simon and placing a gentle hand on his knee. price knew him best, knew what he’d been through better than anyone. they were the original two, together longer than johnny and kyle had even known them. while simon revealed pieces of himself to his partners in his own time, john had the full puzzle, a mismatched mosaic of loss and pain and suffering. simon flinched at the touch, his eyes darting from a speck of protein bar on the floor to his lover. he cleared his throat, running a hand over his face. “‘m fine,” he murmured, setting his water bottle back down. his fingers were stiff from how tight he’d been holding it.

john shook his head, raising a hand to hold simon’s chin. “y’r not,” he replied, his tone even and matter-of-fact. he’d learned early on that simon wouldn’t suffer anyone’s pity. “our li’l skater gotcha all out of sorts, hmm?” he huffed, almost frustrated that john could read him so easily. that was all the answer price needed, nudging simon’s thigh to get him to make room on the bench. he sat down beside him, keeping a grounding hand on simon’s arm. touch from a trusted person helped, he’d found. “they already like you, simon. they wouldn’t have agreed to any of this if they didn’t.” 

there was that pesky trust again. john couldn’t truly know what you were thinking, so simon just had to trust his assessment of the situation. sometimes he wished he was a mind reader. it would take so much of the guesswork out of it. no chance to fail, no chance to get it wrong. “yeah,” simon muttered, resting his arms on his thighs and clenching his hands together. “‘m tryin’ to believe tha’.” a long moment of silence passed. john sat patiently, his eyes trained on the sweaty man beside him. simon would speak in his own time, once he gathered his thoughts and translated from his own internal language to something others would understand. 

“i wan’ to be with ‘em,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “haven’ liked anyone this much since kyle. they’re…” he hesitated, his voice trailing off as his mind started working again. “they’re lovely and beautiful and so fuckin’ kind. don’ wanna fuck it up.” john reached down and grabbed his phone, turning off the music and letting silence fall over the gym. iron maiden didn’t feel like the appropriate backdrop for this conversation. “you did jus’ fine when we were courtin’ kyle,” john said, squeezing simon’s bicep. simon scoffed in response, his knuckles turning white under the force of his grip. he remembered the same sleepless nights and paralyzing worry, the fear that he’d have to watch his partners love a man that didn’t love him in return. wouldn’t call that “jus’ fine”, he thought.

“you did,” john insisted, tilting his head so that he could look simon in the eye. “you migh’ not believe it,” he started, “but y’r a pretty handsome bastard.” simon blushed at that, running a hand through his damp blond curls. “y’r funny when you wanna be. made me laugh within a minute of meetin’ ya. and y’r gentle. off the ice, anyway.” john let out a laugh, taking simon’s hands in his and stroking over his knuckles. “you don’ have to tell ‘em everything, si.” simon raised his head, looking at john. he hadn’t intended to tell you anything yet, didn’t want to scare you off, but it felt better to hear someone say it. it felt like permission. “jus’ give ‘em a little bit, yeah? show ‘em there’s a heart under all tha’ muscle.”

at that, simon chuckled, the tightness in his throat easing until swallowing felt like less of a chore. “yeah. think i can do tha’.”

you put your car into park and cut the engine, slinging your skating bag over your shoulder. you’d almost been surprised when simon asked to meet you at the rink. everyone else so far had taken you somewhere that had nothing to do with your sport. something besides the ice. that’s what johnny had said that night at the bar, and they’d seemed to take it seriously. this was simon’s element, though. this was where he felt most comfortable, where he seemed the most himself. you wondered what it was exactly about skating that loosened him up. when he was on the ice, he didn’t seem to care about how much space he took up or how other people perceived him. he had a role to play, and he played it well.

you stepped into the building, the cold air hitting you and making you shiver. the temperature change always sent a shock through your system no matter how much you tried to brace yourself. you wrapped your sweatshirt a little tighter around yourself, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you walked through the doors to the rink. the benches were empty, devoid of the crowds that usually flocked for free skate in the evenings. the only sound was simon’s skates scraping against the ice as he skated up and down the length of the rink. as you took a seat on one of the benches, pulling off your boots and changing your socks, you could see the glint of a rough-hewn figure eight on the surface of the ice. it looked like it’d been passed over many times, simon’s version of pacing on skates. you waved to catch his eye, and he gave you a nod as he passed you.

he finished his rotation before skating to the edge, leaning against the wall in front of where you sat. “get here alrigh’?” he asked, resting his arms on the ledge. you nod, pulling your skates on and starting to lace them up. “yeah, it’s always a pleasant drive.” the small talk felt stale with simon, completely different from johnny and kyle. it didn’t come naturally to him, which made you draw into yourself a bit. interacting with simon alone had always been a bit difficult for you because of how closed off he was. he didn’t share as freely as the others did; you knew nothing about his family or childhood, only that he grew up in manchester. you weren’t even sure you knew his favorite color. simon seemed to notice your hesitance and stiffened up, shifting on his feet and staring down at the ice.

as you pulled the guards off of your skates and moved to step onto the ice, simon held up a hand to stop you. “grab us a couple of sticks first,” he said, motioning to the tub of equipment that sat beside the hockey benches. you looked at the sticks, then at him, slowly putting the pieces together. “you’re gonna make me play hockey, aren’t you?” you asked, a small smile on your face. he shrugged, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “nah, thought we’d toss the sticks ‘cross the ice ‘n see how far we can get ‘em to slide.” you snort, shaking your head in amusement as you step over and grab two sticks. with your back turned, you missed the way simon smiled at your laughter.

you grab the one that was wrapped in his tape color, a dark purple that suited his personality perfectly. you pull out one without tape for yourself, stepping onto the ice and passing him his stick. “i’ll warn you, i’m much better suited to figure skating,” you said, brushing the stick across the ice to get a feel for it. simon hummed thoughtfully, turning his stick in his hand and leaning against it. he could only imagine what you’d look like swallowed up by all the pads and gear. a more possessive part of him envisioned you wearing his jersey, cheering all of them on from the stands. he swallowed down the thought, turning his focus back to the matter at hand. “‘m sure you’ll be great,” he said, skating closer to you.

you smile up at him, mischief in your eyes. he knew that look well, had seen it on johnny so many times when his partner was going to ask him to do something outside his comfort zone. he froze, cocking an eyebrow at you. “i’ll do this on one condition,” you say, flipping the stick over in your hands. simon scoffed, shaking his head. “you been this pushy on all y’r dates, lovie?” he asked in amusement. you laugh, the sound echoing in the empty rink. “no, i saved this all for you,” you joke, the interactions feeling easier the longer you stood there. “if you’re gonna teach me hockey stuff, i get to teach you some figure skating stuff too.”

simon hesitated, his eyes widening a little bit. he wasn’t graceful like you. he was all hard muscle, built for speed and physicality. he’d trained his body to be a wall, an immovable object that he could throw in between his teammate and an opponent. walls couldn’t figure skate. still, john had urged him to give into you. show a bit of vulnerability, give as much as he was comfortable giving. while the idea wasn’t entirely appealing, the smile on your face was too convincing. “fine,” he grunted, which made you smile wider. “but i go first, yeah? i’m runnin’ this show, after all.” you nod your head, bowing in acquiescence. “whatever you wish.”

he couldn’t help the soft smile that curled the corners of his lips. you were so easy, just like johnny. he could get used to you. he skated behind you, tucking his stick under his arm. “first things first, you gotta know how to hold the stick,” he said, grabbing your elbows and tilting your arms to position the stick against the ice. his hands slid down your arms to your hands, making you shiver. goosebumps followed his touch, both from the temperature of his fingers and the proximity of him. none of them had gotten this close to you on your dates. “ya righ’-handed or left-handed?” he asked, and you hold up your right hand. he shifted it towards the top of the stick, putting your left hand lower down.

“this one’s y’r control hand,” he said, covering his right hand with yours. you hadn’t realized until now how much bigger he was than you. “it’s the one that’s gonna keep the stick steady ‘n guide it where you wan’ it to go.” he repositioned your left hand, loosening your grip. “you wanna keep this hand loose. needs to be flexible so you can move the puck around better.” he skated back, giving you some space. you moved the stick across the ice again, feeling the difference in how easily you could maneuver. simon smiled, a hint of pride flickering across his face. he’d never considered himself a particularly good teacher, but you were certainly proving to be a receptive student.

as you got a feel for the new grip on the stick, he grabbed a puck from the wall, tossing it down on the ice. he nudged it over to you, adjusting his own grip and leaning forward a little. “hit it to me,” he said, his eyes shifting between you and the puck. you turn towards him, flexing your fingers and tapping the puck with your stick. it glided over to simon, who hit it back to you. you smiled as the two of you passed the slab of rubber back and forth. it reminded you of the games you’d play with your friends as a kid, hitting a balloon back and forth to see how long you could keep it in the air.

“y’r a natural,” he said, so softly you almost missed it. when you passed the puck back to him, he kept it, controlling it with surprising ease as he skated towards the blue line. you followed, watching as he positioned the puck for you. “wanna try ‘n shoot?” he asked, flashing you an amused smirk. you nod and he beckons you over, holding your hips to position you. despite the cold, heat flares up under his fingertips. your body feels warm, cheeks heating up as you take in his proximity. standing there in that moment, you realize that you quite like his touch. he’d barely so much as brushed fingers with you up until now.

it took a moment for you to realize that he’d been speaking to you, coaching you on how to execute a slapshot. you blink as you look back at him, a slightly dazed look on your face. he stopped speaking, taking in your expression before scoffing. “weren’t listenin’, were ya?” sheepishly, you shake your head. even though you know you have nothing to fear from him, he’s still intimidating at the end of the day. he’s big, broad, tall. you’re sure he could bench your weight on the worst day. instead of the scolding you expected, he just smiles in that non-commital way he does. “alright, i’ll say it again. but pay attention this time, yeah?” you nod, letting him coach you through it.

it took you many, many unsuccessful attempts. your shots were too wide, or too slow, or your grip wasn’t right. watching the puck soar over the net, you were almost beginning to think you’d never get it right. but then it happened. your momentum was just right, your swing had just enough power, and the puck hit the back of the net with a satisfying thwack. you squeal in delight, beaming with pride and excitement as you look up at simon. to your surprise, he’s looking right at you. has been the whole time, really. he could watch a puck soar through the air any night he wanted. it wasn’t every day that it was you hitting it. “perfect shot,” he praised, a brightness in his eyes that you were unfamiliar with. “if there was a goalie there, ya woulda blown a hole right through ‘em.”

you weren’t sure you entirely believed him, but it felt good to hear nonetheless. there’s a moment of awkwardness between you. if you were closer with him, the slot would’ve been filled by a hug or some kind of tender affection. simon shifted on his skates as if considering his next move. you tried not to be startled when he held his fist out to you. you’d seen price do the same to the boys when they scored a goal. it made your chest warm, made you feel like you were part of their world. you smile wide as you bump your fist against his.

the two of you take a few more shots at the net before you insist on switching gears. you were far too eager to show simon some of your tricks and feel the pride of successful teaching. simon grumbled a little as he put away the gear, but inside, he was bristling with excitement. this was intimacy and closeness that didn’t require vulnerability. sure, there was always the fear of falling on his ass, but it was just you. no one was watching, no one was judging. it was part of the reason he’d bought out the rink for the night. all that hockey money had to go somewhere.

you anxiously pick at the ice with the toe of your skate, practically vibrating as he skated back over to you. “this is gonna be so fun,” you say, almost like a promise. simon raised an eyebrow, almost as if he was unconvinced, and you smack him playfully. “i went along with your hockey stuff, so now, you have to go along with my stuff. deal?” begrudgingly, he nods and you clap your hands, unable to contain the energy. you grab his hand and pull him back towards the blue line, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. “i won’t make you do anything crazy. just some simple stuff, okay?” he nods again and you take up your place on the line beside him. “okay…um, crossovers. i don’t think you do those a lot in hockey,” you say, almost as if you’re talking to yourself.

“just step and cross your feet along the line first so you know how it feels. use the inside edge of one skate and the outside edge of another.” you demonstrate first, eyes trained on your feet. you’re reminded of being a little girl, taking lessons from your coach and learning your basic skills. it’d been a long time since you’d broken them down like this. simon’s first steps are unsteady, unused to using his skates like this. it didn’t help that hockey skates weren’t exactly built for the same delicacy that figure skates were, but you were both making do. eventually, though, he’s moving at your pace, watching his feet more often instead of yours.

“good, that’s great,” you praise. he seems to blossom, opening up to reveal a soft center the more he spends time with you. the small glimpses you’ve gotten up till now have been beautiful; what would it look like when his walls were completely torn down? before you can think any longer on it, you take his hand again and skate with him to the center face-off circle. “now we’ll try it moving. think you got it?” simon laughs, letting himself drift slowly around the circle. “i didn’t learn to skate yesterday, lovie. think i c’n handle myself, yeah?” he stares down at his feet and starts to skate around the circle. 

you stand in the center and watch, a hand on your mouth stifling your laughter. he’s crossing his feet over, but barely. he’s skating like a hockey player. you suppose you can’t be too surprised; it’s in his nature, it’s what he knows. but it lacks the grace, the gentleness of what figure skating is supposed to be. he catches you out of the corner of his eye and stops, shrugging his shoulders. “wha’? though’ i was doin’ a fine job.” you laugh at that, skating closer to him. “you were, simon. it’s just that…it wasn’t very delicate.” he scoffs, crossing his arms defensively. “y’seen me? not exactly delicate, am I?”

you have to concede, he’s not the most dainty thing on the surface. “figure skaters don’t have to be,” you counter, skating around the circle to demonstrate. you lift your leg as you push off and switch your weight, every move a delicate balance between your upward force and gravity’s downward one. you’re pushing just enough to propel yourself forward, to lift your leg from the surface of the ice, but letting gravity do enough work that your leg rises slowly. it looks effortless when you do it, simon thinks. it’s like you were built for it, hand-sculpted by God for the purpose of creating beauty for people to enjoy.

you stop yourself, using the leftover momentum to skate back around to him. “you just have to move like you are. pretend you’re floating on air. imagine how weightless you’d feel.” simon wasn’t sure it made sense to him. a person couldn’t be weightless. but for you, he’d humor the thought. he started to skate around the circle again, this time with you following him. he closed his eyes, drifting off and pretending to be a cloud. it was hard to see himself as some white, fluffy, soft thing. he was anything but, all hard corners and jagged edges. still, you watched breathlessly as he began to glide across the ice, like his skates were barely touching the surface. you skated around with him like that for a while, watching the weight seem to lift off his shoulders. you’d never realized until now how world-weary he looked.

when he opened his eyes, he was met with your smiling face and your hand in his. and to his surprise, he smiled back.

simon walked you out to your car with a bit of a limp. you’d tried to teach him how to spin, which had resulted in many spills on the ice. you were sure his hip would be black and blue in the morning, but not once had he complained. there was laughter, levity, lightness that you hadn’t felt from him before. he always seemed to hang over the rest of the group like a distant stormcloud, not unsettled enough to rain thunder and lightning down but plenty darker than the rest of the group. you’d managed to bring out some new side of him, something that he’d never let you see before. it felt like the keys to the kingdom.

you place your hand on your door, turning to simon with a smile on your face. you’d both exhausted yourselves, but somehow you felt you could go for hours more. “it was really nice skating with you,” you said, clutching your coat a bit closer to your body. the winter air was brisk, and part of you was glad the season was coming to an end. “i had a lot of fun.” simon nodded to you, keeping a respectful distance just like the others had. “yeah, thanks f’r teachin’ me how to figure skate,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “think i still prefer watchin’ you.” you laugh at that, a bit of humility bubbling in your chest.

the two of you seem to hesitate again, caught in another awkward moment. you’re waiting for him to move, and he’s uncertain of you. he’d heard johnny and kyle talk about kissing you. your lips were soft, you tasted sweet, your body melted so deliciously against theirs. his hands balled up in his pockets, flicking his gaze down from your eyes to your mouth. he could imagine the feeling. you swore he was leaning in, and you leaned in too, but he pulled back. you tried not to be hurt by it, but the way he looked at you proved that your face wasn’t as good at hiding it. he cleared his throat, turning toward his car across the parking lot. “text me when you make it home, lovie,” he said, giving you an almost apologetic wave.

you murmur a goodbye and wave back, climbing into your car and the blessed warmth of your heater. he hadn’t kissed you. the others had all kissed you, but simon hadn’t. it made you worry. perhaps he didn’t like you. perhaps he was just doing this because the others were. you tried not to think too deeply about it as you shifted your car into reverse and pulled out of the lot. simon watched you go, his phone held to his ear as it rang. his chest felt heavy, regret seeping in. “simon?” john’s voice crackled through the phone speaker. “couldn’t do it, john,” simon said, his voice soft and melancholy. price let out a sigh. simon could almost hear the way his eyes crinkled at the edges, a sad grimace on his features that only came out for his longtime partner. “come ‘ome, si. we got takeout.”

simon pulled out of the parking lot, watching your tail lights disappear down the road before turning towards home.

taglist: @cadotoast @jupiternighties @hxnneydew @kaoyamamegami @lolly145 @linaangel @bestbookfriends @callsignang3l @livingoutsidethetardis @msecho19 @aylitgirl @vvs-dlxodyd @bollzinurmouth

[ineffablemossy]

A Coeur Cédé (Yielding Hearts) ~ Chapter 2: A Coeur Perdu

~ A Monoco/Verso chapter fic ~

This is an angsty chapter, Monoco is a perceptive being and can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. It brings up a lot of old grief and fears.

A Cœur Cedé (Yielding Hearts) (7179 words) by IneffableMossy Chapters: 2/5

Read it under the cut or on AO3, your comments give me life ^^

With great thanks to my beta-readers @sinvulkt and Snugwugs

Monoco let himself be led by the hand out of the bedroom, through the heavy drapery, and into the bathroom off of the next corridor. This room was smaller, oval, and the curtain-door was a lighter fabric, a cotton or linen in shades of blue. In the centre of the room stood a battered freestanding bathtub, the rolled edge worn and chipped. A gas lamp shone on the wall to his left, powered by chroma rather than any form of actual gas. It cast a golden pool of light that barely reached the centre of the cave. A commode stood against the wall near the foot of the bath, with a long mirror propped behind the basin, the silvering blackened and bubbled around the edges.

They had salvaged the pieces out of a wreck of a building near Stone Wave Cliffs. Combining their picto storage hadn't been enough to carry them all, even after an initial trip to drop off Verso's piano. They had squabbled about who would carry the mirror by hand, until Monoco had grabbed it, claiming that Verso was far too clumsy and would break it before they got halfway up the mountain. He didn't mention the times where he'd either lost his footing or his grip and only just saved the looking glass from plummeting hundreds of meters down the hillside.

He especially didn't draw attention to it because each time he had been distracted by Verso's arse scrambling up a slope in front of him.

"Verso, all these candles. You do remember I'm made of wood and fur, don't you."

"You know what? I'd never noticed actually."

Monoco turned his head slowly towards Verso, who swaggered over to the commode without looking back.

"Here." He spun around and proffered a small tin, cupped in the palm of his hand. "Lucky for you, it survived." He tossed it towards him.

"Survived what?" He held the tin up to inspect it in the flickering light. It was battered and dented, the white label pasted on, printed with the words FRIEDEL'S FAMOUS GREASE! and decorative curlicues around the edges.

"Hmm, oh nothing, just the journey from Lumiere… to here." Monoco looked at him over the top of his fingers as he unscrewed the lid. Verso grinned sweetly, his eyes pinched. The Gestral tilted his head. "Don't you raise your eyebrows at me Monoco, I'll have you know that stuff's all the engineers can talk about at the minute."

"I see." He inspected the substance, it appeared waxy on the surface yet near transparent. When he rubbed a smidge between finger and thumb it formed a thin, slippery film. It had a slight sheen to it, a little like oil on water but without the brilliant colours. He sniffed it. "It's strange; it has no smell."

"I think that's the idea. They said its an artificial hydrocarbon, whatever that means." Verso was walking back over to him now as he spoke. "But no animal fats they said, so it lasts longer, lubricates better, and," he tapped the side of the pot with a fingernail, "it doesn't smell."

"That'll make two of us this evening then won't it." He sneered and he noticed Verso flinch. He screwed the lid back on and set it on the small stool next to the bath.

"I don't know if anything will ever sort your joints out really, but we can try."

“…”

"I'll go and prepare dinner while you take care of," he gestured in Monoco's direction, "this." The jibe stung. "What did you bring for us this time?"

"Rabbits."

"Mmm, my favourite, you spoil me Monoco." He flashed a smile, his steps light as he came closer. "Just as well I also brought a new jar of mustard from the city of lights isn't it?"

"I suppose so." He saw Verso's smile quiver and fade. The candlelight played over his face, accentuating his cheekbones and darkening his eye sockets.

"I could…stay. If you'd like."

"…"

Verso searched his mask. "Please say something."

He turned his face away and muttered, "I didn't think you were coming."

"Why would you think that? I've never missed our yearly date, mon vieux. Why would I start now, hmm?" His voice was like honey, soothing and warm. But something niggled at Monoco, frustration caught up with him. He wanted to let it go, but the melancholy and worry wouldn't quite drain away.

"There was no trace of you on the way up. The old way was completely untouched since the last snow fall. I know you well enough to know you do not tread so lightly Verso."

"Ah, well, I'll admit I was here earlier than usual. It must have snowed last night. I've not been here much longer than that." He sighed. They stood in silence for a moment.

"Where have you been then? I haven't seen you since the Festival."

"Umm… it can't be that long, can it? I thought it was only a couple of months since…" Monoco turned his head abruptly, a small ember of anger flaring.

"It's been eight months, two weeks, and forty-two hours."

"Oh."

"You said you would be a few weeks."

"I... I didn't think…"

Monoco turned, pulling his shoulders up straight. His shadow loomed out from him, fractured into pieces by the candlelight. The lamp behind him shone the strongest, casting most of Verso's face into darkness; save for a strip of light illuminating his moonglow eyes. The hot feeling in his chest was growing now, singeing the gloomy edges of his mind as it guttered through the pores and rays of his wood.

"It was the planting festival, and now its the turn of the year. Have you forgotten how to count?" His throat felt tight as he forced the words out.

Verso looked up at him, his face pitiful. His eyes were wide and shone in the golden light, and he breathed quickly through his open mouth, throat working silently. His lip trembled as he twisted the ring on his finger.

"I'm... I'm sorry Monoco. I didn't, I don't know what happened. I... I lost track of time, I think…" He raised his hands close to Monoco's chest, just brushing the tips of his long guard hairs, hesitant. Monoco stood as still as he could muster, caught off guard by the apology. He could almost hear the damp air condensing into droplets on the mirror.

"I think you should go."

Verso held his gaze for a moment before turning away, leaving the gestral alone in their bathroom.

The bath water was only lukewarm, but that didn't really bother him. It was utilitarian compared to what waited for him and Verso later in the evening. He knelt in the water, the tub not quite long enough for him to lie down in as humans did. He dunked his head under the surface to try and wet down his mane enough to wash. It took several attempts. He sat back on his laurels, letting out an irritated grunt. The water dripped off his fur, swirling grey eddies of liquid dust dissipating as they hit the surface. His eyes settled on the tin of grease before noticing the small table on the opposite side of the bath. Upon it sat a dark glass bottle. I didn't really mean I'd bathe in his wine but if he's offering. And behind it, a miniature bucket, small slats of wood and two metal bands sized just right for his hand. He turned it this way and that, the dark metal seeming to absorb the light. He dunked it with a clumsy SHLURP, it held water well enough. The bottle was stoppered with a cork, Verso's spidery handwriting was scratched across the label.

Lanolin Shampoo For Monoco

He froze, the cave walls looming in. The little attentions were so gentle, so Verso. He had always been bold, brash, mouthy enough that he would have made a great Gestral. But that was only the face he showed, his mask. Not that he wasn't bold, he was as courageous a human as Monoco had ever met. But underneath all that was a quiet tenderness. Verso had nursed wounds of the heart longer than Monoco had existed, pinpricks of disappointment and failure that had grown as he had. Monoco had tried his hardest to paper over the cracks, even though he himself had been so young back in those days. To fill in the dents and dings with strength, with loyalty. Kindness. He hadn't thought about it, he'd just seen his friend in need, had felt it somewhere inside. He had the same feeling now, a strange creeping dread that Verso was hurt, in danger.

But that was absurd. He was clearly just fine. He sat in the cooling water, the heat draining out of him. He stared at the bottle. Verso had gone away again, hadn't thought about him for months. Had been off to Lumiere, certainly spending all his time gallivanting with danseuses and engineers. Had lost track of time, as he'd put it. So why did he have this absurdity in his hand. It made no sense. Monoco felt like it should be telling him something, but all he could feel was the numbness of confusion behind his painted eyes. He was clearly just fine without me. Verso was never any good at hiding, not from him.

His skin crawled, his leaden fur dragging him down. His heart and his head battled against each other. I will lose him again, I already have. The candles flickered as the cave breathed, wet and mocking. He stared at the careful letters. I pushed too hard. I want him back. The walls were stained black, inky tendrils prowling around the edge of the darkness, threatening to overwhelm the feeble light around the bath.

He fingers trembled around the glass and wood, the textures alien under his grey palms. "Verso, please come back," he whispered.

He sat both items carefully back on the table. Familiar grief roared at him, spreading like oil on water, untempered despite the long years. He bent over in the bath, feeling the water creep over him until his mask touched the enamel at the bottom.

Something's wrong.

He trembled, folded over in the too shallow water, hands folded protectively behind his head. He felt cold, fear making his joints stiff. He made himself as small as he could, which wasn't very compared to the human sized bath.

The underwater sounds were quiet and gentle, the muffled knocking of his mask on the enamel sounded round and bassy. Dark thoughts crawled through his mind, unwanted memories that he held close. Memories of pain.

Flashes of Verso's face skittered behind his eyes. Verso in pain. Blood. Deep water. His half-naked, tortured body, broken and bruised; the Expeditioner who'd run him through bleeding out next to him. The images crowded him, crushing his chest, dragging him into darkness. Why now?

He screamed. A wordless, shapeless wail. He didn't need to breath and took full advantage of it to try and scrape all the pain out of his heart. As if by calling out to the watery void he could rinse the ink stains out of his soul.

Eventually, his cries petered out. He heard a distorted melody as though it was down the other end of a long tunnel, a short repeat of three notes. It was probably Verso back at the piano. He huddled low in the water, longing for a warmth that wouldn't come. The notes repeated over and over in the room beyond.

He felt something slide under the water, cold, wriggling tentacles on his back. His body took over, reacting to the threat faster than he could think. Monoco reared up, lashing out with his hand to grab the intruder. Every fibre of his wood screamed threat at him. The water sloshed around his sudden movements. He grabbed at the attacking creature, it was warm and had a faint smell of wood smoke. The surface of the bath was treacherous and he struggled to keep his balance. He slammed the enemy into the water, raising his other arm to bring down onto the rim of the enamel.

"Monoco! Stop!"

He hesitated mid-movement and slipped, his fist glancing off the pale flesh. Monoco's breathing was shallow, his vision clouded with black spots. He froze, pinning the monster down. His thoughts felt achingly slow to come back to him, every muscle tensed and ready to fight. He tried to turn his head but the movement felt stiff and jerky.

"Hey, hey. Breath. It's me, it's just me."

Monoco knew the voice. He knew his breath. It was an integral part of his training. A perfect gestral breathes as though he is not breathing. The thought cut through the adrenaline. He took in a long gasp of air, his chest shuddering with the effort, he smelt soap and smoke. It helped. He thought of the mountain top, of the glittering seas below. The warm summer meadows.

"That's it, you're okay. What is it you always tell me? A warrior who cannot control his breath is a dead warrior or something."

He managed to focus on Verso's face. His hair was flat, slicked down where the bath water had splashed.

"There you are." He brought a hand to stroke Monoco's cheek. "Could you let go of my other hand please, mon vieux?"

Monoco looked down. He was holding Verso's forearm in a death grip, pressing the soft flesh hard against the edge of the bath. He blinked and let go. His chest moved more steadily, but his heart still hammered, his entire body on edge.

Verso pulled his arm back slowly and rubbed it with his other hand. A bruise was already started to bloom in a red, ugly line. Monoco stared at it.

"Don't worry about that. It'll be fine."

Monoco was crouched low in the now cold water, tense and shivering. The urge to lash out was nearly overwhelming, the call of battle creeping under his skin and bark. The candlelight faltered as the cave breathed faintly around them. He could feel everything, senses alight with nowhere to direct them. It's Verso, only Verso. He tried to speak, but could only manage a strangled noise.

Verso reached out to him, smoothing his hands over the sodden grey fur of his shoulders. The loose fabric around the rolled up cuff of his wet shirt sleeves stuck to the skin around his elbows.

"Why don't we get you out of here, yeah?" his voice was gentle. He moved his hands slowly, like Monoco had seen him do with frightened animals.

Monoco shifted to grip the enamel edge, glad of Verso's warmth where he gripped his round biceps. He couldn't understand the strange sensations warring inside of him. His knees shook as he tried to stand, his mask was on fire, and underneath it a dread trying to drag him inexorably into the shadows that pooled under the water.

His body betrayed him and he tripped getting out of the bath, flattening Verso to the floor in the process. They lay, winded, as water ran off his fur in thin streams, a dark stain spreading across the stone.

"Come on, you clumsy arse!" Verso clapped his back, laughing. His mockery was so familiar, but stabbed at something. Digging in like an insect burrowing into the bole of a tree.

Monoco rolled to the side and away. The floor was cool, a relief against the burning he felt inside. Turned towards the edge of the room, he could see one of the candles guttering out, fallen to the side, its flame growing smaller and smaller until it snuffed into nothingness. Just a tiny puff of chroma that dissolved in the air. He pulled his knees up, wrapping his long arms around them and squeezing them against his chest. Verso moved behind him, the sound of wet fabric flopping against the stone.

"Monoco? Are you alright?" Verso shimmied up to him on all fours.

"Hmm…" He murmured into his knees. Verso stroked his sopping mane, his fingers catching in the tangles. Monoco flinched.

Verso was suddenly on his feet. "Alright, don't move. You're not going to move anyway are you? Just, wait a moment." He rushed over to the commode, pulling out the largest of their threadbare towels. The pile was long since crushed, but the gold embroidery thread still shone against the white ground of the fabric. 'V.D.' it read. He strode over, covering the recumbent Gestral, the smell of mountain air permeating the material. Monoco felt Verso's hand smooth over the fabric, warm and firm. "I'll be right back, I'm just going to get something."

Monoco lay watching the candles. His mind felt blank, smooth, like the glassy surface of a lake at dawn. The sharp heat sank out of him and into the granite. He lifted himself to a sitting position, one leg hugged against his chest, and pulled the towel tight around him.

He wasn't sure how long it was until Verso returned. He rushed through the curtain with a sloshing sound, carrying a bucket in each hand.

"I'm back," he said conversationally. He set the buckets on the floor near Monoco, then grabbed items from around the room. He sat himself down crossed legged in front of Monoco, dumping the things in a pile. The glass shampoo bottle rolled towards them. Verso pulled his shirt over his head, his straight white chest hair looking very fluffy. Usually it was plastered with sweat and assorted dirt. He took the towel from around Monoco's broad shoulders, throwing it in a scrumpled pile.

Monoco held his head low, inspecting the uneven surface of the stone. Verso leaned in close, tilting his head so he could look into his painted eyes. He wore a soft smile, eyes pinching in the corners.

"Hey, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" He rubbed the chin of Monoco's mask with his thumb and leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead. "Let me take care of you, mon amour."

Monoco nodded, feeling a quiet affection for his lover and oldest friend. They had taken care of each other many times after their various failings, which unfortunately included Verso's death on a semi-regular basis. This Verso had needed it even more than the boy he'd known, and that was saying something. But he never just took, had never shown an ounce of disloyalty to Monoco, despite being practically a compulsive liar with others. He had never wronged him or abandoned him. Until this year.

A wave of sadness washed over Monoco, fuelled by the loneliness and fear that had gripped him in the bath. He felt it morph under Verso's kind gaze, a lump rising in his throat. He let out a low cry, wishing he could let tears flow like humans could. Verso always seemed to feel better after crying for a while.

"Mmm, I know." Verso dipped the wooden cup into a bucket, reaching up to re-wet his mane where it had started to dry, the ends frizzing in all directions. The bottle uncorked with a quiet squeak, and Verso shook the viscous white liquid out of it. He smeared it over the bedraggled fur of his ruff, working his fingertips into the base of the hairs. "Ahh, that's it, when's the last time you bathed, hmm?" His voice was cajoling, warm and deep.

Monoco stopped shivering. The cold knot in his stomach remained, but Verso's fingers felt good against his body. They swirled across his fur-bearing leathery skin, working the grey into a frothy mass of white foam. Verso took another cup of water and slowly rinsed the soap away, with seemingly no care for the puddle gathering underneath them. Monoco noticed then that he was barefoot, and they were quite lovely, with his high arches and long toes. He didn't understand how he could possibly balance without a stabilising thumb-toe, but he seemed to manage.

Verso continued his ablutions, washing his furry shoulders and chest. He hummed as he worked on Monoco's pelage, a cheery little tune. Slowly, Monoco felt the icy fist gripping his chest loosen. Verso moved around to his back, kneeling with his knees snug on either side of Monoco's hips. His britches were thoroughly soaked through. He kneaded his way up and down his spine, and worked across Monoco's back and down his arms.

"Right, nearly finished. Let me just…" He got up, picked up the second bucket, and slowly poured the water. The sheet of water was still warm. He must have used a small picto on it to keep it heated. It spread over Monoco's head and shoulders, sloughing away the dirt and grime that had been embedded in between his hairs. The soap swirled in organic patterns where it flowed across the surface of the watery stone.

"Hmm…" Monoco managed. His throat was still tight but the pain had dissipated. The room had expanded again to its normal size, the shadows returned to their corners. Verso set down the bucket and held his hands out towards him.

"As you say." Monoco took his hands and stood. He dripped onto the floor, the white flower of soap streaming outwards from him. The water spread out through the runnels in the stone surface, following the gradient of the uneven floor, seeping into invisible cracks on its way to a small sinkhole under the bath.

Verso picked up the towel, which miraculously had not been in the path of the dirty water. He draped it over one of Monoco's stocky arms, unnatural warmth radiating off it as he rubbed.

"Not like you t'waste chroma." His words were stilted, but he was relieved to be able to speak them aloud again.

Verso glanced up from his attentions, raising an eyebrow. "Did you…see all the candles? Spent nearly all my reserves so I did." He moved around to his back, gradually working his way across to his other arm, the fur drying quickly under the picto-powered towel.

"Why?"

Verso didn't answer for a moment. "I just… I wanted tonight to be special." He didn't look Monoco in the face, instead concentrating on his chest. His fur had become fluffier than usual with the addition of heat. It covered him in a soft layer that made him look even bigger than usual. But he felt very small in the face of Verso's disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Verso."

Verso slung the end of the fabric around the back of his head, pulling it in a see-saw motion. "What for?" he scoffed. After finishing around the edges of his mask, he threw the towel in the bath and picked up a wide-toothed comb from the pile of wet things. He wiped it on his trousers, which achieved precisely nothing, and instead attempted to flick the droplets of water off. Finally satisfied, he started teasing it through Monoco's mane.

"For ruining it for you." Verso's hands paused.

"You idiot," he smiled up at him, the dusty grey hypnotising. "Not for me." Verso tapped him lightly on the nose with the comb. "I wanted to make it special for you."

"Oh. Oh." Monoco didn't know where to look, a renewed affection grappling with the sorrow in his chest. He made a low humming sound as Verso petted his mane.

"What's got you so grumpy this evening, M'noco?" Verso's voice was hushed. Monoco thought of how angry he'd been with him, how dismissive, and regretted it all. And yet he gives me another chance.

He bowed his head, resting his mask on the crown of his head.

"I thought…" he whispered, "something had happened to you." Verso leaned in, nuzzling his nose into his mane. His rough beard hairs caught in Monoco's fine lustrous ones. Suddenly, the dam burst and the words came tumbling out of him. "I thought you had gone to try again, alone. And that she'd… or that he'd… found you and I wasn't there to protect you. I went and looked for you, as close as I could get to the Monolith. Verso, I thought…"

He felt hands raking through his fur, up to his neck, carding, soothing, reaching out like a beacon in a dark valley. "I couldn't stop thinking about all those times… mon Verso, I thought I'd lost you."

Verso raised his head and kissed him then. A long, soft embrace followed by another. The room fell away into the gloom, and all he could see was long dark eyelashes fluttering over those eyes the colour of fog, of sea mist, of the blanket of cloud that comes before rain.

"Some things happened, but not those things," Verso murmured close to his face, punctuating with another brush of his lips. "We can talk about it later, or tomorrow."

Monoco suddenly yearned for the lost time. He wrapped his arms around Verso's shoulders and pulled him close to his chest. He nosed at the black hair, still limp and slightly damp. Verso spread his arms wide across his fluff covered back, encircling him. The candles cast shimmering shadows of their joined form, scattering out around their feet. They stood entwined for a long moment.

"Do you feel a little better now?" His voice was muffled by the thick fur.

"Hmm… I…" He lifted his face to the ceiling and took a deep breath. "This evening has not panned out how I expected. If there was still daylight, I would ask you to spar with me to rid myself of all this," he gestured towards the gap between them, "feeling. But we can't, and I am at a loss." Verso sank his hands fully into his mane then, and it felt good. He lowered his head and lifted his many-jointed hands to cup Verso's face, fingers curling around his ears and into the messy locks framing his face. Verso closed his eyes and leaned into his right hand.

"Well, don't worry. There's no rush, we have all night to feel a lot better." Verso planted a kiss on the inside of his palm, near his wrist joint. The affection of it moved something in his chest, a small shuddering breath. His companion grinned up at him, utterly adorable, the handsomest idiot he ever did see.

"Hmm…"

"It's alright Monoco." He opened his eyes and looked at him sideways. "Anyone would feel the same if they were reuniting with me after so long." He winked.

"Urgh…" he let out a scoffing sound, "you're insufferable."

"Yes, and that's why you can't get enough of me."

Verso's light laughter pulled at him, like drawing poison from a wound.Silence settled around them, more comfortable.

"Verso?"

"Hmm…?"

"You're wet."

"And whose fault is that mon vieux?" He flashed a smile that creased his eyes.

Monoco sighed, his shoulders slumped with fatigue. "I should take care of these joints before we bathe."

"And I need to stir the pot. Come, I put your shorts to warm near the fire." Verso reached down and squeezed Monoco's arse cheek, naked as the day he was painted and heavily grained. The Gestral felt a little thrill of surprise course through him. "I know how bashful you get."

"I am not bashful!"

"Coy, demure, sheepish…" Verso trailed a finger down his mask as he spoke, throwing the other arm around Monoco's neck nonchalantly.

"Am not," he grumbled, leaning into Verso and attempting to nuzzle against him. But not so much to catch him with his mask. He'd learnt that lesson long ago, it tended to be a mood killer. "I am daring, assertive, intimidating!" Verso giggled lightly against his mane.

"Taciturn, softly spoken, unselfconscious…"

Monoco scooped Verso up in his big arms. The human let out a little surprised noise at the sudden movement. He pressed his mask gently to Verso's forehead.

"You may continue." He turned towards the doorway.

"Strong, gallant, wait! The grease!" Verso tipped backwards, extending his arm out to where it sat on the side of the bath. Monoco exaggerated his sigh and walked over until the stupidly long fingers grasped the tin. "Haha!" He brandished it like a prize. "Now where was I, oh yes, gentle, supportive… loving."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Verso Dessendre," he groaned.

"I know, why else do you think I do it?" He placed a finger on the edge of Monoco's mask, running it along towards his chin. "Hmm?"

The bleak whirlpool of dread had receded, pushed back by Verso's radiance. Now that the ache inside had subsided, the warmth Monoco had craved for months finally grew in his chest. It felt good to hold his oldest friend close, his sweet words washing over him.

He ducked around the velvet curtain, pressing his mask to Verso's temple as he carries him through the twinkling passageway. The candlelight reflected off the mica in the walls, like tiny stars.

He whispered close to his lover's ear. "Thank you, Verso."

Verso replied with a kiss.

[thedaswolves]

Sciel looks like a literal goddess in this dress 😍

[azotho]

Go Lune! Succeded a parrying challenge and got a new icy costume for summer lol❄️