Happy Hug a Giant Day! ♡
Definitely not late to this at all. Started writing this just this morning so it’s probably still a bit sloppy in parts—sorry about that—but here’s some solid, Curtis and Romanius G/t action. Hugs involved.
Word count: 3.1k
The End (short):
The Calm During the Storm
It had been a slow day. Rain poured in sheets outside the storefront windows, slipping into storm drains with little fanfare besides the occasional thunderclap that sounded much worse than it probably was. Every now and then, a flash of light would illuminate the tiled expanse around them both; the shelves having been pushed up against the walls to create space enough for a twenty-eight foot presence to exist with some amount of comfort. Albeit, without being able to stand.
Curtis listened to the rain as it drummed up against the glass on the wall opposite to themself. It had become some sort of game, determining just how far they could give into the delusion of pretending that this was an entirely different set of drums, in an entirely different world than this one.
The tile was cold beneath their back, the feeling seeping in past the thin of their long-overdue borrowed tee shirt and making them bite down an oncoming shiver. Ceiling panels—despite their intense observation of them going on literal hours now—were really not that exciting. But the individual flecks of paint were worth counting out if it meant not thinking about why the extra space was needed in the first place, who the shirt had come from, or how long it had been since they’d seen him.
Despite their every attempt to avoid it, that oncoming shiver still ran defiantly through them. Unfortunately, the same could be said of their thoughts. Of home, of friends, of places and people far, far away from here who were likely also stranded in places even farther away, and who had maybe also begun tearing up like a bunch of overemotional idiots over it; whose tears were possibly also getting lost in the endless downpour outside and the still, starry patterns of a boring ceiling panel that were all too quickly blurring together into a formless, wet blob of color.
But maybe that was just them. Yeah, in hindsight, it was probably just them. One single, overemotional idiot, stranded utterly alone in the world and about five times as tall as they should be.
Well, okay, fine. Only half of that was true.
“Curtis…?” A voice drifted up, all hushed with worry and drowned out by the storm almost to the point of being rendered inaudible. There was no room to debate whether it had been heard or not, however, because the individual in question promptly winced at the sound of it.
Romanius’ careful approach was signaled only by a pair of boots clicking across the floor, coming to an abrupt halt when a barricade of white fabric and dark hair proceeded to rise up in front of him as Curtis turned onto their side. Blocking his path and, more importantly, his view of their red, tear-streaked face. It wasn’t like the guy hadn’t seen it before. Hell, Curtis was on the verge of a breakdown or two the very day they met. Yet somehow it was that same notion that urged them into hiding it now; he had seen them cry enough as is, they’d reasoned.
When the voice piped up again, it was noticeably louder and more direct. “Curtis,” it scolded once, almost disappointedly, before turning soft in a way that made them want to melt into the earth. “Esne bene?”
It wasn’t a futile effort. The words had not been lost to the cavernous trench of the language gap between them. Hung just a few inches from their head, the repurposed back of a poster marked with the words ‘Conversation Guide’ worked well to prove that. On it, an equal sign scrawled in black marker, among many others, bound the word ‘bene’ to the words ‘okay,’ ‘yes,’ and ‘good.’ Not that they had to reference it too often to recall what each one meant anymore.
Having at least that piece of the puzzle, the rest of Romanius’ sentence essentially worked itself out. “Are you okay?” He’d asked.
Those kind, dark, and infinitely worried eyes of his bored into the back of Curtis’ neck. At least that was the excuse their mind gave for why they found themself choking on their words all of a sudden, the only one that managed to make it out turning short and jagged along the way.
It was yet another that had made it onto their handy language guide. One of the first, actually.
“No,” they answered back, voice raspy and damp to the point of it becoming nearly unrecognizable to themself. Although that particular sensation was far from unfamiliar. “No, no,” the chords broke into sharper and smaller shards with each repetition, their head subtly wagging from side to side as a hand came up to clutch a section of their hair in a loose fist; the other wrapped around a shoulder.
A quiet sigh was lost amid another flash of light and the echoey boom that followed it. Curtis had taken the opportunity to let it drown out one—and only one—shattered, guttural sob. Forgetting completely to account for the way it shuddered through the floor beneath the other’s boots, feeling it for a moment as if it were his own. In doing so, Curtis had instantly given themself away. And, as far as Romanius could tell, they remained unaware of this fact.
Not only that, but Romanius had been noticing a lot of things about this new friend of his lately. Even in just the length of time they’d known each other, since their initial meeting about a week ago.
A week since he had saved their life, the same as the first time he had seen them cry.
A week spent traveling side by side, wandering through empty city streets and camping out inside the grocery store at night; sorting food and trying to talk and playing games to pass the time. Romanius took another step forward.
But then, why? Two people who did not share a language had managed so far to agree on what piles to sort things into, they had formed inside jokes and successfully taught each other the rules to old games they remembered from childhood. Why didn’t that seem like enough? Romanius calmly placed a hand over their shoulder.
Even in this jumbled mess of a situation both people found themselves in—and yet neither could be quite sure of that truth—there was still so much he didn’t know. After all, he had no way of simply asking: ‘are you experiencing the same thing I am?’ Or ‘did you appear here too?’
He wished desperately to know the person whose life he had saved that fateful, foggy day. Such as where they had come from, what home was called, what home was like, and whether they had friends or family waiting for them there. He wanted to know what his companion did for a living and if all people dressed that way where they were from.
But most of all, the question that sat right at the tip of his tongue, suspended in that moment, burning hot like a candle he just couldn’t snuff out; Romanius longed to know who it was they kept crying for.
It didn’t seem like enough because it wasn’t enough, he told himself. This person was not only several times his size, but also barely understood him, in the exact way he’d just been fretting about barely understanding them. There was nothing he could say or do that would be enough to comfort someone like that. Not in the way they needed.
And yet, no matter how hard his mind tried to convince him of that particular sentiment, the less his stubborn heart believed it.
At least there was the one thing he remained certain of, and he would pronounce it as many times as it took to get his friend to turn around and face him again. “Curtis,” he demanded for a third time with a light tug at their sleeve.
Third time’s a charm, apparently, because the man’s persistent nagging had worked like a spell. The shoulder shifted under his touch, causing Romanius to pull his hand back. Stepping even further back as their body slowly repositioned itself, almost sluggish in its care not to ram into him. Those tense, white-knuckled and calloused hands of theirs unclasped from around themself, something Romanius took as a minor victory. A step in the right direction.
As soon as Curtis had finished sitting up, Romanius moved to close the short-lived gap between them, fully aware that the former’s shoulders were now situated at over twice the man’s entire height. Factoring in, of course, the reality that Romanius himself wasn’t always the tallest presence in a room. He’d hit his current height sometime around his early teens and his body had seemingly called it quits then, something his superiors used to mock him relentlessly for. Not that he had any jurisdiction to complain about height issues around the one person who couldn’t stand up under the fifteen-foot-high ceiling of the store.
Simply put, once he had stepped in so close that he was practically brushing up against their side, Romanius was no longer quite sure where to take things from there. And thus, simply put, he stopped thinking about it.
A shallow gasp escaped from somewhere overhead as two surprisingly strong arms seized around either side of their torso, held just above the waist where they were sitting. His reach did not make it the other side.
One could say that all the world fell quiet then. Instead, the honest truth was that this world they’d both stumbled into had always been eerily silent. It would be more accurate to say that the silence, for all of its definite eeriness, and for the first time Curtis could really recall, suddenly felt bearable.
He had a way of making everything feel bearable, didn’t he?
For all the weather’s attempt to ruin whatever day plans the two might have had, the droning cacophony of rain still pounding against the windows had so easily slipped into a static noise. The unforgiving chill in the air that Curtis had felt through every surface, shuddering through each breath, melted effortlessly away beneath the small, solid warmth affixed to their side. A warmth that, to the smaller of the two, was nothing short of all-encompassing. Reinforced by the open hand that had since closed in behind him, draping loosely around what he was certain must’ve been the totality of his upper and lower back combined.
How he hadn’t thought to initiate something as simple as a hug before astounded him, in weather this frigid. To be honest, he was feeling progressively more inclined to stay in this position for the foreseeable future. Perhaps indefinitely. He hoped that Curtis thought so too.
As far as Romanius was concerned, the singular downside to this was that his vision was so wholly consumed by the white wall of fabric in front of him that he’d have to practically fold his neck in half just to catch a glimpse of their face; to search for some hint on their expression that could tell him whether this desperate excuse of a hug was truly effective or not.
Except, he didn’t have to.
As quickly as one massive hand had turned into two, there was a dizzying rush of air before Romanius—back, boots, legs and all—had abandoned the face of the earth.
The ‘hug’ had evidently been relocated to the one place which, to be fair, did seem like the most fitting place for a hug: someone’s chest. At least, it would’ve been for anyone of similar size. The breath had been knocked out of him the second he made impact, more so out of shock than forcefulness. Medically speaking, he was fine. They had just never been this… forward, before. He decided that it was most likely the effect of their emotions acting on them. But still.
In spite of himself, Romanius let out a laugh; short, bright, and unmistakably dazed.
“Sorry,” he heard—as well as felt—the living surface utter through him. Now there was a word he had gotten to know all too well, and wouldn’t mind hearing a bit less of lately. “You… bene?” The guilt in their scratchy throat was thick and tangible.
“Ita!” He replied automatically, his voice returning after he’d finally caught his breath, pushing himself slightly off the fabric cushion. “Yes, Curtis. Bene.” Then, just in case they’d missed it the first time, “bene,” he repeated, collapsing back into the hold with a huff.
There was another crash of thunder outside, but he didn’t notice any light this time. From where he was, there was only warmth, two steady heartbeats, and the faintest blend of smoke, laundry soap, and something vaguely sweet.
As for his own heart, now loud enough from the sudden rush of adrenaline to hear in his own ears, he felt it skip another beat. Could these lingering scents be the answers to his extensive list of unresolved questions? He thought, his mind running a mile a minute trying to make sense of what his heart was telling him. Or, at the very least, were they clues into his companion’s past?
If so, he hadn’t needed the words at all to receive it. He was practically enshrouded by it; that echo of a life impossibly far away from here. The one that constantly killed him over his inability to just up and ask.
Tears and rain alike continued to fall without end. It didn’t matter. Not to him, or to the person he had been lucky enough to stand beside throughout what had surely been the worst week of both their lives.
How lucky that warmth, fabric, smoke, and laundry soap was all they had to show for it.
There was still so little he knew, so little he understood, and yet being there with Curtis felt like the simplest thing in this whole, broken universe.
Beyond the illusive bubble of time and space they both had created for themselves, was a poster hung backwards on a wall, and on it was a word that in Romanius’ speech there was no real translation for. When Curtis had tried to explain it via gestures and context clues, all they’d ended up with on the other end of that equal sign was a small drawing of a heart. And on the English side—
“Thank you,” Curtis quietly sobbed, followed up by a predictable “sorry.”
Romanius scoffed, elbowing the part of their body closest to his right arm, though he couldn’t tell what part that was, exactly. “Non,” he argued back, an almost playful edge to his tone, “non sorry.”
Romanius’ eyes widened upon remembering something, though why in the world the memory had chosen to resurface, he could only be thankful that it did. It was something he’d heard Curtis remark once or twice in an offhand, joking tone to him, whenever he’d gone off on a tangent and, in the heat of the moment, forgotten entirely that all of it was going straight over the other person’s head. Only now, the short phrase stuck out in his mind, its syllables slightly distorted as he attempted poorly to recreate them, but it was worth the risk.
“Shut up, you… desine! Shoosh!”
While sandwiched between an upper torso and a pair of arms that were all respectively longer than his body, he really should have anticipated that startled laugh of theirs to be as incredibly overwhelming a sensation as it probably was. If only he hadn’t been even more distracted by the fact that his stupid, silly attempt at a joke had actually landed. He’d made his friend laugh, and however weak it was from crying, it sounded solely of sweet success to its instigator’s ears. His mind wondered absently whether that face high above even realized how hard or how proudly he was grinning right then.
Minutes that could’ve been hours passed by until he began to sense that his job had been accomplished. A few lazy, reflexive kicks in the air did the trick to get that message across, and the ensuing decent felt notably gentler than the reverse had been. The pair’s minds and bodies were visibly worn out. Romanius even stumbled slightly once his boots hit solid ground again, Curtis’ hand returning briefly to help him regain his balance, which he had accepted with a grateful, eye-squinting smile.
That lasted for about half a second before he felt the chill in the air promptly slice into him, reacting as though he’d just stepped out of a sauna into the icy sheet of winter.
Without so much as an ounce of hesitation, Romanius acted purely on instinct, lunging directly for Curtis’ side in hope of returning to that profound warmth he had since become acquainted with. At ground level, it was more of a wall than an everything, but it would have to do.
The wall in question chuckled to themself again, every motion sending tremors that he selfishly hoped they’d never realize they were causing.
“Esne bene?” They teased lightheartedly, a hand sliding in to rest beside him on the floor while the other was busy wiping broadly at those deeply tired, and now somewhat puffy eyes.
All Romanius did was drop down right next to it, reclining back until his head met with the wall behind them both, swiftly setting his hands up for support as his legs crossed in front of him. “Shut up,” he teased them back, quieter this time, and a light breeze blew past as Curtis exhaled pointedly.
Something else was muttered under a breath, an “I can’t believe I taught you that…” though it was only understood by one, whose voice was now gradually repairing itself from its broken state. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.
There was one last thing he wanted to add. Any longer and Romanius was ready to pass out cold—or rather, unexpectedly warm—on the floor.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, the room already forgotten in favor of the backs of his eyelids. And just in case there was any question as to what it was for, he nudged himself slightly further into the corner of Curtis’ nearest wrist.
Just when he thought more short, easy words would return from above, all he received was a languid hum of recognition from his companion. Proving to him that they were clearly as emotionally exhausted as he was.
It was a lazy night inside the campgrounds they had made for themselves. The world beyond the windows remained as foreign as it was foreboding. But somewhere inside, two figures sat side by side as usual, leaning heavily into each other to evade the storm clouds that, mere moments ago, had just begun to part.