SLAMS 'GENTLE HEADLOCK' DOWN
platonic touch. ( not accepting )
graves has enough humility to admit he is not the greatest mentor, but his pride claims he is a good enough mentor so credence has to put up with him. besides, it’s considered a privilege to learn from the fantastic percival graves. what higher honor ( purple heart? what’s that? ) could there be than that?
and perhaps, with more honestly, he admits that there is nobody worse at admitting they’re wrong than himself. it is not a fact he should be a little proud of, but graves does so enjoy being the best at things regardless of how terrible. and there he goes again, desperately avoiding the genuine apology he owes to his sulking sous chef.
silent, graves merely sits with his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child. he opens his mouth to formulate english that lightens the boy’s mood only to quickly close it in favor of revising his strategy. this act of opening mouth and closing mouth continues for a few more painful seconds until graves heaves a great sigh, clearly in defeat.
apologizing really shouldn’t be this difficult. ‘i’m sorry’. that’s all he has to say. so why does graves want to blurt ‘i’m spaghetti’ instead? sorry. spaghetti. it’s not quite that far off, is it? jesus christ - he’s still rambling. how foolish credence must find him. how immature, childish ... blah, blah, blah, he knows the rest. and yet, when he looks ... truly gazes upon the sight of loveliest credence, it’s as if he can feel his shriveled heart grow two sizes bigger. he takes that one back immediately. that never happened. well, it technically didn’t, but it might as well have. how mortifying. what is this bewitchery?
graves still hasn’t admitted he’s wrong.
he takes a deep breath and approaches credence. here goes nothing. oh no. no, no - credence is looking at him. he looks troubled. like graves has a third eyeball. haha, wouldn’t that be something? bad graves. off-topic, graves. he reminds himself that credence only looks concerned because graves has been staring at him intensely for the last ten minutes in complete and utter silence. and maybe because after six attempts, he accidentally told credence his chocolate souffle would never amount to anything in life.
... not because graves has a third eyeball.
“credence,” he wheezes. it’s a start. he clears his throat. hang on. let him try that again. “credence,” he corrects himself pointedly. there we go. “i ...” he looks into the distance, avoiding the other’s gaze for the first time, he thinks. he’s searching for words that will make it all better, make everything go back to normal. “i wanted to say that i’m -” spaghetti. “that i’m.” fuck. “i ...” he sighs, running a hand through his slicked hair. you know, he can’t remember the last time he ever apologized for anything.
he hangs his head, attempting to look as pitiful as he feels. tentatively, he looks up at credence to check if he’s paying attention. he better be. or else, he’ll - no, no. focus on phase two: admitting he was wrong.
at least, he feels as if half of the weight has been lifted. after the initial apology, it’s not as hard to admit he was wrong, that he was hasty to be unintentionally cruel. “i was wrong, credence. i know you may not believe me, but ...” he trails off, reaching out to brush his finger against the smooth skin of credence’s cheek. “as your mentor, i shouldn’t have said those things to you. i lost my patience when i should’ve been more encouraging to teach you to improve.”
there. that wasn’t so bad. and not one word of spaghetti to boot.
and last, but not least, he collects the boy’s head into his arms. graves intends the motion to be a hug, but it sort of becomes a headlock, which isn’t so bad either. tension relieved from his shoulders, he fondly cradles credence’s head between his arms with a little sigh. his fingers comfort him, carding through his hair. the warmth is soothing. it feels good to hold credence like this. suddenly, he is tired yet so refreshed. he’s so grateful he managed to get that off his chest whether or not credence chooses to forgive him in this moment, but graves is endlessly relieved.
“credence, you are so ...” he doesn’t know what word he is searching for. what is the word to describe this feeling? a feeling like warmth pooling comfortably in his throat - easy to swallow, but the sensation lingers, staying with him. ah, well.
graves just smiles with a rare sincerity.
maybe, for once in his life, it’s best to just leave it at that.
