It Was Always About Love, Ch. 4: Hope's Battle
Janus, Remus, and Logan recover together after last night's revelation.
Prev - Hope's Battle - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]
WC: 4444 - Rated: M - CW: angst and comfort.
Our bed's warm beneath me when I wake. Comfortably warm, that AC me and Jannie finally caved and bought a couple years back more than earning its keep. The sky's bright outside, bleeding through my eyelids, but I'm not alone in the bed so it can't be all that late in the day.
I sigh and hold Jannie closer. I'm not fucking ready to open my eyes just yet. Last night… Fuck, I’m not ready to even think about last night, either. I sigh again, my fingers twisted in Jannie’s shirt. The material feels different, not his silk from last night, but a soft, nubby linen weave. Did he get up and change? Shit, that meant he'd probably had a nightm—
I open my eyes. My face is smooshed against Logan's deep blue shirt. I look up.
Logan's sitting propped up, my head, the whole top half of my body just sprawled all over his. He's smiling down at me. "Good morning, Remus."
"Oh, fuck, mate, sorry," I mutter. It takes me a minute but I peel away from his body and sit up next to him. My tired ass brain imagines he follows my movement. “’Morning…” I drag my hand down my face and try force my brain’s gears to move. “Didn't mean to lay all over you like that."
Logan clears his throat, still smiling, just a bit. "Last night was difficult, and not just for Jay. You… you were resting comfortably." He lays his hand on my arm, gentle. Familiar. I realize I'd woken up with his hand on my back. "I was loathe to disturb you."
"Thanks, mate." I smile back at him. The light from the window brightens the usual midnight blue of his eyes, turning them a mix of indigo and chinese blue.
Fuck, Jannie was a lucky man.
"Did you sleep well?" His eyes are on mine, examining my face like I'm a suspect Rembrandt. Or a 'copy' he thinks just might be real.
The phantom feel of a hand in my hair sends a cozy shiver down my spine and I nod. "Too good." I yawn and stretch and the rest of the night crashes down on my head. "Fuck, where's Jannie?"
“We’ve been texting.” Logan raises his phone. "He's downstairs, now, cooking. He was genuinely pleased to hear you were sleeping."
I grab my own phone, shaking away the last cobwebs of the night. There are a fuckton of messages in our group chat, loads of back and forth between Logan and Jannie. Too much to read at once. How long had I been sleeping like that, stretched out all over him?
I scroll further. Not a word from Carrot Cake. But three missed calls from—
"Oh, fuck, Emile—" I throw back the covers. "What hap—"
"Jay went down to Emile's last night," Logan's voice is low and steady and it stills me even more than his hand on my shoulder. His fingers slide up and he brushes my cheek. "Everyone's safe."
I suck in a breath and nod. "Okay. But who—"
Hand still on my cheek, Logan meets my eyes. "Jay went to Emile’s and escorted Patton back to his flat last night."
"Holy fuck," I leap up, stumbling when my feet tangle in the sheets. “Pat doesn’t dri—“
"They are both… adequate. See for yourself,” Logan says, voice slow and careful. His hand grips mine, steadying me. His other reaches for my phone from where I'd abandoned it under the covers. With a small smile, he passes it to me. I scroll through the conversation, clinging to the seeming normalcy of Jannie's responses. Logan meets my eyes when I look up.
"I…" I look down at my phone and then over to the door, frozen. I wanna split myself in two, one body to jump down and pull Jannie close.
The other to go find out what the fuck is going on with Carrot Cake.
Logan's watching me, sharp eyes catching every movement. "It is natural to feel conflicted when one's heart is figuratively torn in different directions."
I can't help my smile. How the fuck does he do that? One look and he knows everything in my head. Well, almost everything. I try to laugh. “Might feel a bit o’ conflict if your heart’s literally torn in different directions, too.”
Logan tries to hide it behind his little glasses maneuver, but a tiny smile pulls at his lips. "Indeed." Then he taps my phone, eyes serious. "Which direction are you going to go in this morning?"
I don't have to think about it. "Jannie needs me." Fuck, and I need him right now, too.
"Would sending a message to Patton would help ease your conflict?" He grips my shoulder again. "I can give you some privacy if you’d prefer to call him.“
"Nah," I shake my head. I don't really want Logan to go anywhere, either. I tap out a message then start over, simpler. I hit send before I can overthink it and almost drop the phone I’m shaking so hard.
Logan takes my hand again. His grip's cool and strong. "Shall we go talk to Jay, then?"
"Yeah," I say, pocketing my phone. We're both still in last night's clothes but changing can wait for later. I look down and I'm holding on to Logan's hand like it's a fucking blankie. I should let go. I've invaded his personal space enough for one day. Fuck, for the night and the day.
But he smiles and squeezes my hand. "We shall figure this out together,” he says and I follow him down the stairs.
Jannie's got my big apron draped over last night’s clothes and has been cooking up a storm. The scent of browned butter and garlic, spiced choley, and bright green onions reminds me we all skipped dinner last night. Jannie's got two pans sizzling and a third ready to go. He’s beating something in the big copper bowl as we approach.
"Jannie." I have just enough sense to let him set down the bowl before I throw myself against his back, arms wrapped tight around his middle. His arms cover mine with a little hum and he smiles at Logan over his shoulder.
"Good morning, loves,” he says to us, voice rough. Fuck, he’s been crying.
I hug him a little tighter.
"May I?" Logan asks, reaching for the whisk Jannie's still holding.
I peek past him to see what he’s been making. Scrambled eggs. "Had a craving?" I ask, pressing kisses against his should.
He nods and turns in my arms, melting into my hold. Face buried in the crook of my neck, he shudders, a hitch in his breathing as he lets out a soft sob.
"I've got you," I whisper. "We've got you."
One arm clinging to me, he reaches for Logan's. "I know." Turning to lay his head on my shoulder, he breathes in, still shaky. "I know, Muse. Thank you."
Logan clicks off the stove top and sets the bowl on the counter before drawing close, sandwiching Jannie between us. I feel Logan slide one arm around Jannie's middle, muscles flexing against me, too, as he strokes Jannie's hip. Logan's other hand stretches all the way to reach my back.
Jannie lets out a shuddering breath, drooping in our hold. "Would it help to talk?" I whisper into his hair.
He burrows closer and shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he whispers. "He…" he starts, then shakes his head again.
There are a thousand ways he could finish that sentence, a thousand things that could've happened between them last night. I swallow back my questions and nuzzle the side of Jannie's head.
Jannie's text hadn't said much beyond that he'd brought Carrot Cake home and that he was now safe. Didn't say if he'd been hurt, didn't say what state he'd been in when he'd left.
Emile'd been running that pub for over fifteen years and he's seen some shit go down. For him to have called for help in the middle of the night, Pat had to've been in pretty bad shape.
Or in real danger.
Logan meets my eyes and asks what I can't. "Is Patton alright?"
Jannie's hands tighten on my shirt and his breath stutters, but he nods. "He's safe."
“And you?” I ask, one hand buried in his hair.
He draws closer and sighs.
~
Eventually, Logan peels away to finish the eggs and I get Jannie settled at the table. Our giant coffee pot is barely half-full, the little red Warm light still glowing. "Tea?" I ask, eying his nearly empty coffee cup next to the stove.
Logan passes him the cup without looking and Jannie drains the dregs. "Tea," he nods and hands over the cup.
He sits with his feet tucked up on the seat, knees hugged to his chest, and watches me pull down the box of Tetley's. "What are your plans like today?" he asks us.
"You know me," I wink at each of them and click on the kettle. "Free ballin' today."
Logan chuckles. "I've cleared my schedule," he says, scraping the bottom of the pan. "My time is yours today." He turns off the stove again and plates the food, glancing at Jannie over his shoulder. "I can stay or go whenever you wish. It's completely up to—"
Jannie grabs his hand. "Please don't go," he whispers, voice wet.
Logan lifts Jannie's hand to his lips. "I'm not going anywhere without you, then."
I lean over Jannie's chair while I wait for the kettle to boil, weaving our arms together. He tilts his head back against my belly, eyes closed. "Do you feel like knocking about at home?” I ask. “Or maybe scarf down this feast and go paint the town red?"
He sighs, eyes trailing over to his reading nook. "I think I'd like to go out," he finally says.
"There is a La Cage aux Folles-Birdcage double feature at Lexi this weekend," Logan suggests, setting down the eggs and the bangers Jannie had left warming in the oven.
The kettle finishes and Jannie doesn't loosen his grip on my arms so Logan shoots me a small smile and goes to fill our cups. I squeeze in behind Jannie in his chair and he leans back, pinning me in place. "A trip to the movies sounds wonderful," he says, nodding.
~
"He's been writing to me."
Jay eats only a few bites of his food before he pushes away his plate. One hand cradles his tea. The other clings to Remus’ arm wrapped over his body.
“What?" Remus looks around the house like there was a stack of letters hidden away somewhere.
"No, not in the post, but… I mean… my… paperwork in Copenhagen did the trick. The school got their hands on it. Dead children don't talk to the press and so they called off their search for me. Páidí—Patton found it. Took it. He’s…” Jay’s eyes squeeze shut. “He was leathered when I brought him home and I don't think he was in his right mind. He's…"
Jay sets down his tea and pulls Remus' arms a little tighter around himself. Shields up. "He's got this box. It's full of letters… addressed to me."
I don’t need to ask if Remus knew about the box. The shadows behind his eyes say it for him. “Did you read them?” I ask Jay.
“One of them,” he sighs. “It was… the newest? It was… still open. He…”
When Jay’s voice catches, Remus draws him closer, pressing kisses into his hair.
“I’m not the only one who still carried a torch,” Jay whispers.
With Remus' head bowed, I can’t see his face, but his whole body vibrates with his thoughts. “What would you like to do, Jay?" I grip his hands, fingers laced together. "Whatever you choose, contact, no contact… You have my full support."
“Yeah, Jannie, you know I meant it when I said you could look him up for whatever you wanted." He shrugs. “Even now that he’s…”
At Jay's lingering silence, I shift so I can properly face the both of them. I stroke Jay’s cheek until he meets my gaze. “Yours is not the only heart that matters to you in your assessment of your options, is it?"
Eyes squeezed shut, he addresses Remus’ arms curled around him. “Would you stop seeing him if I asked?"
Shock flashes over Remus’ features then softens into a knowing smile as he presses a kiss against Jay’s temple. “You wouldn't ask that of me, Jannie," he murmurs. "I know that."
"But if I did?" Jay twists around to face him.
Remus is quiet for a bit, but even with his eyes closed, I can see the tears in his lashes as he takes Jay’s hand and presses it to his heart. "Of course I would, Jannie."
Jay nods and reaches for my hand, too. "That's why I'd never ask."
“You know he tried to warn me.” The defeat in Remus’ voice stills us both and Jay and I turn to him as one. “Pat told me he'd done something awful, that he… I shoulda pushed him for more details, I shoulda—"
"And I should have come clean with you about where I was really from," Jay says, looking down at all of our hands woven together. "The fault does not lie on your shoulders, Muse."
“Does it all lie on his?" Remus looks away, like he regrets the question but couldn’t hold it back. Instead of hurt, though, Jannie looks thoughtful.
He sighs, his eyes falling shut. "I… I don't know what to think. I don’t… want to think. Not right now.”
“Okay,” Remus whispers, nuzzling against the side of his head. Just before I can change the subject, Remus’ lips curl in a stiff smile and he winks at me. "So how 'bout them Dolphins?"
~
Through a sort of wordless agreement, Remus and I worked together to keep Jay within literal reach while we prepared for our outing.
“I bet now you’re glad you left your trousers here last Halloween.” Remus chuckles when I step downstairs after my turn in the shower.
"At least Muse didn't steal them and shove them in the washer to get you leave them behind.”
"What can I say? It worked. Look at the bad bitch I bagged with that little move.” Remus laughs and feigns nipping at Jay's fingers where they trail down his jaw. He grins up at me. “There's plenty of space if you wanna leave more behind."
"If?" I ask, then snap my mouth shut. Remus' impulsivity is rubbing off on me. I seek out Jay's eyes; have I said too much?
"Or when," Jay says simply, one hand threaded together with Remus' as he reaches for mine.
His lightness doesn't last. Jay’s, all of our eyes, really, travel from our intertwined hands to his and Remus’, then to Remus’ other hand clutching empty air. Patton’s absence screamed in its silence and Remus brought his other arm up to curl around Jay.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask and together we help Jay to his feet and usher him out the door.
~
Competing with a weekend filled with festivals and unseasonably pleasant weather, the theatre is most empty, leaving us sequestered in our own little island. We sat in the darkened theatre with Jay sat between us. His tears sparkled in the flickering light spilling out from the screen and Remus and I took turns gently brushing them away.
In hindsight, perhaps a film about husbands, old flames, and fighting to prevail over homophobic obstacles wasn't the best option for avoiding certain… emotions.
But moments of levity still managed to break through.
“Bob Dole was a yassified Nixon at his absolute peak,” Jay murmurs as the last film wrapped.
I had to cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. Remus didn’t bother, head thrown back as he cackled. “What, you don’t like tall, pale, and doughy?”
“You know what I like,” he says, bringing each of our hands to his heart. His smile falters, just a bit, and Remus drapes one leg over his.
“You know we’ve never fucked in a movie theatre before,” he growls loud enough for me to hear. I’m grateful the end credits are loud enough that the row in front of us likely couldn’t.
Jay smirked. “There are too many people,” he says. “Besides, are you forgetting Last Knights?”
“Ah!” Remus presses a hand over his heart, face drawn down in exaggerated outrage. “That wasn’t fucking, we were making love.”
I clear my throat to hide my laugh. “I think perhaps that is our cue to head back?”
~
We have a quiet lunch at Jay and Remus’ flat, the leftover bounty of that morning’s breakfast more than sufficient to sate us even after a long walk back from the theatre. As he's done all afternoon, Remus checks his phone when he thinks Jay’s not looking.
Each time, he frowns at the screen, then he puts it away, face drawn.
Each time, Jay’s looked away by the time Remus raises his eyes, a smile pressed onto his face.
"I… I nearly left was I saw it wasn't Virgil at the pub." Jay's admission is quiet. And understandable.
We're sitting together in Jay and Remus' garden, Jay cradled between us as he lays against Remus' chest, one leg crossed over mine.
Remus' hand stills in Janus' hair, briefly, before he resumes slowly carding through his hair.
"I would've made sure Emile got him home," he adds, craning his neck to catch Remus' eyes.
Remus is chewing the edge of his mustache, looking out at the clouds gathering along the horizon. “Pat doesn't drink," he finally says. "He—"
"I'd gathered as much," Jay murmurs, reaching up and stroking the back of Remus' neck. It doesn't quite hide the tremor in his hand. "He's fine, or he was, at least, when I left. He'd had two Irish Coffees."
"Emile makes 'em strong," Remus mumbles, eyebrows knit together. "One of, um, your messages said there was a… a fella?"
I had rather hoped Remus hadn't drilled in to that part of Jay's texts. Foolish, but hopeful.
Jay didn't miss his tone, either. "The bloke was just a bartick, Muse," he murmurs, looking up again. “Patton wasn’t…” He shakes his head. “The bloke latched on to him because he was drunk. I don’t think Patton even realized he was being hit on, let alone did anything to encourage it. Emile and I… we got him out of there."
Remus nods, but his eyes are still clouded. "It's really not like him to go and drown his sorrows in a bottle.”
"I wouldn't know," Jay mutters and settles back against Remus’ chest.
"I…" They both look up and it's a struggle to not look away. "I was overly… firm with him last night." My fingers trace the crease in Jay's trousers. "I… Before I came up, he… He'd wanted to go up after you. He expressed remorse and he asked me to share that with you. "I…" Understanding burns from their eyes and I look away. "I said no. I…"
I reach blindly for their hands. "I didn't realize he—that either of you—had been so young. I didn't realize you were just—"
Jay shakes his head. "Just children play acting at rebellion." He turns his head, scarred cheek pressed against Remus' chest. "With consequences."
We all watch butterflies dancing through the honeysuckle growing in the planters along the railing. “I… I’d like to go see him tomorrow,” Remus says quietly.
“I’d never stop you from following your heart, Muse,” Jay whispers. “Do you know what you'll…” His voice trails off, like he’s choosing his words with care.
Remus doesn't make him voice his worries. “Still figuring it all out.”
Jay nods, blinking slowly. His breathing steadies and his grip on our hands loosens fractionally. Exhausted after only a handful of hours' worth rest last night? Almost certainly.
Hiding from his emotions in the void of sleep? Perhaps.
Remus and I exchange a glance, a quiet, shared assent to let the conversation wind down, to let Jay escape to the questionable shelter of his dreams.
Finally, he sleeps.
When I’m certain Jay’s completely asleep, I brush the edge of Remus’ arm. He looks back at me with wet eyes. “I…" I keep my voice to a bare whisper. "I apologize for not allowing Patton to follow you last night, for not…” He starts to shake his head but I continue. “For not making it yours and Jay’s choice.”
“You were looking out for Jannie.”
I squeeze his forearm where it rests over Jay’s stomach. “And for you. I thought he… I thought… I was mistaken,” I say at last.
"It's almost too much." Still quiet, Remus' voice bursts out, rough and broken. He's holding Jay close, but his eyes are haunted. "It took me a few years to piece together just how young they'd had to've been when it all went down." He swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing. Jay's sleeping, upper half of his body cradled in Remus’ arms. If he loses it, Jay will wake to a sobbing husband.
“And now…” He watches the slow, steady rise and fall of Jay’s chest in sleep. “Both of them… I… They’re both so hurt, Jannie especially, but Carrot Cake, too, and…” Words run dry, he rests his cheek against the top of Jay’s head. “I just want him to know he’s not alone.”
Moving slowly in case I’m overstepping, I reach for Remus' hand and brush my fingers over the back of it. He flips it over immediately, gripping mine, and looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. It occurs to me I’m not completely sure which ‘he’ Remus doesn’t want to feel alone.
I’m not completely sure the difference even matters.
“You’re not alone either, Re.” I draw closer and Remus leans back to meet me, head on my shoulder. I wrap one arm around him, the other curling around both him and Jay. He melts against me, each breath a little easier than the last. I whisper into his hair as I watch his eyes start to close. “We’ve got you, too.”
~
Muse and Lo’s soft whispers of comfort for me—and for each other—lulled me to sleep but I wake as the late afternoon sun washes down over the terrace. And our faces. Muse’s stomach grumbles and he shifts, that sudden, deep inhalation telling me he’s awake now, too.
I reach up behind me to cup his cheek and he turns, nuzzling against my palm. “You’re awake,” he whispers.
Lo’s quiet, his hand still and relaxed where it lays on my belly. Still sleeping. He’ll lament the damage to his circadian rhythm later, but for now, he clearly needs the rest.
I nod, stretching my fingers to play along the edges of Muse's hair. He hums, jaw flexing then relaxing under my hand. I didn’t sleep long enough to dream, and I… I’m glad I didn't. Relieved, even, that I didn’t dream of him. The ache in my chest has nothing doesn't mean I missed seeing his eyes, even in a dream.
As sleep took me, what I truly didn't miss was the catch in Muse’s voice, the regret and worry and fear all wrapped up together as he spoke to Lo.
I wish I’d known. I wish I’d known Muse had spent the last year handing his heart to someone who…
Muse’s stomach grumbled again, pulling me back to him, back to where my thoughts belonged and I turn, carefully, slowly, holding Lo’s hand in place. He’d been up late and woke early, messaging me me as I peeled and crushed and sautéed my mind back to the present. Lo needed rest.
But I needn’t’ve bothered. I look up and two gorgeous sets of eyes, espresso and indigo, my earth and my sky, look back at me.
“Gentlemen…” I smile, squeezing out the whispered cry for emeralds, my seamróga, to join them. “Shall we prepare dinner?”
“Hmm,” Muse stretches again, muscles flexing against my back. “I was going to make that curry. We’re out of coconut milk, though.”
“I could—” Lo begins but I turn and cup his cheek.
“Allow me,” I say. “A bit of a walk would…” I flex my neck, listening to it crackle. “A walk would do me some good.”
Muse’s hand finds mine and squeezes, tentative, testing. Lo glances at Muse then meets my eyes and asks for them both. “Would you prefer company or space?”
“You should stay here and keep Muse away from the ghost peppers,” I laugh.
Lo opens his mouth and I can already hear his response. You’re avoiding the question.
I kiss them both, not ready to voice the answer.
“Very well,” Lo murmurs, accepting my hand when I reach to help him and Muse up to their feet. “I shall do my best,” he says and follows Muse to the kitchen as I go to the door.
“Okay, let’s chop up some peppers, then,” Muse laughs over the scrape of his favorite knife against the whetstone.
“Remus…” Their voices bathe me in warmth as I slip on my shoes and open the door. “I believe Jay asked for no ghost peppers in this recipe.”
“That’s not what I heard…”
~
By the time I arrive at Oseyo's, I’m greeted by dark windows and a big Closed sign. I stare at the locked doors for several breaths, daring them to magically open. It’s not as though they’re the only shop in town. Aldi’s is just a few more blocks up the street.
But so is Virgil’s café.
Fuck it. I turn and stomp gracelessly toward the grocer’s. This is my city, not his, and I won’t let him keep me from enjoying it. I can walk past the shop without thinking of him. I can walk past the shop without slowing my pace to search for those copper curls.
I can walk past without stopping and watching him struggle with one of the gargantuan machines Virgil insists makes the place look authentic.
A cackling knot of tourists—how they hell did they even find this street?—spill out onto the pavement beside me and Virgil spots me from the edge of the window. He looks at me, eyebrows raised behind his silly emo bangs but I shake my head and continue on my way to pick up the milk.
Muse and Lo are waiting for me.














