@maqpiesfc
Giant Dan Burn?
Dan/Fabian not true etc etc
The thing with being a giant is that you get used to everyone around you being blunt. Hard edges and cold.
Unless you’ve slid into the darkness of the interiors, the hollowed trees and caves. The hidden castles hikers wander past disguised with the oldest of stone magic.
Soft gentle moments that are so unlikely as to be magic themselves.
Fabian asked him, sleep ruffled warm and soft, what his language was called.
“Giant-ish? Giant-ian? Giant-ese?” It’s a pillow talk question, probably more idle than anything else. Just a fancy that slipped into his mind. “Giant-tcsh?” It’s teasing.
Dan didn’t answer , stared at him and Fabian started to wake up too fast. Dan had hushed him, pulled the blanket over their heads so it was dark and hot. So it was like being hidden.
“Is it a secret?” Fabian knows more than he’s supposed to already. What Dan’s background is, a couple of words he’s let slip out. That there are more of them.
“Doesn’t have a name. Not exactly.” Fabian has a look on his face that he’s calling bullshit. He props himself up on his elbow, the lines of his body fine and delicate to Dan’s eyes.
He doesn’t know how well Dan can see in the dark. Doesn’t know that every line of Fabian’s body is illuminated like he’s in the brightest sunlight.
“It’s your tone. We don’t always talk.” Dan keeps his voice almost a whisper, like a confession. He’s not sharing the garble of growls that makes up the Everyday Speech.
“What do you mean?” Fabian edges closer, his body is something Dan is helpless to not stare at.
It’s strange. It’s easier to speak in the dark, when Fabian can’t see his face. When he can’t know how much the two desires inside Dan are fighting. To hide, and to show Fabian exactly what he is.
It’s knowing Fabian can’t see his own face, that he has no idea how clearly Dan can see the fondness or the love on Fabian’s.
“We can say the same thing but with a different tone. Depends how you say it.”
Dan says it three ways. The first time in the low rumble of Everyday. Like if they were just friends, like to a family member. The pleased sound of rocks as they get churned underfoot. Then the sharpness of an axe into stone, when it’s a promise of vengeance.
He’s never said it this third way before. Fabian’s staring at him, even under the blanket, where it’s soon going to be too warm, the second recitation made the hair on his arms stand up. But the third way as close to a whisper that they have, sand that falls between fingers, water held in cupped palms.
It’s a phase he’s said a thousand times, greeting and farewelling friends, waved over his shoulder at his parents. But never like this in the quiet intimate dark of their bed. The hint of snow that brings the peace of wintering with it.
Until the mountains are dust he tells Fabian, his hand on Fabian’s cheek, sharing breath.
