#textbox writing

[farahblack]

todd’s wrists hurt.

it might have something to do with the acid. god, he -- todd really hates acid. it got old fast. fucking acid.

todd can’t text like this, and, he never really can, but right now his hands are melting and he has -- things. to worry about. 

so, todd just kind of... shouts.

“DIRK,” he yells into the apartment, voice strained, “MY MEDS!”

he hears a loud thud, like someone falling off a chair, and then scrambling, and then he hisses as his hands throb. dirk rushes into the room, reading glasses askew on his nose, and if he wasn’t in so much fucking pain, todd would have laughed.

“open,” says dirk, red pill already shaken out into his palm. todd opens his mouth. dirk hands tremble slightly as he places the pill on his tongue. they do every time. todd closes and swallows it dry.

now there’s nothing to do as they wait for the meds to kick in. they, because dirk sits down next to him on the kitchen floor, close but not touching at all. not yet.

just as he’s making to knock the back of his head into the counter, dirk says, “don’t knock your head into the counter.”

todd resists the very tempting urge to knock his head against the counter. dirk plays with the loose threads at the hem of his shirt. it’s a t-shirt, for once -- a bit stretched, and bland, and falling apart: it’s todd’s shirt. obviously. dirk rubs the fabric between his fingers like it’s made of gold.

some time later, which todd knows is about twenty minutes, but feels more along the lines of a lifetime, the burn in his hands settles into a dull ache. todd knocks his head back into the counter. gently.

“better?” says dirk.

“yeah,” says todd, and falls bodily into dirk. his partner’s arm winds around his shoulders, pulling him closer, then letting go.

“what was it?”

“acid,” todd tells him. “my hands. wrists. i’ll be fine.”

“bullshit,” dirk says. “give me your hands.” todd obediently hands them over. they shake slightly in dirk’s settled grip. 

he closes his eyes and sighs, sinking further into dirk, when he feels him start rubbing little circles into his wrists.

“that feels nice,” he mumbles.

“does it?” dirk says, more rhetorical than anything, but todd nods tiredly against his shoulder anyway. “good. i’m glad.”

todd tucks his face into dirk’s neck and allows himself to be taken care of.

[zontiky]

Diego Hargreeves kicks his feet up on his father’s desk and leans so far back the chair creaks. It feels good. He’s never been able to do that before. His brother dared him, once, when they were fourteen and Klaus had just begun to stop giving a shit about the world. Diego made it to the door of his father’s office and then chickened out. He had to give his share of cookies to Klaus for a month.

But now his feet are on his father’s desk. He doesn’t even move away all the papers -- just kicks up his dirty shoes and waits with his breath held.

And nothing happens.

Reginald Hargreeves doesn’t walk into the room and seethe in rage. Reginald Hargreeves doesn’t open the door and say with a deadly calm voice, Number Two get your feet off my table this instant. Reginald Hargreeves doesn’t give Diego a hard slap and a week of extra training for his disrespect.

Reginald Hargreeves does nothing at all because Diego’s father is dead and now his office belongs to no one.

Diego has already decided he likes it that way.

He scrapes the sole of his shoe down the edge of the desk. It leaves a clump of dirt behind. Diego smiles and does it again with his other shoe.

“What are you doing?”

He looks up, his feet on the table, and suppresses -- refuses to move his feet off the table. His sister leans against the doorway with her arms crossed and frown on her face. She looks reluctantly amused, which is usually how she looks at Klaus.

“Haven’t you been here already?” he says.

She shrugs. “Yeah. Klaus, too. He stole some shit and Luther made him leave.”

Diego’s bark of laughter sounds uncomfortably loud in the office. He swings his legs down from the desk and rights himself on the chair. There’s dirt everywhere.

Good.

“So,” Allison says again, “what are you doing?”

“Nothing now,” Diego says, and walks out from behind the desk. Allison scoffs when he mockingly bows at her on his way out. “See you around, Ms. Celebrity.”

He puts an emphasis on the honorific and she scowls.

[farahblack]

dirk's hands are always cold. in the summer todd likes to hold them against his face, pushing his cheeks into his partner's palms. every time, dirk laughs -- youre like a cat, todd, a very sweaty man-sized cat -- and rubs his cold fingers behind todd's ear. todd rolls his eyes, and dramatically, reluctantly, leans into his touch.

in the winter, when dirk complains of pain in his joints and tremors in his hands (he stays silent about the latter, but todd always notices anyway), todd takes his ice-cold hands in his own. dirk sighs and smiles and says, your hands are warm, and todd says, i know. todd does his best to massage the shakiness away, and dirk chatters away about one thing or other, pretending like it doesn't mean much to him, even though it means a great deal. under the covers dirk sneaks his cold hands into the bend of todd's elbows, or into the dip where his waist meets the mattress, or under his arms, or onto his back under his shirt. todd shivers, every time, and rolls his eyes, fondly, and says nothing. dirk worms his way even closer until they can pretend they have molded into one, sharing body heat.

[farahblack]

“What are we?”

Their curtains are sheer, orange on the top and green on the bottom. Dirk picked them out because they remind him of places he’s never been to and sunsets over the sea. Todd agreed to buy them because he likes them too, no matter how much he denies it.

Todd’s warm breath puffs on Dirk’s bare chest as he sighs, slow and languid, patches of sunlight dappling his skin. “Humans?”

“No, I meant--” Dirk tries to find the right words. “What are we?”

“...Dirk and Todd?”

“I meant, as a...” He gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know.”

“Oh,” Todd catches on. “You mean, like, as a couple?”

“Yes. Yes, exactly.

Todd frowns, thoughtfully -- Dirk reaches over and smooths out the wrinkle in the middle of his forehead. It makes Todd roll his eyes and let out a breathy laugh. Dirk counts it as a win.

“I don’t know,” Todd admits, after a warm moment. “Boyfriends?”

Dirk wrinkles his nose.

“See,” he says, “I considered that -- but, Todd, we’re in our thirties. Doesn’t boyfriends seem a bit -- I don’t know, juvenile?”

“Not boyfriends, then. Spouses?”

“We aren’t married, Todd.”

Todd smiles and presses a quick kiss to Dirk’s pec. “Yet.”

“Yet,” agrees Dirk. It’s a nice feeling -- talking about their relationship like this. They aren’t married -- yet. He quite likes it.

“Date-mates?”

“...No.”

“Amors?”

“Neither of us speak French. And I’m at least seventy percent sure you used that word wrong.”

Todd pokes him in the side. “Oh, fuck you. Lovers.”

Dirk thinks it over. Rolling the word around in his mind, it does have a certain appeal -- it sounds pleasant, leaves a nice taste in his mouth. Except...

“Isn’t that usually reserved for sexual partners?”

“We have sex,” Todd says.

Dirk pinches his arse. Todd bats at his hand half-heartedly. “I’m well aware. Still, though -- I don’t think we have nearly enough to warrant being labeled as a sexual relationship.”

Todd concedes. “True that.”

“It’s also a Taylor Swift album.”

Todd’s cold toes meet Dirk’s shin.

“Ow.”

“You deserved that.”

Dirk chooses to be the bigger person and roll his eyes silently. Todd has a patch of sunlight on his cheek, and because he can, Dirk pokes it. Todd retaliated by nudging his sternum -- also sunlit.

“What about... partners.”

Partners.

“That sounds nice,” Dirk says. “I like that. Partners.”

“My partner, Dirk,” tries out Todd.

“My partner, Todd.”

The curtains sway a bit. They smile.

Todd reaches up and pats Dirk’s cheek. His fingers are bare, but Dirk can’t help but imagine--

Husbands. One day.

That sounds nice. He quite likes it.

[farahblack]

“i’m gay,” says dirk.

todd, who happened to be in the middle of kissing dirk not a full minute ago, looks at him strangely. “...well i sure hope so.”

“no no,” says dirk, “you don’t understand. i’m gay.”

“as opposed to what, bi?”

“as opposed to nothing. you’re bi.”

“i am.”

“and i’m gay.”

todd says, “so you’ve said,” and smooths out a wrinkle on dirk’s shirt. the wrinkle was formed not five minutes ago, when todd’s hand was fisted in said shirt. “you’re gay. can you... explain? i don’t understand.”

“well, i’m gay,” dirk elaborates.

“i understand that part,” todd interrupts. dirk disregards his interruption.

“--and, i haven’t said it out loud before.”

todd stills. quietly, he says, “oh.” dirk’s shirt is very smooth. todd keeps smoothing it. dirk moves todd’s hand to his shoulder instead of his chest, because while todd’s warm hand groping him is not unappreciated, it is getting a bit too... much. todd smooths his hand over dirk’s shoulder, and everyone is happy. “not ever?”

“this was the first time. i’m gay. or, well, fifth, now. i’m gay -- sixth.”

“why haven’t you?” todd asks. “said it out loud before, i mean. you don’t have to answer.”

“i suppose there was never a reason to. and... oh, i don’t know. it just felt right to say just now.”

“i’m glad you told me,” says todd, seriously, his hand giving dirk’s shoulder a brief squeeze. his voice is warm and dirk isn’t looking at his eyes, but he’s sure they are too.

“i’m glad you listened.” dirk raises his eyebrows, faux-haughtily but teasingly. “now kiss me again, you disaster bisexual.”

“i’m not a disaster,” mumbles todd, and kisses dirk.

[farahblack]

“darling!” dirk shouts from the bedroom, “have you seen my tie?”

todd, who is in the kitchen, cutting the crusts off sandwiches, yells back: “which one?”

“the one with the little lobsters? it has stripes!”

todd cuts the crust off the final sandwich and debates whether he should cut them all into triangle halves as well. “have you checked the tie drawer?”

“who do you take me for, todd?”

“did you?”

there’s a brief moment of shuffling around, and todd smiles to himself, knowing that dirk is rifling through the tie drawer.

“yes! it’s not here!”

“check in the laundry basket,” todd says, and slices a sandwich in half. “the clean one, dirk. if you wear a dirty tie i’m divorcing you.”

“oh, hardy har har,” dirk responds. “you love me too much and you know it.”

todd rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “damn right i do,” he says, just loud enough he’s sure dirk hears it. he finishes cutting the sandwiches, and neatly arranges them in the tupperware container he’s set aside.

dirk kisses todd’s cheek when he walks into the kitchen, still adjusting his tie, before jumping up on the counter. todd half-heartedly swats at his thigh; one day he’ll convince his husband that it really is unsanitary to put his ass where they make food, but judging by the smug grin he receives in return, they’re both well aware today is not that day.

today dirk’s jacket is salmon, paired with a crisp white shirt and the pink lobster tie. he has a golden earring dangling from his right ear. todd remembers how dirk begged him to pierce it -- it’s the gay ear, todd, come on -- and smiles fondly.

“penny for your thoughts?” dirk says. he’s reached behind himself for the picnic basket, nudging it toward todd.

“it’s a beautiful day,” todd remarks, tucking the sandwiches into the basket.

dirk makes a strange face -- it’s a bit of a fond smile and a pained frown rolled into one -- and says, “my god, you’ve turned into an old man, husband.”

“such is the influence you have on me,” todd says in a terrible british accent, hand pressed to his chest as he swoons, which has dirk letting out a snort-laugh and pushing half-heartedly at his shoulder.

“i can’t believe i put up with you.”

todd offers his hand to dirk, which he takes, hopping down from the counter. “that’s my line.”

dirk presses an obnoxiously loud kiss to todd’s cheek. he grabs the picnic basket and loops their arms together, half-dragging his husband out of the kitchen. on their way out the door, todd stalls to grab his keys from the turtle-shaped key bowl, locking the door behind them. he unloops their elbows and reaches for dirk’s hand, swinging it between them as they make their way down the stairs.

it’s a beautiful day out. in front of their building, todd pulls his husband in by the tie and presses a firm kiss to his mouth; they’re both smiling too hard for it to last long.

[farahblack]

Dirk is doing paperwork.

Which is surprising enough on its own -- if Dirk Gently is willingly doing paperwork, there is almost definitely some sort of serious problem -- but it’s not just that. Dirk is doing paperwork; in glasses. Dirk is wearing glasses.

“You’re wearing glasses,” Todd says.

“Oh,” Dirk says, reaching up to fiddle with the temple, “yes. They’re for reading. Do you like them?”

The glasses are square-framed, tortoise-shelled, and much simpler than anything Todd ever thought Dirk would wear. Perched on the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, they make Dirk look -- almost... elegant.

He coughs. “They look... nice.”

Dirk preens under Todd’s gaze, smiling -- hm. He smiles in that way Todd knows means he’s resisting a self-satisfied wiggle, but this time, he almost looks...

Coy is not a word Todd would ever think to associate with his partner, but, well.

“Since when have you worn glasses?” he asks instead of examining Dirk’s psyche any further.

“Yesterday,” Dirk informs him. He’s pushed his papers to the side of his desk to make room for his elbows, which he leans forward on. “I went to get my eyes checked -- I’ve been squinting a lot lately -- and, well, I won’t bore you with the details. I have glasses now. Reading glasses -- they’re for reading.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to make doctor’s appointments,” Todd teases, just to be a dick.

“I survived on my own without dying of scurvy for years before I met you, you know,” Dirk says. “I’m an adult who is perfectly capable of making doctor’s appointments -- and many other appointments of various kinds.”

“Okay,” concedes Todd.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

They lapse into silence. Dirk watches Todd for a moment longer, before un-leaning his elbows from the desk and sliding the paperwork to himself. He gives the tortoiseshell patterned temple one last fiddle before returning to his work.

Todd suddenly remembers how surprising that is.

“Why are you doing paperwork?”

“Ah,” Dirk says, scribbling something down. “Farah, she -- mm, well.”

“She threatened you?”

“I wouldn’t say it so harshly, but, yes. That’s exactly what she did.”

Todd’s smiles fondly. (If Amanda could see him now, she’d never let him hear the end of it. He’s turned into a sap.) (He can’t say he minds it all that much.) Then because he can’t help himself, he says, “Oh, good. I guess the Universe isn’t collapsing on itself after all.”

“Todd, do shut up,” Dirk says, and throws a pencil at him.

[farahblack]

todd is asleep but tomorrow he will wake up in pain. he will reach for the alarm's off switch but his hand will hit a hot poker instead. he'll hiss in pain and feel tears prick at his eyes. the alarm will keep ringing. it will be eight a.m. and todd's hand will be on fire -- todd will scream through his teeth as his fingers burn to ash.

dirk will run into the room, wearing nothing but his sleep pants and holding a pill bottle in shaking hands. he will fall onto the edge of the bed, his knees denting the mattress, and it will take him four tries to unscrew the lid and shake two tablets out into his palm. todd will watch him through blurry eyes and feel his heart burn.

dirk will pry todd's mouth open with gentle shaking fingers, and he will slip the medication on his tongue. he will press the damp edge of a glass of water to his lips and coax him into swallowing.

(somewhere between it all he will have shut down the alarm.)

todd will take the pills. he will always take the pills, each and every time dirk's hands shake as they cradle his face -- he will choke them down and he will shut his eyes as for an agonizing second everything flares brighter. todd will collapse into dirk's side, hands held out in front of him, smoking.

dirk will reach up hesitantly and todd will nudge his fingers with the back of his skull. dirk will take it as the permission it is and card his fingers through his partner's hair. his hands will shake less. when todd will fully unclench his jaw, dirk's hands will be steady like the light of the morning sun.

todd will curl into dirk and dirk will allow him -- dirk will urge him to, even, to seek the comfort he has to give. todd will sigh and grumble and flex his fingers, and then he'll nose at the edge of dirk's jaw before pressing his cheek to his shoulder. dirk will close his eyes and lean against the headboard. todd will watch him, for a minute, or two, or three, as the burning in his skin vanishes completely. the burn in his heart will dim too, dull itself into a persistent ache. it will glow brighter when he realizes dirk had ran out to get his pills barefoot -- dirk hates walking barefoot on cold tile.

(later, much later, dirk will apologize for taking the bottle that has its place on their nightstand and forgetting to put a new one in its place. todd will kiss him over the eye and tell him he is forgiven.)

that's what will happen tomorrow morning. right now, with dirk sprawled out on top of him, todd sleeps.