#well. hi

[hanfocus]

251122 💪

[alkaloidunderstander]

White noise

[valentin1k]

expecting better | chapter two | vale/marc | 1.9k warning: mentions of nausea/feeling sick and throwing up in this chapter. nothing is described in detail, just a heads up for anyone who might need it! chapter one

Vale is going to be sick. This is exactly what he promised himself he would not do, the kind of stupid, impulsive thing he’s supposed to have grown out of. But it’s too late now: he’s already here, sitting in the airport, realising he should have maybe called ahead. 

Well. Better late than never. His hands shake around his phone. Marc answers in two rings. 

“Vale?” It’s a gut-punch. He sounds half-asleep. Because it’s four in the morning. 

“I’m sorry to do this, but can you. Look, I’m at the airport.”

“In… Rimini?”

“No, um. In Madrid.”

“What?”

“Yes, um. My flight just landed. I mean, half an hour ago, but— can you come pick me up? Please.”

There are sounds of thudding; Marc getting out of bed, bumping into something. “Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you— is the baby—”

“Fine,” Vale says, “Fine, healthy, nothing to worry about. I just had— I’ll explain, I promise, just— not over the phone.”

“Okay,” Marc says, soothing, “That’s okay. I’ll be there soon, okay? Just stay put.”

*

Vale puts his hand on Marc’s shoulder in the car, stopping him from putting the key in the ignition. He realises, belatedly, that they haven’t touched yet, that Marc didn’t hug him or even shake his hand or— anything. He swallows down the feeling.  

“Don’t drive,” he says, “I should tell you now.”

Marc takes a shaky breath. Vale watches the rise and fall of his chest, transfixed. He had seemed so composed over the phone, always, but like this… he is just as scared as Vale. There is something precious about it. Something Vale craves.

“Okay, fine, spit it out,” Marc says, impatient. 

Vale looks him in the eye, then, for the first time since he found out. Marc looks tired, eyes red and lined at the corners. He looks old, weary. It dawns on Vale that this is taking a toll on him too.

“It isn’t bad news,” he says, “At least, I don’t think so. Depends on how you feel about it.”

“Vale, please,” Marc snaps, “Just tell me before I strangle you.”

“Well, now,” Vale says, sing-song, slipping so easily back into this teasing skin, “Is that any way to treat the mother of your twins?”

Marc’s reaction is comical— his jaw drops, eyes going right to Vale’s stomach, as if he might be able to see physical proof. Vale can’t even blame him; he’s sure he looked even funnier at the clinic earlier that day. Or yesterday. Something like ten hours ago. Marc jerks forward, hand hovering over Vale’s stomach.

“This is… this is what you wanted to tell me?” Marc says, voice small. 

Vale nods, smiling. For the first time since the nurse told him, he lets himself be happy about it. He’s shocked, for a second, to realise that he is happy. He wants this, and he wants it like he always wants: with everything in him straining for it, hurtling towards it at three hundred kilometers an hour. He wonders, fleetingly, if Marc wants this that badly too. If he’s hungry for it the way he’s hungry on the bike. Absolute, inevitable. 

“I just had the ultrasound today,” Vale says, filling the silence. Then, hesitantly, “I have pictures, if you want to see. I mean, it isn’t much, but—”

“Please, yes,” Marc says, “I would love that, yes.”

Vale digs the folder out of his bag, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees that it hasn’t folded or torn. He hadn’t been very careful stuffing it in with a handful of clothes. Marc pulls the images out, tracing them with careful fingers. Vale watches, breath caught, as a grin spreads across his face, big and bright like it hasn’t been around Vale in years. Vale aches. He blames it on the fact that he hasn’t slept.

“Oh my god, Vale,” Marc says, hushed, “We’re having twins .”

Vale’s heart is threatening to beat right out of his chest. “Yes. Yeah. God, I will be huge.”

Marc giggles at that. All the air in Vale’s lungs leaves in a rush. 

“Have you—” Marc clears his throat. “I mean, have you told anyone you’re here?”

Vale raises an eyebrow. “No, I have not. How was I supposed to explain it?”

“Sorry,” Marc says, smile fading, “I just thought you would.”

“You haven’t told Alex,” Vale accuses, “About any of this.” 

Marc stares at him. “How do you know that?” And then, louder, “Did you ask him?”

“No, of course not, what? I don’t even talk to him!”

Marc takes offense to that, to something in his tone, leaning back. “What, is there something wrong with talking to him?”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Vale groans, frustrated. “I know that Alex does not know because Franky does not know. About the babies, yes, sure, you want to wait a little, but not even that we were—” Seeing each other— “Sleeping together.” He admits, then, to himself, that maybe that stung a little. Marc’s face closes off, like stone. He puts the ultrasounds back carefully into their folder and buckles his seatbelt. Vale scrambles to put on his own. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. 

“Should I have told him?” Marc asks as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. His voice is level, conversational. As if it isn’t a bomb. 

“You tell him everything,” Vale says, “I just thought you might have.”

“Not everything,” Marc says. Vale waits for him to explain, but he doesn’t. 

“I thought it was,” Vale starts, not knowing what he’s trying to say, “I mean. It was different than the other times. So, I thought… never mind. I don’t know what I thought. Forget about it.”

Marc sighs, as if Vale is a child who has disappointed him. Vale squirms in his seat. They drive the rest of the way in silence.

*

Vale hasn’t been to Marc’s house in Madrid before. The distance they’ve kept has been carefully calculated: to avoid suspicion, to avoid landmines. Vale has not taken Marc to Tavullia and Marc has not invited him here. Even now, Vale supposes, he has just invited himself, leaving Marc without a choice. Marc clicks his seatbelt off and slides out of the car. By the time Vale gets out Marc has already carried the bags up to the door and is working the key into the lock.  

“It’s a nice place,” Vale says, filling the silence.

Marc laughs darkly. “You haven’t even seen it yet. You’re lucky, by the way, that Alex isn’t here.”

Vale blinks. He thought Alex and Franky had their own place. But, of course, it shouldn’t surprise him that Alex would end up back here some nights. He bites at his lip. It will be hard to avoid the younger Marquez. He really should have thought this through. Inside, Marc leads him to a guest bedroom on the first floor, neatly bare and uninviting.

“Bathroom is there,” he says, pointing, “There should be towels. Tell me if you need anything.”

He turns to leave. There’s something frustrating about it. Vale almost calls out to him, but he doesn’t know what he would even say. He could get Marc in bed, ask to fuck him, but that’s not what he wants. He’s tired. He sits on the bed and stares at the wall for a while, listening to the sounds of Marc moving around in his house. When it’s finally quiet, he turns out the light. The exhaustion must catch up to him— he falls asleep easily for the first time in weeks. 

*

Marc’s face is grim the next morning over his breakfast of assorted fruits. He clearly hasn’t slept. He’s frowning at something on his phone. He looks up when Vale sits across from him, just a flash, and then he’s back to squinting at the phone like it’s offended him.

“I did some reading,” he says.

Vale wants to ask why he didn’t sleep, whether he couldn’t. Why he didn’t come to Vale if he couldn’t. Instead, he asks, “What about?”

Marc gives him a flat look. “About pregnancy,” he says, “Did you know that twins make it higher risk?”

Vale grimaces. “Yes,” he says, “The doctor mentioned.”

Marc charges on as if Vale hadn’t said anything. “Are they identical or fraternal? Either way, you should be taking iron supplements.”

Vale’s head hurts. He’s nauseous again. He wants an espresso. “Fraternal,” he says, gritting his teeth. 

Marc looks at him properly this time. “Are you feeling sick? I can make you some toast.”

Vale shakes his head. “Do you have a coffee machine?”

Marc goes still. “You should avoid caffeine,” he says, “Or at least limit it.”

Now Vale is starting to get irritated. “One espresso won’t hurt.”

“I don’t have coffee in the house,” Marc says. He’s lying. He has to be. Who the fuck doesn’t have coffee in their house? Vale stares at him incredulously. Marc’s face stays blank. Vale huffs. Fine, whatever. He’ll just have to go out and find a cafe.

“Where do you keep the car keys?” he asks, standing up.

Marc looks startled. “What? Where are you going?”

“To get an espresso,” Vale says sweetly.

“You can’t,” Marc says, “Someone will recognise you.”

“Are you seriously,” Vale starts, feeling hysterical, “Trying to trap me in your house?”

“What? No,” Marc says, “I’m just saying, if someone sees you—”

“What is wrong with you?” Vale cuts in.

Instantly, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. Marc’s face slams shut. 

“You’re the one who flew here without telling anyone,” he says flatly, “You’re the one who called me. You’re the one who came to me. You’re the one who told me about the pregnancy, you’re the one who decided you keep it, you are the one who is in my house right now. If you don’t want to be here, fine. But if you leave, don’t call me again. I hang the keys by the door.”

His eyes are flinty, the only telltale sign of his anger. He goes to the kitchen, busying himself with the dishes. It’s a clear dismissal. Vale’s head spins where he stands. He can’t tell if it’s the nausea or Marc’s words. Marc is right— what the fuck is Vale doing here? They’re not a couple. They can’t be. Marc doesn’t want to be, he’s made that much clear. Vale shouldn’t be doing this. He should have terminated without even telling Marc. He’s never had a problem with it before. He doesn’t know what had possessed him to call Marc when he found out, confessing over the phone in fits and starts on the bathroom floor. He doesn’t know what possessed him to get on a plane. He marches towards the guest bedroom, determined to leave. Why did he think they would be able to raise children together when they can’t even hold a civil conversation? Yes, things had been better recently, but maybe— clearly, it was a fluke, if they’re back to fighting already. They are always going to crash and burn. Vale should have learned by now. 

He makes it as far as three steps into the room before he stops. The folder with the ultrasounds is sitting on his bedside table. It was not there the night before. Vale must have forgotten about it in the car. Marc must have taken care of it, must have snuck into the room while Vale was asleep and put it there. Vale feels his eyes burn. He blinks back tears, embarrassed. This is nothing to cry over. Pull it together , he thinks to himself, What the fuck is wrong with you?  

He is hit, promptly, with another wave of nausea, and has to go throw up.

[citruscas]

it's a little bit windy today 🍃

based on this

[lavitanuovas]

"Devils never cry" or something

[sevenarchive]

HI i have urls and twitter handles uft just letting the world know. if ur interested in anything send an im to this blog; canon offers only please!