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coldshrugs · 7 months

Text

tiebreaker

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau setting: modern AU rating: explicit - there are a few mature scenes near the end word count: 6.1k

It's strange to be home.

Stranger still to try to define where exactly home is now that Io has two. Two beds, two sets of friends, two time zones to keep up with… Home is supposed to be a place, or, if she allows the geography to have a softer edge, a series of places and the routines formed around them. The familiar haunts one returns to again and again, seeking the comfort of nostalgia.

Three months didn't feel that long while she lived them; the new place is nice, the people are great, and she loves her work. She calls it home when she is there.

But is it? Home used to hold her mother's voice, her siblings' laughter, her father's snoring. She can't go back to any of those things. 'Home' died six years ago, and Io has been trying to claw back some essence of it ever since.

There was only one thing she was sure she missed from this place, one person. But then she stood in the kitchen with the sunset light painting half the cabinets in late summer's orange, and one thing turned into everything. Puzzle pieces of scent and sight that make her long for more of them tomorrow and every day after—the pack of cigarettes on the already open window to their fire escape; the knowledge that she can hide away in the safety of her room, surrounded by all her favorite things, if the inevitable tide of her anxiety rises high enough to drown her; and especially the smell of Estinien—of both of them—burrowed bone-deep into every room.

But the apartment is not exactly as it was when she left. It's cleaner. The blankets on the couch are neatly folded. There are no dishes in the sink. Not a shred of old mail on the table by the door. The only object even slightly out of place is one of the red plastic chairs at the small table between the kitchen and living room, stolen from their former support group when they aged out.

It's almost uncanny, before she remembers he cleans when he's stressed…

Hm.

They haven't talked about the kiss.

They haven't talked about much of anything so far.

Not when Estinien picked her up from the airport. Not back in their apartment as they readied for Y'shotla’s birthday party. Not even when they stepped out of their rooms, facing each other in the mirrored doorways, and his eyes blew wide at the sight of her dressed in the simple sundress and sneakers.

"You, uh, look really nice," he'd said. Straight forward tone and broad shoulders drawn up to his full height. But he didn't say anything else, so maybe they're leaving it where it lies.

Io has learned to live with this contactless friction. An ever-present static at the boundary of what they mean to each other. Sometimes, the hum is so quiet that she swears she is over him. Then there are times like now, in the back of their Uber, when the unspoken question churns in the space between them, fuzzy and electric, and Io reminds herself that even a hum is noise.

She has to break the ice.

"How's work going? How are the kids this year?"

"It's alright. A ton of rebellious little shits in my classes this semester, especially this set of twins."

"Are you allowed to call them that?"

It takes them a moment to find their footing, but then they can't seem to stop—

"Only when I like them. How's it going with your roommates—what are their names again?"

"Hien and Yugiri. They're sweet. Fun to hang out with. They're tidiness sticklers though, so that's kind of killing me."

"Did you watch that show I said you'd like?"

"Did you remember to water my plants?"

—And on and on until she whispers:

"I miss you. You thought I wouldn't."

Silence again, besides the pop song quietly spilling from the speakers. The driver's eyes flash in the rearview mirror before they turn the volume up, like some sound-based privacy curtain, but that is where it ends. Estinien turns his gaze to the darkening skyline around them, lips drawn up at the corner facing her.

It's hard to be disappointed when simply sitting beside him again is a comfort.

Sure, they text daily, but there is no replacement for his deadpan cadence or playfully disgruntled tone. No emoji could substitute the curves of his smiles, from the small and shy ones he tries to hide (the kind he wears now, squeezing at her heart) to the wide ones that come with an open-mouth laugh—

Her thoughts spin to the kiss. Nervous and unfinished, broken too soon because their drunk friends apparently cannot resist throwing glass bottles at the call of "beer me!" That's why she didn't get to kiss him longer, not that it would matter in the long run.

Estinien doesn't do long distance.

He told Vic as much. He cared about Vic. They dated long enough for it to matter, but in the end, Vic moved hours away, and Estinien decided they should break things off. And despite what anyone says about how he might feel about her, she's stationed on the other side of the country for the next nine months.

But he kissed her back. Oh, the way he kissed her back…

She shoots him the occasional furtive glance while his attention is elsewhere, and god, he looks good. Loose, perfectly messy hair hangs past his shoulders and softens the more severe angles of his face. His t-shirt wrinkles against the line of his well-worn jeans. Hems she has long dreamed of running her hands under…

Io's thick swallow is loud in her ears (she hopes he didn't hear it, too), and her fingers twitch on the leather seat between them. That does make a sound. A little scratch.

Estinien slides his hand across the seat, and—the static sizzles and snaps—his fingers curl into hers. He doesn't look away from the window, but he squeezes.

Her heartbeat almost hurts. She squeezes back.

Another 10 minutes and they pull up to the usual watering hole, one of those extensions of home, Redbills.

He lets go as they climb out of the car on his side, deciding to shove both his hands into his pockets. Cool.

(He's still wearing that little smile as they walk inside.)

Now, this is a place that's frozen in time. Dim light punched through with neon, an out-of-place song being played too loud, ratty stools lining the bar, and well-kept pool tables dotting the back wall. And that's to say nothing of the people.

Her friends (the first set, the ones as close as family) are scattered around the bar. Lucia and Thancred are already locked in a game of pool, and there's real money on the corner of the table. G'raha carries two colorful cocktails to a standing table, where he and Urianger are chatting with Krile, on her tall barstool, of course. Aymeric is at the bar, laughing loudly with Leofard, and Leo's pouring a massive round of shots.

Estinien sways awkwardly on the spot before turning to Io. He jerks his head in Aymeric’s direction, letting her know where he'll be, before walking backward toward him. He's gone for now, then.

Yep, very cool.

Tataru (already flushed a deep shade of pink) gestures chaotically as she rambles to the birthday girl sitting at the end of the bar. Shtola is nodding along without looking, one arm thrown over the back of her metal stool tied with black and purple balloons speckled with glitter. Her other hand holds an e-reader and, holy shit, she is deeply engrossed in a book at her own party.

In fact, she only looks up when her glasses begin to slide down her nose, and that's when her pale eyes fall on Io. She is up in a flash. "You came!"

Shtola isn't one for lengthy displays. The hug is brief, but she wraps her arms tightly around Io and allows her to return it fully before pulling away.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it," Io says. They walk arm in arm towards her decorated seat, where Tataru's tipsy little squeak alerts everyone else to her arrival, and then the party begins.

The night happens in a rush. A round of shots as they sing happy birthday, followed by a round of beers on the house because Io is back in town. She isn't allowed to be a wallflower tonight, tugged from huddle to huddle to share stories of her new orchestra gig or listen to someone else's big news that happened to slip through the cracks of the group chat.

Despite the company and constant meandering around the room, his static prickles on the back of her neck. Estinien hovers in the margins. Much like his blind reach for her hand in the car, she doesn't need to see him to know he's around. It is a phantom sensation, some missing part of her that she swears she can move if only she tries hard enough.

A quick glance to the side and she finds him effortlessly. He leans against the wall, speaking with Ayms in hushed voices. Estinien's eyes cut a sharp path to her, too; Aymeric's gaze follows, and a deviously knowing smile spreads across his face. Io purses her lips politely and smiles back, lifting her hand to wave. Aymeric waves back as he leans to whisper something to Estinien, who shakes his head and takes a long swallow from his beer. His posture tenses.

He pushes off the wall and walks outside, placing his empty bottle on the bar as he goes.

"Hold that thought," Io says as she breaks away from Thancred. "Just grabbing some air."

He's even easier to find on the sidewalk. A lone figure with his shoulder pressed into the brick, head tilted skyward. He's facing the door, as if he's waiting for someone.

"What's wrong?" Io takes a cautious step toward him, fighting the pull to go to him immediately

He shrugs but doesn't look at her. His brows knot, and she can't name the look he wears. It's frustrating not knowing what he's feeling. Disappointment? Defeat? Finally, he asks, "We're just not going to talk about it?"

Oh.

"Estinien, you've been distant most of the day, except for a compliment and holding my hand in the car… I didn't think you wanted to talk about it."

And that makes him look. His head rolls in her direction, hair bunched against the wall and his stare burning through her. "Be serious. Of course I want to. I just… don't know how to start."

"Neither do I." Io inhales and lets the warm night air soothe her nerves. Here she fucking goes. "We kissed. Barely—"

"'Barely.'" The word leaves him in a little huff of incensed laughter. He shakes his head.

"—And it was wrong to leave that up in the air for so long, but I guess it's easier not to know? Maybe it's, I don't know, kinder to slip back into how we were before that. If that's what you want."

"Kinder? Fuck off." Compared to his previous interruption, his tone has cooled, and his expression softened. He's not actually mad. If anything, he seems confused that he's being asked what he wants, as if it's obvious. "Did you mean what you said that night I called you?"

She moves to his side, still careful, still slow. But it's for her own benefit now. What on earth is he talking about?

He asked to call her a couple of weeks ago, the first time that's happened since she's been away. They talked through the night, and there was something close about it, closer than usual. The end of the conversation is fuzzy. She only remembers waking up with her phone pressed to her cheek.

Her shoulder meets the wall, mirroring his lean from a foot away. "...What did I say?"

"You love me." He spits it out quickly and gives no further explanation.

But it doesn't need any, does it? It's a simple yes or no. And it's now that she realizes Alberic—and everyone else—was right: he needs her to go first. He can't move until she does.

"Yeah…" Io shifts her weight against the brick, dragging her gaze from the grime-covered sidewalk to his gray eyes shining softly in the night. He deserves that, because she loves him. "I meant it. But listen, I'm not expecting anything. My job alone makes me a walking deal-breaker so—"

A few people stumble out of the bar, cackling loudly, and they both look to make sure it's no one they know. Just a group of strangers, so their attention refocuses. Io takes another breath, but Estinien speaks first.

"Since you left, I only sit in your chair." The streetlight overhead harshes the shadows falling across his face, but it does not obscure the reddening tips of his ears. "It felt stupid at first. For a while, I pretended it wasn't a conscious thing. Just a convenient one; it's closer to the door or whatever. But it's a choice, I realize that now… I think I've been keeping myself from it since you wrote on them. At some point, I couldn't tell the difference. But that became a choice, too."

It trails off a bit as he loses his own thread, but Io isn't lost. No, it makes perfect sense. This is him explaining every moment passed between them in the half-decade they've shared.

"You're rambling." She tries not to laugh. It's not funny. It's just what he does; he doesn't know what to say, so he says more than he should, and the familiar habit fills her chest with a fluttering warmth. His gaze moves to her smile. "I mean, you don't have to stop. I like when you get going."

She marvels at the way his eyes roll, annoyed and amused all at once. How he tries to be just one plain thing but can't help being more than that.

"The point is, I only sit in your chair."

Estinien's hands leave his pockets. She thinks he might be reaching for his cigarettes. She could use one, too. But they shoot towards her instead, his fingers wrapping into the embroidered edges of her jacket. He holds her like that, thumbs tracing the fabric while his eyes dart across her face, softening by the second. They dilate to a ring of dark silver.

Io reminds herself to breathe.

He pulls her closer.

Closer than that.

"I love you. I don't know how long it's been, just that I do." And he waits, all quickened breath and pleading eyes silently asking her to say it again.

"I love you too."

His hands wind around her, shifting her across the final gap between them, chest to warm chest. When Io lifts her hands to his face, his heartbeat gives him away. Pressed close like this, she feels the echo of every agonizing thump. His darkened eyes flash to her lips.

He moves.

They are careful at first, almost precious about it. But careful gives way to something else, just like it started to three months ago on the fire escape. His softness grows urgent, the kind of thing that begs to become another, deeper kiss. Io waits for the shoe to drop, the glass to shatter, but it doesn't come. Estinien's hands travel to the small of her back, one moves under her jacket, fingers skimming between the straps tying the back of her dress, and there is no interruption this time.

Every thought, every dream she's had about this does not compare to the way his lips seem to drag hers with him as he pulls back. His breathless whisper falls into the space between them.

"Should we get out of here, just go home? I just want to be with you tonight."

Io nods against his forehead, maybe too eagerly, but his smile is worth it. "Yeah, um, just let me say bye to everyone first. I hate to bail, but the party isn't the only reason I'm here."

He releases her as a smug grin pulls new shadows across his face. When they re-enter together, Aymeric approaches from the bar.

"You two were gone for a while." His words are ripe with accusation. Io shifts her weight and pulls her jacket closed, hoping he doesn't notice how rumpled it is.

Estinien leans against the wall by the entrance, looking as casual as ever. "And we're leaving again. Are you meeting everyone for breakfast tomorrow?"

Aymeric balks, "First of all, it's brunch, not breakfast; we're drinking again. Second, yes, I'll be there."

"Then we'll see you there."

"Wait, why are you leaving?"

Io takes the opportunity to slip away and find Y'shtola, who is once again seated at the bar, talking to Leo over the largest fishbowl of sangria she's ever seen. It's half-empty.

She slides into the seat next to her. "Hey… please don't kill me."

Shtola squints in Io's direction with surprisingly clear eyes. There is a silent question in them.

"Can I be here for this?" Leo props an elbow on the bar as if that might bolster his chances.

"No," they say in unison, refusing to glance his way.

"Fine," he says, no worse for wear. "I'm taking five, I need to piss anyway."

Shtola takes a deep sip of her drink until he's in the back. "Let me guess: you've decided to leave your best friend's birthday in the loud, crowded bar when we've been here less than two hours? Io, don't think I didn't expect that."

Io might be offended if there were any malice in the words, but Y'shtola brought her fucking kindle. She's probably planning her own escape soon.

"I'm awful, I'm sorry—" She throws her gaze over her shoulder and Shtola's head turns too. Estinien is still waiting by the door with Aymeric, but he's focused intently on her. "—but there's been a development…"

Bubbles sputter in her drink and she comes away coughing. "Are you serious? Finally? Not the half-assed, 'this is a goodbye forever, I'm giving up on you' kiss?"

"Finally." Her grin is embarrassing, but if anyone knows how long she's held out for this moment, it's Shtola. "Like, no bullshit, for real. Feelings talk and all, so I… really need to go."

Shtola shakes her head, one hand waving Io off the barstool and towards the exit. "No, no, breaking the pattern of platonic codependency and making a new, probably worse pattern is the perfect birthday gift. For the love of god, text me and let me know what happens."

"See you tomorrow." Io squeezes in one more hug and snags a sip of her drink before all but running for the door.

She gives Aymeric a little wave and a smile before passing through the door with Estinien's hand on her back again. A car is already waiting, and after they clamber inside, he doesn't cease his contact. An arm as far around her as he can manage, his fingers grazing her neck, and he can't take his eyes off her.

It doesn't matter that this is all the drive will allow. Desire sparks along her skin, originating from his touch and simmering between them, silent but shameless. The ride feels like an eternity.

When they're finally outside their building, the car is barely out of view before Estinien kisses her again. He walks them backward to the alcove housing the locked glass doors and the keypad. She laughs against his lips as she struggles to reach the buttons. He moves them closer. The first attempt lights the unit in red.

They'll get locked out at this rate.

Io pulls free of his lips with a hummed whine so she can see what she's doing. He moves to her cheek instead, then her jaw… Another red try.

"Estinien," she breathes.

His throaty laugh vibrates against her skin. "You've got it."

Fuck it. If this doesn't work, they can break their necks on the fire escape. 7-9-1-3-5. It blinks green, and the locked doors click open.

They only waste a little time in the stairwell, a quick kiss every other landing or so, when one can't resist grabbing the other, softly passing laughter between mouths before running up the next flight. It doesn't feel real. It lasts all the way to their door.

They go inside, hand in hand, and this is when it sets in.

Sure, it's a bit too clean, but the only new thing here is them. They kick off their shoes and navigate the path to Estinien's room in the dark, carefully dodging jutting furniture corners and stepping over the edges of rugs as their eyes adjust to the lack of light. A strange muscle memory when the context of the journey is so different.

In his room, Io pulls the chain on his bedside lamp, flooding the space with soft, warm light. She knows his room; the scattered sports and music posters, his baseball trophies and metals, and the long unused skateboard. His bed sits in the center of the far wall, flanked by a table on each side; one holds the lamp she just turned on, and the other is where his keys, wallet, and phone usually go. She's had to grab them more than once as they rushed out of this place.

"Is that okay?" she asks.

He nods, pulling her in again, prying her jacket off. It falls to the floor in a crumpled heap as his hands trail back up her arms. One settles lightly against the back of her neck. She runs a shaking hand over his stomach until it rests on his chest.

He inhales, forehead falling to hers for the second time tonight. "I'm kind of nervous."

"Me too." She swallows, trying to keep her voice even. "It feels silly, right?"

"Yeah." Estinien's rumbled laugh sounds in the quiet. "The reason I shouldn't be is the reason I am."

Io pulls her head away, asking why with furrowed brows.

"Because it's you."

What steals her breath seems to give his confidence a second wind. He tugs a strap off her shoulder and presses a kiss to the freckled skin beneath, lips moving slowly, reverently, until her head tips back and her arms snake around his waist. He catches the hem of the dress, looking to Io briefly for approval, lifting it over her head after she nods.

He pauses, drinking in the sight of her standing in his most private space, wearing only her underwear, and for a second Io wonders if his drinks have caught up with him.

He pulls his own shirt off, ruffling his hair in the process. His skin catches the lamplight on one side and moonlight on the other. His beauty is uncomplicated, as direct as he is, but right now it threatens to overwhelm her. Io reaches for him, runs her hands across soft muscle and the small, knotted scar on his left shoulder.

She leans forward, brushing her lips over his, almost content to feel him breathing against them and nothing more. Almost. Estinien's knuckles skim her waist, ghost over the side of her breast, across her back, where his hold solidifies before tipping them onto the bed.

Each touch speaks the assurance they've never needed to voice—I'll take care of you, I'm the one who always takes care of you. This is not so different, not when they get down to it. Estinien drags his lips across her throat and that is just as intimate as his texts reminding her to take her anxiety medication; Io's hands slipping beneath his waistband are the same hands that spread his favorite blanket over him when he falls asleep on their couch. "I made you coffee" shares DNA with "please kiss me again", and both are prerequisites to the soft grip of his hand under her chin, leading her mouth to his.

What's one more way to love each other?

Between needy touches and heated moans, they peel away the last of their layers. There is nothing else they can bare.

Estinien moves down her body, nose trailing against her skin, stopping along the way to place soft, searing kisses to places that certainly never existed before now. The tip of her collarbone, the underside of her breasts, the sensitive skin over her ribs, and she shivers as he brings each one to life in the soft heat of his mouth. His hands follow, creating a pattern of kiss and caress, and Io is never without some part of him in contact with her skin.

He settles between her legs, and she feels the hot rush of his breath, coming just that much faster as he anticipates the next action. Io can hardly bear to look at him—flushed cheek pressed against her thigh and his eyes growing darker when she bites her lip—but she cannot look away.

"You're so fucking beautiful." Estinien kisses her thigh, then whispers low in a voice Io doesn't recognize, "Do you want me to?"

His fingers trace a tantalizing pattern on her leg as he stares up at her, waiting for the answer.

How can she tell him what he's doing to her before he even begins? "Please" is the only word she can articulate as she runs a hand through his hair, gently urging him to go on. "Please."

He dips his head, and words don't matter. She couldn't form them if she tried. Her eyes squeeze shut as she falls against the pillow. There is only shapeless sound, her body tense and twisting, the combination of her slick heat and his mouth,

his mouth,

his mouth.

She's at the edge before she knows it, and the feel of his lips changes, lightens, as he pushes her over. He's smiling—pleased with himself, pleased at her reaction. It remains in place as he lifts himself and kisses his way back to her lips.

Estinien covers her, skin to skin, and Io pulls away from his lips just to look at him for a moment. His silver hair catching bits of the city lights through the window. The shine of her still worn on his lips. Io cups his cheek and sweeps her thumb across them, observing the way they yield for even this touch. His blush spreads to the tips of his ears, down his neck.

"I feel so stupid. You've been looking at me that way for years, and I…" The thought hangs between them: 'What if?' He shakes his head above her, his hair grazing her shoulders.

"Yeah," Io whispers. "But you've been looking at me too. I wasn't in a rush."

She smiles into the next kiss, feels his own spread against her lips. Of all the things they've done tonight, the things they will do, this is the one she wants to keep most. She lets it linger, lets him deepen it when he's ready, asking for more when his tongue slides over hers and he shifts between her thighs.

Io stifles a moan and presses her hands into his back. She needs him closer.

One more shift, and they gasp through a broken kiss. There is only a second of pause, a quick word to check in, then Estinien drives forward again. They find a rhythm. Io moves with him. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, his voice is a tight rasp as he curses or mutters her name into the crook of her neck.

He leans back, resting on his knees, lifting Io with him so she sits on his angled lap. "I wanna see you like this," he says in a shredded whisper. "I keep thinking about it."

It's easy to give him what he wants when he looks at her like this, when he asks for her like he needs her. Io works her hips against him while Estinien does his best to explore, to touch, but his focus shatters in a guttural rumble as he pulls free and guides their fall back to the bed.

There is breath to catch and mess to clean. They alternate trips to the bathroom, then settle into his bed in a yawning heap.

They stay close afterward, liking the way their limbs have tangled and the heaviness of his body relaxing against hers. Io runs her fingers through his hair, unwilling to stop touching him like this now that she has no reason to hold back, and relishes the soft breath washing over her chest. Estinien is still, besides the occasional lazy roll of his head, to kiss her where he can. From the opposite side of the bed, the lamp's glow brightens his edges, the sharp line of his jaw, his nose, and his lips gently pulled into the sweetest smile Io's ever seen him wear.

She could watch him like this forever.

The city doesn't slow around them. Flashes of sound and color leak into the dim room, painting the wall in shifting light that disappears between drowsy blinks. Io wonders how all those passersby in taxis and on the street can go on like before, unaware a faultline has moved under their feet. Don't they know? Didn't they feel it?

The quiet breaks abruptly.

"Io, I'm not,"—his rough voice wavers. He pauses. She can almost see him turning over the words in his mind—"very romantic, if I'm honest, but I could be good to you."

His head on her chest is the only thing keeping her in orbit.

"You've always been good to me. If you're asking me for something…"

"I'm asking."

"You just wanna hear me say it?" And she laughs at his sleepy little nod, heartsick at the way he looks up at her, pupils wide even with their desire temporarily quenched. He wants more than light. She gives it to him. She'd give him anything. "Then yeah, I want to be with you, if you're willing to deal with the distance."

"I don't mind the distance if it's with you." His eyes close, his breathing deepens. She holds him like that until sleep takes her, too.

Io wakes slowly. The room is still gray and dark, with the exception of a single line of early sunlight fighting its way through his blackout curtains. It falls across her side of the bed, a reminder that something exists beyond the bliss of being tucked into this specific set of sheets.

Estinien is already awake. His hand moves down her side, warm and soothing, and then makes the return journey upward, over and over, until she half-rolls to see his face.

"Hey," his voice is even more rough than usual, but it's sweeter, too. He lifts onto his arm, smiling down at her. His messy hair hangs in his eyes. Witnessing this side of him… it always felt so out of reach.

"Hi," she whispers back, adjusting the sheet so there's no barrier between them. "Why are you awake?"

His knuckles roll over her neck, up to her cheek. "Just wanted to look at you. You're all I can think about, and now you're here so… is that weird?"

Io shakes her head against his pillow. "I don't think it's weird. I think I'd do the same."

"Good." He leans in, but pauses before their lips meet. "Wouldn't stop me if it was."

He kisses her slowly, pulls her back flush to his chest so he can touch her. The urgency and nerves of last night are gone. His hands move, unhurried, over the twist of her body, more interested in coaxing little sounds of need from her while her voice still wears shades of sleep. When he fills her this time, his thrusts are soft, almost lazy. And when he's finished, Estinien tells her he loves her again.

She will never tire of hearing it.

They are late to brunch. It's a wonder they show up at all.

No comments when they stroll to the table hand in hand, or when Estinien throws his arm around Io's chair, and not even when she leans into him to rest her head against his cheek after the third mimosa. This is how it should've been all along. They were the only people blocking the way.

The day passes in patches of sunlight and bright laughter, that of their friends and, later on, just theirs. They walk their favorite paths and visit the places Io missed most. The park on the way to her former library job, the library itself, the bakery with specialty cupcakes, and the taco joint she's been craving. But he is a magnet for her hands and, in truth, the place she misses most is their apartment…

They make good use of the short time. No room is too sacred, no surface too precious, until they make it so. By the end of the weekend, they have a pretty good handle on what works. Estinien is a quick study; he remembers what makes her smile, what causes a gasp or a moan.

They learn other things too.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," Io requests on that final evening.

Estinien lies on his back, head angled toward the tv that drones quietly in front of them. He's not watching; his eyes are half closed and his hand tangles in her hair. It's the most focus he can spare right now.

"I thought it was called 'duck tape' for too long. Aymeric pulled me aside in freshman year. Embarrassing as fuck," he says. "Your turn."

Io commits to being a quiet observer, biting back the giggle in the back of her throat.

She lies across his waist with one arm folded under her chin. Her fingers skate over his torso, leaving little trails of puckered skin in their wake. She pockets every tiny reaction (the soft hitch in his breath at a touch near the lower rungs of his ribs, or barely audible sigh when she passes just below his navel), but these are the only interruptions to the otherwise steady rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm allergic to bee stings."

"What?"

"Yeah, I should've mentioned it before," she says. "You're my emergency contact, so you should know what might take me out."

He laughs, a full belly laugh that shakes both of them on the couch. The sound digs into the marrow of her bones. It can't replace the voices she misses, but she can make more space for him in the part of her heart that longs to hear them.

The quiet after his laughter is just as tender, both of them content with this simple closeness.

"I don't want you to go," he says after some time. "One more day."

"Estinien, my flight—"

"Fuck your flight." His drowsy smile is tempting. "Stay with me."

She says no by pressing her lips against the soft, fuzzy patch of skin beneath his navel, and his exhale barely restrains a shudder. Does she truly do this to him so easily?

"Stay," Estinien repeats.

"You know I can't." Io kisses him again, shifting her head, preparing to focus her attention a little lower…

A long exhale stutters out of him. "I know."

She tugs on the hem of his boxers and he lifts his hips to make it easier for her to move them down his thighs. Io bites her lip at the sight of him, his ready willingness to share himself with her, the way he wants her. She brushes her lips against his length.

"I can come back next month." She trades lips for tongue, adores the way his head rolls back against the sofa. "We'll talk every day, like we always do."

"Next month," he whispers as she takes him into her mouth. His voice strains. "Only nine more to go."

It's noon on Monday when they leave for the airport.

Estinien drives them. Io takes in the view from the passenger seat, branding the feel of his hand on her knee into her mind. And then the pressure of his arms around her when he pulls her back for another hug, the nervous blush when he kisses her openly at the gate. His straight-backed reassurance of "I love you. Come home soon."

Home can be a place, as simple as four walls, or the scent of minty body wash, the voices that soothe just by proximity, and it can be a shared bad habit. The picturesque scenes of a small and beautiful life. Home can be the boy you watch grow into a man, the friend you wait for until you don't care about the waiting, and the partner stoking butterflies or comfort with a look. Home isn't home the first time—it demands a return.

"I will. I'll be back before you know it. And I love you too."

Home requires memory.

#azia writes #io laithe #io/estinien #otwr au #my GOD i am so glad this is finished sdlkgjfd #i don't even have commentary i just love them #i love them in this setting. i love how committed they are to each other even when they think it's unrequited #bye

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