#peace and love and ace chuckler on planet earth <3

[blood-mocha-latte]

Okay hear me out. A Valentine's Day ficlet wherein everyone in H Company is out on fancy dates except ace!Chuckler, who is S T O K E D to have the apartment to himself. He's gonna Tom Cruise underwear dance yo.

bestie you absolute GENIUS by god. ace!chuckler my beloved!! loosier sort of Shoved themselves into this, which i hope is okay!

i love this too much. so much. all the much. i hope you enjoy <3

~

“Please don’t tell me those are what I think they are.” 

Chuckler smiled, smug, and adjusted the sunglasses across the bridge of his nose. “I think I look classy.” He said, and Lucky looked at him with something that matched vague horror.

“They’re bigger than the continental US.” He said, sounding somewhat impressed. “And pink.”

“And stylish.” Runner jumped in easily, rounding their kitchen island with a cup of coffee and sitting across from Leckie. “You could be on the cover of Vogue.”

Lew grinned, and tilted his face up so the sunglasses wouldn’t fall off. “Because of my stunning good looks?”

He’d gotten the glasses for half off at the gas station that sat kitty-corner from their apartment, and it was, in short, the best three quarters and a dime he ever spent. 

“I think I’m gonna wear them everywhere.” He said, and took them off only to admire them, the heart-shape of their frames, the red tint of the shades. “Paint ‘em green, go out for a night in the town.”

“Get horribly lost again.” Runner agreed, and Chuckler made a face at him.

“Okay, well, that wasn’t on me.” He said loftily, crossing his arms and setting the glasses down on the table. “Someone took the charger so my phone was dead, so I couldn’t Google-walk home—”

“—that was extenuating-fucking-circumstances, I was supposed to get a call from a publisher—” Leckie is jumping in with a protest before Lew can even finishing talking, holding up his hands defensively, and Runner started talking over him after that, a large jumble of shouting that ceased only when Leckie’s door cracked open.

Lucky nearly fell out of his chair when Hoosier shuffled out of his room, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, hair sticking up in every direction. “Coffee.” He said, and Hoosier grunted, a nonverbal confirmation that sounded only slightly murderous.

“I hate you.” He said, shuffling the short distance between their bedroom and the dining room table and dropping into Leckie’s now unoccupied seat. Leckie in question was pouring a second mug of coffee, still steaming, and was quick to move and set it in front of Bill, pressing a kiss to his temple that Hoosier was too slow to bat away.

“I love you, and I’ll get you whatever you want tonight.” He promised, already turning back into the kitchen to find the creamer. Hoosier curved his hands around the mug, bringing his face down to inhale the steam.

“I want a new boyfriend.” He muttered to it, and Runner snorted.

“Bad night?” He asked, and Chuckler raised his eyebrows, pushing his glasses closer to Hoosier when the other just gave him a blank look.

“I was having trouble with my novel.” Leckie said absently, clattering around at the counter as he did something that Lew couldn’t see. “And was trying to force myself to write, which—”

“Which means that I got one and a half hours of sleep last night, and also am going to get a gun.” Hoosier said over him, face still against his mug. “To kill you, Bob, if that wasn’t clear.”

“It’s very clear. And very understandable.” Leckie said, turning back around with one of the semi-stale croissants they’d gotten at the same gas station that Chuckler had acquired his glasses at. “Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

“I’m breaking up with you.” Hoosier said. “We’re done. Get out of my house.” Leckie hummed, setting the croissant in front of him and crossing an arm over the front of his chest, dropping his face down to his hair before kissing his forehead. 

“I’ve got an awesome day planned.” He said, and Hoosier groaned, holding up a hand to fend him off. “You’re gonna love it—”

“I’m gonna be too tired to enjoy it—”

“Well,” Chuckler interrupted, pushing his sunglasses back onto his face when Hoosier showed no interest in them. “I mean. I slept great.”

Hoosier just blinked at him. “Would you like company tonight?”

“Baby—” Leckie started, holding his hands out, but Lew was already shaking his head, vehement. 

“No way in hell!” He said cheerfully, pushing his glasses further up on his nose. “Today for me is about me. Today for you is about you and Lucky, it’s not my fault he’s a terrible partner.”

Hoosier dropped his forehead to the table with a groan, and Leckie shot Chuckler a vaguely threatening look. Lew just shrugged, still grinning, and Runner snorted.

“I mean. I’m gonna have a great day too.” He offered, and Chuckler held his hand up in a high five.

“Hell yeah!” He said, enthused. “But you can’t stay here. I have dibs.”

Leckie made some sort of frustrated sound, still clattering around in something that seemed to be in an effort to reap forgiveness. “When can we come back?” He asked, complaining, and Hoosier snorted.

“Why do you care?” He muttered to the table. “You’re never getting laid again.”

Chuckler just shrugged. “Sleep over at Hoosier’s place.” He offered to Lucky, and Hoosier groaned over him in protest. 

“He’s sleeping in the fucking street before he’s getting into my bed again.” He said, and Leckie sighed.

So. Very par for the course.

“I’ll give you seven dollars if we can come back by nine.” Lucky offered, and Lew grinned, delighted.

“Nope! This is the first time I get to be by myself in nine months, by darling friends, and I don’t want to see any of your faces for the next twenty-four hours. You have thirty minutes to get out of here.” 

He finished off his own coffee, and Hoosier pushed his face off of the table to squint at him, under eyes bruised purple. Leckie moved around him again, attempting to kiss his cheek, and Hoosier steered him away with an open palm to the face.

“I like your glasses.” He told Chuckler.

“Thanks.” Lew said, cheerful. “I like your croissant.”

“Thanks. You can have it, if you want. You can have the man who made it, too.”

“Babe—” 

Chuckler snorted, wrinkling his nose. “Thanks, but I’m okay.”

--

His plan for the night, as written out:

Wrap all of Leckie’s shoes in cellophane.

Last month, Lew had woken up at four in the morning with his singularly obtained Buffy the Vampire Slayer comic book shrink wrapped, and Leckie sitting at their kitchen table, sipping at coffee, calmly writing out what seemed to be a letter.

Finally, he had time to seek his revenge.

(He had also conveniently forgotten that the reason Leckie’d wrapped his comic book at all was because Chuckler had replaced all of Hoosier’s keys with plastic baby rings.)

Do his laundry. In peace. 

Last time, Runner had gotten cheetos in the dryer. Lew wasn’t even sure how he managed that, but never again. Never again.

Text Hoosier to make sure he hasn’t actually killed Lucky.

“Hi.”

“Hey! Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m still mad, though, so. Uh.”

“Lucky plan something good?”

“Ugh. Yeah. It’s really sweet, the motherfucker. I’m never gonna forgive him for this.”

“He took you to the Observatory, didn’t he?”

“Yep. The bastard. How’s it going for you?”

“I mean. If it makes you feel better, he has a nice present at home, now.”

“Hm. Make him suffer for me.”

“Okay! But don’t make him too upset. This is, like, a big night for him.”

“...”

“Hello?”

“Chuckler. You have to tell me if he’s going to propose. Legally. It’s — you can get arrested if you don’t.”

“Hm. I don’t think I can. But he’s not gonna propose—”

“I — I mean, we’ve talked about this, and I’d say yes, but if he proposes on fucking Valentines day—”

“He’s not gonna propose! I promise. Scouts honor! Roommates honor!”

“That is the most cliche shit I’ve ever heard—” 

“All I did was tell you to be nice to him! That doesn’t mean he’s going to ask you to marry him—” 

“Oh, holy fuck, I knew that he was being weirdly nice—”

Make a cake.

Although whatever drama Hoosier and Leckie were going through was interesting enough, he also had a recipe that he wanted to try and last time he’d tried to bake anything of any sort, Hoosier had poured jalapeno sauce into it. 

Which, come to think of it, may have been because Chuckler popped all of the keys out of Leckie’s laptop.

Listen to Simon and Garfunkel.

Runner hated Simon and Garfunkel, and because Chuckler was to be a good person, he didn’t blast it through the house when he was home.

But he wasn’t home, was he!

Lew loved Valentine's Day.

Call Hoosier one more time. Just to be extra certain Leckie isn’t dead.

“Oh, good, you picked up! Please tell me you haven’t got engaged—”

“What? Oh, no. Bob has been, uh. Well. Bob’s been arrested, so—”

“Bob’s been what—” 

“But it’s not my fault, I feel I should make that incredibly clear—”

“Uh-huh. Okay, well, I’m not coming and getting you. Call Runner.”

“No, no—”

“It’s my day, Hoosier! You know this! It’s my day, I’m not dragging my ass down to the station—”

“My boyfriend’s in jail, Lew, I think that’s extenuating circumstances—”

“Ope, the Sound of Silence just came on, so I’m gonna obey its wise title and hang up. Call Runner!”

“I — uh. Fine. It’s your day.”

“It really is! Good luck. Don’t say anything without a lawyer.”

Yeah. Lew loved Valentine’s Day.