#robfic

[paalove]

If you are still taking prompts could i interest you in some Alan Gaipa? Alan wanting to take the next step with Gaipa. Desperately. But he is scared. Scared of proposing. Scared of the same thing happening as it did with Wen. Because he can't lose gaipa. He loves him.

i am using this for my HAPPY BIRTHDAY KHAOTUNG fic bc gaipa is his very most kitty-character. xoxo

...

Head in his hands, elbows braced on the table, and tie carefully folded on the windowsill, Alan breathes fast and sharp.

All the what ifs, all the memories, all the torn-off parts of who he used to be and doesn’t want to be again and all the ones he does want back, they race past. Grabbing them would be impossible and counterproductive, so he just lets the feelings past as they make his heart race and his head pound and his breathing grow ever-more-shallow-

Ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-ding, ding-ding-

He opens his eyes and swipes the timer stop button on his phone.

Pushes back his chair.

Walks to the window and opens the blinds.

Does his top button, ties his tie, checks his appearance in his phone camera.

Out to meet the next client; their meeting is scheduled to start in ten minutes, but this one likes to get here approximately seven minutes early and is lucrative enough that Alan won’t leave him waiting.

As he opens the door, it catches his eye, and he pauses.

The post-it note that started that… situation is bright yellow and says, in his own handwriting, Follow up on Gaipa conversation.

He’s got a meeting and he’s done panicking about it.

Alan folds the post-it note neatly into quarters and slips it into his pocket – now it’s time for the client.

No panicking is allowed during – he is professional.

Normally.

Okay, he’s had a couple of slips.

But this meeting goes well, and agreements are made, and Alan in general proves himself to be completely capable of conducting a negotiation with someone who wants a similar outcome to him. Which is good.

It means the panic was an aberration.

But the post-it note continues to burn a hole in his pocket and the conversation continues to pop up in his mind at odd moments.

Gaipa had sounded – had seemed, entirely, in how he spoke and sat and looked – completely casual when he’d said, “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to get married,” over his plate. Less casual but certainly not particularly intense had been his addition of, “I’ve never really cared about it being legally binding, but it’s romantic, I just want the meaning.”

Everything about the tone was casual, so Alan hadn’t taken it as a hint until he woke up this morning.

Because yes, Gaipa had been sitting and speaking casually, but Alan is pretty sure he planned it that way – might have even been practicing.

They had been, after all, speaking over a meal – a date, really, because they make Tuesday nights theirs deliberately – which Gaipa had insisted on cooking entirely by himself.

Normally they make it together.

Alan likes making it together with Gaipa, who always ends up in his space or under his shoulder but somehow is never even slightly in the way, and the way Gaipa doesn’t stop smiling even when he’s focused, and the light in Gaipa’s kitchen always makes him look so soft and delicate even though he has those hard biceps and abs that-

He likes cooking for their dates together; Gaipa had insisted on cooking by himself, this time.

So, Alan had been a little disappointed.

Distracted.

Not focused on what it all meant, with the candles and all the foods Gaipa likes best to either feed Alan with a fork or be fed. And the marriage conversation.

He can’t remember what, exactly, he said in reply, but it wasn’t-

Well, it wasn’t an I do or a Will you or even an I’m so sorry I can’t believe I dropped the ring that many times like he’d once said to Wen.

Wen isn’t-

He isn’t a part of the issue, not exactly, because it’s not like Alan’s still hung up on him – it’s been years, and they see each other from time to time, and he’s even stopped the spiteful voice at the back of his mind that wonders, when he sees Jim, how long until Wen gets bored again.

(The petty voice in the front of his mind that points out how much more of a catch Gaipa is than Jim is still there, but he thinks that’s fine. Gaipa’s amazing.)

The issue, though, is there, and it’s not that Alan definitely failed to pick up on a probing question. Gaipa’s extremely understanding, and if Alan had woken up, realised, and called him – if he called him right now, even! – to explain that he completely missed it, Gaipa would have softly laughed and then fondly asked him what he thought now that he knew. Because Gaipa wasn't actually asking him to propose, Alan knows, he was trying to open the conversation. The proposal wouldn't even be soon.

No, the issue is that Alan doesn’t know what he thinks.

And, yes, Wen isn’t a present-day factor in that, but he is a historical factor in it – because Alan agrees with Gaipa that it’s romantic, that it’s meaningful, it’s something he always wanted too.

Wanted.

Alan hasn’t been married, but he has been engaged, and he doesn’t know that it did anything for him-

He does, though, is the thing, it did a lot for him. It made him so happy and it made Wen so happy too, they wanted to be married and they planned for it, in a future kind of way, and it didn’t matter anyway.

It did matter.

But.

Alan’s workday ends and he hasn’t been able to complete the thought.

He won’t be able to complete the thought.

It’s a jigsaw piece, but an old one – one from a puzzle there’s no call for him to ever look at again.

The only way to finish thinking it through is together.

Of course.

Gaipa’s a romantic and Alan has remembered how to be one too, so he sometimes sends him flowers – usually to the stall, in the middle of the day, where Gaipa can blush and laugh loudly and bear up under the teasing of the aunties and uncles with unconcealed pride and return their ribald jokes with worse ones.

He has a relationship with the florist, is the point, so when he stops in on the way out, she’s nice to Alan and gives him a good deal on a couple of sky blue… orchids? Alan is not great with flower names, they definitely aren’t orchids, but Gaipa likes light blue.

And he gets home-

Alan gets to Gaipa’s place and doesn’t let himself in, even though the key sits next to his own on the keyring, because it feels like the wrong way to start-

Okay, he doesn’t let himself in because he’s nervous.

Knocking gives him time to count his breaths and practice making his face not look terrified before-

“Alan!”

Gaipa looks surprised – it might be the flowers, but it’s probably the failure to use his key – but it turns into one of his sweetest smiles, the slow-building ones that always make Alan think of sunset over the field he used to walk home along, after school as a kid.

It makes him slow, but he manages to say, “Hi, Gaipa,” before Gaipa is putting his arms around him.

He hugs back with one arm, holding the flowers aside, and breathes in Gaipa’s hair – he must have just showered, because it’s damp and smells of his mint shampoo.

“Oh,” Gaipa says, twisting briefly to look at the arm held awkwardly out by his back, “Wait, are those flowers?”

He doesn’t pull out of the hug, so it’s into the mint-scented hair that Alan admits, “I didn’t notice what Tuesday was about. Then I noticed and got scared.”

“Hm,” Gaipa hums, warm and amused but nowhere near mocking, “Are you still scared?”

Alan nods silently and suggests, “You can fix that, right?”

Laughing, Gaipa squeezes him, and Alan really hopes the flowers are still okay.

He’s already getting there.

[brainshock-alpha]

weak heart is kind of a weird fic i guess... it’s pre-canon and the canon characters aren’t acting like we’re used to; it’s all talk and none of the smooth over-the-top action the source material is known for; and one of the characters is visibly trans which i bet throws some people for a loop lol

i still wanna write it tho. it’s as self-indulgent as robfic was, if not more. i’d love to show that Immaculate Gentleman Harry Hart could be trans, and neurodivergent, and about as unsure of himself as any of us. i hope people like it more as it goes on; i have some fun (as well as “Fun”) things planned for future chapters

[paalove]

"No,” Sand says, not expecting it to mean much to either of them. They have their pool threesome, and Sand tries to figure out why Ray isn't trusting him.

explicit

[paalove]

work computer system has been down for a full hour and your girl was only twenty minutes late. trailer fic occurring

[paalove]

The prefect and his friend who he let sneak back into the school after hours... they've been gone for a while. He wonders whether he should check on them - after all, they could be hurt. Nah, he decides. Head Prefect Akk is responsible and careful; it'll be fine. (The one where Akk and Aye aren't interrupted by the security guard.)

explicit. blame @missmarthanightingale for this one.

[paalove]

just reread nothing to lose and i am once again thinking about "pran doesn’t listen to his parents about much, right?" pran doesn't listen to his parents about much... pran doesn't listen to his parents about much... AHHHHH!!!

also thinking about how the week I finished bad buddy I was like PRAN ELLA ENCHANTED AU and just rotating this in my mind along with that concept. idk if you have read ella enchanted but as a possible prompt— a bad buddy, pran cursed with obedience! au

HEY. YOU SENT THIS MONTHS AGO AND I'VE THOUGHT ABOUT IT WEEKLY SINCE. 🥰

first: thank you ily, im glad you like that tiny little au it's one of my favourite pocket-universes <3

second: main fic coming in... hopefully the next couple of weeks? meanwhile here is a scattered little multi-pov intro to the fic i HAVE been calling "ella enpranted" xoxo

...

“Listen to me, Pran,” his mother says.

He does, because she’s his mother, and he does because he has to.

Concern etched into the lines of her face, deep deep worry and upset in her eyes, she orders him, “Stay away from that boy as much as you can,” and Pran will, because he has to.

As much as he can.

…

It’s hard to track him down this week – sometimes Pran gets skittish – but Pat finds him on Wednesday! It’s just been art, and Pat is taking the not-allowed-but-whatever shortcut that goes behind and around the weird little separate building that’s been used for art since they switched where all the languages rooms are, and there-

“Pran!” he calls, running over.

As he does, Pran’s head jerks up and he looks over and his eyes go wide, face startled, but he doesn’t look mad so Pat knows he’s only stashing his books away because he likes an escape route, he’s not mad at Pat.

So, Pat grabs the folder furthest from Pran and picks it up, flipping through and seeing a bunch of physics notes in Pran’s neat handwriting and smooth, black ink, because Pran never seems to have a pen go dry in the middle of writing anything, it’s all so even and careful.

Pran reaches out for it, then his hand freezes like an inch away from it and he says, “Pat, give that back.”

“No,” Pat says, but he’s smiling at Pran and Pran smiles back.

Shaking his head and turning – saying with his shoulders I’m not waiting for you and saying with the half smile but you can follow me if you want, I guess, it’s whatever – Pran says, “I need the folder back at some point.”

“I’ll give it back later,” Pat agrees.

Pran runs off when he doesn’t have something hostage, but he’s never mad about Pat taking his stuff. It’s just a game they play.

…

“Has someone told you to do something you don’t want to?”

She’s genuinely concerned, he knows that.

But she hasn’t ordered him to be honest, so he’s got enough leeway to not say you, Mae, it’s always you, because that would hurt her feelings and it wouldn’t change anything anyway, and Pran instead says, “The teacher assigned us both to be in the band,” and lets her remember all that trial and error, years ago, when they had to figure out how the orders worked.

Pran’s parents know that his too-powerful, too-flighty aunt’s gift was for them, so their orders normally take precedence over anyone else’s; they also know that their later orders take precedence over earlier ones, unless they specifically build something in, like telling him to disregard later ones that contradict the one they’re making right now. This pause is, he’s sure, letting his mother remember telling him to always consider teachers’ orders to outweigh all but a select few of her own.

Of course, most of what Pran’s figured out, he hasn’t told them.

Or even written down.

It’s safer to keep what he knows to himself.

His mother closes her eyes, nods, and says, “I suppose it couldn’t be avoided at that school.”

Pran wishes he had any way of stopping what comes next.

…

Dissaya’s son is honest, kind, and good.

Those are things she knows about him, things that she needs to protect and nourish and help to grow, and things that can’t be poisoned in him the way they were in her. She doesn’t like making him sad, dragging him away from his friends, but Pran is so vulnerable.

Moreso because of the gift.

It made her heart freeze in her chest the first time she saw him on the playground, some smaller child cheering him on, Higher! Higher, and the face of frozen fear on Pran’s face not even slightly getting in the way of how high he was swinging-

She still shudders to think of it.

Her sister-in-law was unrepentant when she called. Of course a gift of obedience doesn’t stop at the walls of their household, she’d laughed, but it’s always going to be stronger for family, isn’t that nice?

It’s not in her nature to yell, really, especially not at her husband’s beloved little sister, but she made an exception that day.

And then she had started to plan.

The idea that her careful planning and careful instructions to Pran haven’t been enough, haven’t kept him safe…

She’s never a coward except when it comes to Pran.

Dissaya sends him away.

…

It’s not written down, not anywhere, but Pran has a list of things he knows to be true about his gift.

His parents’ gift.

If his parents tell him, directly, to do something, he can’t help but do it. There’s no resisting directly, from the second he hears the order he begins to carry it out.

Physically impossible orders are an absolute exception – they arrive at Pran’s ears like normal, non-magical words, just the way a normal sentence works for anyone else on earth. He won’t try to fly if someone tells him to.

If anyone outside his family tells him directly to do something possible, it depends on what his parents have said first, but normally… he has to do it.

Pat telling him to race counts.

Pat whining at him to stop ignoring him also counts.

Pran has some leeway in deciding what counts.

In fact, Pran decides what an order means. He can know his parents meant one thing, but if the actual words they used mean something else… Pran can pick, kind of. Only kind of. He’s been experimenting with those limits for years.

The final part of it, the part that he’s known from the start and can never let himself forget or forgive, is the part that’s least useful and most essential.

8. It’s not a gift.

Because Pran has those old orders – keep yourself safe, don’t hurt others, and always prioritise teachers over other kids – and they make something like a shield, but one that it hurts to hold. The order to ignore other people’s orders no matter what never, never worked.

They must be physically impossible. Or something like that.

[paalove]

VERY annoyed with the speed of my brain this week. finally know exactly how id write a horrible guilt-ridden tee flashback (during teewhite) to angsty hatesex with non (hatesex for non, guiltsex for tee, anyway) but im not going to have time to write tonight or at all before the last ep comes out >:(

[paalove]

Sand can’t pretend even one moment longer to not want Ray back in his bed – fuck his own rules. A car works too.

3rd feral sand! explicit. posted the other day but i had no vpn access can i get an rip

[paalove]

prompt? 😇 akk always being moody when aye doesn't give him a good morning kiss and it ruins his whole day. But he is a bit shy and insecure to communicate that. Because this whole boyfriend thing is new to him but damn does he want his good morning kiss.

HI thanks for prompting this [mumbles length of time] ago, ily anon

NOT POSTING ON AO3 UNTIL TOMORROW bc i want to do a couple of simultaneous uploads. for khao's birthday!

“Would you just pay attention,” Akk snaps.

Kan drops his pen and blinks at him.

At least it stops the little song Kan had been singing himself about matrix calculations, but Akk starts to sink in his seat as soon as he thinks that.

Brow furrowing, Kan leans over the table to squint at him before saying, “Are you okay?”

That question is relevant but Akk doesn’t want to answer it.

He’s aware not wanting to talk about his feelings has caused problems before, earlier this year. Like, a couple of months ago, it nearly ended with him getting expelled-

Anyway, Akk doesn’t want to tell the truth.

He mumbles, “Worried about the maths one,” and then, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Kan says, shrugging easily and returning to studying.

But Akk can see the side-eye he’s getting from behind the suddenly-raised textbook and the way Kan’s face is suddenly illuminated means he’s definitely texting someone.

Could be just about any of the others – he talks to Thua most, of course, but Aye is the obvious go-to for any gossip about Akk, and he definitely has suspicions about Kan and Aye conspiring to make their own clingy-boyfriend-stuff seem more reasonable, and of course Wat and Kan have been texting behind Akk’s back for longer than anyone else (but it’s fine – he texts both of them behind the other’s, after all) so it could be-

Is Aye the obvious go-to for Akk?

Well, he’s obvious to the others, but he might not want to be anymore.

This is stupid, he reminds himself. I am being stupid about this and Aye isn’t breaking up with me.

He’s wearing the hoodie that has to prove it, of course, which might be the one bought for him or the one Aye already had – they swap, every so often, for reasons he cannot admit to the others, and indeed had once had to cover Aye’s mouth for an entire lunchtime to stop him from explaining, how they had to smell like the other person – but Akk’s stupid brain keeps doing it anyway.

Aye wanted to, it was just the timing, he tries to convince himself.

Kan’s still watching him from behind the textbook.

It’s not like Akk can criticise him; he’s not studying either.

They probably look silly, just the two of them pretending to study at this table, and Akk can’t remember what the others said they were going to do. He was probably focused on his stupid thoughts.

About Aye, and the timing.

But it can’t be prefect stuff, because Aye and Thua are gone too, and Akk doesn’t remember them even being here at the start of this study period, and he doesn’t know what else it could be but he can’t ask Kan.

He’d sound anxious.

And Kan would know he was spiralling.

Probably other people too – the same ones he and Kan look silly to now, in their pantomime of studying, because of course they’re looking. People haven’t stopped looking at him at school, since everything happened.

It’s Akk’s fault of course, he knows that.

The eyes still burn.

Not always – when Aye’s with him it actually feels kind of good, moving past everything and proving to himself that being looked at, being seen won’t kill him, but…

First of all, Aye isn’t here, which is the root of all of it today apparently, but it’s still fine because when his friends are here it’s fine and Kan is here.

But then, also, maybe not.

Because the other thing is that he’s clearly relying on Aye more than he thought. He feels uneasy, on-edge, like the hoodie has something crawling on it and so does the table and so does the ground, and Akk knows why.

That’s what makes it all so stupid – that he knows why.

He and Aye slept in separate buildings last night, which isn’t that weird for them, no matter what their friends say. But then Aye was a little late, in the morning, so when they actually reunited there were like, three teachers in sight of them, and two of them were vaguely-recognised members of the faculty but Teacher Waree was the third – she likes Aye better now, but it’s not like she can be either of their favourite teacher so it would have just been weird.

They’d moved on quickly, moved into the grounds where their friends were, but all that meant-

“The printer just tried to eat Thua,” Aye announces, throwing himself onto the same part of the bench where Akk is sitting and, incidentally, throwing one leg over Akk’s.

He’s balanced precariously, that being a stupid way to sit on a picnic bench, so Akk steadies him with a hand on his waist. While they’re smiling at each other Kan says or does something that makes Thua put on an exasperated voice, so they’re flirting too, which makes the interruption totally reasonable.

Namo steals Akk’s textbook and lies down on the table, so as to wave his hands in all their faces at once and say, “I also exist, actually.”

“Hi, Wat,” Akk and Kan reply in unison, ignoring Namo to look at the only person still standing up.

Wat waves and tries to pull Namo off the table.

Thua breaks off from whatever he was murmuring to Kan to look confused and ask, “Wait, what were you guys doing before we ran into you?”

“Oh,” starts Wat, “I was actually in the computer room on the second floor, checking my emails, and-“

Aye pokes Akk’s knee.

Akk tilts his head to look at him properly – they’re cuddled up pretty tightly.

“-helping me double check my note about the,“ Namo’s saying, now sitting on top of the table. “What was it? You know, the-“

Aye gives an exaggerated pout and Akk really does try not to stare at his lips, which has always been a difficult task.

They’re very smooth.

And shiny.

One mystery that was finally solved after they started dating was the shininess – Akk never suspected lip balm, he always just thought Aye was kind of… inherently shiny-lipped.

Case in point: when Aye isn’t helping him, Akk is stupid.

“-Yeah, we were looking at Namo’s notes but I still needed to check my email, and-“

The pout slowly slips into an actual frown, and Akk feels his own eyes widen. Aye is frowning at him and it’s probably confusion but the stupid, unsettled part of him that’s been waiting since they met up insists that it’s more than that-

Kan claps once, loudly.

At least when they turn their heads to look at him, they’re synchronised.

“Everyone’s being weird,” announces Kan. “Akk yelled at me about studying better and you two are talking funny.”

The you two indicated seems to be Namo and Wat, who immediately look at each other.

Over their disagreements – or perhaps explanations? – Thua speaks in that unexpectedly-carrying tone he’s always been so good at, voice deceptively soft, saying, “You should study better, Kan. We’ve got a week left to study.”

Pausing for Kan’s whine and the way he dramatically lets his head fall onto the desk, Thua visibly suppresses a smile.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“And that’s making everything weird, of course people are acting like it. Nobody’s being weird,” he adds.

Akk feels more than sees Aye nod in agreement.

Which seems like Akk’s cue, so he leans forwards as much as he can without disrupting Aye (only barely not sitting in his lap at this point) to shake his head at Kan and say, “Stop being a dick to everyone, Kan.”

“Yeah,” jumps in Namo, “Stop being a dick.”

Kan is failing to defend himself against their ganging up on him, probably because his boyfriend is also giggling and Akk knows Kan likes it when Thua’s kind of mean to him, when Aye starts poking his leg again.

“What?” he whispers, not wanting to get the rest of their attention.

Wiggling and tipping his forehead onto Akk’s shoulder, Aye is equally quiet when he asks, “You yelled at Kan?”

Akk freezes, which is his main mistake.

He tries, “I just snapped because he was being annoying,” but Aye felt him freeze and Aye knows how to read him.

There’s a moment when Aye frowns at him again, and this time the overwhelming fear isn’t of the stupid thing – Aye leaving – but of the actual threat, which is Aye figuring out what he’s upset about.

Akk isn’t surprised that Aye stands up.

“What’s up-“

He doesn’t hear the rest of Wat’s question, because it’s better to just go, when Aye starts trying to drag him somewhere.

They don’t go far.

Actually, he’s pretty sure the others will hear them even if they whisper, here, but Aye places him with his back against a wall and boxes him in, so Akk really has no choice to comply.

And get distracted by staring at his lips again.

Only briefly, this time, because Aye quickly takes his hand and says, “You weren’t upset Kan was being annoying.”

“It’s nothing.”

There’s no point insisting on the Kan story – Aye can read him.

Of course, Aye also knows the kind of feelings Akk prefers not to admit to, and he knows their outcomes, so it’s definitely not weird that Aye’s face goes all worried and urgent.

Guilt makes Akk panic and blurt it out.

In a mumble – their friends can still hear them – he says, “When we met up Teacher Waree was there and then our friends were there and we didn’t see each other last night so you didn’t kiss me hello this morning and I’ve been sad about it.”

Eyes now scrunched closed, he has to convince them to peel open, even though he knows Aye won’t be making any of the worst faces he’s picturing. He won’t be disgusted or angry or, like, guilty because it was on purpose – no, at worst, Aye’s going to be suppressing that Akk’s-so-cute smile-

No, wait, there’s one worse, and it’s this.

Confused, Aye says, “Huh? I couldn’t understand you.”

“You didn’t kiss me hello this morning!” Akk repeats; he knows immediately that he was too loud.

None of their friends are making a sound.

Quietly, he adds, “Oh no.”

Aye’s eyes light up with exactly the Akk’s-so-cute look he’d been afraid of, and the hand on his squeezes tight, and he opens his mouth to say something mortifying and-

“Wat,” asks Namo, loudly. “Did you just hear something?”

Oh, fuck.

At least Aye kisses him on the cheek before dragging him back to the table. It’s the only upside to what follows.

[paalove]

would you perhaps consider writing a one shot au fic where ep 5 ends in a sandraybostonnick foursome instead of the canon ending?

this is largely based off my conversations with @missmarthanightingale but shoutout to you, anon, for prompting me while i was already writing it... i think legally this makes us brothers idk

[paalove]

Ray is following him around and acting like it's because he's some concerned citizen, like he doesn't spend half his time at YOLO getting high in the bathroom. Clearly he has a different interest here - something he's insisting on not admitting to. Sand kindly gives him what he wants.

second of the feral!sand canon divergences! explicit

[paalove]

so you & i have discussed what we think happened between raymew in that video boston has, which left boston & top both convinced that they'd had sex while ray & mew both insist that they didn't. i would love a post-canon incident where ray & boston, in the middle of a hangout with sand & nick, finally hash out the mystery of why they are on completely different pages about this. & then i want ray to repeat what he did with mew only with boston this time, in a doomed attempt to prove in the face of overwhelming opposition that it totally didn't count as sex, you guys, mew said so.

indeed we have! now, you sent this pre-finale, so you absolutely weren't expecting this bostonray fic to mainly be a tonnick fixit, but Such Is The Way Of Things xoxo

on ao3 here

...

Nick takes a deep breath before the door opens.

Holds it.

Releases, just as Boston turns, hair a little longer than it used to be but clearly heavily styled, makes eye contact, and the expression on Boston’s face turns from friendly and welcoming to something more complicated.

“Nick,” he says, and nothing else.

Smiling like he doesn’t notice, or really like he does, Nick says, “Hey, Ton.”

Boston swallows and looks him up and down – wonders at him, really, and Nick can feel it working the way it used to, making him all warm and sparkling and giddy, but it doesn’t sweep him away like before.

Makes him smile, though.

Especially when Boston stands in his own doorway, letting his arms dangle uselessly by his side, just staring at Nick.

“Won’t you let me in?” Nick asks.

Boston smiles at that, and it’s wide and growing and happy as he steps back.

This isn’t anywhere near as big as Boston’s place back home, of course, that’s a family home and this is a stylish apartment – or, Nick’s pretty sure, a condo – but it’s just as clearly expensive. The furniture is sleek and black and matching.

He peers at a tiny corner table, black and shiny enough to see his face in, and says, “Oh, this is cool!”

When he stands back up, Boston is staring at him.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he says.

Nick shrugs and admits, “I got your address from Ray.”

He’d visited Boston over the summer, and it had just taken Nick mentioning – completely truthfully – that they’d been texting and sometimes Nick saw cool art he would like to send Boston, before Ray had eagerly given him the building and apartment number.

“Ai’Ray,” Boston mutters to himself, shooting a glare at the kitchen area, visible from here.

It makes Nick smile.

When they started texting again, Nick went slow. He’d text Boston and then set the entire app to being unable to notify him, so he wouldn’t be able to wait on tenterhooks for Boston’s reply; he’d deliberately be the parts of himself that he was always pretty sure Boston didn’t find cute or interesting, too.

Nick’s pretty sure, now, he knows how to not get swept away in Boston – but Boston smiles at him all teeth and says, “I’ll get you something,” and disappears to a cupboard and Nick isn’t sure.

He returns with a can of pepsi and says, “Sorry, man, I don’t have anything else – Ray didn’t tell me he was sending you.”

“Well, he didn’t send-“

They both turn to the noise at the door – the same electric beeping of the doorbell earlier.

Boston frowns.

Nick closes his eyes and thinks it’s karma for Sand’s birthday, because he didn’t tell Ray he was coming but Boston was expecting someone, and he doesn’t have anything alcoholic in his fancy, expensive condo, three days before New Years.

But Boston doesn’t have the same realisation, saying, “Huh, I wonder who that is.”

He smiles at him and picks up his can; opening it, he decides a week with friends isn’t too much worse than a sexy-romantic surprise visit.

With his ex.

Whatever, they’ve been texting, and Nick might have a boyfriend but this wouldn’t be happening if it was cheating, and…

He’s sinking in his seat a little when the confused, “Nick?” greets him from behind.

“Hi, guys,” he greets them both dimly.

Yeah, of course Sand and Ray are here.

They have a group chat with Boston, he knows, and it’s not used as often as the one they have with him but it’s in regular use and also they’re for sure trying to get out of the blast zone for April and Cheum’s current situation at the hostel – they’re the ones who tried to do the throuple thing, they’re the ones who can handle that awful party. Ray and Sand have had one turn of it.

Nick kind of has too.

Ray’s grinning, and Sand’s eyebrows have migrated to the top of his skull, as they both look at him, and Boston, and him, and Boston, and Nick rolls his eyes and says, “Surprise.”

This is when Boston seems to realise that Ray didn’t send him; he rears back, looks at Nick with new eyes again, and opens his mouth.

Great.

No way are they leaving without answers.

…

Sand loves it when Ray is annoying.

Right now, he’s interrogating Nick about his presence over the sound of some music playing from Boston’s speakers, echoing through the un-carpeted, shiny condo. Sand is watching, of course, and Boston obviously is as well.

Nick is still in the definitely-for-a-date slightly fancy clothes he was wearing when Sand arrived, but the rest of them are dressed casually – Boston for lounging and Ray and Sand for travelling. Ray has changed one part of his outfit, though, from the thick pants he insisted on for walking through the New York winter into a pair of shorts that come to about a third down his thigh.

The left leg of them is riding enough to expose the lyric tattoo Sand had watched him get.

It’s where his gaze likes to rest.

Ray nudges, and cackles, and gets in Nick’s space, and Sand watches the furrow in Nick’s brow deepen and deepen, until-

“Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about here. You think exes can’t be friends? Weird and homoerotic friends who like to watch their boyfriends make out until they bleed?”

Boston snorts and Sand laughs as Ray pouts.

“He’s not really my ex,” Ray insists, the way he likes to when people mention it or when Sand talks about the time they were fucking behind Mew’s back, because Mew and Ray have decided between themselves that that wasn’t cheating, actually, and they do expect everyone else to agree.

And Sand contributes with a lazy, “Hey, only Top ever ended up bleeding.”

It makes Nick laugh and nod, and he seems less annoyed as he looks at Ray, more… confused.

“Actually,” he says, “There’s something I always wondered about, with all that.”

Ray blinks at him inquisitively, and Sand doesn’t like how wide and airy Boston’s apartment is – he can’t just reach out and squeeze Ray to him from all the way over here.

Nick continues, “You and Mew, I mean, but not that time.”

“Us being friends?”

“The time you kissed,” he says.

Ray shifts uneasily and Boston sits up slowly, like he’s seen something interesting and wants to get a good angle on it; it makes Sand shift too, turning so he’s facing the corner Nick and Ray are huddled together on, facing the same way as Boston about half a yard away.

Boston says, “Back before you knew us?”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees, probably as oblivious to Ray’s discomfort as Ray was to his – not at all oblivious, in other words, just willing to ignore it – as he presses, “The time that you recorded.”

Recording is a topic that makes them all glance at each other uneasily, and normally Nick is the most sensitive to it, but he’s been growing in himself and his confidence all this while, Sand has seen, and he sits up straight as he mentions it.

He looks Ray directly in the eyes, and Sand can only see Ray’s reaction from behind but he seems to almost be shying away, as much as he ever does, as Nick stares at him.

“Why did Boston and Top both think you guys fucked?”

Sand blinks, surprised – they have an answer to that, don’t they?

Ray seems confused too, looking over at Boston and saying, “Well, Top thought that because Boston told him. But Boston didn’t really believe it, he saw everything.”

“You guys absolutely fucked,” Boston tells him. “Top knew it because I showed him the video of you guys fucking – my bad.”

Now Ray is shaking his head and insisting, “We made out!”

Sand can’t believe this is happening – he looks over to Nick and sees Nick looking at him, a smile on his face that looks like amusement and something simpler, the kind of joy he gets glimpses of, sometimes, when Nick is texting his guys.

Boston being one of them.

Apparently.

The squabble is friendly, but it’s not getting anywhere, so Sand raises his voice enough to be overheard over them as he says, “Hey! Hey, guys, come on, chill. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened, huh?”

That part’s for Ray alone, and his voice drops into the warm amusement he reserves for Ray.

Raising his chin at Boston like he’s declaring victory, Ray says, “Okay. I will.”

Boston shakes his head and rolls his eyes, friendly and annoyed in equal measure, but he looks at Sand and nods.

Sand sits back.

“You confessed to Mew, then you kissed him, and he kissed back a little before he stopped it and told you he didn’t want to. That’s how you explained it to me,” he prompts Ray.

Ray nods eagerly and Boston smirks to himself.

Then Ray says, “That’s how it happened. But- we didn’t stay stopped.”

Not what Sand expected.

…

Sand looks bowled over and Nick feels kind of guilty for bringing it up, but…

Well, Ray was being annoying, and also it’s not like Sand is jealous over Mew anymore – you kind of can’t be jealous of a guy whose boyfriend you did a multi-day sexcation with even if you are monogamous by nature. Nick’s pretty sure that’s a rule.

And Boston is still looking certain he’s right, so Nick says, “How didn’t you stay stopped, huh?”

Ray mumbles something.

“Huh?”

“I tripped on him when I got up a bit after,” he repeats more loudly.

Nick coughs his laughter at that, and he can see Boston snorting at the same moment – the synchronicity makes him feel warm, and a thrill goes through him when his eyes meet Boston’s.

He ducks his head away, still smiling, and says, “Uh huh.”

Even Sand looks amused and disbelieving.

“I know that move,” he tells Ray.

Ray flicks a middle finger and makes a face at his boyfriend but shamelessly agrees, “Yeah, it was on purpose. He kissed back and he kept making eyes like he was curious – I wanted to see how curious. So I tripped into his lap and made eyes until he kissed me again, Sand.”

It’s so funny how easily those two make each other jealous.

“And then you fucked,” Boston says conversationally.

Ray makes another face and tells him, “We didn’t,” looking around at himself and Sand for support as he repeats, “We didn’t. We made out for- I don’t know, a while,” looking all red. “And yeah, we did some heavy petting, but it was all over the clothes and-“

He looks at Boston, and Boston looks back at him, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“And I came in my pants, okay? That’s all. We didn’t fuck, me and Mew talked about it – we just made out and I got ahead of myself, it wasn’t sex.”

Boston has a grin on his face but he shakes his head and says, “It wasn’t just heavy petting, I saw – man, what moves count as that to you, huh?”

“Those moves,” Ray insists.

Humming something surprised, Sand says, “Why don’t you show us? You two have your opinions, but we,” and he points to Nick and to himself in an oval motion, “Don’t have ours, yet.”

“You want me to trip on your lap,” Ray immediately flirts back.

But Nick points out, “You guys will definitely make it sex, come on. And you won’t remember you’re supposed to be demonstrating anything. Nah, it should be the ones who were there who demonstrate.”

“Ray and Ton?”

“Ray and Ton.”

Boston looks curious, challenging.

Belligerent, Ray says, “Fine. I’ll do with Ton what I did with Mew.”

…

He hadn’t thought he’d ever be a fan of watching Ray make out with someone else, especially not to prove a point, but Sand feels kind of okay with this.

It’s only him and Ray, Nick and Boston here – they’re all people he trusts, Ray with his heart and the other two with the higher honour of Ray himself. This isn’t threatening.

No, Sand’s current problem, as Boston spreads his legs only a little, sitting with exaggeratedly-proper posture in an impression of Mew, is that-

Ugh.

Sand loves making Ray cum in his pants, is the problem.

He gets too desperate to take them off, or too intent on watching something Sand’s doing for him, or sometimes Sand just won’t let him take them off because he likes to grope him through the fabric sometimes, and Ray gets panting and mewling and squirming and, just.

Mew won’t have appreciated it.

Clearly didn’t.

But he got to do that to Ray, see it, and Sand is never jealous of Mew anymore but he hates the idea of someone getting that sweet and wanting Ray and not knowing what to do with him.

Ray doesn’t trip onto Boston’s lap, just takes a seat there as Boston bats his eyelashes and says, “But Ray, I’m saving myself for a hotel heir-“

“Man, shut up,” Ray cackles, as Boston puts his hands on Ray’s hips to steady him.

The shorts are riding high, still, showing the lyric tattoo.

And Boston says, “You weren’t sitting like this.”

“We were at first,” Ray tells him.

Boston squints, like he’s struggling to remember, and says, “Oh! Yeah, it was like,” and he makes what has to be his surprised-Mew face and stares dramatically at Ray before leaning in, over him, and kissing him.

Ray is kissing back slowly, and it’s…

Huh.

Sand is finding it hot instead of wanting to kill Boston. Maybe the pool thing was an outlier.

He watches as Ray, who had been tilted back slightly as if he’d tripped elegantly onto Boston, lifts himself up using Boston’s shoulders for leverage, raises himself until he’s no longer sitting on Boston’s lap but kneeling over it, and Boston licks into his mouth and brings both hands up and around Ray’s neck, not quite squeezing but Sand still frowns, because-

“Did Mew do that?” Nick interrupts.

The two break apart and look over, Ray annoyed-and-dazed and Boston inquisitive.

Sand already knows what Nick means, and he nods as Nick clarifies, “The hands around his neck – that’s a Ton thing, not a Mew thing.”

“Shit,” Boston says. “Sorry, man, it was just one hand, right?”

Ray nods, “Yeah, one cupping the back of my neck, the other one- hey!”

The last part is a yelp as Boston gropes his ass.

And then they go back to kissing, Ray squeezing at Boston’s chest but, Sand will admit, nothing that would be out of place just doing heavy petting.

Ray moves again, then, seeming like he’s winding around Boston as he shuffles his legs over so one is between Boston’s and the other stays where it was, just on the outside – he’s straddling Boston’s leg, and Boston pulls him up it, closer, with the hand that Sand can see most clearly, in its position on Ray’s ass.

And that’s when Sand sees what Boston meant, because Ray isn’t just straddling Boston’s leg but grinding on it, hips working and hands grasping at Boston.

He feels his mouth go dry.

…

Sand is obviously about to die.

Too much blood in his dick, probably, and Nick understands very deeply.

They need to keep a scientific mindset, though.

Ray is grinding on Boston’s thigh and Boston is kissing him and squeezing his ass in a way Nick remembers with his body when he sees it. The whining is reasonable and respectable, really.

Of course, it’s also standard for Ray – Nick’s still Sand’s roommate, he hears a lot of shit.

He’s listening to the whining from the back of Ray’s throat and thinking he probably has enough to answer his question, but on the other hand…

“Hey, Ton,” he calls over, “He came last time, right?”

Obviously they all know the answer, because Ray said, but he directs it to Boston for a reason.

Sure enough, Boston gets it first, grinning over at Nick all knowing when he languidly replies, “Yeah. But Mew didn’t touch him.”

Nick knew Sand was his brother-in-arms, and Sand is smirking too, now.

Yeah, he’s trying for deadpan, but really fucking badly. He raises his eyebrows at Ray all challenging, because Ray has twisted around to look at Sand, then glance at Nick.

Ray’s eyes widen in surprise.

Then intrigue.

And then he looks around once more, looking carefully at each of their faces like he’s checking in, and then Ray shrugs and says, “Okay.”

When he kisses Boston, he doesn’t look like he’s trying to remember his past script anymore.

Boston definitely isn’t pretending to be Mew.

They’re moving a little more, and Boston’s hands have migrated up to Ray’s neck like they always do- well, not always Ray’s neck, of course. Ray’s grinding, legs squirming, it’s all entirely visible because of the shorts which Nick is assuming were Sand’s choice, considering everything about Sand and Ray.

His legs are deceptively well-defined, actually, and Nick would.

Boston is panting, kind of, and so is Ray, but it’s Boston whose chest Nick wants to watch heave – when the shirt is off it. He’s the one controlling the pace of the kissing and not doing a damn thing about the pace of the grinding, pretty much being pointed in how he ignores Ray’s increasing want.

It looks almost casual the way he kisses Ray, pulls back, kisses again and leaves his face dazed.

Nick prefers it when Boston loses that control.

There’s time until New Year.

Ray is nowhere near being in control, his panting faster and his grinding not rhythmic. He twists again, when Boston releases him from the kiss, to look at Sand.

Those are the pleading eyes that Nick has seen Sand give stupid amounts of anything to.

Today, Sand gives Ray a sincere-sounding, “Su su!” and a thumbs up.

Nick’s mouth drops open in shock and laughter; Ray actually whines out loud in more of a complaint way than a sexy way.

“You’ve done it before, Ray,” says Boston, calling Ray’s attention back to him and Nick’s with it, “Losing your touch?”

He also squeezes absently at Ray’s bare thigh; Nick is watching his hands.

Ray tilts his head at Boston and gets a competitive look in his eyes and says, “I don’t think so.”

The cool head there instantly seems to depart him when Boston kisses him again and Ray’s hips start tiny little nothing-humps against the muscular thighs that Nick wants around his neck.

Even Boston is getting visibly affected now, gaze getting more intent on Ray’s face like he does when his partn- the guy in his bed is getting close.

He licks his lips, just enough to wet them, Nick only spots it because he’s staring at Boston’s face as it happens and Nick wants Ray off Boston and his own hands on him, on that face and body now.

Ray twists out of the kiss to look at Sand again, and when Nick looks up-

Yeah, there are tears of frustration in his eyes now.

And yeah, Sand looks so horny he’s like, forgotten how to count, he looks stupid with the want in his eyes, but the rest of his face is impressively cool as he tilts his head and purses his lips as if judging Ray, finding him wanting.

Nick shoots Sand an impressed double-thumbs-up, but Sand doesn’t see.

Probably something to do with Ray’s louder whining, more desperate writhing, as Boston moves so both hands are on Ray’s thighs – either to help him along or hold him back, Nick can’t tell.

As Ray obviously cums, he whines, “Motherfucker,” and that could really be for anyone.

He falls forwards, or tries to, but Boston pushes at him with annoyed hands.

Laughing, he says, “Get up, Ray, I’m not Sand – you actually have to move yourself.”

Sand shoots Nick a glare.

That’s fair, it definitely could be Nick’s fault Boston knows that, but then Boston has eyes and also Ray’s phone number, so.

“Fuck off, Ton,” Ray says, but he’s smiling as he manages to stand.

Obviously he immediately picks his way over to Sand and dumps himself against his side, where Sand clasps him with one arm and a heated look.

It’s time for them to go and fuck, so Nick slides a sideways glance at Boston to see if maybe-

“Well?” Boston asks.

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes at Nick’s question, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and says, “Was I right, or were Ray and Mew right?”

“Oh yeah, that was fucking,” Nick tells him. “You guys just fucked.”

Sand, with Ray now propped against his shoulder, nods in agreement and says, “Yeah.”

“Ehh,” Ray says into Sand’s shoulder, waving a dismissive hand, “Sure, I guess. But when me and Mew did it, he didn’t think so. Anything can be fucking if you think it’s fucking, so like,” he makes a noise into Sand’s shoulder as Sand stares at him like he’s a lamb wearing a bowtie that can recite a poem, or something, “It’s not when Mew lost his virginity, is the main thing,” and he’s rambling a little as Nick’s attention gets caught.

Boston stands up, walks over to Nick, and picks his pocket for his phone.

Standing up straight as Nick stares in disbelief, he unlocks it without asking Nick for the code, and is soon holding it to his ear.

“Ton, what the fuck,” he asks, not really expecting an answer.

Boston smiles at him, then hears something on the other end that draws his gaze away as he bursts into a rapidfire, “You actually do know you guys fucked, right? You’re ju- he hung up.”

He’s pouting like he wasn’t expecting that for about a second before he shrugs.

“That’s chill, he doesn’t know my new number. I’ll text him,” Boston says, wandering off in search of a phone.

Huh.

Nick realises that right now, he wants to, like, drag Boston into his bedroom by his hair. He’s so fucking hot and weird with it, it makes Nick feel all fucking caveman about it. There might not be a The One for him like the two idiots who are finally stumbling towards Boston’s guestroom, but he doesn’t ever want to stop seeing this one.

[paalove]

so today's episode totally shattered me! would you consider writing that ep5 canon divergence we talked about where sand tells ray about the 25th hour thing. i think it would really help your traumatized fellow fans exorcise from their minds the image of ray's face when he's saying that sand never cared about him

:D

your wish is my command. to be posted on ao3 within the minute xoxo also on ao3

...

Maybe they shouldn’t have gone for another cookie, but Ray had picked one up and ripped it in half before Sand could bring himself to stop looking at Ray’s smooth cheeks long enough to protest, so instead he’d allowed Ray to feed him one half.

The smaller half, but Ray might not have even noticed that.

He swallows the last of it, plants a hand over by the beanbag, and leans into Ray.

Concrete roughness under his hand helps him anchor himself, because otherwise every sense is Ray, Ray, Ray, all soft and glittery. He kisses him and tastes the cookie, again, licks some of it out of Ray’s mouth because he might have interrupted mid-chew but Ray doesn’t seem to mind, hand on Sand’s neck pulling him in and tongue in his mouth probably trying to get the cookie back.

It might be a little gross if it wasn’t Ray.

Not in a romantic way, just that Ray’s been covered in beer or piss or vomit often enough that this isn’t on the scale.

Sand gets stuck in considering that for a second and Ray falls away with a laugh.

It’s a giggly little thing; he’s been riding the wave of the edibles and not much else since Sand couldn’t bring himself to pour any more, so he’s more high than he is drunk.

Ray laughs in the most beautiful, time-stopping way, of course, because he’s Ray, but the giggles always make Sand want to look and look and never stop, and of course he’s high too but that would be a good idea anyway so he fixes his eyes and drinks Ray in.

He’s still laughing, it’s in his eyes, which are dark under Sand where he shields him from the light coming from inside the apartment, and his lips are kiss-red and wet.

Sand kisses him again.

This is amazing, but he’s not sure how to stare at Ray from here – when he tries to pull away, though, Ray makes an annoyed noise and clamps his arms over Sand’s shoulders.

Ray wants to keep kissing; Sand will.

He’s on his knees, now, on the stone floor. One hand still balances there too, but he finds that the other is trapped between Ray’s back and the fake leather of the beanbag he convinced P’Yo he could find a use for once it stopped matching the bar aesthetic.

The trapped arm could be easily freed.

It’s easier to leave it there and feel like it’s on purpose, like Ray wants to anchor him down. Sand wants to press Ray down, so it would be fair.

Their kiss slows, tongues retreating in almost-synchrony, and Sand pulls their mouths apart just enough to say, “You’re pretty,” and regain a little of his breath.

“Your eyes are closed,” Ray says.

That’s true.

Sand isn’t sure why he’s saying it, but Ray’s high too, so that’s chill.

This Ray-laugh is more of his wide, cackly one that happens when he’s been delighted by something. Sand likes that.

“Good,” Ray says to nothing.

He’s so warm.

Sand’s arm is still under him, so when Ray stretches up, cranes towards him, Sand helps to hold him up.

When he’s in reach, Ray starts to kiss Sand’s neck, all tickly breath and warm mouth.

It makes him feel everything else more, the slightly-cooler floor and the barely-there breeze over his neck and of course the cloth of Ray’s shirt and Sand’s own.

He needs his arm, the one not already touching Ray, so without thinking-

Sand falls heavily on top of Ray, squashing him into the beanbag, and Ray’s soft oof sends a puff of air over the spit-damp part of his neck.

But he has his hand free now and he strokes at Ray’s hip and kisses what’s in reach.

Mostly what’s in reach is hair, but there’s some ear, too.

“Sand,” Ray says. “You’re squashing me.”

With a hum onto Ray’s ear and a pleased feeling at the resultant shiver, Sand says, “You don’t like that?”

He’d be surprised.

“No, I do,” Ray informs him, so Sand bites his ear and doesn’t get up.

Their legs are pleasantly tangled as they kiss, now, and as Sand gropes sort of absently at Ray’s chest and waist and hips, Ray starts to grind his crotch on Sand’s thigh.

He crawls up towards Ray, to get in a better position for that, uses the leg that isn’t caught between Ray’s to pull himself towards the beanbag and gets it in front of him, underneath… something. It lets him feel Ray, hard, against his other leg, so that’s good.

It also means he’s got space to lean over Ray, space between their chests.

Sand smiles, probably goofy, at Ray’s half-lidded dark eyes and his sweat-slicked hair. Pausing a moment, he strokes a lone strand of Ray’s forehead.

He’s so beautiful.

Probably mad about how far up Sand is, Ray whines, “Sand, stop it.”

“Sh,” he hushes, leaning down to meet Ray’s open begging mouth.

Time slows, the way it likes to around Ray. He’s time’s favourite the same way he’s Sand’s favourite.

Sand gets a little desperate, slowly, nameless urgency and need building up against him as he kisses and kisses and occasionally takes a moment to do something equally important, like letting Ray kiss his neck or collarbone or chest, or kissing Ray on the ear or the forehead or the cheek, biting his jaw once, and the need gets to be something hot and buzzing under his skin and suddenly having hands on his chest, legs between his own, that’s not enough, and when he tries to move he realises it’s the beanbag that his leg’s trapped under.

Frowning, he considers the situation.

It’s hard to do that, Ray still rubbing against his leg and so, so beautiful with lips swollen and eyes dark, but he considers it.

One hand on each side of Ray’s waist, which is firm under the layer of nice, touchable soft, he rolls them.

“Ouch,” Sand adds.

Ray frowns down at him, says, “I’m not too heavy for you, dick,” in a voice with hardly any breath in it.

He nods up agreeably.

This is a good angle for Ray, the way he’s kind of haloed in the light from inside really making the perfect shape of his lips and the soft, smooth skin of his cheeks apparent.

Eyes cutting away from Sand’s, Ray says, “The floor’s hurting my knee,” and looks at Sand expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” Sand tells him.

They pause for a second.

It’s hard to pick Ray up and put him back onto the beanbag, from here, but the reward – getting to move Ray where he pleases, getting to see Ray smile and pull him into another kiss when he’s seated on top of the beanbag – is definitely a good one.

His core and thighs complain, but they don’t get a vote.

Ray is significantly more upright than before, sitting up on the bag rather than lying against it, and Sand pulls out of the kiss to gaze at him, look him up and down and see the way Ray attractively stretches his neck, lets his legs fall apart.

He’s doing that on purpose.

With a hum, Ray says, “Yeah.”

Under the moonlight, sounds from the street loud but oblivious to them, Ray like this is perfect – it’s like he’s just for Sand, and the world is just for them. Sand has a hand on the bare skin of Ray’s knee through the rip in his jeans, but that isn’t enough.

He mourns having to move it away, but he’s not coordinated enough to undo Ray’s jeans one-handed, not the way he is right now.

As he tries, Ray says, “I’ll help.”

Then Ray gets in the way of Sand undoing Ray’s fly for a little while, hands getting uselessly in the way and distracting Sand with the way their sweaty, warm hands slide against each other, but the button is eventually undone and the zip down.

Ray already has his hands on his own waistline by then, and wriggles to pull it down over his hips.

Instead of assisting, Sand strokes a finger over the tattoo at Ray’s hip, too lightly to even move his skin, not so much reading the words as watching the pattern of light and dark.

“Huh,” says Ray.

Sand looks up, follows Ray’s gaze to his own crotch, and agrees, “Huh.”

He tries to make his brain work, think when that could have happened, looking at Ray’s softening cock and clearly cum-stained boxers. Is it cum-stained, actually, when the cum is still wet? Most things aren’t really stained until they’re dry.

“When did you do that?” asks Sand.

Ray struggles to lean forwards, on the beanbag, so he can lean into Sand’s face and say, “It wasn’t just me.”

He’s pretty, so Sand smiles and kisses his sweaty cheek.

“But when?”

Making no move to pull away from Sand, to move at all, still looking at his crotch in mild confusion, Ray says, “I don’t know.”

“Should we,” Sand doesn’t want to say it, but makes the words come, “Stop?”

He didn’t want to miss it.

Ray’s been on edge since morning – definitely since the vintage store – and Sand’s been working it up, it’s disappointing to miss the moment.

But shaking his head, Ray turns so Sand can see his scowl as he tells him, “Absolutely the fuck not, no, you should… fuck my thighs.”

Ray’s thighs are really good.

“Are you sure,” Sand asks, taking his own pants off.

From somewhere above his thighs, Ray’s voice says, “I said I’d give you your present tonight. And they’re already wet,” because Ray is sweet and thoughtful.

“Good idea,” Sand tells him before kissing mostly-his-mouth, barely hitting his cheek at all, especially once Ray helps and turns into it properly.

But they stop kissing pretty quickly, and Ray sits there with wide expectant eyes as Sand looks at him and considers the best way to do it.

They normally fuck facing each other – Ray has such a lovely face that it feels like a shame to not – but Sand nudges his side and says, “Turn around,” and gestures until he gets it.

“Here,” says Ray, handing over his jacket.

Sand blinks at it.

“What?”

With a pout, Ray tells him, “The floor hurts my knees.”

Carefully positioning Ray so he’s lying over the beanbag, facing forwards, he pushes Ray’s legs together and shoves the jacket under them.

“Hold them tight, right?” asks Ray.

“Mm.”

Sand is staring at Ray’s thighs, so he doesn’t spare a lot of thought for answering.

There’s less cum on this side, but he can see white creeping, peeking through, and he pushes his hand between them to feel that Ray is holding them tight enough; it’s wet underneath, of course.

Ray trembles a little under his touch; Sand didn’t think he could get harder, but his dick kind of pulses in recognition.

So, crawling over, he runs his hand again over the long crease and tells Ray, “You’re so good,” and lines up his cock.

This time it’s a shudder.

He fucks Ray’s crease slowly, and it’s not like lubed thigh-fucking, there’s less slide but more tightness, and he leans over Ray’s back as he fucks into it, into the legs held tight just for Sand, just because Ray wants it, and he kisses Ray’s neck and, for Ray’s sake, wraps a hand into his hair and pulls a little.

At Ray’s groan, he finds his hips moving a little harder, a little more jerkily.

“So hot,” Sand adds.

Ray says, “Yeah, always,” and there’s a laugh in his voice.

Sand loves it when Ray laughs; he pulls his hair again and lets the laugh break into a hiss, kisses his neck and fucks his thighs and finds that he cums pretty uneventfully, more a tumble off a curb than a dive into the water.

Lying on Ray’s back more, now, he hums into Ray’s neck.

“They’re mixed,” Ray informs him.

Sand says, “Huh?” or maybe just hums.

But Ray, probably feeling the now-cloying heat, starts to wiggle, and Sand falls again onto the concrete but slowly this time, controlling his fall, and moves to the side so Ray can roll off the beanbag too.

He leaves an arm out, and Ray comes to a rest using it as a pillow, looking at Sand and saying, “You came in my cum, and it’s mixed.”

That’s so stupid.

Sand starts to laugh, snorting in the least cool way he has, and Ray joins in more prettily.

Pins-and-needles tingle in his hand.

Ray’s head is heavy on his arm, but he can’t not let him keep his pillow, so Sand doesn’t pull it away, instead turning it a little, shuffling to move Ray’s weight to a better part of his bicep.

It seems to help.

And anyway, it brings Ray’s face closer to his.

Sand watches him.

There’s a breeze in the night air but there’s humidity too – it feels almost like it wanted to rain but the sky decided to just filter the water down with the rain, making it unusually thick and warm for an evening at this time of year.

Ray is mostly in darkness, now, in the shadow of the beanbag.

His silhouette is, still, of course, Ray’s face. Perfectly shaped and expressive and amazing, wide eyes and an often-pouting mouth. There are tiny points of light in his eyes, reflecting from somewhere.

Staring back, Ray shuffles closer and puts a hand on the side of Sand’s head, starts playing with his hair, running his fingers through it.

That feels nice.

Today has been so fucking good.

Especially when Ray strokes his hair.

When Ray’s there at all, it’s good, and he was there all of today. It feels greedy of Sand, keeping him like this, when Ray has other places to be and surely other people to see, but Sand will take it and keep it.

Ray looks so pretty like this.

But Sand is so greedy, taking Ray for all of a day, waking up with him in the morning and making him breakfast and taking him everywhere, all day, when Sand is supposed to get brief moments – snatches of Ray’s day, the extra hour in his own.

Time stops for Sand when Ray is there to get that twenty-fifth hour, pushing in between anything else, never taking away, but he’s been there for the whole of today, so today has been all extra time, stopped time, secret time.

He’s so happy they’re here, on his balcony, not wearing pants.

Slowly, Ray blinks, and Sand watches the fluttering of his eyelashes and the glittering of the tears collecting in his eyes, visible in the tiny, tiny reflections of the outside world behind Sand. He watches the slow movement of the shadow of Ray’s throat as he swallows.

Moistening his lips with his tongue, Ray slowly, slowly says, “What do you mean?” and his voice sounds like thin, thin glass, and he leaves a pause before adding, “Sand?”

His voice is trembling.

Thoughts moving like Ray’s throat – slowly, slowly – Sand realises he’s waiting for a response.

“What do I mean?” Sand repeats.

There’s more strength in Ray’s voice, less trembling, but also not as much volume when he says, “Your… twenty-fifth hour?”

Oh.

Sand said that out loud.

That’s- wrong somehow. He can’t remember how. But there’s a hole in the ground, somewhere, that he has to remember not to fall into, something in the back of his mind saying be careful where you walk, but he can’t remember what to be careful of and it feels like it’s probably more important to make sure Ray understands it right.

So he sits up, pushes himself up on one arm, and it’s a harder motion than it should be; Ray mirrors him, facing him.

That’s why he sat up, to look at Ray properly.

Shaking his head, he finds himself not saying but admitting into the dark air and Ray’s barely-parted mouth, “It’s your twenty-fifth hour, Ray, it isn’t mine,” and he’s smiling as he says it because Ray is there and it’s good to say it, “Carved out in my life for you – it’s only yours.”

But then he frowns.

Because Ray’s face crumples first, lips pressed together against something as his eyes squash together and he’s fully crying, now.

Sand puts his hands on Ray’s face and tries to stroke the tears away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Ray doesn’t answer, but he lets out a shuddering breath and falls forwards, briefly crushing Sand’s arms between them.

He rearranges his arms to pull Ray in firmly, and then Ray is burying his face in Sand’s shoulder and sobbing.

It’s not right for Ray to cry, can’t be right, and Sand strokes his back and hums something and stares out at the night. Ray is shuddering and hugging him back, arms clamped around him like getting his finger caught in a clip.

As Ray’s breathing starts to even out, Sand wonders if he can carry Ray to the bedroom like this.

He would never drop him.

It’ll work.

…

The unpleasant sharpness of the morning after a night where he didn’t drink to the point of sickness greets Ray when he wakes.

All the colours and shapes of Sand’s room are clearly visible; rude of them.

It’s bright and the blanket is somewhere at the end of the bed, but Ray can’t smell anything nice, can’t hear Sand moving in the kitchen, so he hasn’t left to make breakfast.

Ray would always go looking for him, of course, he isn’t the type to sneak out on anyone and especially not on Sand, but today-

He can’t pretend not to remember.

Sand was high, and Ray was too, but he knows the difference between high and tripping and, more than that, he knows Sand’s face. It was so soft and bright when Sand said-

Well, Ray can’t believe it all the way, because last night he thought he saw something like love, but it was Ray that he was looking at and Ray knows he can’t be that to him, Sand doesn’t want it and Ray hasn’t asked for it, but Sand was still looking at him like that and saying that stuff and-

He can’t pretend not to remember, but he doesn’t have to mention it. Sand meant some amount of it, and it’s not like Ray can ask how much he meant, and meaning any amount of it is-

Ray won’t look at it.

And he won’t ask.

But he’ll still go looking for Sand, because there’s something.

Even if there wasn’t something, today is Sand’s actual birthday; hopefully he can give him a birthday blowjob, those are definitely a thing.

It takes him a couple of seconds to spot Sand, when he goes looking – Sand isn’t standing up, so Ray scanning for his lanky frame does nothing.

His voice shows Ray the way, though, a muttered, “Yeah, mae was no help at all – she’s all ‘I’m so proud of you, baby,’ and then she hangs up. No, yeah, that’s what I thought, but thanks for checking,” he’s saying as Ray gets to the balcony, leans against the wall, and watches.

Sand is kneeling on the balcony with a bucket filled with bubbly water, scrubbing at the red beanbag with a handtowel.

“You should fuck my thighs,” Ray remembers, a genius revelation coming to him suddenly and sharply at the time, like a vision from the heavens.

It definitely was visionary, but he feels kind of bad, watching Sand scrubbing like that.

He’s got his phone pinched between his shoulder and his ear as he bitchily continues, “No, I get it – mae never tried cleaning a beanbag, it’s whatever, but you looked online, I’m sure she can too, right?”

Bitchy Sand is very cute, so Ray abandons his post against the wall and walks over, drops down behind Sand, and hugs his waist.

“Happy birthday, Sand,” he says as he props his chin onto Sand’s shoulder from behind.

A light flush on his face, Sand turns his head and drops his phone, scrambling to pick it up and say, “Bye,” before abandoning it again.

That makes the annoyance he hadn’t really noticed bubbling up entirely recede, and Ray asks, “Nick?”

“Mm,” Sand nods, turning back to his scrubbing. “I think I woke him up in bed with the guy he’s been seeing.”

Ray hisses and says, “Shouldn’t do that, it’s not allowed. Some people don’t like leaving their guys alone in bed,” punctuating it with wide, innocent eyes.

Rolling his own and turning his head enough to grin at him, Sand replies, “Jackass. I had to – look at the beanbag.”

“It’s very wet,” Ray agrees.

Sand didn’t protest at Ray calling himself his guy just then – Ray’s going to keep not asking what he meant, and keep wondering what he means, himself. The balcony is small and warm and bright.

It’s enough.

[paalove]

Top comes up to Sand's stage and takes Sand's fucking microphone with a smirk and a sarcastic little question - he's been trying to get over everything that happened at the end of last year, but he's not a saint. And he's got a temper.

canon divergence in episode 1 - first of a series of episode-specific divergences (the link? feral sand.) COMPLETE - 2/2 chapters

[paalove]

As a prompt a jealous (more insecure) tinn from MSP? They are together now , gun makes a new friend who always is attached to him and tinn is happy for gun, he is. But also he fears that he won't ever be good enough for him and then he pulls back lightly and gun notices and is like??? My baby????

insecure slash jealous tinn, coming right up! (for a given value of "right up", you def requested this months ago haha) thanks for the prompt!

also on ao3

Tinn is going to be left alone, forever, and he’ll die single and clutching the selfie where Gun’s kissing his cheek.

“What do you mean, ‘the’ selfie?” Tiw asks.

Rolling onto his back to stare at the one cloud making its lonely, single way across the sky, he says, “The one where my eyes are closed and I’m wearing the white shirt but you can barely see it because he’s draped across me so it looks like we’re in the same shirt.”

“Ahh.”

“Do you think he’s at the café yet?”

Tiw shuffles over on the grass next to Tinn. He’s got something in his hand; Tinn watches as Tiw raises his balled fist over Tinn’s chest, high up, and opens it.

Grass rains over him.

Then Tiw says, “You know they’re, like, rivals, right? From the training.”

“Exactly,” despairs Tinn. “They were rivals, which proves they’re similar and have chemistry, and that Tul is a talented musician, but now they both have the contract confirmed so they’re learning to get along.”

Tiw nods, like this isn’t a world-ending disaster.

“They’re learning to get along after a rivalry, Tiw! Like Gun and I did! And they work together, so he's always around.”

This finally makes a look of understanding cross Tiw’s face; he’s getting the severity of the situation, now.

But then he makes a confused face again, and he says, “I don’t think you guys were ever rivals. It hurt your feelings when you had to be, like, a little bit mean to him.”

Tinn sighs, remembering.

Gun was so cute when he thought Tinn was trying to thwart him, all driven and dramatic and occasionally roaring in his face, and there was nobody else going after him at all, it was-

“Tinn?”

It was amazing, such a good time when he thinks back, even the hard parts ones they could get through and even the bad news could be overcome and redone-

“Tinn! Por’s texted, I’m going to meet him at the bubble tea place by the weird bridge, bye.”

And Gun’s determination to see things through carried Tinn, carried all their friends, past every obstacle and through everything. He’s such an amazing, warm, happy person and Tinn doesn’t know what he’ll do if they really break up.

He’s smiling to himself, mostly, when he opens his eyes.

But then he sits up and looks around in confusion; where did Tiw go?

…

Tul nudges him on the shoulder as the group breaks up.

When Gun looks up at him, he’s smirking, and he says, “Is this what you were expecting?”

“There are so many vegetarians,” Gun immediately says.

He’d had a sort of vision that it would be like music club used to be – okay, they wouldn’t be as close, of course not, but they were all singers and performers who were working together and towards the same goals, so they’d be friendly and gather with their instruments and maybe even do hotpot together.

But probably the hotpot isn’t going to be a thing, because all four of the people who just left before Gun are vegetarians.

Tul shrugs and says, “That wasn’t really what I meant. You were expecting this much talking, then?”

Frowning, Gun points to Tul, and then to himself, then sort of wags his finger between them.

They aren’t talking a weird amount, he thinks.

“Not like-“ Tul snorts, “Man, this is why I thought there was no way you were finishing training. Interviews take nuance and shit, what the fuck is-“

“-Hey, what the hell, how do you know I don’t have a nuance-“

“-Tell me what a nuance is, right now,” Tul keeps smirking.

Gun says, “Okay, so I don’t know what one is, that doesn’t mean I can’t sing!”

“Peace, okay? Peace,” Tul’s laughing now, holding a hand out to, like, shake, because he went to a pretty formal school and it comes out in weird moments, sometimes.

It doesn’t hurt to shake hands and it’s never bad to make peace, so Gun does.

He pulls his hand out of Tul’s as Tul starts with, “All I meant was- wait, what the fuck was I talking about.”

“Talking,” Gun helpfully reminds him.

They’ve stopped walking – Tul because Gun has, and Gun because Tinn was supposed to be by the fountain in this park, but he can’t see him anywhere.

He’s only half-listening as Tul says, “Right, yeah, that. I just meant I kind of thought we’d be in the studio, not spending half the time meeting previous years’ hires and weird old guys nobody will tell us the actual jobs of and that one guy who was-“

There.

It was hard to find him because he’s alone – Tiw must have left – and instead of sitting up, looking for Gun, he’s huddled into a ball facing away. But Gun would recognise the back of his head from a much further distance than this.

He interrupts Tul, probably in the middle of a sentence or something, to say, “There he is! Do you want to meet my boyfriend?”

“Um- I,” Tul doesn’t finish.

Seems like a yes – he doesn’t pull out from under the arm Gun swings over his shoulders to drag him over.

As soon as he gets to Tinn, still curled up on the ground, he can feel the rest of the tense nervous excitement that fills him whenever he remembers that this is his job, now, finally drain away. He could never be tense around Tinn.

But why is he curled up?

With that question in mind, Gun speaks softly when he says, “Tinn?” in case it’s because of a headache or something.

Tinn doesn’t uncurl in response – he lifts his head and turns to the side enough to peek out of the little huddle.

Gun waves, one-handed, at him.

“Hi,” mumbles Tinn.

He’s glancing to Tul, so Gun says, “This is Tul – I’ve told you about Tul. I don’t think he’s a dick anymore. Tul, this is Tinn! He’s my boyfriend.”

Gun might be grinning a lot, but whatever, he’s totally entitled to that.

“Anymore?” Tul laughs, shoving at Gun’s arm.

That means they’re disentangled enough for Gun to sit down, cross-legged, by his huddled boyfriend. Who is still looking up at Tul silently.

Gun looks up to, and nods in response to Tul’s question, telling him, “I was kind of nervous during the final round auditions. Sorry about the thing with the table.”

“Oh, no, that was my fault, bro, I’m just surprised you stopped thinking I’m a dick,” Tul smirks again, “People generally agree on that point.”

“I think you’re nice when you aren’t worried about stuff,” Gun starts, but Tul waves his hands.

With another look at Tinn, Tul cuts Gun off to say, “Nice meeting your boyfriend, bro. Be careful.”

“Mae says that too,” Gun agrees, “Because he’s a nice boy.”

It’s fair; he should be careful. Everyone should be careful with Tinn.

The huddled ball next to him tightens up, which is weird, but he’s not looking up at Tul anymore.

Gun waves a goodbye; Tul gives him the peace sign and walks away backwards, with a final, “That’s not what I meant to be careful about.”

The industry, probably, but Gun’s not going to acknowledge it.

People already know about Tinn. Things that are online stay online, and it’s not like he even wants people to not know.

Tinn’s amazing.

He doesn’t want people to think Tinn’s available.

He shuffles up to Tinn’s back, drapes his chin over Tinn’s shoulder, and says, “Head hurt? I told you not to read so much.”

“No,” mumbles Tinn miserably.

Gun manages to work his hands through the tight ball that Tinn’s curled into and gets a hold on his waist, under his arms. When Gun’s hands meet by Tinn’s bellybutton, Gun shuffles and pulls them around until he can roll Tinn onto his back, on Gun’s lap.

Tinn uncurls.

“Hey,” says Gun.

“Hi.”

He strokes Tinn’s soft cheek with one finger, just because he can, and says, “What’s wrong?”

Tinn sighs and looks sad.

“Should I ask Tiw-“

“-No.”

He strokes Tinn’s cheek again and watches him turn his face towards it.

“Did you want to spend more of the day together?”

Shaking his head, Tinn sighs again and whispers, “I know it’s important. You and Tul need to go to that stuff.”

He nods and watches Tinn’s face.

Gun knows Tinn; the whispering means he’s not willing to put all his confidence into saying that.

Which means…

“Are you sure it’s not that?”

Tinn closes his eyes.

Then, in a quick burst, he says, “You don’t think he’s cute do you?”

Gun frowns.

“Who?”

Tinn opens his eyes and says, “Tul. You don’t like him?”

“Tul?!”

He can’t make that thought fit together.

But Tinn’s upset, clearly, so he doesn’t laugh out loud and instead says, “No, I don’t like Tul. We’re the same height.”

“What?”

“That’s not important,” Gun can feel his ears flushing.

He possibly hasn’t made his thing about Tinn’s height clear, whatever, this isn’t the time for that, he’s pretty sure.

Tinn, who is perfect, just pauses and says, “Okay… So you don’t like him?”

“You’re my boyfriend, I like you,” is a better response that doesn’t bring up the height thing.

He’s taking the height thing to his grave.

If Por can keep his mouth shut about that time-

Tinn’s smiling shyly, now, turning his face away. So Gun reaches out his hand and turns Tinn’s face back.

“What,” he teases, “You didn’t know you were my boyfriend?”

Mock-calm, Tinn shrugs and stares up at him, saying, “Remind me more.”

He doesn’t think Tinn should be surprised by the tickle-attack that Gun responds with; that’s a boyfriend-thing.

“Gun,” Tinn giggles, breathless.

He’s batting at Gun’s hands, absolutely not fighting him off at all, so Gun wriggles out from under him and continues the offensive, saying, “Hmm? Do you remember?”

Tinn looks very pretty, flushed, which makes this a very important way to spend some of his time. But Gun can’t climb on top of him here – they don’t need to be banned from another outdoor space.

“I remember, I’m your boyfriend,” Tinn laughs.

“Good.”

Then Gun kisses his face, a few times, to make sure he keeps remembering.

[paalove]

could you maybe write something little about insecure akk? a new friend of aye is obviously interested in aye and he doesn't notice and Akk is not good at communicating that he is jealous/insecurities and gets a bit weird around aye. And Ayan is scared because he notices something is up but not what

sorry this took Eight Million Years i had a bit of an incident. im back now though!!

also on ao3

The enemy is an older student.

Akk doesn’t know exactly what this guy studies – it doesn’t matter what this guy studies – he’s one of the seniors who organises what Aye’s been calling “gay club stuff” but which is not, in fact, a university-endorsed club. He’s not going to- like, it doesn’t matter, that it’s not official, it’s just that it makes him kind of worried that things are secret-

“You’re jealous,” Kan points out.

Akk rolls his eyes at the phone and says, “Yeah, I know, but I can’t-“

“Tell your boyfriend you’re jealous of his new friend? Why not?”

Because that would be.

Well.

“Well,” Akk says, and then hangs up.

If he wanted advice he intended to follow he’d call, like, Wat, who would probably call their former teacher who actually does give good advice, so he doesn’t feel guilty or anything for just hanging up.

He does feel kind of pathetic for being this worried.

It’s Aye, Aye’s not actually going to do anything behind his back, but.

But.

That doesn’t necessarily mean Aye doesn’t like this guy. At least a little.

…

He’s got his phone held between his ear and his shoulder, because Akk just got all the textbooks he needs to switch to the education faculty and his hands are kind of full, and on the other end his dad’s saying, “Your mother held the stepladder,” just as Akk uses his elbow to open the – thankfully unlocked – door to the room and tries to decide if he should ask his dad to stop trying to fix the roof until Akk can visit, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognise from inside his room.

“Eighty might be too many,” the strange voice laughs.

Giggling, Akk’s boyfriend says, “The last twenty are for me.”

The stranger and Aye are cracking up when Akk shoulders his way through the door.

The stranger is probably Akk’s height, he thinks, from comparison to Aye. The stranger is smiling down at Aye, after all, and Aye is smiling up at him, and they aren’t standing super close or anything but as Akk watches, Aye mimes a punch to the stranger’s shoulder and Akk’s gut twists.

“Tell me if the roof gets worse, at least,” Akk says to his dad, just as the phone starts to slip from the loose hold and he adds, “Oh, fu- shoot.”

This summons Aye’s assistance – the stranger stands, startled, where he was, and when Aye has Akk’s phone and two of the new books, and Akk’s own burden is more reasonable, the stranger is still just looking at them.

Like Akk arriving is a surprise.

Or something. The guy looks rapidly between them, and there's a smile on his face that Akk looks at and can tell, he can tell it means something, and it means something about them because he keeps looking between them and Akk has no reason to panic, but.

The stranger is good-looking.

Akk guesses.

…

“Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

Aye looks really, really good – it’s definitely one of Akk’s tank tops on him, just slightly bigger and sitting more loosely over his arms than Aye’s own do, and it opens up on the sides of his waist to show smooth skin – and he’s doing a teasing pout, eyes sparkling.

Then Aye walks in closer and snaps his fingers in Akk’s face and says, “Hey,” laughter in his voice.

“Hey,” Akk replies, taking the opportunity to slip his hand onto Aye’s half-bare waist, “Why the snapping?”

“I asked you a question,” Aye pouts.

“Oh,” Akk nods. “Still not coming. I don’t like big parties.”

That’s an oversimplification, but it’s one Aye knows about, because it’s kind of a lot to say the whole big groups of people make me stressed sometimes and I don’t trust myself when student clubs are involved and also I love you but Wat and Kan aren’t here to shield me too, and of course the explanation Aye doesn’t know about which is the guy whose house this is makes me really worried because you smile when he calls and that one time you introduced us properly you watched his face more than mine-‘

So Aye makes a sympathetic-worried face and says, “As long as you’re sure,” and kisses Akk on the cheek once, then pouts dramatically.

Akk’s hand is still on Aye’s waist, so he strokes his thumb from side-to-side as he raises his eyebrows and says, “Don’t you need to be leaving?”

Pouting harder, Aye makes a whining noise and presents his cheek to Akk, who can only smile and obey. Aye’s cheek is smooth under Akk’s lips, always, but there’s a weird scent today from his new moisturiser, and Akk’s trying really hard not to be weird about how they use different moisturisers now so he maybe lingers a little longer on the kiss than usual.

As he draws back, already preparing to feign confusion about the need to kiss Aye’s forehead, Aye says, “Oh, that’s bad,” and Akk doesn’t have anything like a heart attack before seeing that Aye’s looking at his phone. A text from P’Leo – Akk recognises the chat background.

With a kiss, given on tiptoes, on the end of Akk’s nose, Aye flees.

Before getting his forehead kiss.

It shouldn’t feel apocalyptic, they don’t do the kiss routine literally every time they say goodbye or anything, it’s just-

Just-

Aye requested the cheek kiss. When he starts with that, they always do the rest, too.

Not always, Akk reminds himself with a deep breath. He had to go, things do come up, it’s not unprecedented, it’s fine. Even if Leo hasn’t been involved before.

Akk has papers to write.

He sits down and opens his laptop, because he has papers to write. Not to open insta, he has that on his phone.

There’s an open Facebook tab.

Weird.

He opens the word doc for the paper he’s working on.

It’s fine.

Akk’s okay at focusing, so even if he has Aye’s notifications on, for insta, and he keeps getting notifications of updates to Aye’s story that are normally just photos of mysterious rainbow items or blurred kitchen counters, that’s not going to get in the way of him doing his assignments.

Even if all the ones that have faces in them seem to have Leo in them.

It’s not like Leo’s ever alone, or even alone with Aye, and Akk is aware he’s being kind of crazy about this, he is, which is why he’s working on his paper and not getting distracted by his own completely irrational insecurities.

129 words.

Shut up, word doc.

He’s frowning at the outline taking shape on the page (square brackets to indicate the planned paragraphs, and some of them are blank because he knows he’ll need something between two points but he’s not so clear on what, but there are two actual sentences as well so he’s been productive, clearly) when his phone buzzes, again.

This buzzing keeps up – not one notification.

Akk’s getting a call.

Wat’s Friend, says his phone, because he changed it during some bickering last summer where Wat completely betrayed Akk and took Aye’s side, 12.13 AM.

“Aye?” he asks before he’s even fully swiped to answer.

“My favourite,” coos Aye, only semi-audible. “You answered. Cutest.”

He can feel himself flushing like he always does when Aye calls him cute, and even though nobody can possibly be looking at him he scowls at his phone and asks it, “What do you want?”

There’s a pause in which all Akk can hear is the faint hum of the party, some of which sounds like a nearby conversation not including Aye.

“I,” enunciates Aye in the pointed manner of the obviously-drunk, “Am not allowed to walk back alone. But Akk’s not here. So I need- Come get me, baby,” he breaks off, less deliberately, sounding like he’s pouting. “P’Leo says either you come and get me or I have to stay.”

Akk’s already shoving his feet into the nearest shoes by the time Aye gets to that line.

…

The house is smaller than Aye’s, back home, but it’s equally fancy and modern – busier, though, loud even through the closed door.

Akk wonders if P’Leo lives here alone.

It doesn’t matter – he’s got instructions to follow, and he ignores that closed front door entirely to circle around to a side entrance where-

Come on.

Aye is sitting on the doorstep, and so is Leo, and Aye is swaying like he might just fall onto Leo and start leaning on him, and Leo’s probably just waiting for that to happen so he can hold him up and say ‘Hey, Aye, why don’t you stay here anyway – your boyfriend isn’t here yet, after all,’ in his stupid sleeveless tank that looks too much like one of Akk’s and shouldn’t Leo be inside anyway? It’s his party, he should be hosting-

“Akk!” smiles Akk’s enemy, with dimples and everything, “You’re here!”

“Akk’s here!” cheers Aye, dropping his phone in celebration.

He doesn’t even notice.

The twisting annoyance-fear-worry recedes completely for just a moment, because Aye’s smiling at him so widely his eyes are almost closed and he’s doing the happy little headshake he does sometimes as Akk draws in closer.

Leo picks up Aye’s phone and hands it over him, to Akk, and just as the screen dims and locks Akk can see that it’s very clearly open on Akk’s own insta page, and Akk stops right in the middle of a sullen, “Thanks for taking care of-“

The pause might only be awkward for Akk.

Aye stands up with one hand held up to Akk to catch and the other, for balance, on top of Leo’s head.

He’s still doing the dimples thing.

The suspicion rises again.

“Thanks for taking care of him, P’Leo,” Akk says in a measured tone.

Aye makes a little noise to himself, and Akk pats him and draws him in against Akk’s side, because the balance is looking kind of precarious and also so he can put an arm around Aye’s waist and make eye contact with Leo.

Leo nods rapidly.

As Aye nuzzles into Akk’s neck, humming a tune to himself, Leo says, “I don’t think he realised the party juice was that strong,” sounding really sincere and sorry as the dimples finally fade.

“I made it,” Aye says to Akk’s neck, the words tickling.

Yeah, Akk bets he made it – it’s an official rule in the Suppalo group that Aye is only allowed to mix drinks for drinking games where the goal is to black out, because Aye doesn’t seem to believe in moderation. He isn’t, for all of that, actually even good at holding his drinks.

So, Akk hums in deep, sarcastic sympathy, “Mm. I bet you had at least four of them, to get this bad, right?”

Aye’s offended noise comes at the same time as Leo holds up a peace sign – two drinks, he’s saying.

That sounds right.

It’s also the most information Akk could need from Leo, so Akk turns around, slowly steering Aye back where he came.

He took Aye’s car here, of course, and it’s parked as close to the party as he could get, which means there isn’t at all enough distance to justify Leo jumping up and propping up Aye’s other side, but Akk isn’t drunk so he’s still got the inhibitions to know he shouldn’t actually tell Leo to get back to his own party, not when he’s being all helpful and standing on Aye’s other side, being Akk’s exact height like the enemy he clearly is.

At least it’s still Akk’s neck that Aye’s nuzzling.

He is, Akk would probably admit at gunpoint, useful in helping him pour Aye into the backseat. It’s good that he knows to get out of the way and let Akk do the buckling, too.

Still, Akk isn’t happy when he closes the door and turns around and Leo is standing there, looking all purposeful and dressed weirdly like Akk, his exact height but friendly and older and dimpled and able to be part of a secretive club that hasn’t ever nearly killed anyone and able to make Aye laugh.

His face might say as much, but Leo isn’t making eye contact.

“Hey,” Leo starts.

Then stops.

“So,” he adds.

Akk stands there.

After a moment, Leo adds, “I mean.”

This guy is even awkward in the same way as Akk, apparently. Still the enemy.

But the awkwardness is familiar from the inside, so Akk unbends enough to say, “He said you wouldn’t let him walk back alone. Thanks,” and he’s only a little bit stiff about it.

“Of course,” Leo smiles again, dimples returning, “We have to take care of the juniors!”

Then there’s another pause.

Music from Leo’s house competes with the sound of mosquitos and distant traffic, still pretty heavy on account of it being absurdly early for Aye to be this drunk; it doesn’t compete with either of them saying anything, as they stand there like a pair of mirrors.

Then Leo takes a deep breath and, in one breath, says, “Sorry-about-being-so-weird-about-meeting-you-guys-I-was-just-so-happy-to-meet-Aye-and-it’s-so-cool-to-meet-you-too-and-it’s-even-cooler-that-you-guys-are-actually-together-for-real-and-that-you-came-here-and-is-Wasuwat-still-making-other-movies-“

“-Huh?”

…

Apparently winning that award was an actual big deal. And the movie has fans.

And Leo – P’Leo, Akk guesses, if they aren’t actual enemies – is one of those fans. He thinks Akk and Ayan are cute together.

Akk does not feel cute.

He feels like a moron.

In the back of the car, Aye says, “Aaaaakk. Akk. Baby. Akk,” pout audible and devastating.

Akk rolls his eyes and watches the traffic lights.

“Akk,” whines Aye.

Laughing, feeling like he’s only as dumb as his own boyfriend, Akk says, “You can’t get your forehead kiss until we’ve parked.”

There’s another whine.

“It wasn’t me who ran off before you could get the kiss.”

“People were arriving at the party early,” Aye sulks, “I couldn’t leave P’Leo hosting alone, I promised to mix the drinks.”

Akk doesn’t think that’s going to be a problem in the future.

Because he’s a nice, caring boyfriend, he doesn’t even say that out loud. P’Leo’s right – he is cute with Aye.

“My kisses,” whines Aye.