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nandawrites · 5 months

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Going Back to Those Times

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Characters: Oz Vessalius, Gilbert Nightray

Summary: Many have said that the child we once were is never lost, it’s only waiting inside us for a chance to go out and play again. Gil and Oz have just proven that theory true.

A/N: Like I've said, one of my goals for 2024 is to finally finish all the wips that have been collecting dust on my folder for ages. This fic is a part of this project and a specially difficult one at that, because:

1) Believe it or not, this fic was supposed to be a fill for a prompt on the kink meme in LiveJournal (computer says I started it in 2011, which makes sense, but somehow feels wrong, where did time go?); and

2) Do you think past!me wrote down what the prompt was or saved a link to it anywhere? She did not! :D So I had to put together a plot and ending for this fic from the thousand or so words I had already written for it and my very vague memories of where I was intending to go with this.

Bright side is: I did it! Not exactly sure how close it is to the prompt it was supposed to fill anymore, so uh, if you had a prompt on the kink meme that involved Gil and Oz playing as kids again in some way and you happen to see this, I hope you like it! And I hope everyone else likes it, too!

If you prefer, also read it on AO3!

~~**~~

When Gilbert Nightray got out of his bed that day, he expected and resigned himself, as always, to face all kinds of strange, scary, dangerous, and very likely to cause serious body damage situations. And all that setting aside the part where he would eventually have to actually go out of the Rainsworth mansion to hunt the human-eating monsters that were known as “chains”.

He did not expect, however, that an apparently harmless excursion to the market would lead to him finding himself thrown to the ground and then smashed by five of what should be the most annoying, tireless, relentless and devious kids he had ever seen.

Aside from his master Oz, that is.

Gilbert felt all the air being forcefully pushed out of his body and struggled to get it back, but, with the combined weight of the children pressing directly onto his ribs and lungs, this task seemed almost impossible. He gasped, desperate for air, and tried to scream and make the kids get off of him, but only managed to get out a strangled whisper.

One of the kids – he couldn’t possibly tell which one – started to scream and roar in victory, giving the cue for the others to follow him and start a deafening noise.

An alert started to sound off in his head (“You need air NOW!”) so he did the next thing that had come to his mind and used his arms to lift himself from the ground a little. The kids didn’t even notice, but it was enough to stop his chest from being crushed and to get the air back into his body. His breath was, of course, a bit erratic, but, as he was not facing imminent death anymore, he could focus on other important things such as: how he would get out from under those children?

He tried to search for Oz and ask for help, but his view was currently limited and the blond wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight. Feeling completely hopeless, he dropped his head to the ground, groaning and trying to ignore the kids’ cheering, and went back to the events that had brought him to this ridiculous situation.

~~**~~

Gilbert had woken that morning to a mansion immerged in complete silence, what was, considering the people that lived there, rather odd and suspicious. Plus, having lived most part of his childhood with Oz Vessalius, he knew that silence was never a good thing.

While he washed himself and changed, his mind rushed through the possibilities of evil plots that could be being put into action at that exact moment. Horrible images started rushing through his mind: Of the mansion being blown up or he being thrown in a room full of cats or… Who even knew!? (And no, he wasn’t paranoid, thank you very much. Some of those things had actually happened before, especially the ones that involved cats).

Afraid of what he would face once he started wandering the corridors, the raven considered, for a moment, staying in his room and pretending it had nothing to do with him, but the fear of what could actually happen if he didn’t keep an eye on Oz and Break was enough to make him storm out the door, looking for them.

The obvious place to look at that time would be the dining room, as it was breakfast time, and, surely, as soon as he approached the door he heard Oz’s voice coming from behind it, but the one answering the blond was not who Gilbert had expected.

He opened the door to find Oz chatting animatedly with Reim (Well, the younger boy was chatting animatedly, the other was just listening, but seemed to be having a good time nonetheless). There was no one else there, which was odd. Where were Sharon, Break and that stupid rabbit? His master looked up at him when he entered the room and gave him a smile:

“Hey there sleepy-head. It was about time you woke up, Gil!”

“Good morning, Mr. Nightray.” Came Reim’s greeting soon after.

Deciding to ignore Oz’s comment, he took his place at the table, sitting right in front of them.

“Morning…” He looked over at Reim, trying not to look too curious, but he must have failed it, because the other soon added:

“I came to deliver some documents that master Barma wanted Lady Cheryl to analyse, and then I ran into Oz, who was kind enough to invite me for breakfast.”

One mystery solved. There was still the other one.

“I see… And where are the others? I mean, that stupid rabbit is probably still asleep, but where are Break and Sharon?”

It was Oz’s turn to ignore part of Gilbert’s comment. He had known since long that all the animosity between Gil and Alice was just for show, so he didn’t even pay any mind to it anymore.

“Sharon wanted to give Alice another one of those ‘lady lessons’ and took her to the city. Break went with them, of course, and he also said we could have the day off.”

At this, the raven-haired man sighed visibly in relief. So there wasn’t any evil plan being plotted, after all, thankfully (Okay, so he was just a little paranoid. No one could blame him for it after all he had been put through). More relaxed, he filled himself a cup of coffee. The rest of the morning went down smoothly.

Things continued calm until the middle of the afternoon. The others still hadn’t come back, so Gil and Oz were killing time at the library. The blond was sitting on the floor, back against one of the shelves while reading one of his adored Holy Knight books, and Gilbert was on the nearest table, filling up some paperwork, when the boy lifted his head and said the phrase that was bound to be the source of all of Gilbert’s nightmares:

“You know, Gil… I could really use some cookies right now…”

Gilbert didn’t even look up. The other wasn’t seriously asking him to drop everything to go bake cookies, was he? Didn’t he remember what had happened the last time he tried?

“So go ask one of the maids to bring you some.”

“But I want the ones that you make!” Oz almost but whined. “You were never able to finish them last time and I have been craving your cookies since then!” (Damn, so he did remember).

Receiving no answer, Oz huffed, immediately changing his tone of voice.

“Come on now, Gil; don’t make me turn this into an order, because you know I will.”

Yes, Gilbert didn’t have a doubt he would…

He really didn’t feel like making cookies at the time, but if that was going to make Oz happy, then he didn’t really mind.

The raven sighed, although it was only for show, and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Fine, I will make your cookies. I’ll be back in an hour or so, ok?”

“Oh, really?! Thank you, Gil!”

Gilbert rolled his eyes as he left the room. Oz had the sweetest of smiles on his face, as if he hadn’t just blackmailed him into doing just so, the manipulative brat…

Oz chuckled as he heard the library door closing. They were nice, these times when they played their little games, Gil pretending he didn’t like to obey Oz’s orders and the boy pretending that he didn’t give a damn. It was something they had been doing since they were kids, the only difference being that there used to be a lot more whining and crying from the (now) older’s part. But it was ok, most of the times. If the game was always the same, it would eventually become boring, but not with Gil. With Gil it just felt nostalgic, safe, welcomed... Just like home. Even if that “home” was always surrounded by deep darkness.

Caught in his own thoughts for a while, the book was lowered to his lap, almost forgotten. The sound of the opening door pulled him back to Earth with a startle, but he quickly composed himself and was back to his book-focused appearance by the time Gilbert appeared on the door frame.

“Wow, back already? You must be the quickest cookie-baker in the whole world!”

Gilbert huffed, not finding the slightest fun on the lame joke and thereby deciding to ignore it.

“The cooker said they have run out of vanilla extract because of the amount of deserts prepared for last night’s dinner and today’s lunch so I offered to go to town and buy some, since we are on a day off anyway. Just thought I should let you know.”

“Whaaat? You are not going to invite me to go with you? Are you abandoning me, Gil?”

Gilbert had only been teasing, and the comment was said on a tone not meant to be taken seriously, but shocked that his master would have that impression about him, Gilbert quickly sputtered a desperate excuse.

“What?! No! A-As if you needed any kind of invitation, idiot. And weren’t you the one that said that was going to stay glued to that book the whole day, anyway? I thought you would prefer staying here.”

“Huh? All alone? No way! I prefer going to town with Gil, it’ll be way more fun!”

Oz rushed to the exit, grabbing his sleeve, and started to pull him through the corridor, but that excited façade didn’t fool Gilbert. He had learned how to see through these expansive actions; that forced joy. He could count on his fingers the times Oz had really had fun after returning from the Abyss, and having to watch his desperate attempts of bringing back his old self, on continuing to seem untouched by the events surrounding them, clutched at his heart with an iron claw and ripped it to pieces.

No, even this was a false nostalgia, somewhat. There had been a lot of darkness surrounding Oz, even back then, that was why Gilbert was always doing – had always done – everything his master wanted, everything he thought might make him happy. But before his father’s ritual, there had at least been real innocence, real happiness in Oz and in plenty of his moments, specially when he was with his uncle Oscar and Ada. Now even those moments seemed tinged with a hidden angst.

If he didn’t know Oz as well as he did, though, it would be impossible to see. As he walked to and around town towards the market, the other boy chatted and ran everywhere, pointing at birds and interesting objects on the shop windows, and even making Gilbert chase him once or twice. Gilbert couldn’t help but wonder about the picture they painted, him all black and moody and Oz all golden and smiles, everyone that saw them would think they didn’t have a care in the world, though deep down he thought Oz was always ever so energetic because, if he stopped, then his thoughts would catch up to him.

“Hey, Gil, let’s take a shortcut through here!”

The call cut him from his thoughts, and he looked around to find Oz waving at him and pointing at the entrance to the park.

“That is not a shortcut. It will take us at least twice as long to get to the market through there.”

“No, no, it’s a shortcut. Trust me, Gil.”

Well, what was he supposed to do? Say he didn’t trust Oz? He begrudgingly followed the other into the park and off the path through the trees until they came to a clearing in the middle of the woods. Well at least it seemed like they were walking in the general direction of the market and should-

Something hit him on the back of the head, and he acted in a fraction of second, grabbing Oz by the arm and pulling him behind him as he turned around and pointed his gun in the direction of the enemy.

Unfazed, an angry looking young boy threw his ball in the direction of Gilbert’s face now, making him duck fast not to get hit.

“Hey, old man! Get out of the field, you are interrupting our game!” The boy yelled at him, and Gilbert quickly hid his gun away before yelling back.

“Don’t shoot balls at people, you know how dangerous that is?!”

“I wouldn’t have to shoot my ball at you if you didn’t walk in the middle of our game in the first place!”

Some other voices yelled in agreement behind him, and Gilbert looked around to see there were three or four more kids around, and no indication this was a playing field of any kind.

“Well, you shouldn’t be playing in the middle of nowhere like this. Where are your parents?!”

“None of your business!” The boy had the audacity to blow a raspberry at him, but before Gilbert could argue further, Oz got free from his hold and walked around him.

“A game? What game are you playing?”

“It’s a game I invented.” The boy said, sounding all cocky. “It’s called ‘monster’. The monster needs to try to shoot the ball at the others and if he hits someone, that person will be the new monster.”

“Woow, sounds super fun, can I play?”

“Sure!”

“Oz, we don’t have time to play, we need to go to the market and back to the mansion.”

“Aww, but Gil!”

The boy grabbed Oz’s hand and started pulling him away. “Don’t listen to that ugly nanny of yours, come play with us!”

The other kids cheered as Gilbert simmered in rage at being called an ugly nanny. He grabbed Oz by the back of his shirt. “No, we don’t have time to spend with these brats. Let’s go, Oz, or don't you want your cookies?”

Oz whined a little more, but soon his pout turned into the devious smirk Gilbert knew so well. He had a feeling he would not like whatever came next.

“Hey, I just thought of a new cool game we can play!” Oz said, and the other kids looked at him with confused faces. He pointed straight at Gilbert, and Gilbert immediately knew he absolutely would not like whatever came next.

“That guy is a super ugly, super mean monster, and we are the knights that are going to bring him down! Whomever can hit him with the ball, wins!”

“Oz, wait a-“ Gilbert started protesting, but had to jump to the side to avoid a ball one of the other kids had already thrown at him.

“Let’s get the monster!” She yelled and all the other kids, including Oz, cheered.

Oh, fuck.

Gilbert spent the next minutes running, dodging and jumping as the kids ran around him shooting and kicking the ball in his direction, trying to “kill the monster” or whatever it was. Oz gleefully joined in the torture and his attacks were the hardest to dodge since he knew Gilbert’s movements so well. It wasn’t particularly tiring or difficult after being trained most of his life by Break to fight Chains, but it was getting pretty annoying.

An idea suddenly stroke Gilbert and he wondered how he hadn't thought of it before. The next time one of the kids threw the ball at him, he grabbed it and held it high above his head.

“Game over, I win.”

“Aw man, that’s not fair!” One of the kids complained.

“That wasn’t part of the game!” Another joined.

The kid that had had an issue with him from the start looked angry for a moment and then gave a devious smirk that rivalled Oz’s and yelled:

“The monster is cheating! Let’s get him, guys!”

There was another round of yelling and before Gilbert could understand what he meant by that or react, one of the kids jumped at him from behind. He wasn’t expecting it so he lost his balance and stumbled, but he would have been able to recover, if the other kids didn’t follow soon after.

He fell to the floor with a scream, a couple of kids landing on his back and the others jumping after them in a pile over his body that left him unable to breathe. One of the kids – he couldn’t possibly tell which one – started to scream and roar, giving the cue for the others to follow him and start a deafening noise.

He tried to search for Oz and ask for help, but his view was currently limited, and the blond wasn’t anywhere in his line of sight. Feeling completely hopeless, he dropped his head to the ground, groaning and trying to ignore the kids’ cheering as he tried to think, and that’s when he heard it.

Laughter. Pure and joyous laughter that he hadn’t heard in a long time.

His head jerked in the direction of the sound, and he could slightly make out Oz sitting on the floor and laughing like this was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.

He had missed that sound so much. Oz’s real laughter, without any sign of being forced or hollow, like the one he had had when they were both kids. Before Abyss, before his father, before chains or Baskervilles; it elated him, it was his most favourite and the best sound in the world. It made Gilbert so happy himself, he almost started crying from the relief of it.

He would do anything to keep that sound alive.

With renewed strength, he pushed himself up, making the kids fall on their own pile behind him, then he turned around, glaring down at them, and said:

“Now you have made the monster angry. I am going to eat all of you!”

He fake-growled and the kids screamed and scattered as he chased them randomly around without any intention of getting any of them. After a few seconds of this, he turned and looked at Oz. The other boy was looking at him with a surprised look on his face, half thinking it fun and half disbelieving, so Gilbert turned to him with hands half raised in claws, and fake-growled again.

“And you! You turned against me! I’m going to eat you first!”

He ran towards Oz and was pleased to see him reacting just like the other kids: with a fake scream and starting to dash around. He ran after him for a while, and almost exploded from happiness when he heard Oz laughing again, before he took a sharp turn towards one of the other kids that were nearby and continued chasing them randomly around the clearing among the trees.

Every once in a while, the game changed: soon the kids organised themselves into a monster hunting squad, and started chasing him again, then the ball was rediscovered near a tree and they went back to something more similar to what the boy had explained at first, with the “monster” trying to catch the others by hitting them with the ball, which somehow turned into a soccer match, and a game of hide and seek, and another round of tag.

Every time Oz laughed or smiled or cheered together with the other kids, it made Gilbert laugh, too, and soon he had forgotten that his own laughter had also died over ten years ago or that he was a hunter and a killer, the Raven from the Nightrays, and not simply a boy playing together in the park with his best friend.

This is what they were supposed to be, they were supposed to have had more of this, still years of this to come. They had been robbed from themselves and each other, their lives turned upside down, but this was their defiance: they could still laugh, and smile and play, and every time they did, they were taking back a little piece of what had been stolen from them, they were back to being just boys and best friends playing in the park, with freedom and their whole lives ahead of them.

They would never be able to go back to those times, but they could pretend and heal for a while, at least.

~~**~~

The sun was already setting when Gilbert and Oz finally sat down on the grass propped against each other, exhausted and trying to catch their breaths. The other kids said goodbye and waved as each disappeared back to their own homes, inviting them to come back and play again tomorrow. Even the boy that had initially disliked him said they could come back anytime; it made Gilbert smile.

“I’m completely beat, I hadn’t run so much in ages.” Oz remarked, and Gilbert had to agree.

“How was this somehow more exhausting than taking down a Chain? What do kids nowadays eat?”

His dramatic statement made Oz laugh again, and Gilbert beamed. He would never get enough of that sound.

“What made you change your mind, Gil?” The other suddenly asked. “I never thought you’d start a game yourself, but you were almost having more fun than me.”

The raven didn’t know what to say for a moment. He didn’t want to bring attention to Oz’s present happiness – and general unhappiness, by consequence -, in fear it would make it disappear, so he just shrugged. “I just wanted to teach those kids a lesson for piling on top of me, and I guess I got carried away.”

“I see… You were really cool when you called yourself the monster like that, I couldn’t believe it!”

The comment made Gilbert blush a bit. “Don’t make fun of me, I was just going along with what you said.”

“I’m not! You were really cool, I mean it.”

They stayed silent for a little while longer, until Oz said, almost inaudible:

“Thank you, Gil.”

It took Gilbert by surprise, but then he smiled, and put his hat on Oz’s head in place of an answer.

“Come on. Let’s go find a cab and go back to the mansion, I can’t walk the whole way back again.”

They found their way back to the main entrance of the park and Gilbert hailed a carriage for them to climb into. Oz fell asleep almost instantly, and Gilbert contented himself with watching over him on their way back.

It wasn’t until they were back at the mansion that he realised they had forgotten all about the vanilla extract and the cookies, but it was okay. They had gotten something way more precious instead.

#pandora hearts #oz vessalius #oz bezarius #gilbert nightray #fanfic #fanfiction #mine #writings #nandawrites #AO3 #gen fic #childhood friends

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turnupswritessometimes · 6 months

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A couple of scenes looking at Oz and Gil when they're twelve/thirteen, and one after Oz returns from the abyss. (It does not go well.)

Fic below the cut:

Oz had been reading – had been staring at the page as his mind wandered. It was raining heavily, the rain pattering against the glass, so they were all stuck indoors. Gilbert was actually buffing the boots he’d worn out that morning, and gotten completely covered in mud. That was when the thought occurred:

“Good Lord!” Oz half-cried, and dropped the book he’d been pretending to read. It bounced off the table in front of him, before landing face down on the carpet.

Gilbert, in turn, dropped the boot he was polishing. It tumbled limply to a halt. His amber eyes were wide, like a startled cat. Even if he wasn’t that new to the household – even if it had been two years since he arrived – he still thought every mistake would see him thrown out. Perhaps if Oz’s father was around, it would.

“I’ve just realised.” Oz looked at him, toying with his bottom lip. The bored, twelve year old son of a lord, he knew. Quite enjoyed acting like that. “I’ll have to get married, someday.”

He saw Gilbert pause. Saw the little line between his eyebrows form as he thought about it. “Do you…not want to?”

“Not if it’s my father doing the choosing.” Oz stood. He stepped over the book, absentmindedly. It rain streaked the window in silver ribbons; the wind catching the trees and trying to tug them over. “He’ll choose a lady he wants us to have closer ties to, never mind what the girl is like. Imagine if she’s boring.”

“I suppose if she’s truly boring you don’t have to spend time with her.”

Oz watched Gilbert’s reflection in the window. He’d abandoned the boots and picked up the fallen book. He took a moment to smooth out the pages – they’d been creased – before closing it reverently.

“No,” Oz said. “I couldn’t do that. I won’t be like…”

He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. It was obvious who he meant. He would not be like his own father. He would not stand by and ignore his family.

Gilbert didn’t reply. He placed the book on the table, and stared at it.

Oz leant against the wooden windowsill, turning to watch him. The rain pattered against the glass behind him. He hated that sound. That constant sound. If it rained at night, he could never sleep. It was worse than a ticking clock.

Gilbert still stared at the book, his fingertips tracing the leather binding. If he could read, he hadn’t made it known, and no one else thought it crucial for a valet to know how to. Maybe Uncle Oscar thought Oz would grow bored of him in a month and make him a footman instead.

“Maybe she won’t even be pretty,” he said. Perhaps that had been the first glimmer of the thought, then. That the boy stood before him, in his oversized shirt and too big boots, was pretty. His neck hair curled around his neck daintily; his lips were rosy against his pale skin; his fingers quick, and nimble.

Gilbert’s frown reappeared. “That’s a shallow thought, young master.”

The rain continued pitter-pattering outside. Oz pressed his head against the ridges of the wooden frame until it stung. He shrugged, crossing his arms.

“Oh, don’t try to teach me good virtues, Gil. I’m far too awful for that.”

Gilbert had been staring at the floor, his long hair falling into his eyes, but now he looked up. He examined Oz, and, he felt a shiver tiptoe up his spine. That hadn’t happened before, and he didn’t think he liked it.

“I don’t believe you,” Gilbert said.

Oz didn’t believe Gilbert. He knew he was awful. The few times he’d spoken to his father had confirmed that. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been seen through, as easily as he could see through the glass to the rain beyond. It made him feel as though he’d missed a step in coming downstairs. He could only stare at Gilbert.

Gilbert, who dropped his gaze again, his cheeks steadily turning pink. His skin was usually so pale, that any blush showed up terribly. Prettier, Oz thought, when he blushed. And it was easier to focus on that; on Gil and his pretty cheeks; than on anything else. He wanted to turn that pink to red, and knew how.

“At least I’ll still have my valet.” Oz sat on the windowsill, drawing a knee up into it. He’d leave a scuff mark, he knew, and knew that the servants would think it was because he was a spoilt, uncaring child. “You’ll still be my valet, won’t you, Gil?”

Gilbert seemed untethered. He left the book, and took a tentative step back to where the boots still lay. “I – I suppose.”

“And then my wife won’t matter.” Oz watched him, from under his bangs. “Because you’re pretty, anyway. We’ll just have an affair.”

Gilbert stiffened. He stared down at the shirts, his hair falling forward to reveal a triangle of pale neck. He was frozen, entirely, for a good few seconds. Then, his voice was small, when he said, “No, we can’t.”

“Of course we can. Plenty of fancy lords have affairs with their valets.”

Gilbert stayed still for a moment more. Then he looked up, brushing dark strands from his face. His cheeks weren’t crimson, like Oz had been expecting, but they were still dusted pink.

“I think you’re just trying to seem wicked,” Gilbert murmured.

“It’s true,” Oz insisted.

But Gilbert went back to polishing the boots, with a rigid determination. He didn’t say anything else, but the colour didn’t fade from his cheeks.

Oz pulled his other foot up onto the windowsill, turning to press his cheek against the glass. It was cold against his skin. It was true; he’d heard servants gossiping about it. One Christmas party he’d seen a Lord grope at his manservant, and the man had smiled back. He had been right about it happening. Perhaps it was wrong. That seemed to be what Gilbert was implying, and surely it was what the priest said on Sundays. But he’d also been told he’d be thrown into the Abyss, and that hadn’t happened yet, either. Now Gilbert thought Oz was just pretending to be interested in that to shock him. And he’d thought it.

But, then he kept stealing glances at Gilbert as he worked. His hands were practised. Oz stared at the curve of his nose; the way his eyelashes fanned his cheeks when he looked down; the way his eyes glinted in the grey light of the day. Amber, just like Ada’s cats. He was pretty. As pretty as the girls that Oz danced with, at those Christmas parties. The ones he smiled and flirted with, because he wanted their attention – because he wanted to be a prince to their princess.

And he thought, perhaps, that he felt that way about Gilbert, too.

So maybe that did make him wicked, after all.

Those feelings kept growing. Oz kept noticing things about Gilbert that made him feel like he was fizzing like a glass of champagne. Kept thinking that Gilbert was as pretty as a girl; no, not quite; he was pretty, but in a different way to how girls were. A different pretty, and one Oz liked.

And he liked making Gilbert blush. Liked teasing him to make his cheeks turn red, or to see him pout. Liked making him smile, more. Liked making him laugh the most. It made him feel giddy. When he was concentrating on that, he didn’t need to worry about Gilbert seeing through him. Especially as he thought that was just another of Oz’s masks; that he was just teasing. That made it safe.

It meant that Gilbert, hopefully, didn’t notice that Oz’s heart pounded when they touched. That, when Gilbert was dressing him, his pulse raced. His fingers would brush Oz’s chest as he buttoned his shirt, graze his neck when he tied his tie. He often glanced up, as he tightened it, his amber eyes searching Oz’s. It stole his breath, every morning. Every morning, he wondered what Gilbert would do, if he leant forward and kissed him.

It wouldn’t be that hard to do.

It happened in the summer when he was thirteen. On a long, lazy morning where the sun was hot enough to make everyone drowsy. They'd played with Ada until she'd fallen asleep in the shade of a tree, a kitten in her lap. Then, they'd gone for a walk themselves. Oz swung a branch lazily; he was too old to pretend it was a sword, and that made him feel a pang of sadness.

"Don't forget that Lady Rivers is coming to tea this afternoon," Gilbert said, trailing after him. "You've already gotten your short-trousers dirty."

"That's because you insist on dressing me in white." Oz glanced back. A slight wind ruffled his hair, and he thought it would make him look elfish. "That's foolish, Gil. It only encourages me to ruin it."

Gilbert pursed his lips.

Oz turned around so that he wouldn’t stare. His stomach twisted.

"Is Lady Rivers bringing her daughter?" he asked instead. There was a flowerbed to his left, and he stepped onto the low, wooden beam that corralled it.

"I believe so." Was it his imagination, or was Gilbert's tone more careful?

Oz couldn't balance on the beam. It was too narrow and his boots were too clunky. He stopped. "Do you think she's pretty?"

Gilbert paused. For so long that Oz glanced back, to see his amber eyes staring at the grass.

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"But I'm asking."

"I don't know."

His cheeks weren't flushed. It seemed like Gilbert really didn't think so. Which was odd, because the daughter of Lady Rivers was very pretty indeed. She had shining, curly hair and big brown eyes; she looked like a princess from a fairy tale. Oz flirted with her, at every chance, and she giggled and blushed, seemingly flirting back. It felt easy.

Oz stopped. He stared at Gilbert, watching a dark lock fall in front of his face. He glanced up at Oz, then away, shifting slightly. It made him feel like a dog with a scent; his ears were pricked.

"I think she is," he said. Perhaps a bit forcefully. "I think I'll begin courting her."

There. He saw Gilbert's shoulders stiffen. Just for a moment, before he said, "That would be your choice, young master."

"What do you think?"

Gilbert's fists were clenched. "My opinion doesn't matter."

"I'm asking for it."

"But it is not my place."

Oz stepped forward. And again. They were close now, but Gilbert still didn't look up. Every part of him was rigid, like wood. It bothered him. This bothered him. That meant something, and Oz needed to know more.

"What would you say if I said I wanted to kiss her?"

"It's not my choice," Gilbert whispered.

Oz leant even closer, his hands behind his back. "What if I said I wanted to kiss you?"

For a moment, Gilbert didn't breathe. He jerked his chin up, and stared at Oz, his eyes wide. The sun cast curling shadows of his hair against his skin. The sun caught his lashes too, and made them look darker and longer, as he examined Oz's face. He was smirking, he knew, and that he probably looked like a wolf. He let his own gaze drop, down to Gilbert's parted lips, meaningfully.

"Well?" Oz prompted.

"You can't," Gilbert whispered.

"Why not?"

"You're not allowed."

"Who would know?"

Gilbert stayed quiet. His breath came in fast, warm puffs against Oz's cheeks.

"I'll only kiss you if you'd like me to." Though Oz didn't know how he would be able to stand being around Gilbert and not being able to kiss him. "Would you like me to?"

There was another long moment where the long, sunny afternoon stretched around them. Then Gilbert nodded. Then he raised his hand slowly, fingers brushing the front of Oz's jacket.

So Oz kissed him. A sudden, jerky movement that had their teeth knock against each other. But it was a kiss. A kiss that released that fizzy, excited feeling.

Oz caught hold of Gil's shoulders – his arms – kissed him again, tilting his head properly this time. It worked better. He felt Gilbert's mouth move against his own. He clutched at Oz's jacket, leaning into him.

When he pulled away, his breath came heavily. Oz's thoughts had turned to fireworks. To gather them, he brushed a stray lock of hair from Gilbert's face. He tucked it behind his ear; concentrating on that, rather than meeting Gilbert's eye.

"Well, good," Oz said. "That's sorted."

"Young Master Oz." Gilbert's own pale fingers brushed a lock of Oz's golden hair from where it hung in front of his face. He looked as worried as he always did, when Oz was leading them into trouble. But his cheeks were also flushed, his eyes shining.

It felt right. This. Them. Pressing another kiss against Gilbert's forehead and feeling him squirm closer. He smelt of fresh cotton and shoe polish, and those smells shouldn't have been so wonderful. Oz usually hated those smells.

He held him, his arms slipping around to Gilbert's back, and knew he'd started something. Something that could not be undone; a chain between them.

And he revelled in it.

So it continued. A few snatched kisses – Oz was usually the initiator – clasping each other's hands, brushing lips across cheeks and knuckles and foreheads as easily as shaking hands. It was to show affection. It was to chain this bond between them into something real and solid. Now that Gilbert had pledged himself so fully to Oz and he was breaking his one rule. He was accepting one absolute.

Gilbert was the absolute.

So this only made sense. He was the one who knew him better than anyone. Who would stand by him, no matter what. And, more strangely, Oz would stand by him. This was his one. His valet and his everything.

So when Gilbert tied his tie in the morning, of course he kissed him. When he tied his laces, he offered a hand up. When Oz lay despondently, his cheek against the window, Gilbert pressed against him, or kissed his knuckles when he'd finished his studying. It was natural. Easy.

And it didn't matter about what the future would bring - about engagements and coming of age ceremonies - because for now, he was happy.

For now, he had Gilbert.

Now, Oz sat in Lady Sharon’s drawing room, in the evening. Those days were before the abyss; were apparently ten years ago, and even though he hadn’t lived those ten years, it felt like a lifetime ago. His worries had been very different, then.

He sat on the wide windowsill, just like he used to, staring at the glass. It was too dark outside to see anything properly; the moon was like a distant streetlamp, and the stars just pinpricks. The main thing he saw was his own reflection, staring back at him. He was the same; still had unruly, fair hair and a few leftover freckles across his nose. Still didn't need to shave; still had limbs a little too long for him, like a growing colt. He hadn't changed, but it had been ten years; the whole world had changed.

Or maybe he had changed. Because he had been trying to talk to Gilbert for the last ten minutes. Since Break had retired and Sharon had pulled Alice upstairs to toilette together, he had been repeating the words over and over in his head. It was ridiculous. The man sat on the sofa, reading, was Gilbert. His friend. More than his friend. But he didn’t have the courage – he’d always had the courage, before.

Oz snatched a glance at him, resting his chin on his knee. It was stupid to leave it at: 'he'd grown;' of course he had. It was more interesting to see how he stayed the same; his dark hair was still just as unruly, curling around his ears and the nape of his neck; his eyes were still that same amber, like a cat's; he still tapped his fingers, or jiggled his leg, in that nervous way. He was still, underneath, Gilbert. How could Oz not have seen it before?

"Gil?" he asked, as though double-checking that he was right. His heart raced.

"Mm?" Gilbert was lit by the soft light of the gas lamp; the warm glow settling on his hair and cheekbones.

Why didn't you tell me to start with, Oz thought. Why hadn't he been forthcoming about who he was? Why had they all pretended that ten years hadn't gone by? But those weren't the pressing questions. They weren't the questions that he needed to ask, and he didn’t think he’d get a satisfactory answer.

"Do you remember – what it was like before?" Oz's voice didn't waver, and he was proud of himself for that.

Gilbert marked the page in his book, and closed it softly. "I remember you teasing me with cats, whenever you had the chance."

"Not that."

"Actually—" Gilbert placed the book on the side table. Either he had always known how to read, or it was another thing he’d learnt. "You teased me in general, at every opportunity."

"I couldn't help it," Oz said. "You're very easy to wind up. But that's not what I meant."

Gilbert didn’t supply him with what he did mean. He didn't even met Oz's eye – which was exactly like how he used to, when he was embarrassed.

"I meant about us." Oz's heart pounded on his tongue. "About how we were, together."

Gilbert stayed still. It was like they were back to square one. At least it gave Oz the confidence to stand from the window.

"Do you remember a couple of days before the – before my birthday? At the suit fitting?" It was hard to get his tongue to move.

There was a very long second before Gilbert's reply. "Yes."

Oz waited. Took a step forward, forcing his mouth open to say more, but Gilbert continued, softly: "You said you loved me."

Oz had taken Gilbert's hands in his own, twining them tightly together. He'd felt like a Prince in one of Ada's fairy stories. And he'd had to say it, whilst they were alone for five minutes, because it felt like there wasn't anything after the ceremony. Because it was overwhelming, and he knew he would be a disappointment. He'd leant forward and whispered those three words into Gilbert's ear.

"I did." Oz’s voice did waver then. He didn't feel like a prince, stood in his borrowed clothes. He felt like a schoolboy.

"And I said I loved you." Gilbert's eyes flickered up, then back down again. His hands were in fists on his lap.

Oz remembered that. Remembered those yellow eyes looking up at him, and the soft, shy smile on Gilbert's face. He'd squeezed his fingers back. And Oz had felt like he'd swallowed a star.

He swallowed now, his throat sore. "And...?"

"And...what?"

"What about now?" Oz managed to take another step, though his voice sounded desperate.

Gilbert looked up, eyes as warm as the gas lamp. "Of course, I still love you."

Relief flooded through Oz. The champagne was back; a tingling feeling spreading all the way through to his fingertips. Like a star trapped inside him. Of course Gilbert still loved him. It washed away the tenseness, the sore throat, the confusion and anxiety that he'd held ever since finding out that Raven was Gilbert and Gilbert was Raven.

"Oh, good," he said. Grinned. Crossed to the sofa. "That's all sorted then, because I still love you too."

Maybe he should have noticed Gilbert's reaction. Noticed that his eyes widened in panic, and his brows knitted together, and he was about to say something. But the relief was too great – the knowledge that he still this; that he and Gilbert hadn't changed.

So he leant down and kissed him. His hands found Gilbert's cheeks, tangling into his curls.

"It was so unfair, that day," Oz managed to talk between kisses. "The wretched tailor came back in and then it was all schedules—" More kisses, and he was dimly aware that Gilbert wasn't touching him back, as he settled in his lap. "We barely had a moment alone until the—" He kissed him again to avoid saying the word. "But now it can be just like—"

Gilbert did touch him then, finally. But it was to catch his shoulders – to push him away. "Stop, Oz."

He did. His hands fell from Gilbert's hair. His mouth tingled, and he realised that Gilbert never used to call him just 'Oz.'

"You can't," Gilbert said. His hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed.

"That's what you said then, too." Oz pushed against the hands holding him back, but they were firm. "But that didn't matter."

"This is different." Gilbert's hands shifted to Oz's waist. His stomach turned over, despite the frown on Gilbert's face. But he wasn't pulling him closer. He was easing Oz from his lap, like he was a child. "This isn't a rich boy's fling with his servant."

"It still is." He went limp, to make himself harder to move.

"No, it's not.”

“I said I wasn't letting you go so easily just because you're a lord, now."

Gilbert was stronger than him. He deposited Oz on the sofa cushions, and he landed in an ungainly heap. He scrambled to sit, his hands sinking into pillows.

"And I'm still your valet." Gilbert's amber eyes were soft. "I said that. But things are different. I'm ten years older, now."

He was speaking softly, and calmly, though his cheeks were still flushed. He still sat in that stiff way. When he did that, he did look like a Nightray lord.

"Not to me!" Oz clutched Gilbert's shoulder, and felt him twitch. He dropped it, feeling heat flush down his neck. "It's been no time at all for me. I'm still me, and you're still you."

"And I'm a man." Gilbert looked at him. Seriously. Like a teacher with an unruly pupil. "I'm a man, now, Oz. And you're still a—"

"Don't you dare call me a child!" It came out as a yelp, like Oz was a kicked dog. He sat, properly, putting his boots on the floor.

Gilbert took a breath. "You're still fifteen. You have to understand."

"I don't." He stood, feeling hot. "I don't understand how you can pretend this didn't happen. I don't understand how you got to grow up and I didn't. Where's my future?"

"On your chest."

He might as well have slapped Oz. It was even worse than twitching away from him. He blinked. "That's not fair."

"You're an illegal contractor."

"You had ten years to save me." Why didn't you save me, Oz wanted to ask. He gritted his jaw. That wouldn't be fair, either.

"Ten years to do the impossible."

They fell silent. The embers crackled in the grate. It was Oz's turn to stare at the elaborate rug, and he glared at it, as though he could scorch it with just his eyes. This wasn't his house; he couldn't go back to his house; he didn't have a home. What little family he had didn't know he was back. The only connector had been Gilbert, but even he was different.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the rug. He knew, of course. He was supposed to find Alice's memories. He was supposed to find a way out of the contract before it dragged him back to the Abyss. He was supposed to put everything right. And usually he would be able to shrug, and laugh, and keep going, but suddenly it all felt like so much. Suddenly, he was so aware of how he was different. There was no fixing this – this missing ten years.

Arms appeared around him. Suddenly. They wrapped him up, easily, pressing him to Gilbert's chest. He turned into him, clutching at his ridiculous black coat. He wasn't crying – he never cried – but he was close to it. His eyes were prickling and it was difficult to breathe. He held onto Gilbert, but this Gilbert didn't smell like himself. He smelt of cigarettes and stale cologne; not fresh laundry and shoe polish.

"Nothing could have changed that day." He could feel Gilbert's mouth move against his hair. His palms pressed against Oz's back. "You understand that, right?"

He did, deep down. That the Baskervilles would appear – that he would be thrown into the abyss no matter what. But he had allowed himself to think about the possibility, just for a moment. It was foolish. It had happened. And of course Gilbert would follow his thinking; he always knew what Oz was thinking, because he knew Oz.

"I know." He pulled away from Gilbert, just enough to dredge up a smile for him. His heart still raced, and he still felt like a ship in a storm. "Nothing can change the past."

Though he didn't pull away. Not yet. He stayed close, searching Gilbert's eyes. "But you do still love me?"

Gilbert's hands tightened. It almost hurt, but he didn’t mind. That pain was better to focus on.

"Gil? Look at me."

Gilbert’s gaze inched slowly round, his eyes sliding over every little detail in the room until they couldn’t escape meeting Oz’s eyes. His voice was a whisper, "Yes."

"Then – who would know?" Those words had worked before. He raised himself onto tiptoes – that was new – catching himself on Gilbert's chest. He was so tall, now, but he liked it; liked feeling protected.

But this time, when he said that, Gilbert caught his shoulders again. Pushed him back a step, frowning, as though he was trying to concentrate. Oz caught his wrists, and held on. Knew he was almost pouting, and hoped it at least made him look endearing.

"I do – love you," he said. And his hands shifted, palms cupping Oz's cheeks. It made him feel small. "But I look at you now, and you're - so young."

He was a child, in Gilbert's eyes. Which didn't seem right, because Gilbert had always been younger, and shorter, and more of a cry-baby. And Oz didn’t feel like a child; he certainly wasn’t being treated like a child by anyone else.

"That's not fair." And Oz realised that saying it didn’t help his case, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

"I know." Gilbert's thumb twitched on his cheekbone, and it sent a shooting star streaking under his skin. He turned his face into it, his eyes closing. Gilbert's hands had changed, as well. They weren't just bigger; they were rougher. Closing his eyes didn’t help to pretend things were the same.

Oz pressed his mouth against the centre of his palm. He pressed a kiss there, keeping his eyes shut, to play innocent. A last try at persuasion; he’d always been able to persuade Gilbert.

Who saw through it, now – he always saw through him – he pulled his hands away with a slight sigh. Though, when Oz opened his eyes, he could see that his expression was soft. He was smiling, slightly. Fond. He was fond of Oz. He still loved him.

But not in the way he had before.

Gilbert kissed him. But not on the lips. On his forehead, and through his hair. His fingers twitched in it, smoothing it into place.

"Goodnight, Oz," Gilbert murmured.

He left his book on the side. His coat swept behind him as he closed the door, leaving Oz stood there, alone. He could still feel the ghost of Gilbert's arms, the tingle from where their lips met. His heart thundered dully in his ears.

That was it then. Everything really had changed. He had lost his choices to Alice and Pandora. His future and his past was wrapped in this mystery. He had lost his home when he had come back from the abyss – bundled away here, and part of whatever subterfuge Break was planning. He was stuck in a web that he couldn’t even see. And that would be fine; he would be able to accept that; able to get on with things and fix it all, or let himself get caught by the spider. But the boy he loved had also changed. Now he was a serious man who worried about age and status and reputation.

And Oz was still just a child.

#gil shuts oz down very quickly when he comes back dw #pandora hearts #oz bezarius #oz vessalius #gilbert nightray #jun mochizuki #fanfiction #fanfic #turnupswrites

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