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solaneceae · 2 years

Text

amhrán na farraige

Henrik has a good life. He's a surgeon, and a damn good one at that; he's got a loving partner, a house, everything a man could possibly want.

But there's a huge chasm in his past. He can hear people sing, even when their mouth is closed. And the smell of sea salt and brine follows him no matter where he goes.

(cw: ego shipping, schneeplebro/docaverage)

Read on ao3

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Henrik has a good life.

He’s a surgeon, a healer — he fixes people, and gets money and gratitude for it.

Sometimes their heart stops and never beats again, right there on his operating table. He knows death is part of the job, that he always does the best he can. But he can’t stop himself from heaving and curling up on the hospital bathroom floor afterwards, because that was a life, that was a life he felt slip away between his fingers. Long, slender fingers, steady hands, yet bloodied.

(A life stops, a song stops. He always hears music, always, harmony and discord as people pass him by. Everyone always sings, even with their mouth closed, even as they sleep. Always.)

***

Henrik has a loving partner. Chase, sweet, amazing Chase, who pushed past his prickly exterior. Chase, who makes him laugh with his ridiculous jokes and antics. Chase, who trusted him with his heart, battered and bleeding, who let him hold him after he nearly drank himself into a coma and cried in the doctor’s arms, because he couldn’t see a way out of the darkness.

Chase, who had been so scared to love someone like that again. Yet one night, as their bodies sung in shared pleasure and their breaths mingled, beads of exertion glinting like dew on their skin, Chase had told Henrik he loved him. It hadn’t been clear, trapped between a moan and a sob, but he’d said it again and again as they both unraveled.

(Chase’s song is complex, melancholy and regret meeting cautious hope and naive sweetness. Henrik stays up to listen, gently cradling his boyfriend’s sleeping face and thumbing over each of his features. Henrik’s bedroom smells of him — chamomile and wheat and a musk that’s so distinctly Chase. It smells of him, of cooling lust, and the ever-present sea salt and foam in the doctor’s nostrils.)

***

Henrik has blemishes. Dots and patches of discolored skin, pale grey or white on his fair complexion. They’ve always been there, just like the silver and white strands scattered in his short brown hair. Left every dermatologist he’s ever seen stumped. But they don’t move, they don’t spread, and Henrik isn’t sick. They’re just another part of him.

(Chase likes to count them, to kiss each and every one of them as he worships Henrik’s body, so gentle and reverent and loving it makes the doctor want to cry. His tears taste like the ocean, salt and brine, always salt and brine.)

***

Henrik is a lot of things. A surgeon, a lover, an estranged husband and father.

And there’s a hole in his past. A chasm.

He remembers drowning. Pain and panic, the freezing, tight embrace of the water like a stillwomb. The salt burning his eyes and throat, water in his lungs. Darkness engulfing him as the ocean pulls at him, refusing to let him go.

Then he wakes in a hospital. He’s young, no older than twenty, maybe even less. He has nothing but his name, memories stolen by the water who tried to steal his life. Trauma-based memory loss, the doctors kept saying, although it didn’t mean much to Henrik.

A name and a blinding fear of the ocean — the ocean who clings to him no matter how far he moves away from it, the scent of it ever-present. That’s all Henrik starts his life with, years and years of it forever out of his reach. Spots on his skin and seafoam in his nose.

And a grey, white-speckled coat he locks into a chest and forgets about.

He knows something is missing, even as he busies himself building a life. As he throws himself into his studies, into short and meaningless flings, then into a marriage that makes him feel like he’s drowning all over again. There’s a hole in his memories, a hole in his very soul, and nothing ever fills it.

He tries alcohol first, but hates the person he becomes when under its influence. Weed has interesting results, but it dulls his senses and mind, and it scares him. Nicotine becomes his go-to for a while, before he meets Chase. Now, it’s caffeine, only caffeine. His hands, skilled and steady hands tremble when he has too much, and Chase kisses his knuckles soothingly as he pours the rest of the pot into the drain.

(It’s better with Chase, pretty, kind Chase. He’s doing better, they both are. The hole is still there, the longing for something Henrik can’t identify, just as great as it ever was. But he learns to ignore it better.)

***

One day, Chase finds something in his attic. Henrik never goes up there, because it’s nothing but old junk and dust, but Chase stumbles on an old wooden chest there as he searches for something completely unrelated. It’s perfectly ordinary, without a proper lock, and the vlogger can’t help but take a peek inside.

When he comes back down, holding a beautiful, ample coat of white-pattered grey fur, Henrik breaks. He takes a step back, then another, until his back hits the kitchen counter. He’s breathing fast, too fast, even as Chase rushes up to him. Henrik doesn’t hear his pleas to calm down, it’s okay, what’s wrong? Nor does he see Chase’s panicked face, his grey-blue eyes set on the coat in the other man’s hands like it’s death itself coming to take him.

He knows what this is he doesn’t know what this is.

He wants to take it back he wants to run away.

Chase, Chase has it, he touched it, wrong, wrong! Stolen, taken! He wants it back he doesn’t want it he wants it he doesn't want—

Henrik lets out a pitiful whine and sinks down to the cold tiled floor, rocking and whimpering and pulling at his hair as his lover tries desperately to understand, to help. And Henrik doesn’t start to calm down until the coat is hidden out of sight, out of mind, out of mind, out of mind.

In the end, the mysterious coat goes back in the attic, and Henrik spends the rest of the evening curled up in Chase’s lap, the vlogger gently petting his hair and whispering apologies. But there’s nothing to forgive, Henrik thinks. Chase hasn’t done anything wrong.

Then why? Why had he felt the burn of seawater in his throat, in his lungs, longing and terror alike tearing his carefully stiched-together self apart?

***

That night, Henrik has a strange dream. As his lover holds him and the rain pours outside his window, he dreams he hasn’t always been human.

***

Things don’t get back to normal. Henrik can’t sleep, dream-memories of watery darkness and weightlessness making him wake up with the gasps of a drowning man. He zones out, his hands keep shaking even though he’s cut the caffeine. His coworkers look at him with barely disguised concern, and it drives him up the wall.

(A box has been opened. A wooden chest. And the latter might have been closed, but the former hasn’t.)

He almost botches an open-heart surgery. His boss makes him take the week off. Everything he’s built for himself is falling apart, because of a goddamn piece of fur that doesn’t even look like a proper coat.

He spends the first few days despondent on the couch, exhausted yet unable to sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see are tiny, tiny silver bubbles of air escaping his mouth and nose as life leaves his lungs. He can hear the waves, louder and louder in his ears. The smell of salt and brine has become so pungent he can taste it in everything he eats, everything he drinks.

He must be going mad. And it’s taking a toll on Chase too, stubborn, self-sacrificial Chase who’s trying so hard to keep him fed and hydrated, keep him sane, keep him together.

(He’s selfish. He's supposed to be the other man’s support, not the other way around.)

He’s scared. Gott, he’s so scared. “Chase,” he croaks out on the fourth day, after many, many hours of silence. His boyfriend is at his side instantly, catching his hand and squeezing it gently. “Yeah?” Chase asks quietly, smiling down at him. He looks so tired. “What’s up, big man? Do you need something?”

Henrik plants his own dull, grey eyes into pools of blue. He can see flickers of gold and silver in the vlogger’s eyes, quick shadows swimming through like fish. He blinks, and they’re gone.

The allure. It’s never been this strong, slowly overtaking his fear. His whole body is singing, so loud he can barely hear anything else, not even the waves. It’s discordant, it needs, it wants. “Take me to the sea,” he murmurs. The waves in his ears crash with a thunderous noise.

***

It’s not a short trip. And despite Henrik’s frantic demands that they leave now, quickly, Chase insists they pack up properly and book a hotel first. Henrik barely takes anything, and what little he shoves into his suitcase is more to appease Chase than anything else. He doesn’t need any clothes, or toiletries, or anything. He just needs to go. He has to see it.

(Without really realizing it, he climbs up into the attic while Chase loads up his things and takes the coat. It feels impossibly soft against his skin, like it was made just for him.)

They take Chase’s car, because the doctor is nowhere functional enough to drive even a bumper kart at a local fair. They live pretty far off the nearest coast, so it’s a fairly long drive that takes up most of the next day. The low drone of the engine and rocking motions lull Henrik into an uneasy sleep on the passenger seat — the bags under his eyes are so dark, his face so gaunt and pale and hollow, it makes Chase’s heart lurch. But he keeps driving, keeps forcing water and snacks into his boyfriend at each pit stop, because he’s not fucking giving up on the man he loves.

The more they approach the seafront, the more frantic Henrik seems to get. Dull grey eyes gain back some shine, a fevered kind of glint that’s almost more concerning. His hands fiddle with the strings of his borrowed hoodie, the one he likes to wear when he’s anxious. It smells like Chase, and it’s comforting enough.

The first spot they reach, thanks to Henrik’s insistence, is not a beach you’d see on a postcard. It’s remote, right under a jagged cliffside, which makes it tricky to climb down to. Grey and black rocks sinking under the tide instead of white sand. And it’s early November, which means it’s cold, a humid, freezing cold only made worse by the grey drizzle of rain. Nobody sensible is around this time of year.

It’s perfect, Henrik thinks.

He can smell it, actually smell it — the salt, the foam, the brine. No longer a phantom scent clinging to him, but tangible, real, surrounding him. Chase helps him down the last boulder, and his shoes hit the rocky beach with a dull crunch. “It’s kind of pretty,” the vlogger comments, shivering a little within the confines of his parka. “Wild.”

Henrik doesn’t respond. The bundle on his back almost burns through his clothes. The wind whips at his face and hands harshly, but he no longer feels the cold.

The sea is restless, grey, reflecting the troubled skies. Foam forms within the creases of the crashing waves. Definitely unsafe.

“Think there’s an undertow somewhere,” Chase squints as his lover sits down on the rocks, protecting his eyes from the pale light of the setting winter sun. “No wonder there’s no easy path down there, place is a death trap.”

Still, he sits down next to the older man, wrapping an arm around him. Henrik lets him, his head falling against Chase’s shoulder as they both gaze out at the horizon. The drizzle has stopped, for now.

Chase takes a deep breath — the seabreeze enters his lungs, fresh and invigorating after weeks of rough nights and silent anxiety. Seaspray mixes with the remaining rainwater on his cheeks, cold, leaving little white salt patches on his skin. Now he and Henrik are twins.

It really is pretty out there, even though it’s cold and the rocks are digging into his ass uncomfortably. “I’ll go get the blanket,” he decides, rubbing Henrik’s arm as he presses a kiss to his temple. “You stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

Henrik nods, slowly, like he’s not quite all there. His fingers dig into the bundle at his side as Chase gets up and walks away, beginning his ascension back to the car.

When the rocky beach comes back into view as the vlogger climbs back down with a bag, he almost trips and falls into a chasm.

Henrik is no longer there. His clothes lay discarded where Chase left him, and the fabric bag he was carrying is empty among them. The vlogger feels a cold, sharp panic claw at his heart before he spots the other man, standing further away, and Chase understands that something is really, really off.

Henrik stands there, naked as the day he was born, wrapping that coat around himself — the one from the attic, the one thing that had started his partner’s downward spiral in the first place. It falls around the doctor’s wiry frame like a thick layer of foam, shapeless but somehow perfectly fitted.

His naked feet are in the water. He’s too close, too close, and the raging waves are right there. “Henrik!” Chase calls out, his voice going up a few octaves as he scrambles faster down the rocks. “What are you doing?! Get back, it’s — shit, it’s dangerous!”

Henrik turns back to look at him. Chase can’t make out his expression from that distance, but he can tell he’s no longer wearing his glasses. Henrik never takes off his glasses, not even in the bath even though they alway get fogged up, because his eyesight is that terrible.

He stares. Then he pulls the hood of that coat over his head, blue eyes disappearing beneath grey and white fur, and he takes a step forward.

“No!” Chase screeches, missing the last few steps and falling over the edge with a startled yelp. He hits the rocks with a pained wheeze, not even taking the time to check his throbbing shoulder before he scrambles to his feet. “Henrik!”

The other is knee-deep already, and he’s not stopping. Chase grits his teeth and starts running, calling the other’s name in a desperate attempt to get him to stop, come back, Hen, please!

But Henrik doesn’t hear him. All he hears is the song, that song that’s been drilling in his ears ever since he first woke up in that hospital, always droning in the background. Now it’s loud, like a siren’s song, and he can no longer resist it.

Even now, he’s scared. He doesn’t know if he’s heading for his death, or something different he doesn’t understand yet. But he doesn’t stop, not even when Chase skids to a stop at the edge of the water and begs him to come back. Not even when Chase grits his teeth and jumps in after him, his jeans quickly soaked and waterlogged. Not even when the vlogger realizes how stupid of an idea this is when a wave knocks him off his feet and the current almost drags him away at frightening speed.

Henrik walks. The water’s cold, but it doesn’t bother him. The coat is warm, soft, and sticking to him like a second skin. His fear gets quiet. He takes a deep, deep breath. And he sinks under the surface, letting the current carry him far, far away as the coat and his body become one.

It’s peaceful. It’s grey and blue, blue, blue.

Henrik forgets.

***

Chase coughs, soaked and freezing, choking out mouthfuls of seawater on the rocky beach. And when he has no more water left to heave, he screams.

*** The ocean is infinite.

He sinks, as the fear and doubts boil inside his veins.

Strikes of bright silver, the seals fly by his sides.

Their song is so beautiful, he can’t remember if he’s swimming in water or in the harmonious chords of their perfect trills.

They weave a web of light and life around him. Inside him.

Trapped by the threads, the doubts and fear dissolve as he becomes ocean.

And always, that song. The song of the sea.

This is home. I’m home.

***

Chase sobs. He’s cold, so cold, fingers digging like claws at the rocks beneath him.

Henrik’s gone. He’s lost him. It’s been almost an hour since he’s sunk under the surface, and nobody could survive this long underwater. Chase knows this.

Yet, even as the hours pass and the night paints the sky in ink and stars, something keeps him here, sitting on that beach, his blanket wrapped tightly around himself, soaked clothes discarded to the side. Waiting for the impossible.

***

The world is a song. The song of the sea.

Every perfect note binds existence and matter, water and dream, desire and change.

Quick chase and playful tumbles, sweet daydreams rocked by the waves. Dives in forgotten darkness, iridescent bubbles of calm exhales or boiling rush of foam, the song drapes the world in harmony.

The drifting, translucent icebergs are drums, drums drifting towards their doom.

The shimmer of silver fish fleeing in vain in front of him, a chorus of chimes, light and beautiful.

Harmony of the purest kind, marrying the darkness of the abyss to the light of the surface. His fins cut through the sea, through the song.

There is only one false note — a splash of sunny yellow in the endless blue.

A face. Cherished.

***

Chase’s body shivers. His eyelashes flutter in the breeze, hands faintly twitching and curling around the blanket as he sleeps fitfully, knocked out by the exhaustion.

***

He has a strange dream.

As the moon bathes the world in silver and unstoppable waves rock his slumber, he dreams he hasn’t always been part of the sea.

A face. A smile, dimples, freckles, a nose scrunching up. Soft, baby blue eyes. I love you, Hen.

The blue-eyed harbor seal remembers.

***

Chase wakes, sluggishly, like he’s being pulled out of a quagmire. He’s not sure what woke up him at first, the sky still dark, the sea now quiet and at peace. But when his eyes flutter open, crusty with sleep and salt, he makes out a shape kneeling next to him.

He gasps, the last cobwebs of drowsiness burned away to nothing. Because Henrik is back, his hair plastered to his forehead by the seawater. He’s still wrapped up in that coat, shaking him gently with a look of pure worry.

Chase tackles him and the doctor yelps, the coat absorbing most of the impact as his back hits the rocks. “Henrik Von Schneeplestein, you fucking idiot!” Chase seethes and Henrik winces, because oh, his boyfriend is mad. “What the hell?! I thought— I thought—”

Chase whimpers, his rage fading into relief, so overwhelming he can’t form words. He embraces Henrik through his thick, fluffy coat, suppressing a sob because he’s so tired of crying. Hen’s back. He’s alive. He’s alive.

Henrik’s eyes soften. His arms slowly emerge from the furs, the coat falling back to reveal his very alive, very human upper body. He wraps his arms around the younger man, closing his eyes and letting the other cry silently into his neck. They hold each other for a while, no more words needed.

“Fuck, Hen,” Chase finally breaks the silence after many, many long minutes. He breathes out in a shuttering exhale. “I thought— you were—”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I lost you.”

“I know. I thought I lost myself, too.”

Chase clings to him like a mussel to its rock, like he’s scared Henrik will dissipate into foam if he lets go. But he does eventually, letting Henrik cradle his tear-stricken face. Everything tastes of salt, everything. “Häschen,” the German murmurs, stroking over the other’s cheeks to wipe the tears away. “It’s alright. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, not again. I promise.”

Chase sniffles, burying his face into the other’s chest. Henrik pets his uncovered curls soothingly, the iconic snapback lost somewhere near the cliff. “...I’m not human,” he breathes out. Not lamenting, or awestruck, just… stating a fact. Like a piece of his universe righting itself. He looks healthier than he’s ever been, Chase notices when he pulls away again — his eyes are bright, no longer grey and dull, and the dark rings around them are all but gone, color returned to his previously ashen skin.

He looks… peaceful. Radiant. But a hint of worry twists the corners of his mouth down. “You… you don’t…” Henrik tries, visibly bracing himself for some form or rejection, or fear. Chase lets out a wheezy, wet bout of laughter. “Hen, c’mon. You could be a fucking dragon for all I care. I love you, and—”

He presses his lips against the other man’s, fiercely, like he’s trying to convey every ounce of trust, affection and devotion he has. He pulls away to breathe, leaving Henrik a little dizzy and lovestruck. “I love you so much,” the vlogger continues, holding his lover even tighter. “If this is who you are— if this,” he gestures at the wide expanse of ocean in front of them, “Is what you’ve been needing all this time… then we’ll figure it out. Okay? Together.”

Chase kisses his forehead, his nose, his mouth. Gentle. Loving. Chase is human, he’s warm, and Henrik loves him, has loved him way before he ever laid his hands on his precious coat, his other skin.

He leans into his love, letting him lay his head down on his thigh. He trusted Chase with his life, had for a long time. And now, he was trusting him with his skin. Selkie skin, his mind provides, finally remembering the word, the old stories.

Gott. He was a selkie. That made so much sense. Now he felt like a fool — the answer had been right under his nose this whole time, locked away in an attic, gathering dust. “I’m tired,” he mumbles, because he is. Gone is the fear, the unknown that kept him up at night. His mind is quiet, save for the song, back to a comforting background noise.

Chase hums. “I can imagine. What were you doing in there?” he asks, trying to light up the mood. “Your breath smells like fish.”

Henrik laughs. It feels good. “Chase, mein Gott. And you tell me this after you kissed me silly. Several times.”

“Didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

“Dummkopf,” the German slurs, already struggling to keep his eyes open.

“Love you too, doc. Fuck, so much for that hotel room…”

They grow quiet again, Chase laying down to pull Henrik against him, pressing his forehead against his boyfriend’s. Henrik smiles sleepily, both of their songs intertwining in perfect harmony as the sun rises over the horizon.

Henrik sleeps, and dreams of nothing.

#henrik von schneeplestein #chase brody #jse egos #ego shipping #schneeplebro #docaverage #chenrik #selkie!henrik #my writing #if any of yall havent seen song of the sea please do #its a masterpiece of a movie #writersofjack

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moirai-au · 4 years

Note

16 with Henrik and Chase :3

Timeline: beginning of Arc 5: The Orator

Warning: this is Davil (dave x cecil). there are mentions of nsfw stuff, implied self-harm, and maybe a mention of homophobia??? but other than that it’s clean.

it was supposed to be a short and fluffy thing, but it turned into this absolute monster wtf. but you already know this tabby, my partner in crime! love ya

(if anyone wants to read the longer, nsfw version of this, head right over here)

“Mars almost lit the kitchen on fire again.”

Cecil blinked and turned to look at David; the other wasn’t looking at him, eyes set on the diminishing pile of clean laundry between them. His movements were swift and precise, folding the clothes and beddings with practised care, like he’d done it a million times before.

Which he probably had, being a father and all.

“Is that so?” Cecil mumbled, eyeing the black button-up shirt in his hands. Probably Mars’, he though. He hadn’t worn one of those in a long time, verdammt. How did they fold again?

“Yeaaah. I’m really starting to consider giving him cooking lessons.” Dave chuckled, his voice echoing slightly in the small room. “I swear this kid could burn water if we left him unsupervised.”

The doctor only hummed in response, trying not to get caught on the way Chase’s hands moved with rhythmic intent, or the way theauburn bangs peeking out from under his snapback made the blue of his eyes pop, or-

Nein.

His low hum died in his throat as he swallowed, painfully aware of the strangled sound that had escaped him, trying his very best to shake it off. He was almost scared to look up and risk making eye contact with Dave, to be confronted about what he knew was such a meaningless non-problem that it shouldn’t even be crossing his mind…

He bit his tongue, setting down the shirt he’d been holding idly for seconds, a small sigh escaping his lips.

They kept going as if nothing had changed.

Had it?

“I wish you the very best of luck,” Cecil muttered, picking up another article of clothing. “You should have seen the mess he created when attempting to bake me a Father’s Day cake when he was five…”

“Oh?” Dave asked, clearly intrigued. “Was it any good?”

Despite the unwelcome warmth and tingles spreading through his veins, Cecil let out a mirth-filled huff of laughter. “After I scraped what was left of it from the ceiling, it was… adequate. Certainly not winning any awards.”

David seemed to find Cecil’s response humorous, judging by the way his eyes lit up with mirth. He chuckled lightly, and the doctor felt his breath hitch at the sound. “Well,” the father said, “it’s the thought that counts, right?”

Cecil nodded distractedly, eyes trailing back to the lump of fabric in his hands, and cringed; the folding was all wrong. Scheiße. How was he supposed to focus with the other man babbling away next to him, the space between them so thin he could almost feel his warmth through his sweater vest-

“Um, Doc? Helloooo, Earth to Cecil, you with me?”

He tensed up, jaw tightening; He felt on edge, restless, filled with confusion and annoyance and something else that made his insides twist in the most peculiar way.

Dave leaned forward, catching Cecil’s stiff expression. His brow furrowed in concern; was the doc mad at him? It wouldn’t be out of character for him, David always seemed to get on his nerves for some reason, but still…

He looked down and spotted the black button-up balled up in the doctor’s clenched fists. “Oh, are you having trouble with that shirt?” he tried, treading carefully. He reached out, his hand brushing up against the German’s as he tried to grab the fabric. “Here, l can-”

Cecil flinched at the sudden contact, a sharp intake of air resonating in the room. Dave did a double-take, worry squeezing his chest at the other’s tight expression. “Ceec? Shit, are you hurt or something?”

“I am fine.” the German hissed at him, folding the black shirt frantically and messily. “I know how to fold a shirt, David. Mars was never good at taking care of his own things.”

“That’s not- I don’t care about the damn shirt! For fuck’s sake, right now the only thing I’m worried about is you!”

The doctor clenched his jaw, not responding and stubbornly keeping his eyes on the folding table. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He didn’t want to discuss this.

Problem was, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to out himself right there, right now, with Dave hovering so close he could almost feel his breath on his cheek…

The father shook his head. “You’ve been out of it all morning- c'mon Doc, for me?”

“No.”

“For you?”

”No.”

“Will you just tell me what’s wrong?”

"No! Nothing is wrong, I am okay.”

"Oh for the love of- stop telling me you’re okay! I’m here for you if you-”

That’s when Cecil snapped.

“How do you keep doing that?” he hissed between clenched teeth, suddenly turning around to take a step closer to Dave. The younger man’s eyes widened in surprise, taking a step back as the older man advanced on him; and ended up with his back flush against the wall. His expression was the textbook definition of oh god what did I do. “C-Cecil?”

“Why do I become such a mess everytime you speak to me?” the German accused, his voice seemingly on the edge of breaking.

That must’ve been the moment his brain decided to stop working, because the next thing he knew his lips were on Dave’s, his hands squeezing the other’s shoulders for dear life. The coil of anxiety in his stomach, instead of loosening up like he’s expected it to, was only getting tighter and tighter with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded, the chills coursing through his body colliding with the growing heat in his belly, the lightest touch from the younger man lighting a fire under his skin.

He barely registered the surprised sound coming from the other man as their faces collided, nor the feeling of warm fingertips tentatively settling on the side of his face, or the fact that the other was tilting his head to deepen Cecil’s clumsy kiss.

I want this I don’t want this

I want to hold you I want to run away

His body started trembling under the onslaught of conflicting emotions, and he let out a choked sob; he had no idea what he was doing, everything was slipping out of his control and it felt like tethering at the edge of a cliff, the smallest breeze threatening to push him over.

Gott, he hadn’t realized how starved he was for human contact. When was the last time anyone had touched him so gently?

At this moment, Cecil wanted so, so much. So much to say, to feel, to run his hands through that annoyingly messy hair and pull the other man flush against him and let him in give him everything he was and ever will be please please please something anything-

“Ceec? Cecil, jesus, are you okay?”

The doctor gasped, unaware that he had been holding his breath this whole time. He blinked back into awareness and found Dave staring at him with this soft, concerned expression of his, which only made Cecil’s heart ache more intensely. “I-” he started, only to devolve into a sudden coughing fit; his throat had seized up, making his voice come up in a broken croak.

“S’okay,” Dave whispered, running his hand up and down his arm in a comforting gesture, “It’s okay Doc. Take your time.”

The cap-wearing man moved his other hand to gently brush his thumb against Cecil’s cheek; it came back wet, to the doctor’s surprise and following mortification. Surely he wasn’t that desperate!

Was he?

He groaned and rubbed at his own face, wiping the tears away as he tried to gain a semblance of decorum back. “I… apologize. I don’t know- I’m not… usually like this.”

“Like what? Human?”

Cecil blinked; David was smiling up at him, his cerulean eyes crinkled up in amusement. “I’m not gonna get offended by you showing emotion, you doof. Do you need to sit down?”

He nodded, a shiver running through his spine when Dave grasped his hand to lead him out of the room, the unfinished pile of laundry left behind and forgotten.

***

“So. You have feelings.”

An eyeroll. “Hilarious. But yes.”

“Feelings for me.”

A nod.

“Romantic ones?”

“Among… other types, yes.”

They had moved into the living room, both of them sitting across each other on the plush red couch. Dave had kept a respectful distance between them, which Cecil wasn’t sure whether he hated or found comfort in.

The dad plopped his elbows on his crossed legs, resting his head in his hands. “I like the sound of that.” he winked, making Cecil groan in irritation. Why, out of all people, did he have to fall for such an aggravating little-

“But seriously though, you looked really freaked out back there. Did I do something wrong?”

Cecil lost his trail of thought; Dave’s tone had lost that teasing edge, and he was looking at him with genuine concern. The German took a deep breath, fighting off the anxiety swelling in his chest; guess there was no point in hiding it now, was there?

“I was… overwhelmed.” he began, scanning the other’s body language. Dave only nodded, silently prompting him to keep going. So he did.

“I had never really… felt for someone that way before. Not this strongly.”

“But weren’t you married once? That’s what you told us anyway.”

He shook his head. “Irrelevant. Vanessa and I- we wed out of convenience. And because it seemed like the most logical action to take at the time.”

“Waddaya mean?”

Cecil pursed his lips; this conversation was making him re-live a part of his life best buried in his subconscious, away from the surface. He took a moment to center himself, focusing on the way the couch felt under his fingers. And when he spoke again, his words came a lot easier.

“In my teenage years, I felt… alienated.” he continued. “Other boys my age were eloping left and right, while I just didn’t see the appeal.”

He folded his arms on his lap, rubbing them absentmindedly. “When I met Vanessa, we… clicked. Intellectually anyway. We agreed on a lot of things, and she ended up confessing to me.”

He rubbed his neck, grimacing slightly. “I was young and foolish. I thought that maybe this could work. We got along well, we shared common interests, and marrying her would allow me to get a US citizenship, which I’d been wanting for a while. I thought we could be happy, even without the more… physical aspect of a relationship.”

He sighed. “But… in the end, she wanted more out of this than I did. Things I couldn’t give her. So she grew bored.”

He hadn’t realised he had started trembling until he felt Dave grasp his hand, running his fingers along the palm and back. He didn’t try to pry it away, letting the soothing motions ground him again. “And-” he breathed out, voice strained and unsteady. He cleared his throat. “And even though I never loved her, I still cared for her. So when she left, I- it hurt. A lot. I thought ‘this is it. I’m the problem. Something’s wrong with me, I’m incapable of loving someone, so it makes sense than no-one could love me either’ ”

“Ceec, I-”

“So I shut down.” Cecil kept going, words tumbling faster and faster out of his mouth. He could no longer stop them, nor did he want to. “I became cold. Bitter. Angry. Gott, I was so angry, mostly at myself. I lashed out at my colleagues, I lashed out at my patients- that’s how I lost my medical license in case you were wondering, because why not get that truth out of the way as well, right?!”

He took a shuddering breath, grabbing the side of his face. It was wet again. He could feel the looming threat of a panic attack. “Everything fell apart around me. I was a broken mess, merely a shell of my former self- that’s why I could barely stand to look at you the first few days you spent here, it was like looking into a mirror-”

“Doc!”

“I’m sorry!” he cried out, curling into himself and burying his face in his arms. I am the worst kind of person. Dave stared in shock as Cecil devolved into full-blown, nearly silent sobs, choking out half-formed apologies; this wasn’t how he expected his day to go.

It had all started to normally: wake up, take his meds, have breakfast with the doc and Mars -if the kid hadn’t stayed up all night practising his magic again- and greet Ollie as he climbed in through the window with a fond hair ruffle, laugh as Cecil chastised him for “not using the door like a normal person”, help out Mars with his plants, look up jobs and schools, get a snarky remark from Cecil here and there…

Huh. He now realized the doctor hadn’t said much at all today. Hell, he’d been borderline cordial to him since this morning, if a bit… low. Careful. Like he was treading on thin ice.

Which, in hindsight, should’ve ticked David off as to what was going on.

Eyes going soft, the dad scooted over to Cecil, hands hovering just above the doctor’s shoulders. “Ceec… I’m going to touch you now, yeah? Tell me if that’s okay.”

The older man took a trembling breath, his thin frame still wracked with sobs, and nodded. Dave let out a relieved sigh and gently set his hands on the older man’s blue sweater vest, slowly moving them up and down his arms in a soothing pattern. “Cecil? I’m not mad at you. I don’t blame you for anything. I… get it. Really, I do. So don’t beat yourself up too much about our early days, okay? Look at me.”

He delicately grabbed the older man’s face, encouraging him to raise his head back up; he gave in after a few seconds, meeting Dave’s gaze with his own.

The dad smiled at him, his expression radiating something Cecil hadn’t seen directed at him in a really long time.

Honesty. Warmth. Kindness.

“There you are,” Dave said softly, “There you are. If it makes you feel better… I forgive you. Even if I don’t think there’s not much to forgive in the first place.”

He hummed, tucking a strand of brown and grey hair behind Cecil’s ear. “And I like you too. A lot. I just assumed you weren’t interested, so I never said anything. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

Cecil’s breathing slowed as he took in the words, mind switching into autopilot. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Dave’s hands against the fabric of his clothes. The faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen nearby. The lingering smell of chamomile tea David had brewed not long ago.

Breathe. Five seconds. Hold. Seven. Exhale. Eight.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt… more or less in control. He wiped his face on his sleeve with a quick swipe, eyes red and puffy, but sharp once more. “…Thank you.” he grunted, voice hoarse and thick with leftover emotion. “I’m okay.”

The father raised an eyebrow, disbelieving. “…Okay-ish.” the older man relented, rolling his eyes. “How is that?”

Dave shrugged. “Acceptable. Can I hug you?”

“You may.”

The younger man didn’t waste another second, wrapping his arms around Cecil and pulling him into a tight embrace. The doctor stiffened slightly, still unused to so much human contact in one setting, but soon relaxed into the soft, strong body enveloping him. His hands tentatively crept up Dave’s back as his eyes fluttered closed, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He basked in the feeling for a little while, his skin tingling in the spots David brushed against, while the other buried his face in his hair.

Cecil eventually let go, patting on Dave’s arm to make him release his hold. They pulled away, almost regretfully, and the dad smiled down at the doc. “How was that?”

“…Acceptable.”

Dave laughed. “Okay, I deserved that one. Sorry you had to relive all… that.”

Cecil shook his head, sighing. “It was… a long time ago. It shouldn’t affect me that much still…”

"You shut down and buried it for years, I think I can cut you some slack for not having processed it properly yet.”

"Hmm. I never thought about it that way.”

The dad waved noncommittally. “Eeeh. Been there. I know my way around trauma by now. So, you’ve never… you know…”

"No. I never desired women that way.”

"Yeah? How about guys?”

"I never thought about it. Never considered that I could be-”

"Gay?”

Cecil suppressed a wince, pushing down the unpleasant memories this word tended to bring up in him. “…Yes.”

“Well… do you have any gay cousins?” David asked, tilting his head to the side. The other just stared, failing to see how this was relevant. “No?”

The dad smirked. “And that,” he said, poking at Cecil’s chest playfully, “was your first clue. in this world, you either have a gay cousin, or you are the gay cousin.”

The doctor gaped. Then he let out an undignified snort, amazed at the nonsense Dave could spin on the fly. “That doesn’t sound very scientifically sound. Besides, I don’t know if it applies to me, considering I never felt any attraction to any man before you.”

“Aww.”

“Shut up. And stop making that face, it makes me want to punch it.”

“Kinky. But for real, there’s nothing wrong with the way you felt back then, you know that, right? You could just be ace.”

Cecil hummed. “I do know about asexuality and aromanticism. But by the time I learned of the concepts, I had stopped caring about labeling myself altogether.”

He looked up at Dave, eyes lingering on the gentle curves of his body. He gulped, lingering heat pooling in his stomach. “And… recent evidence suggests that I’m definitely not those.”

“So you got the hots for me, got it.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Dave chuckled. “But that’s okay too, y’know? Maybe you like men, maybe it’s just me. Maybe you’ve changed, maybe it’s always been this way. Maybe you’re demi, it fits what you told me at least.” he shrugged. “But who gives a shit, right? I know labels are important to a lot of people, they can be super helpful. But if you don’t care about them, that’s fine. You don’t need them if you don’t want them.”

Cecil processed the other’s words, the gentle yet determined tone soothing more and more of his worries. He offered the younger man an appreciative smile. “I suppose so.”

“Although… do you still want this?” Dave asked softly. “D’you still want, y’know… me?”

Cecil stayed silent for a few seconds, parsing the sensation, David’s earnest voice, his expression. “…Yes,” he realized, “Very much so. You?”

“God yes,” the other man breathed out, hands looping around Cecil’s middle with surprising gentleness. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for?”

The doctor shook his head, eyes wide. Dave smiled. “Dude, I’ve been pining after you since the day we met.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am so serious. I mean, I didn’t realize I was until we visited Liz and the kids last week, but yeah. Though to be fair,” he continued, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “At first it was purely… y’know, physical. A ‘oh no he’s hot’ kinda thing. And I liked the banter, a lot. But I think I really, really fell for you when- I think it was a few days after Marv went all supernova on us. Right before Ollie finally came back.”

He reached out, brushing his hand against Cecil’s. He looked wistful. “T’was the first time I heard you say you were sorry. About being an asshole.”

“Hey!”

“What? You were,” Dave laughed, “still kinda are. That’s okay though, you’re our asshole now.”

He sobered up, planting his gaze in Cecil’s eyes with rare intensity. “But seriously. You looked so earnest. I looked at you, and saw you. Really saw you. The version of you that you hide under all that snark and- and ‘oh look at me, I’m a genius slash doctor slash better than everybody else here’…”

“I do not sound like that.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” the former vlogger rolled his eyes playfully. “Still. That uh, that was the moment that did me in, y’know?”

cecil was stunned- he could’ve hit himself. For a man of his genius, he was apparently blind when it came to those things. “I’m a dummkopf, aren’t I.”

David nodded, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. But I kinda like that about you. When you drop the whole ‘cold-hearted science man’ thing and get all confused and clueless. It’s cute.”

The older man felt his ears heat up, resisting the urge to look away. “Don’t call me that.” he grumbled. “That’s not- I’m not-”

“How about you?”

Cecil stopped his muttering, focusing back on the other man. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, like… you being into me. When did that happen?”

Oh.

Cecil looked down, absentmindedly rubbing his calloused hands together as he pondered. This deserved a proper answer. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories wash over him. Phantom images and words passed through his mind as he tried to pinpoint that moment.

“When Ollie came back,” he finally said, “After the whole… debacle.”

Dave made an oof sound. “You mean when he and Mars had an argument, and Ollie disappeared for weeks and spiraled into repressed anger until he almost killed a guy while Mars shut himself away and made the whole house float?”

Cecil groaned; those weeks had been rough on everyone, but he still remembered running himself ragged trying to keep everyone in the mansion from falling apart at the seams. “Yes, that. I wasn’t… present when the situation was sorted out, but Marvin told me how you successfully calmed him down.”

Dave nodded. “Yeah, the whole thing was insane. I still can’t believe you trusted me to go to him at that moment. Then again,” he smirked, “you were pretty concussed. Mars’ a great kid, but he’s got issues.”

“I know.”

“He needs therapy. AND better parents.”

“I know. That’s… kind of related to what I’m trying to tell you here.”

The younger man blinked. “What? Oh, oh, are you finally gonna adopt him?”

Cecil gaped, cheeks flushing in surprised embarrassment. “Was?!”

“I mean,” the other continued, seemingly oblivious to Cecil’s state of unrest, “I already heard him slip up and call you dad once, so I figured-”

“NEIN! Nein, Gott, that’s not what I mean!” the doctor sputtered, hands gesticulating wildly. “Can you just- let me explain? Please?”

David laughed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just teasing ya. That was way too good to pass up. But okay, I’ll shut up now, go ahead.”

Cecil spat out something in his native tongue that Dave didn’t quite catch, then cleared his throat. “Anyway. After all… that, when Oliver eventually came back, and I found him, you and Mars together in the living room…”

Dave’s eyes widened, leaning forward to show he was back to taking Cecil’s words seriously; he knew where he was going with this. He remembered holding the two in his arms, their exhausted sobs still resonating in his ears. Their quivering, trembling hands grabbing his clothes with desperate strength, his shirt growing damp from all the tears they shed.

“When they were at their lowest, when I proved unable to help… you were there for them.” Cecil continued. “They relied on you. Trusted you. And you told them it was alright, that they didn’t have to go through their struggles alone anymore.”

He chuckled, the sound jarring and unfamiliar coming from him. “I can only guess that’s when I started to… feel for you, one might say.”

“Wow.”

“Yes. I admitted it earlier, but before this moment, my opinion of you was somewhat different.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “You thought I was an alcoholic bum, a neglectful father and a bad influence on Mars.”

Cecil cringed at that. “… Not the words I would’ve used, but I guess that is accurate.”

“It’s fine,” the younger man shrugged, “not like it was that far from the truth.”

The German shook his head, the heat progressing down his cheeks. “That’s irrelevant. I’m still sorry I thought so little of you, and hurt your feelings. A few times.”

Dave gasped in pretend shock, his face splitting into a huge grin. “Oh my! Three apologies in the same week? Who are you and what have you done with Dr. Edelheim?”

“Ha-ha,” Cecil rolled his eyes, “very funny. I am being serious.”

“And so am I when I tell you I forgive you. Hell, I wasn’t even mad at you in the first place.”

The doctor opened his mouth, ready to protest once more, but Dave beat him to it with a much more inviting prospect.

“Can I kiss you?”

Cecil’s words died on his tongue, the man taken aback by Dave’s sudden query. “Sorry,” the dad continued, “you just have that look on your face and- I think I’ll go insane if I don’t smother you in affection. Right now.”

The doctor observed David’s face, taking in his words; the man’s eyes were blown wide, shiny with something akin to desire. He was biting on his bottom lip idly, waiting expectantly for Cecil’s response, but searching for any sign of fear or discomfort in the older man.

“…Bedroom.” he blurted out.

“What?”

He flushed; that came out wrong. “I mean- What I meant to say is-” he sputtered, pausing to gain some composure back. “We shouldn’t- do this here. Talking. About things. Feelings. In the middle of the living room, where someone could walk in.”

He grimaced. “Like Aster.”

Dave’s face twisted, nearly perfectly mirroring the other’s expression. “Yeaaah, we def’ don’t want that happening. We’d never hear the end of it.”

He got up, reaching a hand out to Cecil with a small smile. “We can go to my room if you want to, like… talk. Or make out, or whatever.”

Cecil’s heart skipped a beat, anticipation -for what, he wasn’t sure- making him feel lightheaded. He took Dave’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. “Yes.” he said quietly, squeezing the warm hand in his grasp. Steady. “Let’s talk.”

#moirai au #schneeplebro #docaverage #david #cecil #davil #arc 5: the orator

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