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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 3 years

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Here’s a silly little thing I did on request for @crunadh for the prompt “Healing”. What if love has actually healing powers – or at least Geralt believes it does?

2.183 words, Rated T, read under the cut or on AO3

"Oh. Oh! Yeah, right there. Go ahead, uh... don't stop... a little harder..."

"You're embarrassing," Emhyr muttered, but he actually didn't stop. His hands vigorously kneaded Geralt's back, and the latter's muscles responded to it like butter to sunshine.

"The word you're looking for is enthusiastic," Geralt replied with a groan. "Who knew you were so good at it? You're a natural. Oh, yeah, right there!"

"We have servants for that sort of thing," Emhyr returned.

But he still didn't stop. His fingers squeezed with just the proper hardness to relieve all the tension his spouse had gotten after his training. The same had probably been right by stating that even a horse needed regular exercise and that he needed to resume it. The comparison seemed somehow indecent to Emhyr, but in the end, it was probably apt – a witcher without exercise was useless, and if he had to compare it to anything, it was perhaps to a well-trained soldier, whose skills would rust without regular training. Oh, all these comparisons were useless because in front of him on the bed, completely naked and with tangled hair, lay his husband, and he knew exactly what this sight did to him.

"That's right," smirked the latter now. "But you like it. You like it so much that you..."

He uttered the last words in Nilfgaardian, another thing he had begun to practice again lately. This earned him a hearty slap on the backside.

"Your pronunciation of arse leaves much to be desired."

"Maybe so, but you have healing hands," Geralt growled delightedly underneath him. "You will find..."

He suddenly fell silent. Emhyr, who had noticed that even Geralt's buttocks were tense and had begun to loosen them with a vigorous kneading, asked irritably, "What?"

Deft as a snake, Geralt wriggled around under Emhyr's dexterous hands, accidentally presenting a first success of the latter's efforts.

"You know," he said, unusually serious, "you actually have the ability to make me feel better when you touch me."

Emhyr snorted. If there was one thing Geralt was not, it was romantic; and he had not for a moment supposed that this desire for a post-exercise massage had any meaning other than a new form of foreplay that his witcher loved so passionately.

"It's true," Geralt protested, "healing hands."

"Oh, really?"

Emhyr thought this was nothing more than a strange but somehow cute form of dirty talking, and wordlessly he brushed off his dressing gown.

Geralt's eyes lit up on his reply, "Let me show you what these hands can heal."

-:¦:-

A few days later, their breakfast was graced by Ciri's presence, who was now back in the palace more often and had begun to take a renewed interest in her future duties. Her morning greeting faltered when she noticed Emhyr's left hand resting on one of Geralt's thighs.

"I beseech you, at breakfast? You can't keep pulling the young married couple card all the time."

Geralt merely grinned, but Emhyr, on whose stoic countenance her insolence bounced that morning, calmly brought the teacup to his mouth and took a sip before answering.

"The leg is aching," he simply replied, and Ciri's expression became compassionate.

The effects of multiple fractures and magical healing were more noticeable some days than others, she knew this, and so Ciri asked with interest, "And that helps?"

"Sometimes," Geralt said. Then he grinned again. "I've told your father before that he has healing hands, but he won't hear of it."

Ciri screwed up her face as if he had made a dirty joke, but then she suddenly mused, "You know, there might even be something to it. I once read about how lovers can actually develop healing abilities when they interact with each other."

"That's nonsense," said Triss, who had just entered the room.

"Well, in this case, I guess you can talk about relief as a priority, but what if there's something to it? Love can release endorphins..."

"Healing is due to the body's own substances, which can be triggered with magic, but certainly not by love," Triss said, and thereupon a somewhat heated discussion broke out between the two, which soon encompassed utterly different topics.

-:¦:-

The matter was forgotten for a while as everyday life had a grip on them, but like flashlights, it brought itself back to mind repeatedly. Such as when Emhyr – which, given his idiosyncrasy of often poring over papers in an uncomfortable pose until late at night occurred not so rarely – experienced a headache. Geralt, who had already tried in vain hours ago to lure him away from this work to get some rest, had put his hands on his husband's cramped shoulders, pressed a kiss on the back of his head, and looked over his shoulders.

"That can wait until tomorrow," he said firmly.

And Emhyr, quite contrary to his habits of not being distracted from a task, had actually put down the quill, laid back his head, and let his spouse handle his shoulders. Geralt had to think of the countless times Emhyr's presence, his touch, the mere feeling of his hands in his had given him a sense of relief.

"There is something to it after all," he said thoughtfully.

"Hmm?"

"Healing hands," Geralt replied, "What if that really works? On both sides?"

"Don't be silly. There's nothing healing about it. Your fingers just happen to rest on neuralgic points and cut off the pain supply, that's science, Geralt."

Despite the pretentious tone, Geralt had heard exactly the essential point from these words. He leaned over, nuzzled his cheek against Emhyr's, and whispered, "That means you don't have a headache anymore?"

Emhyr looked at him in surprise but had to silently admit that this was true. And he, too, remembered countless occasions when it had been this way – Geralt had a talent for making a difference with a single touch, and no doubt it was the same the other way around. It was intuitive, something neither of them had ever consciously thought about. The soothing effect of a hand, even fleetingly placed on tense muscles. Fingers intertwined, untangling strained thoughts. A firm stroke over the back after a nightmare. The gentle touch on temples that were taut from endless brooding. As Geralt had said: the ability to make the other person feel better just by touching them. He had to admit that there was indeed something curative about it.

-:¦:-

The implications of these findings, if taken seriously, were remarkable. They both mulled over these considerations without actually talking about it, and almost unconsciously, the mutual touching increased. If the reason they were doing each other well with this was their mutual affection, it only seemed to strengthen it. In other words, Geralt and Emhyr could not keep their hands off each other. As if to regularly reassure themselves that their touches had the desired effect, they touched each other more and more frequently. It was undoubtedly an exciting boost for their love life, which had never suffered from too little attention, but now reached unexpected new heights. It almost seemed as if they wanted to combine true love's kiss with true love's touch, but if they were enchanted, this spell could not be broken.

Although they had rarely hidden their affection, it seemed even more apparent now, and they were seen holding hands in the palace more often than before. It seemed to lift the general mood. As far as Emhyr was concerned, it would have been an exaggeration to say that he displayed certain contentment. But overall, everything seemed as bright and rosy as it should be for newlyweds.

Nevertheless, everyday difficulties had not disappeared, as became apparent one day when Ciri accompanied a limping and cursing Geralt to the infirmary set up by Triss. They had been hunting together – a concession they had both wrested from Emhyr, for Ciri, too, needed a balance to the duties she had, after all, voluntarily accepted. It quickly became clear that this balance could not be found in the ever languishing Movran Voorhis, which had led to some disagreements and the latter's near resignation. After those waters were smoothed, Emhyr had agreed, to the astonishment of both Ciri and Geralt, that she could occasionally accompany him when he took on a contract – nothing too dangerous, nonetheless.

This time, something had gone wrong, and it was only thanks to Ciri's quick intervention that Geralt escaped with a dislocated kneecap and a broken arm, while she herself only suffered a few scrapes. As always, Emhyr had been notified immediately, and he watched the treatment of his court sorceress with a wary eye, holding Geralt's hand.

Ciri, observing that Geralt apparently used the touch to nearly break his spouse's hand between a string of juicy curses, which the latter stoically accepted, said at one point in surprise, "Say, you two, you didn't really take that seriously, did you?"

"What?"

"Me, rambling on about the healing power of love the other day. I was just teasing you, but apparently, I started a little something..."

Triss, who had just conjured up a magical ointment for the re-set kneecap with flowing hand movements, looked up at Ciri and replied, "Well, I for one took it seriously."

As all eyes turned to her, the sorceress could not prevent a certain blush from shooting into her cheeks.

"What? It's not so far off, even though I was skeptical at first. So if you were just making it up, Ciri, you were amazingly clairvoyant. Love may release hormones that can relieve pain, among other things – so, for instance, with a touch."

To everyone's surprise, Geralt started laughing, and even Emhyr showed a slight smile.

"It's clear you were messing with us," Geralt said to Ciri. "However, I have to admit; there was something rather stimulating about the idea..."

"Oh please, don't elaborate," Ciri moaned with a disgusted expression. "If I had known that you would become the purest lovebirds after this…"

"I guess you fell into your own trap there, girl," Emhyr opined. "When apparently it can be scientifically proven that there is some truth to your love theory."

"I didn't say anything about it being scientific," Triss interjected. "There are only a few writings by physicians on this."

"Doctors aren't scientific enough for the sorceress, that's it," Geralt sneered but quickly regretted it when she turned to treat his arm.

"We can test out which one you prefer," she replied calmly. "Traditional splinting of the bone as done by barber-surgeons, often with little accuracy, wraps of dubious hygiene and at most weekly dressing changes, as recommended in the now obsolete but still used publication Osseous Therapeuticus. In the meantime, you can try a lot of loving affection; it allegedly promotes the healing process and, in some cases, shortens it. However, some report that the pain is a bit detrimental to libido. Or we might do it my way. That hurts, too, but instead of hoping for a dubious result for about two months, you can move your arm again without any problems in a week. I still recommend holding hands with the other arm, though. "

The others stared at her, speechless, until Geralt, feeling quite powerless at the moment, finally inquired, "You made that book up, didn't you?"

Emhyr, on the other hand, stated, "In this case, I trust entirely in the healing abilities of truly competent hands," which, of course, settled the matter.

-:¦:-

That evening, however, when they were alone, and it was up to him to take care of his spouse, which essentially consisted of making him comfortable, Geralt couldn't help but remark, "And I still think there's something to it."

"Well," Emyhr commented rather dryly, "it's obviously some dubious science, but this thing about releasing hormones..."

"Not that," Geralt interrupted him. "It's only logical; you can find some writings about it at Kaer Morhen, though these days they might not be considered particularly ethical. Still, I think the idea that true love can heal..."

"That wasn't what Ciri was implying," Emhyr interrupted him, frowning. "Hold on. You knew about this hormone thing and all that all along? But you tried to make me believe in the power of love?"

Geralt made a somewhat embarrassed impression. Emhyr raised his brows – which, depending on his mood, could mean anything from mockery to skepticism to blatant rejection. This time, however, it was something else.

"I would consider that a touch of romance; however, I suspect you had some baser instincts."

With one arm in a sling, Geralt's shrug turned out a bit awkward.

"Well, it worked," he returned. "You were very affectionate lately."

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard lately," Emhyr blurted. "You don't think there would have been any other way to achieve this.... aim?"

"Oh yes, certainly," Geralt admitted bluntly. "But it was more fun that way. And healing it was in any case."

"You're such an idiot," Emhyr muttered, shaking his head. "Why do you think it was healing?"

Geralt grinned, and Emhyr instantly regretted his question.

"Sexual healing."

#writing #fanfiction #Emhyr x Geralt #Geralt x Emhyr #Emralt #Witcher 3 Fanfiction #Witcher fanfiction #Rarepair #The Witcher Rarepair

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chasholidays · 5 years

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Alright, we'll try this one more time. Timestamp for "So Much For Bagels" (because it always makes me laugh), with the prompt word being "worst", because Britta is the worst.

Original fic here!

For the last couple of years, every time his sister bugged him about not having a significant other, Bellamy just said that he was too busy.

Octavia, being a brat whom he raised himself for most of her life, always promptly said that was bullshit, and he’d known she was pretty much right. It was an excuse he carted out when he didn’t want to engage with her criticisms of his life, nothing that actually worried him. He was busy, of course, but he was the same kind of busy he always had been, where he worked too much and had school and fit socializing and his own happiness into the cracks between obligations when he could. But he’d done that with relationships before, too, and he figured he could again, if he got one. He just wasn’t really looking.

So at every step, Clarke is a surprise. He noticed her first in the absent way he notices attractive customers, an absent recognition that turned into familiarity as she came in more and more often. When he started talking to her, he hadn’t thought anything would come of it, but somehow they fell into an easy rapport. He’d wanted to see more of her however he could, so he’d asked her for help with decorations, but he hadn’t had a next step from there.

He certainly hadn’t thought about the reality of dating her, or what kind of time commitment it would involve. After all, it wasn’t as if he was expecting her to reveal she was one of the podcast’s handful of regular listeners, and once she had, he wasn’t going to not date her. Even if she hadn’t liked his podcast, he would have been tripping over himself to make that happen. The podcast thing is just the icing on the cake.

It’s just that it’s been a while since he had an actual relationship to plan around, and it’s hard to remember how that balance works. For all he jokes around, the podcast does have an audience, and he does care about it. He wants to keep it coming out on schedule, but there’s also no way he’s going to sacrifice an actual relationship with an actual cute girl because he’s, well, recording a podcast. That would be really, deeply sad.

“So I think we should switch to recording on Thursdays,” he tells Miller. The weirdest thing, hands down, about doing a podcast now is that he talks to Miller on the phone, on a regular basis. Not just for the recording, but to coordinate and figure out scheduling. He might actually be getting comfortable on the phone.

Or at least the phone to Miller. He’s not getting carried away.

“It’s going that well with the girl?” he asks.

Bellamy rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want to jinx it, but yeah. I like her, it’s going well, and she’s usually free on Saturdays, so–”

“So why Thursdays?”

“I don’t have class and she can do her weekly skype with her best friend then.”

There’s a long pause, and Bellamy forces himself to keep quiet, to not make excuses. He’s asking for a pretty normal thing here, and if Clarke wasn’t involved and he’d just changed his class schedule or something, it wouldn’t even be noteworthy.

“Thursday works,” Miller says, finally. “I’m just wondering if you know what you’re doing.”

“What is there to know? I’m going out with a girl. Rescheduling the podcast isn’t some huge thing. If we break up we can just switch back.”

“I just feel like kind of an asshole.”

“Yeah, you’re the worst,” says Bellamy, kneejerk, before he fits the words into context. Or tries to, anyway. “Wait, what? Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Glad you caught up.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anything about her on the show. I thought I was just fucking with you. Now it’s a thing on the record.”

“Dude, no. If you hadn’t said anything she wouldn’t know it was me. I owe you for that.”

Another long pause, and then Miller asks, “Am I an asshole if I want to keep doing it?”

“Keep doing what?”

“People wanted to hear more about the girl. It could be, like, a subplot on the show. Bellamy’s romance.”

“It’s not going to be a very interesting subplot. Either it goes well and there isn’t much to say, or it goes badly and there isn’t much to say. But feel free to tell people I’m rescheduling for date night, that’s fine.”

“Maybe check with your girlfriend first.”

The word sends a thrill through him; it doesn’t feel quite real yet. She is his girlfriend, but it’s only been a few weeks, and it still feels a little cocky to be acting like it’s going anywhere. He tries not to believe in jinxes, but everyone believes in jinxes, a little bit. And thinking too much about how great his girlfriend is definitely feels like it’s going to bite him in the ass.

“I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for rescheduling, sorry you don’t have Saturday-night plans anymore. I know that makes you feel like a loser.”

“Yeah, fuck you too. Can’t believe you got a social life.”

“Maybe I’m the worst. Talk to you on Thursday?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

Bellamy doesn’t really think it’s true, obviously. But he does feel, a little bit, like he might actually be the worst.

“Or maybe you just don’t know how to be happy,” he mutters, and goes to get his reading.

Bellamy and Miller got to be friends in college, but they fell out of touch after school finished, largely because roughly a week before graduation, Bellamy’s mother died and he dropped off the map to take care of his sister. It hadn’t been a deliberate choice, but he had an angry fifteen-year-old dependent who was trying to get herself emancipated with no clear next plan after that, and he’d been trying to convince her that they make it as a family unit. Which they had, but he hadn’t emerged from that until Octavia was nineteen with a job she liked and capable of paying her own rent, at which point he barely even knew where he was, let alone who his friends were.

He’d called Miller then, once the dust had settled, and it was like no time had passed. He moved to Seattle and paid a smaller proportion of rent, and they lived together until Bellamy figured out how to finance grad school in North Carolina.

“You better not disappear again,” Miller had said, and they’d agreed to do the podcast, to keep in touch and because Bellamy had been looking for an excuse to rewatch some 90s sci-fi.

Even without the bonus girlfriend, it would have been a good choice, but when Clarke texts him on Wednesday night and asks if he’s free to come to her place and watch Babylon 5, it’s like discovering a new and very pathetic kink. He was stupidly into this girl before the podcast thing happened, he didn’t need this. And he especially doesn’t need this when he’s got classes and work and more work, when last-minute plans are so difficult.

In an ideal world, he’d have so much time to get to know Clarke. As it is, one night for podcast and one for date already feels like an indulgence he can’t quite afford.

His phone chimes again as he’s trying to figure out how to say “I really want to but I also I have so much homework to do so I can’t,” and he smiles when he sees the text: you can bring your homework, I won’t be offended.

It’s still a bad idea, but one he can’t talk himself out of it. It’s only been a few weeks of his dating Clarke, and he’s still at that stage where he can’t get enough of her. He looks forward to seeing her for just a few minutes when he’s working in the morning, and he’s been waiting for Saturday with an anticipation that’s almost stupid.

He can see why Miller’s fretting, can come up with a list of reasons this is a situation for his best friend to distrust, especially long distance. It does feel like the start of a major shift in his life, even more than grad school. He’s a little nervous too.

Then again, it’s probably at least half excitement.

Clarke buzzes him up as soon as he arrives, greets him at her apartment door in a tank top and pajama pants, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. It’s a cozy look, one he couldn’t get away with in winter with his shitty heat, and just looking at her makes him ache with strange longing. He knows it’s usually like this, in the early stages of infatuation, but that doesn’t make him any less infatuated.

“I figured you wouldn’t mind if I went casual.”

“I don’t.” He leans down for a kiss. “I really did bring my homework.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but her expression is pleased. “I wouldn’t have told you to if I was going to be mad that you did. You’ve seen the episodes before anyway, it’s not like you need to pay attention. You want pizza for dinner?”

“Please.”

“Now? Or wait an episode?”

“Either way.”

They get set up on the couch, Bellamy with his books and laptop and Clarke with a glass of wine, but they don’t get started right away. She’s ordering pizza and he’s busy watching her, and as soon as the order is in, she snuggles into his side.

“Recording tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Miller didn’t mind?”

He pauses, debating with himself how honest to be with her. They’re in this weird stage of intimacy where they’ve known each other for a while but still don’t actually know each other that well. She’s easy to trust, easy to feel comfortable with.

So he tells her the truth. “I think he’s a little worried that if I get a girlfriend, I’ll stop doing the podcast.”

“Really?”

“I’m busy, he gets that. But I think he thinks that the podcast is probably my lowest priority.”

“I guess I can see that.” She makes a face. “I want to ask if it’s true, but it feels like fishing for compliments. I’m not expecting you to tell me I’m all you care about anything. I like the podcast.”

“If you didn’t know about it, I’d be worried.” He shoots her a grin. “Now that you know I’m not actually cool, it’s easier. I can just tell you I need to record. And you don’t mind hanging out while I do it.”

“So, you’re not trying to impress me anymore? That’s what I’m hearing.”

“You’re wearing pajamas, so I figure it’s mutual. Not that I mind,” he adds, quick.

Clarke does something with her shoulders that makes it look like her breasts are going to spill out of her top, which is the best party trick ever. “I figured this was a pretty good look.”

“It’s really working for you, yeah.” He settles more comfortably onto the couch. “If I got much busier, I’d probably have to scale the podcast back to every other week, but I’d still do it. And I’d still try to call Miller once a week.”

Clarke’s smile is a little sad. “I do get it. I’m already having trouble keeping in touch with people.”

“So you skype with Wells, I do a podcast with Miller, and we both have at least one other friend.”

“Realistic goals,” she agrees. “Tough, but not totally unattainable.” She leans against his shoulder. “I assumed you had grad school friends. Some kind of social life.”

“You know what you get for assuming.”

“We’re definitely both asses. But really, you don’t get along with your classmates?”

“No, I do. Most of them, anyway. There are a couple asshole white dudes who think they already know everything, but other than that, they’re pretty cool. But I mostly see them in class and for projects, we just don’t hang out much. I do get invited to parties, though. Sometimes I even go.”

“So you’re definitely ahead of me.”

“Social ineptitude isn’t a competition, Clarke.”

“Not with that attitude it’s not.”

He grins. “Now that we’re dating, you have to come to parties with me. You get a social life, I get a plus one.”

“I’m good with that.” Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “I’m not in the middle of an epic love story, am I?”

“Uh, I don’t know. We’ve been on like three dates, so–”

That makes her laugh. “Not you and me. You and Miller. Is this a thing where he’s in love with you and jealous of me?”

“Oh.” He shakes his head, laughing too. “No, definitely not. But I disappeared for a while after college, so I think he’s always ready for me to disappear again.”

“I think I’m doing that now,” Clarke admits. “But it’s more–I realized I wasn’t actually that close to a lot of people. I talk to Wells and Monty, and Lexa sometimes, but mostly–” She shrugs. “It was a proximity thing.”

“Does it really bother you? Not having more friends?”

“It doesn’t bother me as much as it feels like it should bother me? Like, I don’t mind, but I probably should.”

“Yeah, I know how that is.”

“You were my only attempt at a social life and I’m doing well with that so far, so I feel like I should quit while I’m ahead.”

“That was you trying to have a social life?” he teases. “Coming into a bagel place?”

She giggles. “Baggle.”

“Shut up.”

“Why would you work at a bagel store if you can’t say bagel?”

“I just said it. Stop changing the subject.”

“I was talking to you! We were definitely becoming friends. You told Miller about me.”

“We were.” He nudges her. “Start the show, I need to read.”

She puts her feet up, cuddles into his side, and turns on the TV. It’s so cozy, he almost can’t stand it. “Thanks for coming over,” she says. “I know you’re busy.”

“No problem.” He kisses her hair. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I can’t believe I found out you have a girlfriend from your podcast!”

Bellamy blinks, frowns. Octavia is glaring at him from his computer screen, but there’s a smile playing on her lips too, like she can’t quite maintain her annoyance in the face of his genuine confusion.

“I can’t believe you listen to my podcast,” he admits.

“I mean, I do it on, like, three times speed, you guys talk so much. But I like hearing you and Miller shit-talk each other. Come on, girlfriend? What’s up with that?”

“I thought you wanted me to date more.”

“I did, but I didn’t think you’d do it. You met her at work?”

“Yeah. She’s a regular.”

“More information, Bell. What’s her name? What does she do? Does she really like your podcast?”

“You can’t actually get judgey about people liking my podcast, apparently you listen to it too.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Her name is Clarke. She’s twenty-three, moved here after she finished college. She works at the walk-in clinic around the corner doing billing stuff while she figures out if she wants to go to med school.”

“And she likes you?”

“Apparently, yeah.”

“What do you like about her? You’re not exactly blowing me away here.”

He smiles. “I didn’t think I was on trial, O. She’s cool, she’s smart, she takes stuff way too seriously, but in a good way. It’s cute. I don’t know, I just like her. I’ve got a good feeling about her.”

For a second, he thinks the video has frozen, but then he realizes his sister is just staring at him. “Wow, you really like her, huh?”

“It’s still pretty new, but so far, yeah. I wouldn’t be dating her if I didn’t like her,” he adds, with a teasing smile. “Dating people you like is the goal.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve seen you on dates before, remember? Or after them, I guess. You’re always trying to talk yourself out of liking people, not just letting yourself do it. Optimism is a new look on you.”

His stomach twists. “It might not surprise you to hear that I wasn’t really looking for a relationship when you were living with me.”

“Shocker.”

“I had a lot going on. And it wasn’t hard to come up with reasons not to date.”

“And now you don’t have an excuse?”

The response is so automatic that he’s almost agreeing before his brain catches up and he actually starts thinking. He has plenty of good excuses to not date Clarke. Even without trying to come up with a list of character flaws, he’s just as busy these days as he was when he was taking care of his sister.

He’s never had much time, but it’s not hard to want to make room for Clarke. He doesn’t even have to try.

“I have plenty,” he says. “If I didn’t want to date her, I wouldn’t be dating her.”

“So, like I said, you really like her.”

He shrugs, but it’s not nearly as casual as he wants it to be. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You’re not in love with me, right?”

“You should save the high-impact questions for when we’re recording,” Miller says, absent. “What?”

“Clarke asked, I figured I should just double check.”

“What the fuck did you say to make your girlfriend think I was in love with you?” he demands. It’s not often that Bellamy wishes they did facetime calls, but he’s pretty sure Miller’s face right now would be worth a thousand words.

“You were being weird about the whole thing, I told her. I guess she figured it was maybe secret jealousy.”

“Not secret,” Miller says, to his surprise. “I’m not pining away or anything, definitely wouldn’t ever fuck you again, but I am a little jealous. Friend jealous.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it. But when you left, it wasn’t like I had this whole awesome social circle to fall back on.”

“Clarke really does have a cute friend in Seattle. I could give you his number.”

“Because that wouldn’t be weird.”

“Up to you. If me and Clarke last, we’ll visit eventually, and then we can introduce you guys. But that could take a while.”

“I’ll think about it.” He sighs. “It’s not a big deal, I’m not upset you’re dating or anything. Just feeling kind of at loose ends, you know?”

“I know, yeah. It’s not like having a girlfriend means my whole life is fixed now. I’m still broke and not sleeping enough and working all the time. Just with a girlfriend.”

“And I’m happy for you. But–”

He doesn’t have the words, but Bellamy does get it. He’s been happy for someone and envious at the same time. It’s just a part of life. “You’re still my best friend. It’s not going to be like when my mom died again.”

“Good. Because you get a pass when it’s something shitty, but when you disappear because your life gets good, that’s when we’re done.”

“Yeah, I can’t really argue with that.”

Miller clears his throat. “Okay, that sucked. We done? Feelings time over?”

“I still have feelings. You’re my best friend and I love you.”

“You’re the worst. You ready to talk about alien dicks?”

Bellamy grins. “Always.”

The timing issue remains, but it doesn’t actually come to a head until mid-March, right before midterms. It would have always been a busy time, but between the podcast and Clarke and his desire to not have either the podcast or Clarke compete with each other, he missed the rest of his life snowballing.

He’s at work on a Saturday when he gets a text from Clarke, asking what he wants to do for dinner, and has a minor breakdown when he thinks about all the shit he has to get done before spring break. He has papers, a couple tests, a presentation, and he’s picking up extra shifts because he and Clarke are going to Seattle to visit Miller for a week, which is simultaneously really exciting and already stressful in terms of lost revenue. He doesn’t get vacation time like Clarke does, and while intellectually he knows he can afford it, the lizard part of his brain that remembers going hungry is telling him to pick up all the hours he can before he goes.

Me: Fuck I totally forgotI have so much shit to doI have no ideaAnythingNothingIDK

She doesn’t respond before the next big rush comes in, but when she still hasn’t said anything by the time it’s died down, he starts to worry. Clarke’s always been understanding of his schedule, never given him any reason to feel like he can’t be honest with her, but that doesn’t mean he has always been honest with her. Knowing you can tell someone something and actually telling them are two different things, and he hasn’t wanted to share about his stress levels lately.

She probably noticed, she’s probably hurt, she’s probably going to break up with him because–

“How close are you to pulling your own hair out?”

He startles up to see Clarke smiling at him from across the counter. She’s got her laptop bag on her shoulder and she’s wearing her glasses, a clear sign that she’s planning to stay for a while, and his own face contorts in confusion.

“What?”

“I could feel the stress radiating off your text. What happened?”

“I realized midterms are next week and I’ve been working too much to study. I don’t know if I can–”

“Is hanging out with me going to be too much of a distraction? We can order take out, but I’d like to still see you, if we can make that work.”

“Yeah, of course, I still want to see you.”

Her smile softens. “Actually think about it, Bellamy. I know you want to see me. But if you’re too busy–”

The concern is genuine, so he forces himself to think about it. “We could be in the same place,” he says. “But I need to be really focused on work. Like–barely talking to you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You can sleep over,” she says. “Just sleep, I know you need to be studying. But I just like being around you.”

“I like that too.” He sighs. “Honestly? I need to think about it. You might be too much of a distraction from studying. I just started thinking about how much I have to do before we go to Seattle.”

“Okay,” she says. “Think about it, you can tell me after your shift is over. I want a poppy bagel with veggie cream cheese to eat while I watch DS9. And a cookie.”

“I love you,” he says, without thinking, but she smiles.

“I love you too. Ring me up for the bagel.”

“That’s it?”

“Do you want it to be a bigger deal? You’re my boyfriend, I love you. I’m glad you love me too. We can talk about it after midterms.”

He leans across the counter to kiss her. “I’ll come get you when I’m done with work?”

“Sounds good. Try not to stress too much.”

“I’ll try,” he teases. “But no promises.”

“Don’t worry, I know.”

He watches her on and off for the next few hours, as he’s waiting for his shift to be done. She doesn’t come back up to buy anything else, but she stretches the cookie out, nibbling slowly as she watches an episode of DS9 and then switches to typing something. He does love her, it’s not news, but it still feels heavy to have the words out there.

A nice kind of heavy, though, like those weighted blankets people have. The comforting knowledge that he doesn’t have to worry about saying it, or about Clarke not saying it back.

He’s on the closing shift alone, so once the doors are closed Clarke rises to help, taking the broom and starting to sweep the floor without comment.

“You know I like just–having someone, right?” she finally asks, into the silence. “I don’t need you to be focused on just me. I like being around you. If you need to do homework, you can do it at my place. I thought you got that.”

“Okay, yeah. But–I don’t know. Reading while we watch TV is fine, I don’t want to be working on a paper on your couch and totally ignoring you.”

“Why not?” He frowns, and she clarifies. “What part of that sounds bad?”

“Ignoring you while we’re on a date?”

“So it’s not a date. We were ignoring each other all afternoon and it was fine, right?”

“I was working.”

“Like you will be tonight?”

He rubs his face. “It’s stupid.”

“Yeah, it is.” He glares, and she grins. “Sorry, was I supposed to lie?”

“No, go ahead, tell me how stupid I am.”

“You’re not stupid, just–whatever reason you have for thinking it’s worse to do your homework when I’m around than it is to do something else is definitely stupid.”

“When you put it like that.”

“I was kind of getting the impression that you were in your head about all this stuff,” she offers. “And I thought you were going to get yourself out of it, but–”

“But I didn’t, so you’re going to help?”

“I’m going to try.”

“In my head is a pretty good way to put it,” he admits. “I think–I got worried about not being fair. Miller needed time just for him, so I felt like I had to keep everything in compartments. School time, Miller time, Clarke time.”

“I get that,” she says. “And for Miller, it makes sense. You guys can’t really just–exist in the same space. But I don’t need to be in my own category. I want to get along with the other parts of your life.”

“You do.” His mouth twitches. “So, you want to hang out with me while I stress out about homework?”

“Wouldn’t you want to hang out with me while I did homework?”

It’s another one of those questions that’s so simple, he feels stupid for not realizing the answer sooner. But he’s always had trouble believing people like him as much as he likes them. It’s part of why he and Miller have so much trouble; he hadn’t thought Miller would even notice when he disappeared, and Miller thinks it meant he didn’t care.

“I’m the worst,” he says, with a smile. It’s the first thing Miller told him when he called after the whole Octavia thing, and it’s always meant you’re forgiven, in his book. Water under the bridge. “Let’s get takeout and I’ll work on my paper at your place.”

She smiles, tugs him down for a kiss. “You’re the best,” he says, and he brushes his nose against hers.

“Working on it, anyway. Getting better every day.”

Miller isn’t quite that nice when they get to Seattle the next week, but he hugs Bellamy, hard and tight, and says, “You look terrible, asshole,” and Bellamy kisses his temple.

“Right back at you, dick,” he says, and that basically means the same thing.

They’re awesome.

#thenotcanadian

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