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Gorgug found a lot of situations awkward, but mostly because other people tended to find spending time around him awkward, and he didn’t feel the same way about them, which in turn made him feel more awkward than he would have had he just felt awkward in the first place. Spending time with the Bad Kids had grown into a reprieve from those emotions, but he never fully escaped them. So, being around Aelwyn wasn’t much of a bother for him, no more so than most other things.
Aelwyn, for her part, seemed even more intensely uncomfortable with him than most people did. He didn’t remember doing anything to upset her. They’d spent almost no time one-on-one—never more than a quick greeting exchanged at the front door of Mordred Manor, or a goodbye if Gorgug was the last to leave. He was always, he thought, polite to her. Or, he tried to be. She frequently made it her mission to escape any interaction with him as quickly as possible. Gorgug tried to justify it by saying she hadn’t been at Mordred Manor long, and getting used to it after everything that had happened to her would make anyone overwhelmed. And sure, he could be loud sometimes, and he took up a lot of space …
But, still.
Some tiny, buried part of him was hurt by it.
No more than that same, tiny, deeply buried, hidden part of him was hurt by most everything. Gorgug, despite his size and appearance and his frenzied rage, despite his rock star career and all the bloodshed he’d seen and caused, got a lot of shit for being sensitive. He thought that even those people didn’t know how deep it really went.
Gorgug tensed, then quickly relaxed himself as Aelwyn stepped into the kitchen, saw him, and froze. He tried to put on a pleasant smile, nodding his head in greeting. His schoolwork was spread around the kitchen table, because, for perhaps the first time, Mordred Manor was the quietest place to be. His parents were working on some new contraption so loudly that even his headphones couldn’t drown it out, and all the Bad Kids were taking a rare trip without him (he’d been invited, of course, but saw the opportunity for a chill day and grabbed it with gusto). He was planning on hanging out with Zelda after he’d finished working on his school project, but for the moment, it was just him, some textbooks, and a mostly empty house.
Empty, it seemed, except for Aelwyn.
Finger rising to point behind her, back up the stairs towards her bedroom, she stumbled through a “Sorry, I didn’t- I was coming down for some- if you’re busy, I’ll just—”
“Oh, you’re fine,” Gorgug quickly added in, hands gathering on his lap. “You won’t bother me, I promise. Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was home.”
“Neither did I,” Aelwyn said, sounding almost defensive.
“Just coming down for some lunch?”
A slightly panicked look overtook Aelwyn’s face as her eyes darted towards the clock on the wall. “Um. Yes. Lunch.”
“Do you need any help?”
Her eyes snapped back to him. “… Help?”
“Yeah,” Gorgug said slowly. “With, like … cooking or anything? I know you’re still finding your way around the kitchen.”
She bristled slightly. Gorgug got the feeling he’d misspoken, but didn’t know why. “No, I’m fine.”
Turning away, she started to putter around, shoulders stiff beneath the straps of her tank top and taking every opportunity not to face him. Resting his cheek on his fist, Gorgug idly glanced over his notes. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea or not, but, trusting his gut, opened his mouth and said, “If you’re not busy- uh, well- this project is kind of confusing me, and normally I’d ask Adaine, but- it might be helpful to get some input from a magic user. If you don’t mind.”
She spun to face him, a piece of barely toasted bread between her lips. She removed it, chewed slowly, then said, “You want my help?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
She nodded, once. “Sure. No reason why not.”
After gathering the rest of her “lunch”—one piece of toast and a black coffee—she sat at the table across from him. She still wouldn’t look at him, but glanced hurriedly between his papers and books on the table.
“What did you have questions about, then?”
Gorgug shrugged, forehead crinkling. “We’re learning about wild magic barbarians. School has definitely been easier since we got back, but there’s still some stuff that’s tripping me up.” He jolted suddenly, noticing only after how Aelwyn stiffened, but continued on as to not call attention to it. “Oh, wait! Here!”
From his hoodie pocket he produced a big, brightly-colored orange, and sat it on the table between them.
Aelwyn blinked at it.
“For your troubles,” he said in a mock-grand tone, pushing it a little closer.
“Is there—” Aelwyn stopped, face carefully blank. Behind her eyes, it looked like a debate was going on.
“Is there what?”
“-a joke,” she said cautiously, “or something to that effect, about the oranges? People keep bringing them up, and I don’t—” She cut herself off, staring down at the table.
“Oh,” Gorgug said. “Has no one explained them to you?”
A shake of the head, barely enough to count as a motion.
“Well, that was rude of us. Sorry about that. Basically, it started on Leviathan—the pirate city. Fabian had a really bad day, and I was trying to cheer him up, so I found a book in the friendship section of the library—that’s the Compass Points, Ayda’s library—that said you should give oranges to your friends. So, it’s kind of a thing now.”
“Okay, so it’s—” Her face crinkled, smoothed, crinkled again. “You’re showing affection.”
A dopey grin came across his face. “Yeah! Like, okay, yeah- half of it is a joke, but it’s also- it’s the kind of joke that says, ‘hey! I care, and I was thinking about you!’ You know?”
“Okay …” she said again, as if trying to process. “So … why- why are you giving one to me, then?”
The grin dropped. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we—” She stared down at the table, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We aren’t friends.”
He nodded, slow. “No, that’s true. But … I think the best way to make a friend is to just treat them like they already are one. Just to show, like, hey, I like you, I think you’re cool, we can be buds if you want. Like- just put it on the table, and they can pick it up or not.”
The orange sat between them, amidst the scattered papers and pencils and books.
“So, you want us to be friends.”
Gorgug shrugged with one shoulder. “I think it would be cool. Adaine cares about you a lot, so I want you to be comfortable with us. Whether or not that means friends is up to you. I—” His lips twisted around his small tusks. “I kind of get the feeling you don’t like me very much, and if I did anything to cause that I’m really sorry—”
“Please don’t—” Aelwyn cut him off, hands moving to cover her face. Gorgug paused, watching as she took a deep, measured breath. “Please don’t say that. You haven’t done anything.”
“Okay,” he said.
After a few moments, she let her hands fall, placing them very carefully on the table, flat and straight. “You are,” she said, slow, “very kind. And I think that I … I just don’t know what to do with that.”
Silently, Gorgug sat and thought. A flush had spread across Aelwyn’s cheeks as she resolutely did not look at his face. It seemed like she was waiting for something. From what Gorgug knew of her parents, maybe some sort of reprimand—at best a snide comment that she should be able to figure it out.
He shifted, as slowly as he could, just to get some of the tension of his muscles to loosen. “When I first started dating Zelda,” he started quietly, “it was … like, don’t get me wrong, it was really cool, and I was super happy about it, but it also … I mean, it was new. It was just really different than anything I was used to. And even though I was really glad it was happening, it was also- like- terrifying, you know? A lot of the time. Just really scary. I kept thinking I was going to mess it up.”
He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t, so he continued.
“I think, when we’re trying on new types of relationships, a lot of the time it feels really scary at first, just because it’s something we don’t already know. And I think that- like- for wizards and stuff … your job is to know a bunch, so it’s probably a lot worse than it is for a barbarian. Not that relationships and fighting are the same thing, but sometimes people’s minds fall into the same kinds of patterns for different things. Like, sometimes I’ll start thinking like a Bloodrush player if I feel too crowded at the grocery store, you know? Like, how to dodge, where to push through, if I need to watch my back, ready to catch. Just ‘cause I play a lot of Bloodrush, so my brain already thinks like that.”
Aelwyn nodded. She looked distant. Gorgug thought that she probably didn’t notice her hands tracing a faint, blue shield onto the wood of the kitchen table.
“Yeah,” she said, raspy. “That makes sense.”
“Do you think … maybe, if you got used to being around kind people more, it would be something you would like?”
The shield grew a little brighter as her lips twisted.
“I think …” she said, then paused. “They say that kindness begets kindness, but what if … what if people are kind to me, and I just don’t have anything to give back?”
“Do you think that would happen?”
“Don’t know. I’m scared to find out.”
He nodded, brows furrowing. “I mean … when I asked for help with my homework, you said yes. That was kind.”
A sharp sound escaped her, maybe something like a laugh. “I was afraid you’d be disappointed with me if I said no.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
A few moments of silence passed between them, as Gorgug politely tried to avoid looking into her shimmering eyes.
“You know,” he said, “I don’t think it’s likely that what you’re worried about will be true.”
“Oh?” she asked dully.
“Yeah. I mean, kind isn’t something you are or aren’t. It’s … it’s a choice you make. And it’s a choice you make over and over again, and you practice at it, and then it gets easier, like any other skill. And sometimes it’ll be hard or awkward, but one day it’ll start to feel … natural. Just like your shield spell.”
Aelwyn blinked, looked down at the glowing table, and pulled her hands into her lap. Her face flushed darker. “I wouldn’t even know how to start, I don’t think. It’s not like you can read how to be kind in a book. I can’t study.”
“Sure you can,” Gorgug replied. “Not in a book, maybe. I think you just start with, like, noticing how people make you feel? Like, when someone is kind to you, does it make you feel good?”
Her eyes met his, then darted away. Blond brows furrowed as she thought.
“Sometimes,” she admitted. “Other times—most of the time—it’s like … the most terrifying feeling in the whole world.”
“Oh.” He hummed. “Do you know why?”
A pause. Aelwyn swallowed.
“Because, if they’re kind to you … they can always stop.”
Something squeezed in his chest.
“And if … if they stop, then you have to wonder … what did you do to make that happen?”
Bottom lip pulling taught against his tusks, Gorgug’s hands knotted in his lap. Aelwyn clearly regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but Gorgug didn’t want to rush into his response and say anything that would make it worse. It frequently took time for him to translate the feelings and images and abstract notions of his thoughts into words that would make sense to anyone but him. His mind briefly flashed a picture: Aelwyn—not short for an elf, but so small compared to him—dwarfed in his hoodie, an orange in her hands, surrounded by the Bad Kids, all smiling and warm. It was a scene that, whether it happened like that or not, made him feel nice to think about.
“I don’t really think of kindness as a—” He stopped; sighed shortly. “I’m definitely not a philosopher. That’s more Kristen’s whole bag. I’m not in the group for thinking good or knowing a lot. A lot of the times I get angry when I shouldn’t, or I don’t know what to say. But I also spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be a good friend, and how I can do my best to care about people, and how those people want to be cared for. And I think that I- I don’t really think about kindness how other people do. Some people use it as a bludgeon. ‘I’ll be kind as long as you do what I want, but if you don’t, I’ll take it away.’ From what I’ve heard, people in your life were like that.
“For me it’s more … I don’t know. If you’re doing bad things, you should be given the opportunity to stop, and the support to do so. Not everyone will take the chance, but I think a lot of people will. People in my life have. People who are good friends to me now. And kindness isn’t a tool or a weapon or a bargaining chip. It’s a thing you share with people, because you’re both people. Not every bad person would be better if they’d been shown kindness. Some people just fully suck. But … sometimes it’s a place to start. And if we give people more chances to be kind, and show them how, and they can understand why it’s good … I don’t know. I’m rambling, I guess. What I’m trying to say is that if someone stops being kind to you because you didn’t achieve some arbitrary level of perfection they set for you, that’s not really your fault, and I’m sorry you were made to feel like it was. That … that really sucks, man. Everyone is going to mess up sometimes, but it doesn’t mean anyone should take away their basic decency or care. I’m going to be kind to you, because I want to, and if you mess up, that’s okay. And I’m not going to take it away, because I know you’re a person who’s trying. I see that you’re trying. And I’m really proud that you want to be better, even if I don’t know you all that well yet. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.” He paused, brows furrowed as he stared down at the table. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. I just wanted to put all that out there.”
It was a few long moments before he dared to peek up at her face. It was an old, deep-drawn habit to be nervous whenever he showed the soft, squishy insides of his feelings, but he knew, on a logical level, that he didn’t have to be. He didn’t want embarrassment to ever stop him from reaching out and showing vulnerability when someone needed him to. He had boundaries, sure, and he worked hard to express and defend them. But, whenever there was a moment to reach out, and show someone he was just a person, as awkward and messy as that got, and that they could be a person, awkward and messy just the same … well, he would take it. He wouldn’t be Gorgug if he didn’t.
Aelwyn’s expression was a dam. Emotions clearly stormed behind the mask, but it seemed as though she was using everything in her power to hold them at bay. Gorgug wouldn’t have minded for the dam to break. It would probably feel good. Water washing everything away.
To give her a moment, Gorgug stood, grabbed the orange from the table, and moved into the main area of the kitchen. He grabbed a knife from the rack and, slow and quiet, cut the orange in half, and then into slices, just barely joined together by the peel. When he was done, he put them on a small plate—a ceramic one with flowers and little birds that you probably weren’t supposed to actually eat off of—and brought it back to the table. He cleared a little space to set the sliced orange in front of her.
Aelwyn stared down at the plate.
“It’s good,” he said simply, “you should have some.”
With shaking hands, she removed a slice and brought it to her lips.
As her teeth sunk in, thick streams of tears poured down her cheeks.
Gorgug was quiet.
Aelwyn ripped the fruit away from the peel and chewed slowly as more tears flowed like rivers. When she finally managed to swallow, her breath came shaky. She sat the now-empty peel down and slapped a hand over her mouth as a muffled sob came from behind it.
“I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“It’s okay.” Gorgug’s hands rubbed over his pants, wiping away a little bit of damp. “Do you want a hug?”
Her expression further twisted as she turned to blink out the big, bright window. The light from outside made the tears on her face shimmer.
“Okay,” she whispered.
In one motion, Gorgug knelt beside her chair and opened his arms. It was with extreme caution that Aelwyn let herself fall into them. As she shook in his embrace, Gorgug thought about how tiny she was. Not short. Not for an elf, not compared to some members of their group. But he could feel the history of the tower against his muscles. The bumps of her spine, her ribs, the jut of her shoulder blades against her back. He worried if he squeezed too hard, she would fall apart.
He squeezed gently. Just a little bit.
Aelwyn sobbed.
“It’s okay,” he mumbled, one broad, strong hand covering most of her upper back.
“This is what I mean,” she said, shaking and crying. “I don’t know what to say. What do you say? I- I just don’t know.”
He nodded. Her bangs brushed against his neck.
“The next time you go out,” he said, “just buy me an orange. You don’t have to say anything.” He thought about it for a moment, moving his thumb in soft circles. “Hell, you can draw me one. Just with an orange highlighter. Or text me a picture. Take a sticker off a bag at the grocery store. It’s fine. You don’t have to know what to say.”
One hand lifted from his shoulder, and soft words in a language he didn’t know were mumbled against his neck. A moment later, dozens of phantasmal oranges were rolling around their knees, big and bright and there.
Gorgug chuckled, the sound vibrating between them. “Yeah. Yeah, that works, too.”