Nymphea

by azurest

Summary:

Saif and Morgan have a little nighttime picnic < 3

Notes:

u see no typos whatsoever OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Chapter 1

It had been a moment of spontaneity, impulse imperfectly repressed. Saif could admit it partially was rooted in their ongoing curiosity, and a vague, elusive desire to discover more of the man that had quietly endeared himself to them-- over the last month, especially. They could dispense with the excuse that they were doing it out of gratitude, and admit that they simply enjoyed Morgan's company, his soft-spoken reassurances. They could admit to most of it, really, the multitudinous aspects of their piqued interest, but...

They were still having difficulty admitting that this-- the suggestion to take dinner elsewhere, spend the evening under the stars-- was almost entirely because they had begun to miss him.

Seeing him so often while in the hospital, and then again on medical leave... habit could be constructive, and it could also be a hindrance. All that time in which they let themself be comforted by the gentleness of his voice, the careful way he helped in attending to their hair, their wounds... and then over a month spent trying to find something to fill the days with while they were on medical leave, and soon finding their evenings filled with him at their table, long after the sun had set.

Upon returning  this did, of course, change. Saif was no stranger to spending time in the office even after the work day had ended, and without the justification of their medical leave to maintain a perpetual invitation... Well, it had been a bit since they'd spent an evening with him. 

And the urge that struck them led to an invitation that was a bit more daring: the field of wildflowers at the edge of Meteor City, at the precipice of a small valley that overlooked the expanse of the lake. The light pollution was much less an issue there, giving quite the enchanting view of the nighttime sky.

It wasn't a date, even if Saif knew it intrinsically had the setting of one, with cinema-worthy elements in place. It wasn't a date, because the never asked for it to be, and

so, technically, it still had the veneer of a perfectly platonic outing, just as all the ones preceding tonight's were.

They weren't keen on examining why they kept rolling around the idea in their head, denying and reasoning with no one but themself why it had no romantic undertones. They could blame it on Cameron and Cassius for their earnest advice and suggestions-- nice as it had been for them to offer, but now Saif felt self-conscious and uncertain.

Their nerves were riddled with restlessness, which made it difficult for them to even decide on what to wear (they almost went with a shirt made of a shiny satin, before they realized it might've looked like they were trying to impress him) (a velour blouse probably seemed less so. hopefully). Dinner itself was also on their mind, as they had volunteered to prepare it (they might as well, considering how much they've cooked for Morgan at this point; another habit). If they spent a little more time doing up their hair and makeup, despite the fact it'd barely be visible under faint moonlight, that was no one's business but their own.

Despite the underlying anxiousness they felt about the whole thing, Saif quite liked the feeling of trying to be a little forward. They had never been nearly as proactive about anything else in their life, except for, perhaps, the endeavor to move to the other side of the world. Big choices and big changes, or something. 

Saif steps into Morgan's car, basket on their arm, looking glossy from head to toe and smelling like apple and champagne perfume. They could not be more thankful that it was already dark outside, considering the way their cheeks heat up as soon as they settle into the seat-- partially because they feel it's rather obvious that they've put more than a little care into what is supposed to be a casual outing, but then also…

...They already decided to put it out of mind, the conversation from a while ago. It was making them think... they didn't want to think about what it could mean. Whether or not they were ready to dissect how exactly they regarded Morgan, how they felt about him... they just needed to feel it out a bit more.

The night is warmer than it has been for a long time, but still cool enough to be comfortable. It's a welcome anchor to keep them from dwelling on how oddly awkward they feel, even as they try for a very normal, conversational tone. 

"Thank you for indulging me in this." Saif smiles at Morgan, light briefly catching on the rhinestone-laden dangle earrings they wore  when they tilt their head towards him. "I came by this place a handful of times a while ago. It is quite the lovely little place to spend some time."

 

Why is he sweating?

Hands on the steering wheel, gloved and clammy, tapping fingers in a rhythmic blur as if it would help his racing mind stick to some sort of pattern. The music is low in his car, lower than he means for it to be, lower than he probably should have it with such a racing mind like his, but he feels as if the moment he leaves his hands from this steering wheel the grip will never feel the same nor as comfortable as it did at first.

But why was he so worried? So stiff?

Anyone above the age of nine could tell the man was nervous. Hell, even Diane who was often so stuck in her own mind to notice could tell that he wasn’t himself when he visited her earlier that day to drop off a gift. He had just said it was work nerves, she had called him out. Cursed be that young girl’s growing knowledge of his mannerisms.

Perhaps he was nervous about this-- Well, yes, he was nervous about this. Who wouldn’t be if you suddenly got asked for a night under the stars with a person you wanted to care for? It was weird, and the first time that Morgan had been asked to any gathering like this himself. A dinner under the stars, open and in a field.

What are you thinking?

Morgan isn’t sure if he is asking himself or the imaginary Saif that has been dancing on his shoulder for the past month, wth their sweet voice and moments of reassurance.

What was Saif thinking with this? An outing under the stars seemed so picturesque and romantic, a picnic just for two where people could never see them lest they followed them to this field. Were they trying to be romantic? The fleeting glances, the small talks in their apartment when they were on paid health leave and all the dinners made it all seem so blurred in his mind. He was sure Saif was just trying to be kind, after all Morgan had chalked up everything else to be payback for his own kindness, obligated returns and --

Well.

… Pity, to some degree.

Morgan took a deep breath and leaned back in the seat.

And what was he thinking about this. About Saif potentially pitying him so much they hung out with him post work, might taint their image around the office with the knowledge that they had engaged like this with him. Well what first came to mind was shame and distrust, unsure whether or not he was making things worse by doing this and adding more onto their plate, forcing them to hang out with him.

Morgan flexes his hand and grips the steering wheel tighter.

His mind keeps pulling back into the thought of the romantic dinner. Stars, heavens high and far away, with a field so wide and open. Romantic. Pah, what does he know about romance. All he knows is that it hits a cord in your stomach and keeps striking it like a young idol with way too much gusto in their fingers. All he knows about tonight is that it most certainly wasn’t romantic in any sense, that Saif had just shown him kindness and wanted to go here with someone who they could at least trust not to run their mouths about it.

…

But what if it was?

What if it was something with fluttery feelings and honey? What if it was something coated in sugar particles that stung your tongue with sweetness and made your head dizzy and swirl?

Morgan wonders if he dressed well enough for such a thing. He didn’t have a lot of fancier clothing, wearing nothing but a jacket with a simple linen shirt underneath, hand- and self-made embroidery work of a few flowers on the collar that Morgan had worked on over the week to make it extra snazzy. Snazzy-- who even says that anymore. Pants nothing special but certainly not covered by classical cowboy assless chaps; he was embarrassing himself enough already.

Diane had pushed for him to wear his hair down, to which he had finally relented. Wavy hair had a slight curl to it, lightly trimmed alongside with that now more grown in beard of his. He wonders if Saif would like it; after all Morgan always thought they had the nicest hair in the office.

He is immediately snapped out of his thoughts when he hears the car door open and welcome in his co-worker, eyes locking onto Saif in the low light of the car’s ceiling light.

Despite how nice this evening was, Morgan wishes there was more light so he could take them in in all of their glory. It takes a moment, perhaps a bit more, before Morgan finally realizes that to engage with someone you have to talk.

“No worries.” He dryly responds as the scent of their perfume hits his nose and he has to stop for a moment before he makes a comment on it. A nod, and finally a shift in posture as Morgan grabs the key and once more revs the engine, ready to head on out to the fields far far away from every watchful apartment eye. “Well ah hope it lives up to the hype ya are givin’ it now, sounds like a nice place.”

There's a pause as Morgan checks his rear view mirror. Before he looks over at Saif again, like a moth to a flame. 

“Ya look nice.” 

Common courtesy, but there is a way that Morgan says it that robs him of all dignity; honesty lies raw and heavy on his tongue.

 

Despite their nervousness, a smile rises to Saif’s lips, fondness prickling at their chest. Really, it was quite incredible how easily Morgan could make them feel content, and so rooted in the moment. Even if they were currently resolute in not fully examine the reason as to why that was, they had come to terms with that fact all the same 

“Well,” they lean their elbow on the inner console as they speak; another habit formed from days of repetition, “if you decide that it is not as magical as I’ve been making it out to be, I promise to take you somewhere nicer next time.”

They deliberately tried to ignore the subtle implication; after all, there had been a “next time” between the two of them for almost two months now, and so it did not necessarily mean anything in particular. But they still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was– special, somehow, that they’d accidentally let on more than they meant to when they proposed the occasion.

…Even if it was, inarguably, special, if for no other reason than the fact that Saif was quite attached to this little field. It became a sort of getaway, a place for them to go when they needed to clear their head and unwind without the ruckus of everyday life, the city’s constant trill. They had never even mentioned it to anyone before, and now they were taking Morgan along, with warm food and sparkling juice in tow. 

The more they thought about it, the more Saif realized how very obvious it was that they cared a non-negligible amount about this, about him, about the time the spent together. It made them want to cover their face with their hands in embarrassment, but they resisted the urge. They might as well have been a teenager.

The feeling is magnified tenfold when he looks at them, compliments their appearance. They blink, silent and still processing the way he said it: like it meant something, like he noticed.

Saif is sure that were daylight illuminating the car instead of slants of streetlight, he’d be able to see how they go red all over, heat washing over them in a wave as it did. They felt caught out, somehow, as if they had been trying to hide how meticulously they put together their outfit and accessories, their hair… and of course it was obvious; who wouldn’t notice? The whole point of doing it in the first place was so that it would be– and yet they feel faintly mortified all the same. They wondered if he thought they were overdressed, and internally cursed themself for not looking more casual (though Saif hardly ever dressed casually outside of their apartment anyway).

“...Thank you.” They hate how bashful they sound, voice pitched a touch too high from the spark of panic at realizing that almost a minute had passed since Morgan initially spoke.  “You look– very nice too.” 

They could grimace with how obligatory it sounded, but they didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t like they meant it any less either. He did look nice. He always did. They wanted to thread their fingers through his hair a little bit, and the urge had them feeling such a cascade of shame that they had to keep their gaze firmly trained on the window.

Fortunately, they could fill the space between then with directions to the valley. It wasn’t too far a drive, but it was out of the way enough that it took some time to travel. It required a bit of maneuvering, turning from the main road onto dirt ones, and then finishing the rest on foot. 

After they come to a stop at the bottom of a steep hill, Saif exits the car with a deep breath. They felt a tangle of anticipation growing in their gut, like this was supposed to lead up to something, like they were waiting for it, and each minute that ticked away brought the consummation of that premonition closer.

They took a moment to really look at Morgan, now that he wasn’t half-obscured by his position in the driver’s seat. Saif always had an appreciation for his brand of sophistication when it came to his appearance: simple and practical, with no desire to show off, and yet some thing couldn’t help but be rather notable all the same. Among an assortment of other issues that took up a varying amount of space in their mind, trying their hardest not to openly stare at the curve of Morgan’s thighs– fabric always somewhat taut against them– the taper of his waist, the way his shirt hung ever so slightly away from his stomach because of how they fit his chest… 

Try as they might, Saif was not immune to mortal desire. When they lift a hand, only half-aware, to his collar to thumb the embroidered accent there, it is a laudable expression of self-restraint on their part to only do that much.

“This is quite pretty,” they say, sounding distracted. They were half genuinely admirable of the needlework, and half imagining themself pulling it open to expose the rest of his décolletage. If their fingertips, smoothing along the threads as they were, happened to brush against Morgan’s neck in the process, then they didn’t notice (they were pretending not to notice). “You have excellent taste in embellishments.”

Their force their hand back to their side, trying mightily to exercise some amount of normalcy before they stumbled into making him uncomfortable. Saif clears their throat, and nods to the bluff before them. “It is just up there. Come.”

It was a quaint place, the wind picking up over the hills. The sprinkle of lights coming from Meteor City could be seen in the distance, making it, and everything it held, seem so far away, like a different world entirely. It was what Saif liked most about coming here: fleeing without consequence, an easy means of extricating themself from all of life’s pressures, imagining that the only thing that existed was them, the sway of the wildflowers, and the calm of the lake reflecting a canopy of stars.

To be honest, Saif was convinced it was a little anomalous. They hadn’t come at the peak of winter to check for consistency, but they knew that the flowers had been in bloom much too late in the year during Autumn for them to be normal. And it was much too early in the year for them to bloom now either– which makes Saif half worried they’ll be coming upon a field in the midst of its hibernation, and as nice as it’d still be, it wouldn’t be exactly what they had wanted to show Morgan.

But it was: bright blossoms dotting the tall grass, petals unfurled like this was the height of July. Even the scent of the flora was more fragrant than it should’ve been, the delicate scent of lupine and coneflowers on the breeze.

They were quite certain it was anomalous. At least it was harmlessly so.

“Do you like it?” They try for an easygoing tone again, but their unease at what Morgan’s answer might be is betrayed by the way they fidget and fiddle with lose fibers of the wicker basket. They lead him closer to the cliff’s edge, where the lake is more visible, before saying in a mumble, almost to themself, “I’m glad the weather is clear tonight, I would have been so disappointed if I couldn’t show you just how nice it looks out here.”

Saif busies themself with setting up: spreading out the picnic blanket, which was big enough for them to both easily recline, and then carefully arranging the plates, sitting stemless wine glasses on coasters. They brought LED tea lights mostly because they didn’t 100% trust themself to eat or drink anything in complete darkness, but it strikes them as they put them out that it just adds a deeply romantic candlelit notion to the whole thing. They turn their face away so Morgan can’t see them actually wince at the sudden awareness.

They feel so self-conscious about it it’s nauseating; it really felt too much like a date. For a hysterical second they think of turning back to him and asking if they can just call it that, if for no other reason than to cure themself of the guilt that they tricked him into it. Like they managed to deceive him into coming with them as a coworker-slash-friend to what was supposed to be similar to their usual coworker-slash-friend evenings together. It was strange that it felt more personal, more intimate than having him in their apartment, but they also never broke out the candles and fancy dress shirts when he came over either. There was clearly nothing casual about this.

So they might have inadvertently asked him on a date. But it was probably okay to keep that to themself, unless he brought it up. Especially if he didn’t want it to be a date; then they would just be making it weird.

After taking a moment to collect themself, Saif turns back to look at him, feeling like their heart has lodged itself in the base of their throat and was beating erratically there. “Come sit.” They pat the spot next to them, expression still a bit timid. As they make a plate for him, they say, “I was, um… trying a few new things, cooking wise. I hope you enjoy it.”

 

There it is.

Their smile.

Inexplicably simple yet so bright to Morgan. Never had he caught himself staring at someone else’ smile like this before, nor this long for that matter. There was just something about Saif’s smile and face that made Morgan want to study them as if they were a piece of art, yet unlike acrylics and watercolors, he could reach out and study this painting of natures paint-- If the museum that was their mind would allow him to, of course.

Morgan catches himself staring for much longer than he wants to at the curve of their smile, how it presses against their cheek in that small, not too wide way. A hint; a tease. Never did Morgan think something would heat his chest like this, as if he had been shot and everything was spilling out, heart and blood, and soaking his chest in waves. A gross analogy for this sort of feeling, he was sure, but Saif brought out the gross and raw in him that no one else properly could.

When they lean in closer to him Morgan breathes in deep down into his chest, as if a deeper breath would calm his nerves and not fray them with their scent. Alas he was wrong, and the smell of perfume makes his head dizzy and his eyes fall briefly on their earring, down their jaw and onto their neck for just a brief moment. Morgan wonders if they applied it there too. Morgan wonders if he can touch there too.

But his thoughts were way less shocking than what came next.

A next time.

Morgan’s black eyes fall back on Saif’s for a moment as he stares, unsure of what to say. They had done this plenty of times, eaten together, that is, spent an evening or two with each other's company. And yet here he was feeling as if Saif had just proposed something so out of the blue that it might as well be on the other side of the color wheel. Red certainly springs to mind as Morgan calms whatever might seep through his skin and be present. He was always good at keeping a cool head, maybe not emotionally, but at least physically.

“... Ah would like that, sure.” Morgan’s tongue works quicker than his mind as he finally moves his gaze from Saif and starts driving, happy he has gloves on so that Saif can’t see the white on his knuckles from gripping so hard. 

Slow roll out, very careful, not too fast and not too slow, he didn’t want it to be bumpy or too boring so that they linger on the awkward air that Morgan is sure he is ensuing with his glances and short comments--

You look- very nice too.

Sure Saif might find it forced, words and actions that one might have forced out of their throat like a frog or a cough to neighbors, highschool friends or distant relatives, compliment or complement, due returns. But as Saif calls him nice looking, something triggers in the back of Morgan’s brain, like a dog being given a treat or a baby talk; and Morgan sits up a little straighter, if that is possible, and takes a deep breath, keeping his chest just the slightest bit puffed out;

Pride, in a weird sense, and one he doesn’t even recognize is happening.

It’s not often he feels good enough to stand next to Saif, at least physically.

It was a sad thought, yes, that Morgan couldn’t beat out of his head. Having to stand next to Saif, elegant and slim as they always had, while Morgan himself had always been somewhat of an odd ball that stuck out like a blacksmith’s battered, broken and sore thumb. It mostly happened when they were out and about, walking in the park during valentines, at the office-- Morgan felt that his mere presence cast a ugly shadow over Saif, despite them being much more present in their surroundings than he ever was.

Perhaps it was because of home, where just being near or working with Morgan seemed to garner you a warning or a scolding, depending on your age and position in the force. Bickering, gossiping, the likes. Morgan would never wish that upon Saif; the be dragged down with him, as he suspects he will be eventually.

As they roll up to the bottom of the hill, Morgan waves away the cloud of doubt from his head, quickly checking his hair in the mirror again as Saif steps out. He grabs his keys, his phone and leaves the rest in the car, nothing else was really needed; all he wanted to do was focus on Saif and the food they had made.

But as he steps out, brushing his hands over his jacket and adjusting it to sit right, he is suddenly grabbed by Saif’s aforementioned gentle hand and stare in surprise.

This is quite pretty. The inherently childish urge to immediately and proudly exclaim that it was his work, as if he was a kid getting praised for his work, strikes him over the head, but with his usual restraint Morgan pushes it as deep down into his stomach as he can and simply stares at Saif, awestruck for a moment.

He can feel their fingers gracing his neck, knuckle gently brushing over the muscle on his neck as Morgan forgets for a moment to swallow, let alone breathe. It takes a moment before he leans his head to the side a little, exposing more of the skin and allowing them to view the garment’s detailing a bit better without his fat head being in the way.

“Thank ya-- Ah uh…” Morgan seems to hesitate, looking to the side. “Ah made it, figured Ah should do it up nicely so it wasn’t so plain.” Granted it still was very much plain, apart from the little pops of color, petals of pink, blue and yellow, and the long leaves and stalks of green-- It was white, it was plain and it was boring; Like Morgan!

As they let go Morgan felt his stomach turn into knots and twist as if they were nothing but paper clips in children’s hands. Had his knees grown weak at thirty-one or did Saif wield a power unknown to man? Maybe that was why they seemed so ethereal; they had hexed him and now he was to forever more yearn for the radiating heat that stemmed from the blood in their hands and the tenderness of their touch.

Eugh. He didn’t know how long he would be able to last without it if that was the case, even standing here watching Saif lead him to this hill of wondrous sights of stars made him want to immediately run up next to them and grab their hand. Childish, he knew. But such are urges.

Stepping up the last bit of hill, Morgan tucks hair away from his face before he takes in the view, standing beside Saif as he stares out; A field full of flora, bright and unfurled under a dim night sky illuminated by the faintest of stars. Like a spidernet of constellations it seems almost as if there are more stars than he had ever seen back on the farm, more than he can count for sure, and as he looks below he finds flowers that remind him of a time where he would pluck and play with their petals as if asking them would show a fortune.

Here Morgan stands, taking in yet another deep breath of darkening air, staring at the ocean of petals and leaves and being nearly speechless for a moment.

Had he expected something lesser? Yes, Morgan knew that the environment around big cities was full of trash and pollution, it could never beat the raw unaltered life just outside of his very own yard and family farm. But what Saif had found here, just outside of this city, was something truly special.

Morgan barely notices the lake, the dark water reflecting the light of the stars made him think he was simply seeing things. But he stands there, staring at it as they guide him closer to the cliff's edge.

Do you like it.

“... Holy shit.” Morgan immediately winces when he hears himself cuss in front of Saif like this before turning to look at them. “Ah mean-- Sorry, it’s real nice. How’d ya find this place, Ah ain’t never seen anything like it before.” Morgan continues to stare as he lets Saif unfurl the picnic blanket and set up their eating space, too engrossed in their environment to properly register that they were breaking out candles and wine.

But as he turns and sees them, like the sky, have their own little lights, things seem to load for the big man once again, coming to register the candles. And here is that dizziness again, the hex spell once more bringing him to do whatever Saif asked of him as he, perhaps a bit too eagerly, sat down next to them, careful not to knock anything over. The last thing Morgan wanted was to look more like an unsure clown trying to pilot a cowboy’s body.

“Hm?” Morgan hums at the promise of something new, cocking an eyebrow curiously before he grabs his utensils. “Well, ya cookin’ is usually pretty good, Ah am sure it’s goin’ to be good too. What’d ya make?” Morgan finds himself leaning in a little to look at whatever Saif had brought along with them to this obviously not date-date.

 

Saif barely suppresses heaving a sigh of relief at hearing what words the scenery could evoke from Morgan. Their shoulders shake a bit with breathy laughter, smile creeper wider on their lips. “It was sort of… an accident? I took a bus as far out as I could, and then just hiked around for awhile…” 

They could actually remember the evening quite clearly, and why it happened at all. Pleasantville had left a taste so sour on their tongue, acid rising in their throat, and they had returned home with their anger and frustration just barely contained. Sadness, too, had been a part of it, dull white noise in the background of their more impassioned emotions. In that moment, they had wanted nothing more than to get away, to forget everything, who they were, why they had come in the first place, the sickening aimlessness that had been building up for quite some time.

It was lucky, so lucky, that they happened upon it, could find comfort in it. It was perhaps because the also felt lucky to have had Morgan by their side so much recently as another source of comfort that they wanted to show it to him, and felt like they could trust him to not disturb the fragility of their attachment to its beauty.

Among all the other things that were not at all novel, yet Saif had a heightened awareness of anyways, the proximity between them when Morgan seats himself is one of them. He’s not even that close; a respectable distance, given how much space there is anyways. But each inch that separates them seems so keenly conspicuous. Thoughts of closing it flicker through their mind, which are swiftly doused as they continue unwrapping the food.

It’s not a feast by any means; that would have been to difficult to carry along, after all. Removing the aluminum foil reveals three platters, neatly prepared, rich aroma wafting through the air. As the hand it to him with a serving from each, they tell him, “Well, I wanted to try something a bit more regional, as a challenge to myself. So it’s… pan-fried walleye, potato skins, and juneberry pie. I did take a few creative liberties with the seasoning, though.”

What they don’t tell him is that the real reason behind the decision to cook something of the regional variety was actually because they had wanted to make something with which he might be more familiar. And perhaps hazard upon his favorite. Saif had been too shy to ask outright, and they weren’t entirely sure where he was from, and how far it might be from this part of the country. So they concluded that starting with something regional was as close as they could get.

They hand him some napkins, push one of the wine glasses towards him. They almost regret not bringing actual wine, as it might’ve been a better flavor pairing with the rest of the meal (and Morgan probably would’ve liked it more, too), but even if they disregarded the principles of their faith, Saif was not willing to risk getting tipsy around him. Who knows how much of their self-restraint would remain intact then (they could already guess, not much of it).

Saif pours the sparkling grape juice into his glass, warm glow of the tea lights dancing in contrast to the deep red. This, too, makes them feel oddly vulnerable, which doesn’t make any sense, considering the fact they have done this so many times before at their kitchen table.

Maybe it was because they had to lean forward a bit as they do it, folding one leg under them, hair half falling over across their face and over their shoulder. Maybe it was because the tension was so tangible that every gesture felt private, personal. And also maybe because the action, which has them bent at the waist, puts them perfectly at eye level with him, so when they look up, there’s nowhere else for them to go.

“There.” They pour some for themself, screw the top back in place. With a sheepish smile and a shrug, they add, “Sorry that it’s not actual wine. Promise you will not give my restaurant a bad review?”

It is an extremely weak and awkward attempt at a joke, mostly because their frayed nerves have their mind in a frenzy, still making last-ditch efforts to reduce the earnest and all-too-serious atmosphere. Saif should’ve kept up with the self-denial as to how much like a date it was, because now they couldn’t help but treat it like one.

Is this weird?, they wanted to ask, but it probably wouldn’t have helped much. 

Do you think I’m being weird?, they wanted to ask even more, and couldn’t, because it certainly would have revealed too much, and they weren’t sure which answer would be worse. 

They pause to make up their own plate before putting the food away, and then they turn their gaze to the starlit lake, feeling pensive. There was… so much they wanted to ask him. Quite a bit they wanted to tell him. Since everything felt so enclosed, almost protective, they felt like they wouldn’t mind as much here– opening up. For as much time as the two of them spent together, Saif didn’t really know much about Morgan’s life outside the agency, or what led him to it.

They knew of the type of kindness and care he had when it came to how he handle children (which was, without a doubt, one of the things Saif liked most about him). They knew he had a handy amount of craftsmanship in his arsenal of skills, each a lovely surprise. They knew he tended to keep to himself, take work seriously, and rarely seemed to relax. It made them all the more curious as to how they managed to have him spend so much of his time in their company.

On gloomier days, when Saif’s thoughts turned bitter, they figured it must be some sense of obligation, tangential to work. They were… his work friend, getting into quite a few accidents on the job. He already managed to take care of their paperwork when they were unable, so– they wouldn’t be surprised if a substantial amount of motivation was to help them heal so that he’d have to manage it less. It still embarrassed them to think about how much injury he saw inflicted upon them. 

Even if he had stated otherwise at the aquarium, it was a difficult undertaking to convince themself it didn’t reflect poorly on their efficiency on the field, especially when it translated into greater responsibility for him. They knew it was that same kindness and generosity that led him to do so, but… it couldn’t be easy, either.

Saif eats a bit of their food, chewing thoughtfully as their thoughts remain elsewhere. Would it be intrusive to ask him about himself? Wouldn’t that also come off like first-date-small-talk? They really would make themself sick with how distraught that aspect of it made them. They really needed to find a way to approach it differently.

Memories of his time visiting them in the hospital come to mind: the afternoon he helped them with their hair, after Saif had mentioned their concern for how unkempt it was becoming the day before. At first, they had been hesitant, not wanting him to feel how it’d become after days unwashed and uncombed, but he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. And then as he braided it, sensation so soothing, Saif had slipped and told him of the dream they had about him– the warm flower shop, the familiarity with which the two of them spoke. The ring. 

They hadn’t mentioned the ring, then, though, nor did they mention how familiar the two of them had become in it. Saif still felt the echo of an ache, missing something that was never real, that they never had. When their stare slides back to Morgan besides them, urges of all kind unfold in their chest.

“Do you,” they start, trying to choose their words carefully, “like working as a detective? Enough to do it for… well, the rest of your life, I suppose?”

 

It was sort of… An accident? Morgan gets that, sometimes you do not seek greatness but stumble into its lap like newborn fauna, vulnerable to its brilliance and bathed in its glow. Sometimes it is a flower field with a lake so elegant and lovely, sometimes they are tall and have colorful hair. “Then Ah would call yaself lucky, Nesr, not everyone stumble upon an eden like this.”

It reminded him of home in some sort of way, granted home never had as many flowers as this, mostly just wild flowers, bushes, patches of green to yellow grass with trees here and there, a rolling hill that Morgan many times found himself, in childish glee, throwing himself down and tumbling till his knees were stained green and his mother had to pick blades of grass out his hair. Perhaps it was the soft air that hung around them this evening that really hit that home in him, that gnawed and pulled with a yearning for far off into the countryside.

Morgan wonders for a moment if Saif would like it there. If they would like the quiet of the evenings where only crickets, birds and rustles outside could be heard. If they would like the privacy away from the electric ghosts eyes that danced on sparking cables and sewer drain monsters that stared up at their apartment from the gritted depths. Perhaps they could find peace there if they came along, a moment to breathe, to heal and to live. Morgan truly wonders.

And his eyes fall onto them for a moment, staring at nothing in particular as he imagines them on his childhood hill with all the tall grass, enjoying the lemonade his mother would make back when they still cared about each other. He imagines them happy, surrounded by the butterflies he would chase when he was younger, gently waving away a curious bumbling bumblebee too heavy with honey to fight back. Morgan wonders if they would make jam with him during the summer if he asked.

If he asked… Morgan’s eyes fall down onto their hands as they work on getting the plates and all the food prepared, eyes dancing over every knuckle. If he asked, could he show Saif a comfort that wasn’t their home, but his? Could he show them where he felt most at home and share it with them, the classical moment of lying in the grass with a straw in your mouth enjoying the sun and not having to worry about whether or not the fire alarm in your apartment complex was going to kick off because some idiot burned their popcorn. Peace and enjoyment in hedonistic ways of sleeping and eating, without having to worry if the bill was going to be too high this month and they would have to cut back on expenses--

Morgan wonders if he could ask Saif to come visit sometime.

And then immediately feels shame.

Not even ashamed for how close they were sitting, or for how his eyes lingered on their hands with a soft admiration, no he feels shame for thinking that he can take time out of their day to stay with him, as much as he believes they would like some time off to finally heal. As if it wouldn’t make them guiltier than they already feel; that is for what he is ashamed of, for even considering the moment.

He doesn’t bite the bullet, no Morgan swallows it whole and keeps it in his throat as he sits up a little more to look at the food Saif has prepared, eyebrows raised in a curious way that not many get to see around the office, almost endearing in that weird way. Eagerly does he welcome the plate as he pushes it around in that studying way, biting back the temptation to just dig in already, but knowing better to wait for Saif to grab their own serving. Lord knows he’d hate to be too rude; Being around Saif made him tighten his manners in the weirdest of ways.

“Smells ‘n’ looks real nice, ya have outdone yaself, Nesr.” Saying their name still makes him nervous. Saif, first he had done it out of formality, Common decency, then it was fear of saying their name wrong despite how often he had said it in its fullness, now; it was a weird gnawing fear that made him want to hide his face in his hand out of sheer frustration with himself. Nesr. He liked the last name anyway, much nicer than his own. Saif El Nesr. Smooth, felt like it would roll off the tongue. Morgan R. Baskerville. Rough.

He contemplates his name further, how it would be rounder, perhaps even softer and shorter to say if he had their last name, all while taking the napkin and trying to pay attention to the glass being poured. And he watches them, only sparing the pour a second of his time before his eyes follow up their hand, up their arm, up to their hair… He is stuck on their collar bone for a moment, hair covering some of their shoulder and swaying into that crook he had sometimes late at night been so mesmerized by. Morgan swallows a bit.

“Bad review?” Morgan says, almost like he doesn’t understand, before he gives a wrinkle of the nose that indicates the holding back of a smile. “With this service? If anythin’ Ah should be given’ ya more stars than imaginable.” He is riding on this joke as if it is the last resort he has to keeping himself from saying something stupid. “Ya ask me for a dinner under the stars at a place like this, serve top of the arts culinary cuisine ‘n’ the most fine grape juice. Truly a five star experience.”

When he finishes his joke, he even lifts his glass and holds it up for a little clink of the glasses, before pulling it in to rest against his lip. “Ya goin’ to get a lot more people wanting to come out here with ya if Ah did leave a review.” Morgan doesn’t know why he says his deep fear out loud against this glass of grape juice, but he does, open hearted and all with a coating of sweet yet sour humor. He drinks.

But as much as his heart was ripe for eating for Saif, open there in that moment, it is hidden and closed against as Morgan goes to eat, staying quiet after his attempts at joking. He has never been good at it, and in moments like these where he sits across from Saif, he really desperately wishes he was the funniest man in the world. Was it because it made it less awkward? Morgan prays it is that. He hopes and wishes that it was that and not the fact that whenever Saif smiled or laughed something in Morgan stomach seemed to lurch, pulling him forward as if he was the man in the classical 101 dalmatians movie, tugged on by a leash and suddenly enveloped and tied with Saif and their laugh.

It was intoxicating, really, no need for booze or wine. If Morgan was alone with Saif and their smile and laughter for a night he might just become a different man by the morning. He supposed it was another of those moments where something Saif said or did, forced, awkward or both, it still spurred something in the cowboys chest that made him giddy in a way he would describe as gut wrenchingly sweet.

Do you, like working as a detective? Enough to do it for… well, the rest of your life, I suppose?

Morgan pauses in the middle of his chewing to think, putting down his fork as he mulls over the question. “Well,” He starts not too sure if he should answer so brutally honest that Saif might get concerned for him. “Ah suppose Ah do like it, even though it is plenty dangerous ‘n’ Ah haven’t really set a good example of mah work.” Unable to open doors, falling on his ass, getting paranoid in tunnels, losing a magical sword-- The list went on.

“Ah can see myself doin’ it for a while, if the company needs me ‘n’ my services.” He lives to be needed. “If there is somewhere else where Ah am needed, ‘n’ where Ah can make life a lil bit easier for whoever comin’ after me, then Ah will take it, ya know?” He wonders if that is a vague enough response.

 

Saif’s gaze fixes on Morgan, smile faint. Yes, they could call themself lucky, but for more than just finding a place like this.

They consider, for a split second, telling him so out loud. The impulse is so overwhelming that their lips part in anticipation of the words. But something else rears its head simultaneously within them: a fear, roots sown deep, of how it could come off, how it could be perceived– his response… 

And that was the most troubling, dismal potential of it all, wasn’t it? That Saif might be misunderstanding, misinterpreting, pushing at unforeseen boundaries that, once uncovered, lay waste to the audacious spirit that led them in their attempt to gain closeness and familiarity. The unmitigated question that haunted them into the late hours of the night: did Morgan feel as lucky as they did for the time they spent together, or was it a chore? As much as it made them feel a bit paranoid to think that way, they couldn’t help, each time, remembering that they had once gone so far as to think that someone had loved them, only to find out it was resentment all along.

Remembering it even now makes Saif’s stomach sink a bit. They feel even more foolish now to have prepared all this. Overzealous and overenthusiastic was likely enough to be what he thought of them to make their chest ache. They really needed to reign it in, before it was too late.

“Um, yeah…” They’re practically speaking into their cup, almost trying to hide their face behind it as they were. “I suppose I did get lucky…”

Of course, as was often the case whenever they were around Morgan, their mood doesn’t stay dampened for long. They can feel how hard they blush when he expresses his appreciation for their efforts, even if it is a bit embarrassing to hear detailed like this. Saif tilts their head away, lips pressed together; the last thing they needed was for him to see how hard they were smiling.

“Alright, alright, thank you for the five stars. You are not getting any complimentary dessert for it.” 

They feel their worry continue to ebb, replaced with slight surprise, a knee-jerk aversion to the thought of anyone else being up here. “I have not really seen–”

It takes them a second; they blink, corners of their mouth turned down, before their expression clears with understanding of what the true meaning of his word might’ve been: not that others, strangers to Saif, would find their way to this spot, but that Saif themself might bring them.

They glance away, pensive. The same inclination from earlier rises within them, more potent now, and this time, instead of allowing it to spiral into self-deprecation and doubt, they ride the whim to its articulation.

“Well then,” their eyes eventually slide back towards him; they’d smile, as if they were still playing into the joke, except they weren’t. Their mouth is carefully impassive, trying not to betray what it meant to them as they say, “I guess you had better keep it our secret. I,” a breath, wavering, before they continue, “am not really interested in sharing it with anyone else.”

Saif could run off the cliff right now with how much they hated the feeling of laying themself bare like this, heart exposed– even if the admission was minimal, relatively. They take another careful breath, turn away again, resist the urge to squeeze their eyes shut and pretend it– all of this– wasn’t happening. There, now what? What will you make of that?

Upon hearing his ideas of the future, and how he felt about being a detective, their attention is recaptured. They hadn’t really known what to expect when they asked the question. Hearing his words kindles endearment in the center of their chest, and they reach out to give him a small, playful push at the shoulder– though they’re too shy to really commit to the touch, and so it’s not nearly enough to budge him.

“How come you are always telling me to think more kindly of myself when it comes to my lackluster work performance, but you deny yourself the same?” They don’t withdraw entirely; when they drop their hand from his shoulder, they place it next to him, lean their weight on it. “I think the work you do is plenty admirable. You should too.”

They pause for a moment in contemplation of what it might mean for him to ‘go where he is needed’. With the way he critiqued his own work just a second ago… how easy would it be for him to feel his services were ineffective enough to depart? How soon would that be?

Saif curtails the urge to reach out again, fingers curling in restraint. Instead, they say, “Your dedication to making things… better, or– well, that is not quite the right word… improving the lives of others?” they gesture vaguely with the hand they’re not leaning on, “I have always thought it to be one of your finest qualities– though I ask that you disregard my bias. I promise I do not only think that because of how much you have helped me as of late.”

The food is forgotten now, Saif much more interested in conversing with Morgan. This was, at present, the most they’d ever managed to get him to talk about himself, what he sought, and they wanted to get as much out of it as he was willing to give. “Where else do you… do you feel you might be needed? Like… the hospital, or…” Somewhere farther away from here. It wasn’t necessary to tack on, but. They did wonder. Not just because it would be a shame to see him go, but because, if they were honest with themself, Saif wasn’t sure how long they would stay either.

Saif shifts their body so that they’re sitting with both their hands behind them now, leaning back, with their shoulder a few inches away from Morgan’s. They try not to think about it too much as they speak, musing softly, “I have been… Well, with many of the missions I have been on the last couple of months, it has made me question… what I want, what I am doing here.” They exhale, mostly to steady themself, because this, too, was more than they’d told anyone else since coming here. “‘Being needed’ you say… it would be nice if I could find some kind of purpose like that, but for the longest time I have just…” They bite down on the words caused trouble for everyone; saying them probably would not have accomplished much more than depress the atmosphere. “I don’t know. I like being a detective fine enough, it gives me something to do, and feels like it’s good work to do. But it is… arduous enough that I feel I have to think about how long I might be able to do it, and then what will come next.”

They hope they haven’t said too much. But it has been heavy on their mind, and it does make them feel a bit relieved to have finally said it out loud. 

Saif tips their head to the side, chin resting on their shoulder as they look at Morgan. Quietly, they ask, “Is there anything you are passionate about?”

"Alright, alright, thank you for the five stars. You are not getting any complimentary dessert for it."

 

Morgan, still trying his hardest to be the slightest bit charismatic and comedic, snaps his fingers as if his plans had once more been foiled by the hundred times more attractive and amazing main character Saif. He would have gotten away with it too, had it not been for that meddling smile and… Ah, well, mostly that smile, he is sure he accidentally ran his mouth at the prospect of seeing it just a little more.

“Oh well, Ah tried.” He forfeits before shaking his head with a huff of laughter. “Nah, Ah jest. But ya cookin’ is still mighty nice.” 

Morgan never really knew the meaning of comfort food before he ate with Saif. Sure he had favorite restaurants and those shabby little meals he would cook for himself after work, nothing big or fancy, not until Saif whisked him away with culinary marvels that seemed so effortless to them yet made Morgan sway like a cartoon character hexed by the sweet scent of baked goods waving through the air. He still remembers watching them cook and just admiring them when their back was turned, and even now he hopes that Saif doesn’t remember the feeling of his beady little black eyes staring them down as if they were the meal.

The scents, the sounds, the little bit of music in the background. Nothing beat Saif’s cooking, not his mother’s, not his own and certainly not someone who didn’t know him at all. Sometimes Morgan hadn’t allowed Saif to cook when they were still healing, coming over with food as if he was a themed delivery guy from some weird outback steakhouse with a rodeo theme, but as they got better he had been more than willing to step aside and let them cook. It gave them something to do, he realized, and it probably meant as much to them as it did to him.

For the life of him he couldn’t understand why exactly he liked Saif’s cooking so much. Perhaps they put some sort of spice in that that made it undeniably moreish, something you just wanted to pick up and indulge in over and over. He had always been with the belief that food was food, but the emotions you put in it shone through, like how your mother’s food always tastes better, for she loved you so and her love shone through her cooking. Now his mother’s food tasted bland and painful, and now Saif’s--

Morgan didn’t want to think about it.

Taking another sip, Morgan listens to Saif’s stutter and pauses in his own enjoyment to listen to them speak, glass still pressed to his lips. And while Morgan has been watching Saif over the duration of this outing, he had noticed the heat in their cheeks, the darker coloration around their ears and neck that spread like waves; And it was time for him to feel it brush over him this time.

When Saif tells him it was their secret, that no one else were to see this with them, for they had no plans to, Morgan could have shrugged it off as some little thing, a sign of vulnerability or even teasing that he still needed to become accustomed to. But the way Saif says it, in that serious tone, makes something in Morgan tighten up. He wonders if it is guilt that he might have upset them, the vanishing smile, the stricter look, the waver of a breath, if perhaps he had poked a hole that was never meant to be there and was now growing so big it was going to swallow the two of them tonight. That is until it tints his face a little pink.

Almost like a stress response, Morgan downs the grape juice in one and puts the glass down, clearing his throat as if to save face as he holds up the glass for another pour, avoiding Saif’s eyes for now. “Christ, Saif,” Morgan tries to huff behind his hand, trying to ignore the way he says their first name as well. “Ya makin’ me sound--”

Making me sound what. Big? Worthy? Close? Morgan wonders exactly what he wants to say, for if he says something stupid he is sure that Saif is going to pack up the food and run for the hills. He had figured them out just a little, the inability to show vulnerability and not wanting to lag behind, the shame that hid in the corner of their eyes that was hard to catch with their makeup and pretty smile. If he embarrassed them both he was sure he would push them both into opposite corners of this big field and restart.

“-- Important.”

And yet why does he run his mouth anyway? Curiosity.

He is happy he has hidden his face behind his hand, not so much for the seeping blush on his scarred, freckled face, but more or so so that he could save face. For although Saif has never seen him give a real smile, behind those crooked scarred fingers of his is the smallest, most awkward smile, that hitches up by the crook of his nose and is tethering between something akin to a smirk and the squiggle-iest early childhood cartoon smile known to man.

Focusing back on the conversation at hand, Morgan looks to Saif for a second and flexes his hand, putting down his glass as Saif gives him a playful shove. He shakes his head, sitting up straight from the shove and even leaning in just a bit. He wants to scream, internally, of course.

“Ah ain’t undermining mahself, trust me. Ah know my work is valued-- Ah am just--” He gestures with both his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them for a moment, before scratching his cheek. “Ya always actin’ like ya failures are so big ‘n’ scary, Ah just showin’ ya Ah do that stuff too ‘n’ it’s plenty normal, ya know?” Morgan wishes he could normalize a lot of things with Saif, like failures and moments like these, like leaning in and Saif staying over, like-- 

Like the stuff he thinks of when he is alone at night, unable to sleep because of his face being soaked with sweat from dreams no man with dignity and his age should be afraid of anymore, when he can’t bring himself to get up or ask for help and instead imagines Saif to get out of his head. A repetitive pattern, he wonders if he could normalize Saif thinking about him too, if they even do at all.

But before he can think further on his late night rambles and weird moments, he is brought back by Saif’s compliment, heat rushing to his ears as the first thing, coloring them while leaving his nose and cheeks unharmed in the shed blush. He doesn’t even know it's visible, but he looks awkward in the most endearing of ways.

“Ah wouldn’t care if it was because of that.” Morgan says it straight as it is, and pats Saif on the shoulder, looking as if he is going in for a light shove as well, but just giving a comforting pat. “Hell, would be a lot nicer than how some people phrase it. Back where Ah came from Ah didn’t get called dedicated, Ah got called stubborn as hell.”

“Besides,” Don’t you do it. “If mah dedication was known only for what Ah have been helpin’ ya with, Ah don’t think Ah… Would mind, really.” God damn it.

He brushes it off as fast as it came up, wanting to stick his stupid head in the sand and puke. “Right now? Ah suppose here-- In meteor city, ‘course. Plenty of work to be done, plenty of people to help, clients ‘n’ coworkers alike.” When they mention the hospital, Morgan nods. “The hospital, definitely. It’s… A little clinical and clean for my taste, but Diane needs me, so it is worth stickin’ around.”

Morgan takes a moment to just stare around at the field, staring off at nothing in particular. That was what nature was about, focusing on nothing, taking it in with raw nakedness photos betrayed and never conveyed. He wrinkles his nose as he thinks. There’s another place he feels needed, yes, but it isn’t something he feels he can say outright. So he stuffs it under his tongue like it was a carpet and hopes that Saif won’t find his dirty laundry down there as he turns to look at them again.

And while still so absorbed by the nature around him and the taste of the words beneath his tongue, he cannot help but squint his eyes a little bit at Saif and smile at them just the slightest bit, unregistered by him himself as it just naturally settles for him on his lips, listening to them as they talk about their own experience with the city and work.

“Bein’ needed ain’t for everyone. Ya gotta look at what ya want in life, where ya wanna go on, what ya are most comfortable with, ‘n’ ya gotta work towards that.” Morgan tries to explain, smile fading naturally from his face as he grows a bit serious with how he is explaining adulting. “Is there somethin’ ya wanna do after all of this? Travel? Start up a business?”

Is there anything you are passionate about?

You.

“Wood workin’, work, helpin’-- Well, ya know all of that huh.” Morgan shakes his head as he realizes he really might be the blandest man known to mother earth. Pursing his lips as he thinks, he takes just a moment to clear his mind before taking a deep breath and looking over at Saif. “Ah… Like the outdoors. Grew up on a farm made me one of those woodsy outdoorsy folk, probably pretty obvious but-- Yeah. Ah suppose Ah am pretty passionate about that sort of stuff. Raisin’ chickens, plantin’ in soil.”

“What about ya?”

 

It isn’t the first time Morgan has complimented their cooking– he had done so on plenty of other occasions, when Saif took great care in preparing something for him when he’d come to see them after a long day of work. It had almost felt routine, Saif lying down at night mulling over what they’d make him the next day, and waking with a task list of what they’d need to do to have it finished by the time he arrived. And each time, he complimented it– which Saif insisted on viewing as done out of a sense of politeness, because otherwise it made them feel too eager to hear it, heartbeat staccato.

They felt that way now, prickles of warmth sitting at the base of their throat as Morgan huffs out a laugh. The sound makes them realize they’re not quite sure if they’ve ever heard him laugh before, and they are more than a little endeared by the sound. 

It was a gradual bloom within them,  the desire to have more of this: these quiet moments, the shared shedding of professionalism that kept either or both of them from giving in too much to sweet appeal of such delicate closeness. It was fascinating to see the slow tug of a layer pulled away, free from its moorings; it was equally fascinating to find what was underneath, enthralling.

“Thank you,” they say, rubbing the back of their neck, trying not to smile too hard. “It always makes me happy to hear you say that.”

Saif wastes no time picking up the bottle to refill Morgan’s glass when he holds it out to them, ever the attentive host. The cap is barely screwed back on before their eyes flick back up, pleasantly surprised to hear the usage of their first name. They had gotten so used to the way Nesr sounded on his tongue, the shape of each letter in his accent, that they were entirely unprepared to hear how Saif sounded in these same rich baritones.

And then they refocus on the words he’s saying, and their lips move automatically.

“You are important.”

 Something in the back of their mind presses them to clarify– so that he might not misunderstand them as making a general statement of encouragement. After a long pause, they add,“--to me. ”

Heat washes over them in a tidal wave. In some ways, it comes as no surprise, as they felt it was rather obvious to anyone that they spoke to about his presence in their life, no matter how little. The increasing amount of time they now spent thinking of him no doubt also contributed to the notion, which was getting more and more difficult to dismiss and ignore. And it is then that many things begin to click into place of their own accord, no longer restrained by Saif’s penchant for avoiding introspection.

Morgan was important to them.

And of course he would be, after all the time the two of them had spent together. Even when they had only been going to lunch together, conversation rarely straying to subjects outside of work, Saif had found him to be a reassuring presence; they never felt like they had to worry about impressing him or keeping him entertained. He always seemed satisfied with whatever time Saif was able and willing to give him, and as time went on, Saif found themself relaxing a great deal around him. 

And it was such a novel to behold, this newfound contentment: they had never before been able to feel such a way around a coworker before, nor had they ever intentionally sought out such company. Before, they had always acquiesced to the dull mundanity of separating their work life entirely from their personal life– and they still insisted upon it, to some degree, even if the lines were beginning to definitively blur– yet they could not help all the ways in which they wanted to draw closer to him, easy as it was to succumb to all the little inclinations they tried so hard to repress, and for long.

But it was not so easy to expel their interest. Morgan was forthright and discerning, as well as modest about the assortment of skills and good qualities that so subtly came to light. As cautious as they had become in the last handful of years, Morgan always managed to make that unease melt away, replacing it with serenity. Saif sometimes wondered if he even knew how good he was at it, or if it was his nature alone. They certainly wouldn’t be surprised if the latter was true; it all seemed to come so seamlessly to him, practiced with such a shocking absence of ego.

The realization of how much he’d managed to root himself into the depths of their heart makes them feel no less worrisome, an undercurrent of anxiety winding itself around their heart. It makes them unable to look at him, too wrapped up in the feelings that laced the admission, what they truly meant. Saif had barely allowed themself to think about it, to consider it in full, because it meant–

–Reckoning with so, so much past hurt and heartache, the truth behind their hesitance. Each second they spent trusting Morgan only provoked another spent considering how the last person they trusted like this– who gave them such inexplicable peace and seemed an all too good-to-be-true oasis– turned out to be the very opposite of who Saif had thought they were, letting them believe whatever made things easier between them.

And  what they had did seem too good to be true, the tangibility of what appeared to be building between them. They had gone through the motions before, albeit at an age and stage of life where every part of it was unusual and unfamiliar. Though they had stubbornly been attempting to ignoring it all this time, it was getting harder to deny that he was the object of such an ever-present yearning that he awakened within them, which had gone countless years in denial, priority given to others needs. They never wanted to think themself a person who needed this kind of particular companionship, who pined for it in such shameful ways. Yet here they were, inadvertently putting together a date with the utmost care, despite everything, despite their fear…

As much as Saif wanted to tell themself that Morgan had no reason to betray them in the same way, had no reason to lie to them in the same way, no reason let them believe in feelings that had never been there, it was a difficult task to reconcile the fact that Maeron hadn’t either– or at least, that what they had thought. And while they couldn’t imagine a single scenario of something similar falling to consequence, it didn’t stop their apprehension, the concern that they were giving more meaning to a connection that was never meant to be more. 

And they couldn’t bear the thought of asking Morgan for any kind of elucidation on the matter, because imagine– they endeavor to be so bold as to enquire what he thought of them, what he thought of their– friendship… and if he had barely a few words to spare in thought…

They coouldn’t. They could hardly tolerate the idea in theory. They’d sooner quit the agency and leave Meteor City before have that conversation, even if their unabashed interest was written all over their face and threaded through their every gesture and action. Plausible deniability was enough to keep them anchored, enough to spurn some daring; without it, they surely wouldnn’t have the courage to risk getting hurt again like this, even if the risk was scarcely lessened by their potential ability to play this all off as nothing more than a miscommunication in intent and appreciation. Saif would probably never relinquish the I’m only doing this out of gratitude line so long as the possibility remained that this could all go up in flames.

They try to steady themself and their thoughts with a slow inhalation, eyes still averted. Despite the wild bursts of paranoia, here they remained, giving all of their best efforts anyways. Their hands curled into fists; they could only hope that this time it wouldn’t come back to bite them.

Yet here Morgan is again, speaking words of comfort. Saif tentatively lifts their gaze towards him, nerves alight at the spot he pats with his hand–

How many times had Morgan touched them? There was the hospital, the two hugs he had given them, Saif’s mind too much a tangle to make out how they felt about it through their newly opened wounds, both emotional and physical. There was their hands brushing at the aquarium, but that could hardly be considered intentional or deliberate on Morgan’s part. Though there was also the times he helped them tend to their wounds, the smattering of burn scars across the length of their body from the explosion in that wretched house– and that, in and of itself, had felt transgressive. At that time, with each brush of Morgan’s fingertips on their skin, perfunctory and and impersonal as he aided in the application of ointments and bandages, Saif kept having to remind themself to breathe, and to see it as nothing more than what it was supposed to be: a coworker helping out another coworker.

Somehow this felt… different, without pragmatic purpose to excuse it away. Had Saif any less dignity, they would have covered his hand with their own, keeping it at their shoulder, indulging in it in a little longer. The amount of time they spend staring at his hand before it slides off them, lips parted as their breath stilled– it was already more undignified than they could bear.

In retrospect, they couldn’t believe they were this desperate for some kind of physical contact between them. Important or not, it was pitiful how much they wanted to be close to him. It had been especially troublesome over their medical leave, but at least then they could chalk it up to their frazzled nerves and bodily induced isolation. They had spent about as much time imagining themself burying their face into the crook of his neck as they did chastizing themself for thinking of it in the first place.

If they stare at his neck– cased in white fabric with colorful stitching as it was right now– for a little too long before look him in the eye, it was surely an accident. 

And when he says he wouldn’t mind if the only dedication he was ever known for was how much he helped Saif– they can hardly be blamed for the unseemly impulse to kiss him right on the mouth. They close their eyes briefly to summon the strength necessary to maintain their decorum. 

Why did he… it was such a complicated process, trying to distinguish between what was meant in a platonic or professional manner, and what was supposed to be… more than that. How exactly were they meant to interpret him saying such a thing? Why would he even care to muse about the idea, especially if it was in jest? What did he gain from it? It was… 

Saif was too easy to please in this way. They had never gotten used to the idea that someone would want to dedicate so much time and energy to them without an ulterior motive. And there was no way he hadn’t noticed by now the flush of their skin with each caper of admittance, the intoxicating dance of it. How much were either of them giving away, and how much was still held close? How much would it take, at this point, before someone ended up pushing even further, too taken with the moment…

Dread coiled in their stomach; Saif knew that the likelihood that they were more vulnerable to the relinquishment of their hesitancies with enough tender attention. They had not enough practice in resisting temptation. And tempt them Morgan did, with his decency and dexterity, the propriety of his demeanor, unrelenting in the exacting manner of his principles.

His strength, both of his character and of his physicality, evidence of the strain past labor had built up within him. The hard cut of his features, his sharp gaze, his lips…

When a hint of a smile graces Morgan’s lips, and Saif lackadaisically rolls their shoulders to ease out the energy that almost had them lunging forward. They really shouldn’t have taken him here; the outward impression of privacy makes them feel too careless. The last thing they needed was to err and cause Morgan some kind of discomfort; after all, he had made no obvious indication that he himself saw or wanted this to be anything more than a friendly outing, or that, to him, Saif was…

They grimace, closing their eyes– but this time more than just because of frustration at their own foolishness.

“I should probably– go back home, at some point? To Cairo…” They frown, eyes unfocused at they look out to the lake, still shimmerying with a sea of stardust. “I– I do not really want to, since I fear if I do they could very well convince me to stay, and I wouldn’t object, because I–” saddled them with a horrible situation, then ran away. Saif’s throat aches with the truth of it, the reality of what they’d yet to amend. Whenever their older sisters or parents would call them, it was undoubtedly the question they always asked, unspoken or not… and Saif could not avoid to for too far into the future. It remained a festering bruise upon their relationship with their family, and the responsible thing to do would be to return and remedy it– even if it meant giving up a life that, for the first time ever, felt like it belonged to them. Even if it meant giving up these kinds of moments with Morgan.

“But, beyond that… I’m not sure. I’ve never really given it much thought.” They had always figured their parents would give them some idea of what they should do, where they should be… deciding for themself remained such a broad opportunity.

Saif gives Morgan a small, helpless smile– and because they are pitifiul, and because they can’t help it– they shift so that they can circle their fingers around his wrist, thumb brushing over the bone. They try to ignore how horrendously their heart races with the action.

“I like your wood carvings.” They say it quietly, like they hadn’t already said it multiple times before. “Your talent amazes me.” This admission, too, feels like  an open wound, once more giving him the means to become privy to how much they admired him– perhaps, as they were beginning to understand, adore him.

Even if it might’ve been obvious to anyone else, Saif hadn’t quite guessed that Morgan grew up on a farm. It sheds a different kind of light onto his personhood, one that Saif can appreciate all the more; the amount of responsibility and aptness he had for such onerous duties– which he seemed to always handle without complaint– never ceased to astonish them. They also found it heart-stoppingly attractive. 

“Mmm… I suppose I have similar interests in that regard– which I am sure you’ve already noticed.” They don’t really want to pull their hand away, but it’s been long enough that it no doubt is bordering on awkward, so they let it fall back to th ground, but not without letting their fingers brush against his knee on the way down. “I do… like gardening. I have never really considered it a passion, only because it’s always been a bit of a casual interest that’s just happened to persist for years on end. But I guess I wouldn’t mind pursuing it further.” The thought was nice, even if it somehow felt unrealistic. What would their parents say? Their siblings? Giving up everything else to own a little flowership with homegrown assortments. Giving up everything to own a little flowershop with someone by their side…

It was such nice thought, full of so much warmth it made Saif’s heart ache, yet it felt so far away, idealism run askew. 

“What made you give up the charms of agriculture for the urban landscape? I cannot imagine the smog was much of a selling point.” It did have them curious, considering how different Meteor City was from any type of farm. They knew some people romanticized city living, but they could guess Morgan wasn’t the type. “Did you come because of the crater? Or…”

 

“Always happy to make ya happy.”

His mouth is just running now, perhaps mimicking the racing thoughts that were already combating one another on the racetrack that was his conscience. Why would he say this? Was it some sick little twisting thing in him that desperately wanted to tell Saif that he wanted them in a way co-workers shouldn’t want one another, a way that spoke about hugs and the presses of kisses to the corners of ones mouth; intoxicating. He wonders if it is his inner child, unable to keep secrets that even his own adult self would be satisfied with keeping to his heart till the grave he once had to lie in swallowed him whole, broken heart and flesh alike.

He worries, just for a moment, if he is toying with Saif, and finds himself positively dizzy with the idea. He would never want to hurt them, hell Morgan would rather chew his hands to smithereens and twist his tongue than toy with even Saif’s fingers or mind, the thought disgusting him as he has to wonder if what he is doing here with Saif is wrong. Doubt has always clouded his mind, especially with him and Saif, and he doubts that Saif even loves him. But the hint, even the slight idea, that they did and Morgan was making them fall in love with him with his small, unlucky charm, lulling them into believing he is worth it all, makes him feel…

Weirdly sick. A pinch in the gut, a kick in the head. Butterflies with boxing gloves, ferrets doing little play leaps with unsheathed claws. Do you love me? I am sorry.

He buries it, of course, for he knows it is childish to think that Nesr loves him. It is easier to hide away the signs, see it as friendly conversations and the human instinct to lean in and be closer, like huddled penguins. Morgan wonders if Saif sees him waddle towards them like one whenever they do fieldwork together. Paired. He hated it when he caught the natural magnetism between them.

But it is hard to bury hidden treasure in sand that always moves, and as Morgan feels he has dug deep enough, he feels his heart yet again get exposed as Saif speaks to him so oddly clear that Morgan thinks for a moment that he has been deaf all his life up until now.

”You are important.”

There is no I think, it is steadfast, tall, grounded like a tower in the deepest of faerie forests. And Morgan once again tries to defy every bit of it, going through loops in his heart to make an excuse for this comment. Of course he was important, he was needed in his field of work and he was needed at the hospital, he was important as a citizen for he has a place in this city, a place to live, a place to pay rent. He has work to do, his work is important, for if he doesn’t do his work, his work will hinder others. He is important to Diane, for if he doesn’t help her she will be sad— He is important, yes, but—

”—To me.”

That is it. There is the kick that sends Morgan spiralling. Oh how he wants to grab the edge of the blanket they are sitting on, bite it and rip it so asunder that he sees every thread unravel between him and the fabric. It is such a small thing, and yet he feels it soak him up in the warmest of heat that he has felt since that one night that sparked all his hurt. But unlike then, Saif had not bitten him and forced him to bleed, instead it felt as though they had leaned in and whispered it against his cheek, a phantom kiss over phantom wounds that Morgan didn’t even know he had.

When was the last time someone had told him he was important? He knew he was, to some degree, but— To be important to a cause, to work, to a person who depended on you— It was so much different than to be important to a person who seemed like they didn’t exactly need him. Morgan wonders; does this mean Saif wants him?

He has to steady his hand, his face visibly red now as he looks down into his glass to try his hardest not to look at Saif. Oh how he wants to, he wants to look at them cause they are so pretty and they deserve to be looked at when he speaks to them, but the shame of knowing his face must be redder than the suns Diane draws on the corner of her drawings, makes him want to hide in that collar they complimented so sweetly earlier.

“… Ah…” What does he say? You’re important to me too? I think of you more than I admit? I miss your cooking, I miss you in the kitchen, I miss hearing your footsteps around as I sit and talk with you, I miss you presence in a home that was never mind, I miss the smell of your perfume, I miss your flowers that I never understood how to water properly, I miss your curtain and your couch, I miss—

I miss courage. And I miss the dreams of kissing you, although they never left.

“Thank ya, Saif, that’s—“ He doesn’t say any of it although he wants to puke it up to them and see their response, to lie in the wake of their wrath and disgust knowing that the weird man with a history of tripping on every mission, has been harboring such affections for them that one might even call it yearning. “That’s really kind of ya to say.”

He chuffs awkwardly, fanning himself as he tries to get the heat away. “Ah am sorry, Ah ain’t mean to look like some knock of Mr. tomato-head,” He jests. “It just ain’t often people say that sort of stuff to me, after all Ah ain’t exactly youn’ or as pretty as some of y’all.” You especially, Saif.

Morgan says that and wonders when the last time he was even called handsome had occurred. Apart from Saif calling him pretty in retaliation of his compliments, he can’t remember when he had last been looked at and wholeheartedly been called attractive or worthwhile. And almost eighty percent of the office already believed he was nearing his sixties with how he acted and looked. Morgan, despite his actual age and what was underneath layers of scars and lack of care of self, was old and ugly.

It was one of the reasons why on Valentine's Day he had done everything to be secretive about their meeting, desperately finding somewhere small and quiet so that when Saif walked around the park and bought stuff with him, he wouldn’t have to worry about as many people seeing them. Privacy, he had called it, but really he would have to sully Saif’s image with him walking around almost like a love struck Igor, willing to follow them wherever they go. For if someone had seen them together, especially like this, the rumors could start anew.

He knew the corrosiveness of people’s words. He had seen it in action, how it could tear someone down from their highest peaks and send them tumbling down. It could seep into both heart, mind and soul, make someone bitter or hurtful, make them gnaw on the people around them like leeches wanting emotional help or crutches to stand upon. But that wasn’t what he feared for, for if Saif wished to suckle from him any nurture, like a pet leech in need of help, he would hold them and allow them.

What he feared was the tattered bonds he has experienced before, as the poison that was other’s perception severs spider webs of connections. He can’t remember how many people back in his home town had started to avoid him the moment rumors had started that they were closely acquainted with him. The dog boy. Destined to be his own friend, not by choice at least.

He wonders if Saif would turn tail and run if the rumors ever got to be this bad. And he wonders if Saif knew all that were to know about him if they would start backing away, turn their shoulder to him and avoid his glances, ones that he had found them meeting more and more often in that dingey office later in the day. He wonders if they would get confused by his inherent deep rooted fear of dogs, small or large, or if they would grimace at the deeper scars he had. If they would agree with the rumors of how he was big, scary and hard to work with, how people had mentioned back at home that he would cheat his way through the system and never pull his weight. Morgan wonders if he would be a stepping stone for Saif.

He knows it is silly to think that. But it itches at the back of his throat as he wants to tell Saif how he trashes late at night over terrors and worry that they might eventually hate him. And yet at the same time he wants to keep shut, keep the blissfully ignorant, so that he may never have to face it. Selfishness; he wants to be selfish with Saif.

When Saif talks about going back to Cairo, Morgan hums. “Long ways away.” He mutters quietly, with a hidden bitterness in his stomach not even he is familiar with. Does he not want them going back? Perhaps it is because he fears they won’t ever come back after. And it is only backed up with what Saif says afterwards, eyes lifting from his glass properly as he looks at them and grounds himself a bit more.

“Ya don’t have to, if ya don’t want to, ya know?” Morgan says calmly. “— Ah mean, Ah don’t know the full extent of it, ‘n’ ya really don’t have to tell me, if ya ain’t want to, but if ya dread it so much, ya ain’t need to.” Morgan knew it sounded like hypocrisy, but why should he hold Saif to the same standards that he held himself? He had something to follow, a purpose in life to be there were someone needed him, to stand next to them and help and then go to the next. Saif didn’t have to do the same as him, Saif could be as selfish as they wanted, as free as birds in the sky. He’d be there trees, if they needed a branch to rest on. He’d hold them and their lover’s nest if they needed him to.

It might also be that Morgan doesn’t understand the feeling of one’s parents wanting you to come back home. Morgan was not as far from home as Saif, an airplane ride away and he’d be home again, and his relationships with his parents weren’t exactly anything he’d brag about. Strangers, more like it, and it makes him wonder how exactly Saif feels with their parents.

But Morgan’s thoughts are choked with little to no effort as he feels their hand so close to his own, the gentle touch to his wrist. Immediately his windpipe squeezes so tight that Morgan is about to get light headed purely from such a chaste touch. He wants to grab their own wrist, lock them in a hold and sit there, fingers instead twitching in uncertainty yet never pulling away.

And once more is a wave of red ocean water bathed over his skin as he feels just how cold tonights air truly is, the hair on the back of his neck raising at the compliment. With his free hand, Morgan pulls a bit on his collar and looks away, giving a flustered huff. “Christ, Saif,” He chuckles a bit, not sure what to say. “Ya can’t keep givin’ me this praise, it’s gonna start goin’ to my head ‘n’ Ah am gonna start actin’ like Kitzinger in no time if that’s the case.”

And even as he defends himself, tells Saif to playfully stop it, he still turns his hand over and exposes his palm to Saif, unsure why. Perhaps he wanted to do as dogs do, expose their belly and be vulnerable to the one beside them, to disarm himself so much that Saif would never be scared of him again. Perhaps it was that little bit in him that thought of spirituality, that wanted to expose his life and love line and hope that Saif could read fast enough to see them in his skin.

Perhaps he wanted to hold their hand.

None of them would know, as Saif pulls their hand away from his own hand, brushing his knee in the process. Morgan closes his hand. They say chastity was such a virtue, then why is it that it hurt so hard when Saif pulled away.

“Fair enough, Ah know some folks really advocate for keepin’ a hobby' a hobby rather than pursuing it as work.” Diane was one of those people, a kid who already had so many plans of what she wanted to do when she got out of that hospital, though they changed every so often as she saw something new on the net or on TV, wanting to keep her little Picasso art career on the side rather than pursue it.

“But if ya ever decide against it; ah think ya could do pretty well in one of em flower shops. Or what are they called— Botanist shops? Ah am sure ya know way more about that sort of stuff, ya are the flowery one of us after all, Ah just do grain ‘n’ animals.” Flowers and soil, Morgan was earthy while Saif looked as elegant as a well loved flower. Morgan wonders if Saif would want any of his soil one day. Silly, really.

“Crater had nothin’ much to do with it. Ah been knew that the whole anomaly thin’ was happenin’, but it wasn’t really the main sellin’ point.” Morgan starts, unsure of where to go for a moment before he leans back a bit and looks at Saif. “… Back in my town ah was kind of a black sheep, not too surprisin’ Ah guess, kind of still stand out like a sore thumb ‘ere. Our old sheriff, my mentor ‘n’ all of that sappy stuff, he told me it might be a good idea if Ah went here ‘n’ tried to help out, make sure that people ‘ere are safe ‘n’ have a good future, all that. Ah wasn’t really helpin’ too much back home anyway, was just sort of gettin’ sad ‘n’ being put on field work that was more borin’ than watchin’ paint dry.”

Trying to be light hearted, Morgan huffs and looks at the lake. “Ya know in movies when those sheriff boys are posted up behind one of em big signs by the road, watchin’ for people drivin’ too fast so they can start chasin’ after em? Spent a good solid three years havin’ to deal with that mostly.” He remembers the days of getting incredibly familiar with the radio hosts, as they would often be his only entertainment in that car when he was on alone duty.

“Packed my stuff ‘n’ headed down ‘ere, nothin’ really special. The city smells a bit, lot’s of shitty people, ‘n’ ya are right, the smog is suffocatin’ sometimes, but it needs me, in some way, ‘n’,” He pauses and looks back at Saif again, lifting his glass again. “There’s some good people in it too. Little ol’ Meteor city becomes a little less gross when ya realize ya are important, however that is.”

“… Speakin’ of good people,” He starts, after having taken just a quick sip of his grape juice. “What brought ya here? Especially from so far away, did ya come here to study at first ‘n’ stay?” He feels bad for not having asked before, but Saif always felt so scared to him that he feared that even the smallest question would make them stare at him as if he was the headlights of a car. 

After all, what kind of man would he be, to stick his nose in Saif’s business as if it belonged to his library of knowledge. Perhaps that was why he had answered so honestly, if not a little guarded with humor, so that he at least could excuse it in hod brain as an exchange made between friends who want to get to know each other.

 

It is a marvel to behold, seeing Morgan even the slightest bit flustered. In Saif’s mind, they held him in such high esteem for his unshakeable countenance, composure perfectly embodied. To see a ripple in it like this was exhilarating, especially since, had Morgan not apologized for the state of his face, Saif might’ve convinced themself they were mistaking the warm glow of the tea lights for blush.

They feel a bit at odds with themself, hearing him admit to how rare it was for him to receive such affirmation. It makes them want to pull him close, list every good quality and fine trait he held in his arsenal, and tell him he deserved to hear it everyday, and from everyone. And in all honesty, they can’t imagine why he doesn’t hear it all the time anyways– all such things were easy to notice.

But they didn’t want to overwhelm him either, with a sudden onslaught of compliments and flattery. That, too, could come off as obligatory, and it was vital that Morgan knew that everything they said to him and about him was sincere.

In an effort to not scare him into closing off with immediate gravitas, Saif squints their eyes, corner of their mouth ticking up. “‘Young and pretty’? You are not that old, are you? I figured you were not much more than a few years older than me. But perhaps you have had me fooled the whole time?” And then, trying not to lose the playful note of their voice, they say, “And who said you weren’t pretty? I would tell them something very different.”

Even if it was coy, just as much as it had been the first time Saif complimented Morgan’s appearance, it did nothing to lessen the quickening of their pulse, the instinct to retreat. It was almost physically painful to bare so much of their thoughts like this to him, to stretch past the boundaries they had set for themself when it came to both professional and platonic interactions. They had just only begun as of late to open up among their other acquaintances in the agency, and so opening up before someone who they… appreciated so much, and whose company they valued– it wasn’t easy, and they were sure they would feel disproportionately exhausted from the mental exertion come night’s end.

Were they to follow their heart and go with their gut, they knew what they wanted most was to emphasize how much they truly liked having him here, by their side, and how much it truly meant to them. But Saif had not entirely lost their sense, and they still wanted to preserve the thin veil they deliberately held over the matter of their feelings, the depth of them. They knew their resistance was childish, especially when they already acknowledged a need to ascertain what those feelings were before trying to get anywhere with Morgan, even if it was just to clear the air and put an end to the ambiguity of the tension. But planning to reflect on and accept their own emotions was much easier than actually doing it, made even more difficult when a wellspring of new ones came bursting forth with each minute they spent alongside the man before them.

So instead of pressing further, Saif quiets, listening to Morgan speak, absentmindedly watching his mouth move. They pretend for a moment that the reason he’s telling them they don’t have to leave is because he wants them to stay right where they were, and not because it was the pragmatic kind of advice that came naturally to him.

“I don’t have to, but I should,” they say, sounding wistful, expression placid. They were somewhat bound to duty, even if they felt like they abandoned such a principle in coming here under flimsy vindication. While the acrid bitterness that led to their departure only persisted residually, slowly drained away as their attention turned to the greater expanse of opportunity that Meteor City held, they had, more or less, moved on from it– in the sense that they no longer felt a need to finish what they had come here to do.

Seeing Maeron had dredged it up again, spitefully, but not in the same way. While they would never be able to shake their distaste for the exploitation of anomalies, they knew their time was better spent helping others instead of trying to dig up information that would ultimately do very little to serve anyone, or any significant purpose.

Their thoughts are briefly interrupted by the sight of Morgan blushing again, and they can’t help the smile that breaks across their face. It leaves them feeling particularly tingly to hear Morgan say their given name again– and they almost dared to read into it, to consider the fact that he had chosen this night to switch to saying it. They could at least wonder if it meant anything.

“And why shouldn’t I praise you?” They shift so they’re facing him in full, folding their legs to the side. A rush of impulse makes them want to touch Morgan again, to shuffle close enough to press against him, but they quickly extinguish the thought. They were being too forward already, they needn’t make it worse by practically trying to migrate into his lap (though they had little trouble imagining it). “I am surprised you don’t already think so highly of yourself. You have far too many fine qualities to be this modest.”

They could reign it in. They really should reign it in. But twice now they’d seen what shyness looked on Morgan’s face, and it was hard not to try seeing it again. And they didn’t mean what they said any less for it.

They liked hearing him talk about himself, no matter the subject. They felt privileged beyond belief to have him share even a bit about himself and his hometown, though sympathy and confusion colored their curiosity. They supposed, in some ways, they could relate to what he was saying– but they came from such different lives, they could only wonder what exactly growing up was like for him.

Would it be rude to ask? Would he consider it intrusive for them to question what caused him so much grief at home, enough that the dingy streets of Meteor City were a much better prospect?

Perhaps he would let them, if Saif first offered up their own reasons as to why they felt the same way about their home.

It’s the first time they contemplate actually talking about it, when he asks what brought them to the city. They hadn’t explained what their motivation was to anyone– not to their family, not to the first friend they’d made upon coming here, and certainly not to anyone at the agency. It was a knot of negativity that they pushed so far out of mind, so that they didn’t have to remember how badly they blundered, and how the effects had never lost their touch. The biggest embarrassment of their life, one that they always swore they would take to the grave, dying with them.

Yet now, as they gaze at Morgan, his harmless interest, combined with the delicate atmosphere that had them saying more than they ever thought they would already, their reservations dissolve. One person might as well know.

If it turned out that Morgan was the type to go around spreading others personal business– well. At least they would know. 

“I, um…” They open their mouth, close it, expression souring. They try again, “I had thought that I would come here to sort of… make up for a mistake I made back at home. It wouldn’t have really– helped anything, at all, but… I had originally intended to look into anomaly smuggling.”

They grimace, quickly adding, “Not that– not that I’m trying to smuggle any anomalies. But my family used to… I mean, for quite some time, we funded a research center for the ANM-10 site, and in exchange they would provide us with any data and findings. We…”

And this was the hardest part, admitting they had any contribution to the mechanisms of illegal capture and trade. They almost try to talk around it, to avoid ruining any respect Morgan had for them. But they had left all that behind because of their distaste for the superficial nature of the dealings, the mawkish displays of cordiality for the sole purpose of turning a profit. And if there was one person they most wanted to be honest with, who they never wanted to lie to, it was him.

“We used to… sell that information, essentially. Money and good word. Building a network of acquaintanceship to keep our family in high esteem among business and industry partners.” It hurt to say out loud, hurt to have to revisit it in any way. “And I– I was never very good at it, generating rapport with strangers at first meeting, enough that they would want to do that kind of business. It is difficult to establish credibility for a discreet and otherwise unknown business venture, especially when its legality is a bit… precarious.”

Saif folds in on themself a bit, shoulders dropping. An ache hurtles itself from their through to their chest, memories they never want to think about spotting their vision. “I… there was… I had become friends with someone when I was about twenty, and I confided in him about many of my concerns and worries about the whole enterprise. We knew each other for a few years, so I had come to trust him quite a bit.” It was nauseating to talk about Maeron like this, to talk about him at all– he was another secret that they had mostly kept, their parents barely knowing his name and anything about him beyond that he was who Saif spent much of their free time with. And now, if they could bring themself to do it, Morgan would be the only person in existence to know the truth of it. 

Though they decided it wasn’t a priority, at present, to tell him that they were more than just friends with Maeron, and their thoughts were not the only part of them that they had trusted him with.

“I had made the mistake of telling him the details of a… transaction. To make a long story short, he and his family framed mine as fraudulent, because the information we provided ended up being faulty due to their tampering.”

They shrug, trying to dispel the sag of their body. Even if it had happened years ago, Saif had not developed the ability to hide how much it both angered and saddened them. “They stole the anomaly. It ruined my family’s reputation. I did not want to stay home after that. And then I– I left, without really fixing anything.”

They exhale slowly, finally looking back up at Morgan. They give him a wry smile. “How’s that for ‘good people’?”

They felt positively wrung out and worn through, finally having said it all. It wasn’t exactly like a weight had been lifted, nor could they really say they felt better but… it was something. It was a start. And even if it made Morgan think much less of them now, at least they could say that they never tried to make themself out to be a better person than they actually were. Saif had always been aware of their own cowardice, the reason for their passive nature, and even if it was slow going, they still intended to reform it into something better- to make themself someone better.

Into the heavy air, thoroughly saturated with bruises of the past out in the open, Saif hears themself say, “That client– the one that put me in the hospital– that’s how I know him. He was the one I had met all those years ago.”

They leave it at that. They can’t bear to elaborate further, detailing the full extent of the hurt he had caused them. Maybe eventually, they would be able to, but for now, it would be too much.

“So.” Saif clears their throat, now feeling a bit nervous. They weigh the risk, whether or not they would be allowed to ask now that they had exposed the skeletons in their closet. They decide to take the jump anyway. “What… was it that made you stick out in your hometown? Was there something in particular that caused it, or was it just– treatment based on petty, arbitrary reasoning?” And then, since they hadn’t forgotten all their manners, “–If I may ask.”

 

Despite Saif apologizing for the juice replacement, Morgan finds himself mighty thankful that it isn’t wine. Lord knows had it been, he would have drowned himself in it to make his whole body warm, rather than just his blushing face and neck, which was slowly creeping down to his shoulders. He wants to dunk his face into ice water, wrestle it around like a dog on a hot summer day and come out of it a much braver man than he was beforehand. But the closest thing was that lake, and he would rather sit in his ever so ungraceful shame than embarrass himself further and run for the heavens to dip into the lake, as inviting as its glow was.

It only worsens when Saif asks questions, the frog in his throat fighting for space with his adams apple. Morgan wondered if Saif could hear the little thing croak in his throat whenever he parted his lips, so in fear they might notice his stress, he adjusts on his collar to give himself a little more air to breathe, hoping to mask it as simple adjustment, although his twitchy hand shows otherwise.

“Well— Depends on who ya ask ‘round the office,” Morgan gives another little huff of that charming little chuckle. “Both Rutherford ‘n’ Kitzinger thought Ah was nearin’ my sixties when they first listened to me over the radio.” He remembers it, almost as clearly as when they made fun of his badge eons ago. Months ago. He doesn’t talk about it anymore. 

“But, er— Ah am only a lil older, Ah suppose. Even if Ah do act like an old coot, but hey, maybe Ah can convince Quigley to give me early pension if he thinks Ah am nearin’ the retirement age.” He wouldn’t want to leave, even if he was. Call it stubbornness, call it his own selfish want, but he would rather run himself dry and get swallowed up by some weird anomaly than sit in a dinghy little room in a retirement home with pictures of people who he used to see daily.

With his age Morgan can always joke, afterall it was easier to poke at as it was out of his control. But when Saif calls him pretty, even defends him from whoever might have convinced him otherwise, he looks up at them again with a surprised look. And here he sits for just a moment and is not sure if he should try and joke, as much as he has grown tired of it already, or if he should hang his head in shame. He decides on the latter, putting his head down and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah guess, uh…”

He seems to grimace a bit, swallowing as he lifts his hand and shrugs. There are plenty of people who have made him feel ugly. News articles, billboards, advertisements, childhood bullies, ignorant children whos mothers never taught them to whisper more quietly on the bus, old hags and grumpy men who believed that they age excused all. But there was one person who perpetually made him feel maddeningly un-loveable whenever he looked at the mirror.

“That would be me.” He tries to shrug, rubbing his throat now as he looks away, hiding that exposed skin as he now thinks about it maybe a little too much. This was awkward, he knew that much, and Morgan wanted so desperately to sweep it under the rug, just take the joke and compliment that Saif had given him then and there, but he gets stuck in his own head, as men with hearts twice their brains tend to do. So he sucks in a deep breath and gives a bit of a chuckle, picking up his glass again and drinking the last bit in it.

“But that’s not that important.”

He stops his racing mind from thinking about how large he might look in this shirt that was surely made from someone much prettier than him, how he should have worn a shoulder so he could hide his shoulders a little better and how wide his arms are, so he could excuse it as his jacket being awkward rather than his frame being so boxy. He doesn’t want to start second guessing if he should have worn his prettier shoes this time, or if maybe Saif, who seemed so fashionable, would have dressed him better. And certainly does his brain want to veer away from the image of Saif picking something just for him. Morgan fights the thought, and despite all odds, win, for now.

"I don’t have to, but I should."

He knew that feeling, to do the right thing wasn’t always an obligation but it is needed sometimes. Morgan just wonders if this truly is the time to turn yourself into a knight who followed honor rather than life, but perhaps it was that selfish little piece of his heart that really didn’t want Saif to go anywhere from this lake, from him and from all they had talked about. For what would happen if Saif left for him and never came back. Morgan wasn’t good at traveling, and certainly they would stay there and not come back. Awkward letters, emails, he wonders if Saif would forget him within a year. He wonders if he’d ever forget them. Wonders , no. He knows he won’t.

“Ah see.” It isn’t outwardly negative, more or so understanding. Who was he, a country man who had only really gotten close to them within the last year or so, to tell them to stay here if they truly felt as if they had to go home? Saif didn’t need to listen to him, and he certainly had no control over them.

"And why shouldn’t I praise you?"

It makes me want to kiss you. It makes me want to hold you in my arms, as broken and as heavy as they feel, to hold you with my crooked fingers and to press my lips against you. It makes me want to love you. It makes me want you to stay.

“‘Cause ya makin’ me heat up like a radiator. Ah am startin’ to think ya want me walkin’ round lookin’ like a fuckin’ red tulip, Saif.” Morgan gives a little huff, but it is good humored as he can’t fight back that little smile he has on his face, awkward as it is, he looks at Saif like a dog being told to smile. Endearing, weirdly youthful and new; he hasn’t done this in eons, and yet Saif makes him feel as if he has a chance to get crows feet.

“Speak of yaself, ya look like someone who could get anythin’ ‘n’ anyone ya want, yet ya out here spendin’ ya time servin’ me juice ‘n’ talkin’ about the future with the master of woodcuttin’. ” How can he be proud and stand as a peacock when Saif makes him so weak in the knees he has to sit down. Even now he is considering laying back on the grass to take three minutes of utter peace of relaxing, hoping it would send the blood in his face to the rest of his body.

He wonders how Saif does this to him every time, how the little movement to face him, to look at him and to praise him, makes every part of his old body start to flex and spark with electricity. They were magical, truly, and he wonders just how long it will take before he tells them to their face that he has smiled more in their presence than he has since he was twelve. It is sad, certainly, but it makes him realize just what happiness looks like. And he hopes, eventually, he’ll taste it too.

But his dreams of Saif’s lips would have to wait as he listens to them speak, sharing their guilt and all they had dragged with them from their home to hear, heavy be burdens of shame that hung from their back. Confusion first arises in Morgan, conflicted as he always was when he faced such situations; crime, illegality and all the likes. While it had not been the worst he had ever heard of nor seen, he still has to pause and think.

Information selling, smuggling, anomalies and so forth. Morgan looks down and wrinkles his nose a bit as he thinks over all that he has been told, taking a bit of a deep breath as he seems to think long and hard about it.

Morgan, all his life, had been a man who spoke for the law, who yearned so desperately to be one of the men who helped those who could not help themselves. That was why he thought crime, that was why he thought against the stuff Saif’s parents did, the selling of information, the hunting and gathering of anomalies that could hurt the population in the long run, that was why he became a detective and why he became a helper at the hospital. And normally he would be furious with the words Saif spoke, grab them by the arm and tell them to explain to him why on earth they would do something so stupid—

But instead he shuffles a little closer, leaning into Saif’s space as he stays nice and close with that very calm, very collected face. And gently he rubs the back of two fingers against their arm, comforting as it was, showing them he wasn’t going to hurt them.

“ Saif, ” He says it so much softer than he even expects himself to, but many nights of sitting with Diane has prepared him to speak with a voice that would lull lambs to sleep around his wolfish self.

“Would you look upon someone who has never known better, who has been taught this ‘n’ been shown this by their family, someone who should know better, someone who were adults, grown ‘n’ knowing of the consequences, ‘n’ say that they were bad for followin’ instructions from someone who they love?” He explains. “Ah don’t want ya puttin’ words in my mouth ya might want to hear, for Ah do not believe that, alright? Ya see ya faults, ya see it is bad, and ya time away from them has made ya understand that what went on was not okay. What happened was not good, but ya are not a bad person.”

Never had Morgan wanted to bring Saif in harder, to place a hand on the back of their head and pull them in, to press a kiss on their forehead and hope it seeps so far into their skin it spreads a happy glow to the rest of their body. He hopes, just for a moment, that even an ounce of that want, that need , leaked through his hand as he gently places it on their arm, rubbing his thumb against it as he lets his word hang in the air for just a moment for them to grasp and hold.

“… Ah know it ain’t my place to say sorry,” Morgan whispers after they speak briefly of the client. “But sometimes, ya need to hear it. Ah am sorry, that happened to ya, Saif.” Morgan wishes he could catch all that hurt in Saif and throw it so far that not even an anomaly would reach through time and space to catch it. Morgan wonders if he could. He’s always had a good throwing arm.

And when it comes to Morgan now, he doesn’t hesitate to speak his own truth. An eye for an eye, though Morgan hopes that one day it can be a hand for a hand.

“… Mostly petty little things. Ah was one of em weird kids who was a little too into one thin’, grew up wantin’ to be one of em proper sheriff’s, hence why, well,” he gestures back at the car. “All my current clothes, my old job, so forth. Most kids grow out of that stuff, their childhood dream job, but Ah… Didn’t. Mix that up with a good ol divorce scandal with ya parents ‘n’ a bunch of bullies turned adults with no easy way of climbin ladders, ‘n’ ya will get rumors that tear ya down till ya are nothin’.”

“Got called all sorts of things, really. Some people said Ah was riggin’ the sheriff’s election, trynna turn it to my favour so Ah could become the next sheriff. Another co-worker of mine stole my paperworks, claimed it as his ‘n’ framed me for fakin’ more work ‘n’ slackin’. Ah was easy to pick on, odd, quiet, ya know the sort.” Morgan doesn’t seem as bothered by it all, but grows quiet as he sucks in a deep breath.

“Ah bet some kids back there still know me as the dog man.” Morgan hesitates a bit, before lifting up his sleeves just a bit, showing off some of the back scars and knicks he has on his arms. “… Got attacked as a wee idiot by a coyote when Ah went roamin’ too far. Been scared shitless since then of any dog, embarrassin’, really. Gave them plenty of funny names to throw at me though, a kid at my old school even thought Ah was gonna become a dog, like some sort of werewolf tale.” He flexes his hand, trying to chuckle but it becomes dry as he looks back up at Saif.

“Spent most of my time trynna do whatever Ah could to be normal ‘n’ helpful, but once ya show a bit of easy open wounds, people swarm to it ‘n’ call it ugly. Petty, arbitrary little things, lies, rumors, so forth.”

“… Guess we both know a little bit about being good people, with shitty fuckin’ surroundings.” But I have you now. And you have me.

 

“Sixties?” The corner of Saif’s mouth quirks up, equal parts amused and incredulous. They hum in thought, saying, “I suppose the warp of the sound could make you sound older. But if you were really in your sixties, you are doing an excellent job at maintaining your vigor.”

It was the easiest way for them to sidestep the compliment that had really been sitting at the edge of their tongue, ready to leap off. You look to good for sixty. One glance at you, and surely anyone would guess as much.

The urge rounds on them again, throat sore with the strain of withholding the words. The look on Morgan’s  face, the uncertainty in his posture (which Saif had never before witnessed)– it makes Saif want to cradle his jaw in their hands, brush stray locks of hair to the side as they gaze at him. They do none of that, but they do lean towards him, having to brace their hand further on the blanket, coming too close to Morgan’s thigh. 

“Then let me tell you something very different.” Because it seems no one tells you enough, because you deserve to believe it. Heat claws itself across their skin, every part of their face and every limb. They can feel the trembling rhythm of their heart against their ribcage, threatening to free itself and make every sentiment of theirs known and bared for all to see.

 “You’re beautiful.” Their blood is a thrum inside their head, the burst of adrenaline the only thing that lets the thought push past the boundary of their lips. “And I mean that sincerely.”

Their eyes roam over his face, inhibitions awry. They had thought so long before the two of them had spoken at length, had fleetingly admired his profile as they moved about the office. Their opinion hadn’t changed at all over the last year, and if anything, was only magnified. They suppose they could chalk it up to a rugged sort of charm, but it didn’t really feel that way, and it didn’t matter what particular qualities made him attractive to them. They liked his face, simple as that. They liked looking at it. And every time they looked at him, it became harder to look away.

They wish they could convince him to believe it to be important that he knows, and thus view himself that way. 

Pride isn’t quite the right word for the emotion that bubbles up in Saif’s chest when he admits to how flustered they’re making him. It was something adjacent to it, perhaps gratification– after all, they were the type to deny what was before their eyes if they were afraid to believe it to be true, including things they wanted and wished. A bit of the fear and hesitation they had– their worry that none of this meant anything to Morgan– drifts away, alleviated for the time being. They still didn’t want to read too far into it, but if they pushed things, just a bit… what would it reveal?

“And what if I told you,” their breathing is shallow, head still dizzy with all that they were bringing out in the open, the jeopardy of it, “you have the same effect on me?”

And it’s proven almost immediately, the full-body blush that rolls over them instantly. “I look like– what?” They half laugh, half cough into their free hand, shyness overtaking yet again. “I…Well, if that were really the case, I think I would have–” reluctance rears itself in their chest again, causing their voice to falter, but only for a moment, “–would… would have probably dated more than– dated someone, by now.”

They internally wince a bit at their self-correction, remembering mid sentence that they had never really dated anyone. Maeron was a mistake on their part. Even if they thought of him like an ex, it was more so in sentiment than any reflection of the reality of their relationship: so much going unspoken, wrongly assumed, and misinterpreted. Ex-friend maybe, but not ex-lover. Even if they did love him, once.

They were being too honest tonight. They wondered what happened to the person who kept their cards so close to their chest that they didn’t even know what cards were in their hand. It’d be nice if they came back, if only to put an end to all the unnecessary little details that were tumbling out of their mouth.

They clear their throat uncomfortably, eyes flitting up back to Morgan, a timid smile playing on their lips. “But I what I want is to spend my time with ‘the master of woodcutting’, so maybe you’re right.” 

It’s impossible to hold his gaze too long after saying that, and Saif glances away, the back of their neck prickling with needlepoints of heat. The night was cool, nearly cold enough to make them shiver with each gentle breeze, but their face was warm enough that they felt it might combust.

Even as the feelings gradually ebb away as they talk about the past, movement catches their attention in their periphery, reigniting the flame, only stoked more so when they feel Morgan’s fingers against their arm, the comforting stroke. They feel like all the air has left their lungs, leaving them breathless as they mindlessly watch him rub their arm, the subtle heat bleeding through the fabric of their sleeve.

And when he says their name in that soft voice of his, unbearably sympathetic, Saif looks up at him in an instant, lips slightly parted.

“But I did know better,” they say automatically, feeling far away. It was like they were talking about someone else, and whoever they were was not that person, but someone whose eyes kept drifting downward to Morgan’s lips, the faint pale line of a scar drawn over them. “I mean… Yes, my parents raised us with certain expectations, but… much of this happened in my adulthood. I had known better, and made a choice.” Their eyes close, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I chose to prioritize my family’s expectations over what was right, and then I chose to prioritize my comforts over my family.”

Their throat hurts, and it comes as a shock; they hadn’t thought they’d get emotional about it, and their eyes flutter open as they blink rapidly to clear their vision.

“Um– sorry, I didn’t…” They duck their head, taking slow breaths to calm down. Even if it wouldn’t have been the first time they cried in front of Morgan, they didn’t need him to see it again. They didn’t even want him to see it when they broke down before him in the hospital, wrapped up in his arms. That had been humiliating enough, but at least it was warranted, given the state of their body and the stress they were under. This, now, was wholly self-induced.

They really shouldn’t have mentioned it. What were they thinking? This was a terrible conversation to have with anyone, at any time, least of all during a… date. A date that wasn’t really supposed to be a date. 

They were so bad at this, bad at socializing in general beyond polite conversation and impersonal subjects. It was always the quality that left their parents so exasperated. It was no surprise, really, that if something was going to get messed up, they were at the center of it.

“...Thank you anyway, though.” Because, even if they didn’t think they deserved it, Morgan was the only one to express any sympathy for what they went through, even if it was their fault. The only person to be aware of the deepest flaws in their, and he still had enough compassion to try and comfort them for it. 

If he still wanted to spend time with them at all after this, they’d consider themself even luckier than before.

It’s easier to look back up at him when he starts talking about himself, the attention no longer on them, which is a relief. Saif listens attentively, wanting to memorize every last aspect of his life that he was willing to share. Their heart ached for him, the position he was thrust into among his community, the unfairness of it.

And they gather that he, undoubtedly, is a much better, and much kinder person than they’ll ever be. 

It had been a question in the back of their mind, the cause for his scars, especially after they helped him tend to one of his wounds once, and saw the expanse of them across his chest and flank. There was… so much, and they always wanted to ask, but never felt it appropriate or right to do so. In fact, they mostly felt in awe that he was alive to tell the tale.

When Morgan lifts his sleeves, Saif’s eyes move to them first, hand twitching. They don’t move for a second, and then, gradually, they lift their fingertips to lightly trace the length of one of the bigger scars etched into his forearm. They watch him with wide eyes as they do, afraid he might recoil or pull away. They weren’t even sure if they were allowed to touch him in general– given what they revealed about their character– weren’t sure if they had the right. They were doubly unsure that, even if he was okay with casual touch between them, if this extended to the vestiges of violence that threaded itself across his body.

“That sounds… terrifying.” Their voice is solemn, somber, and their touch is reverent. A small breath of wry laughter escapes them, and they say, “I would be more surprised if you weren’t afraid after something like that, considering…” considering how badly it marred you. “I know it does not change anything, but… I am sorry for what happened to you too. No one deserves to go through all of that or receive that kind of treatment so young.”

And that was the real apex of what made them feel so undeserving in Morgan's presence now: scorned, ostracized, and shamed, he had still become such an upstanding person with an endless fountain of benevolence. He didn’t even seem to have any bitterness about the whole ordeal, only a sadness. A quiet relinquishment. A dedication to do better by everyone, even if that work went unreciprocated.

And it hurt to know that, in comparison, Saif was nothing like that. Their experiences left them wanting more. Their experiences left them wanting to get away. Their experiences left them with an initial cruelty so overwhelming that their biggest motivation for coming to Meteor City specifically had been to tear down others' lives, just as theirs had been. Even if their target had been people who they thought deserved it, liars and deceivers, it didn’t change the sickening malice and hostility that had plagued them for so many years.

It was only by chance that the agency had so many uplifting, supportive people, set out on doing good, doing what was right. It was by chance that their bitterness was snuffed out by finally having the opportunity to grow close to others and share in their happiness. It was only by chance that one of the most respectable people in the world made it his everyday priority to see to it that their needs were met, that they were comfortable and cared for, that they didn’t have to deal with their injuries and obstacles alone.

“I really dont–” deserve you, as a friend or anything else.

“I…” wish I could become a person who didn’t hide behind so many pretenses.

It was pretense, after all, that Maeron attributed to the reason why he resented them. Why he went so far as to betray their trust. 

Because, despite how much distaste they held for lying and those who did it, Saif’s honesty had its limits. Both with themself, and with others.

When they speak, their voice comes out a little quiet, a little melancholic. “I think you know a great deal more about being a good person than I do.”

Ever since the dreamscape, since Pleasantville, Saif had been trying to figure out what exactly it is that they want– from themself, from others, from life. It was always easy to identify what they didn’t want, what they didn’t like. Things like anger, frustration, vindication, those were easy, those were emotions with immediate answers and clear resolutions.

But happiness, peace, passion… These were things they had not been familiar with for a long time. They didn’t know what the answers were, or where to find them. Didn’t know how to make themself content, only able to happen upon such things by luck alone.

Despite that, they always knew they wanted to be a better person, someone who didn’t engage with the nefarious business practices that were so common among the echelon of people with whom their family was so well acquainted. The difficulty was discerning what road led that way.

Saif’s eyes, which had gone a bit unfocused, drift back to where their hand still rests on Morgan’s arm, fingers relaxed and curled. They really want to just… lean forward, lean into him, let their mind and storm of thoughts float away. They want him to hold them just as he did in the hospital, when they couldn’t think; the only thing that existed in that moment was the warmth of his body, the gentle press of his hand at their back, and the scent of cologne, wood, and coffee that clung to his clothes. 

They want to apologize again, though they are not even sure what for. Maybe for taking him out here. For making him believe they’re something, someone they’re not– which, ironically, was what they were supposed to be doing at all those business dinners and galas, and were never successful. 

They want to apologize for touching him, for praising and complimenting him, even if they meant everything from the bottom of their heart. They wanted to apologize for not being grateful enough, for not showing their gratitude enough. They wanted to apologize for taking up so much of his time, for not being able to give him what he was always able to give them, because if anyone deserved to get as good as they gave, it was Morgan. 

They want to apologize for every last fantasy and daydream of kissing him that consumed their thoughts so much as of late. 

They want to apologize for not being the kind of person who could say any of this out loud.

Saif pulls their hand away, letting it drop into their lap. The chill of the night air settles over their palm, making them conscious of how empty it felt now. 

“Do you know how much I admire you?” It comes out a whisper, almost a sigh. “I cannot tell you enough. You are too good–” for me “–to me. And to everyone else.”

 

Their exhalations are shaky, but they smile at him nonetheless. “I am so glad to have met you, Morgan."