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“Mm.. I dunno, I always thought it was kind of obvious,” Calm points out, and Slaine blinks at him, looking a bit confused, teal eyes lingering over steel blue. Breaking a square off of his chocolate bar, he offers it to Nina, who happily accepts.
It smells nice. Like caramel. Which makes sense, considering the chocolate itself is a hollow shell meant to hold bits of salted caramel syrup within. There is decidedly more filling than there is chocolate.
“That what was?”
“That Inaho’s always and obviously had a thing for you,” Calm says, watching as the other blond flushes slightly at the reply, clearly not having expected that despite their current topic of conversation. Continuing to break off the small, even pieces of chocolate from his bar, he offers one now to Slaine, who shakes his head and vaguely gestures toward his thermos.
‘How could I ask Inaho on a date?’, that is. With the ‘I’ in question being Slaine. Not that Nina nor Calm has been particularly helpful.
Laughing, Calm playfully nudges the older blond with his free, clean hand, fingers lingering against Slaine’s bicep. “Come on, haven’t you seen the way he looks at you? As if he’d, like, actually kill someone if they ever upset you,” he questions, and it is teasing, though he does not seem to be joking , judging by the way he says it.
Inaho must have mentioned something to him; the brunet seems quite harmless, but given he did show up covered in..
...
Slaine pushes the thoughts away, and frowns at the other blond, scolding, “He does not look at me like that.”
“No, he definitely does,” Nina agrees, and she nods a few times, once, twice, thrice as she continues to pull her things out of her bag, prioritising her actual homework over snacks. She has her laptop, a book, a notebook, and a colourful array of highlighters and pens. “I don’t think he’d actually kill someone like Calm does,” she clarifies, voice even, warm, just as it usually is, “But when that tourist was arguing with you last week, it was probably the most upset I’ve seen him. If I hadn’t intervened before he did, I’m fairly certain he probably would’ve scared them half to death.” And it is completely serious; her tone does not have a hint of teasing or playfulness to it.
Slaine simply stares, shocked, at a loss for words.
“.. so, I agree. I think he’s head-over-heels for you,” Nina hums, and she beams at the older blond, looking completely sure of herself. The laptop turns on with a soft whirring sound, and she starts to flip through her notebook for whatever recent notes she had taken, settling on a page with blue and green highlighted passages. “He doesn’t correct people assuming you two are together, you know. I think the idea makes him happy – he always gets all smiley whenever people bring it up. Which, as you’re aware is uncommon for him,” she tells the older blond, who looks away from her, bites on his lip.
Starting to pull out his own belongings, Slaine gently sets his laptop down atop their table, and then his books and handwritten notes. “I asked how I could ask him on a date, not..” Trailing off, he frowns at the two other blonds again, both of whom simply give him their best smiles. “You’re both incorrigible,” he mumbles.
Calm only rolls his eyes, not at all offended by the joke, though also not particularly amused by it. “And you’re dense. Listen, we’ll make it easy for you – we won’t show up for Christmas. Ask your old man to take New Years off, instead. How’s that?” he asks, and it is clear he has put thought into this. Finally setting his chocolate bar to the side, he starts unpacking his own things; a tablet, a thick notebook full of grid paper, several pencils and erasers, and a small sharpener.
“.. fine,” Slaine agrees, and he nods just once. “I’m just..” he starts to say, softer, and he shifts a bit in his chair, looking anxious, uncertain, “.. I don’t.. want to ruin our friendship. Not unless I’m certain.”
“I’m pretty sure he’s had feelings for you since the moment he’s laid eyes on you,” Calm laughs, and he shakes his head a bit. “Just ask him if he’d like to spend the holiday with you. Alone. Worse case scenario, he says ‘no’, but I’m fairly certain the word ‘no’ has never crossed his mind when it comes to you,” he teases, and he pulls a small packet of wet wipes from one of his pockets, gets to work cleaning the chocolate and caramel sticking to his fingers.
“Of course he does!” Nina insists, “I mean, you were the one who found him. It’s romantic! I think it’s sweet that he so obviously likes you.” There is warmth within her tone, affection, and she leans over to gently squeeze one of Slaine’s hands, “And if I’m wrong.. then Calm will personally drive you to the city whenever you want for a whole year.”
Slaine bursts into laughter, sweet and warm and –
ding! ding!
The bell over the door chimes softly, and when Slaine looks over and raises his head a bit, he finds Inaho slowly letting himself in, clutching a steaming, ceramic pot to his chest.
“Do you need help, Inaho?” Slaine calls, though he does not wait for an answer as he quickly gets up and jogs over, taking the pot in Inaho’s stead. It is indeed quite warm, and he immediately recognises it as belonging to the nearby restaurant that Inaho frequents.
They have grown to easily trust him over the years, do not let him walk around with the paper or foam ones, unlike they do with tourists. Inaho is very much a recognised member of the town, now, and it only took people about a year and a half to get used to him – the following three have simply been him living here, getting used to the idea that he now lives a normal life.
“Heyo, Inaho!”
“Welcome back!”
“..thank you,” Inaho calls in turn, and his voice is quiet, even, just like it usually is. Adjusting his scarf a bit, he gazes up at the blond for a moment, just for a second. “And thank you, Slaine,” he says, and the blond feels his heart catch a bit.
“Of course! You want to sit with us, don’t you?”
Inaho nods, just once, as he starts to pull off his gloves and hat and scarf. They are all gifts from Slaine, things he had brought the brunet during that first week he arrived here, and they are all stuffed into his pockets. “I want to sit next to you,” he says, following after the older young man, and Slaine is glad he cannot see the smile on his lips at the admission.
Setting the container down beside the spot he had chosen for himself, Slaine shoots Calm a look before he sits back down.
Calm only smiles in turn, not at all threatened.
Pulling off his coat and draping it over the chair, Inaho glances between the three of them, dark eyes lingering over them. “I appreciate you watching the library, for me. I hope there wasn’t any trouble,” he says, voice still quiet, still even, though he smiles slightly.
“Nah, don’t worry. It was normal, as usual,” Calm hums, and he snickers a bit as the brunet sits down beside Slaine, watches as Inaho scoots the chair the slightest bit closer to the other blond. “You know, you could prob’ly just have them deliver that to ya. I don’t think they’d mind doing you the favour.”
“I would. Even though it’s cold, I’m perfectly capable of walking over there myself,” Inaho points out as he opens the container, lets his hands rest against the ceramic for a moment, warming them. It looks like he has chosen a bowl of stew for lunch; it is still steaming, and it smells fresh, smells delicious. There are thick cuts of what look like beef sitting in the broth, and there are cut up pieces of pre-roasted vegetables floating at the top. It will definitely warm him, which always seems to be the end goal during the colder months; he will eat anything, so long as it is warm.
Calm does not respond to that.
By now, all three of them are quite used to the brunet’s quirks, one of which includes disliking feeling like he owes people. It had taken him a while to get used to the idea of receiving gifts without someone expecting something in return, and whilst he allows it with them and their families, he does not with anyone else, despite being quite friendly with the rest of the town.
“So, Inaho, you’re not seeing anyone, are you?” Calm asks instead, and Slaine has to resist the urge to frown at him.
Nina presses a hand over her mouth, stifling soft giggles, but does not say anything, instead watches them, her vivid, green eyes flickering between Inaho’s and Calm’s face.
“I’m.. seeing the three of you?”
The blonde laughs a bit louder, a soft inhale escaping her lips before she further muffles herself with her sweater.
Slaine, too, has to stop himself from laughing aloud.
It is much rarer nowadays, but Inaho sometimes has a bit of an issue understanding ‘modern terms and slang’, as he so eloquently put it.
“No, I mean, like, romantically. You don’t have a partner.”
It comes out as a statement, though Calm might not mean it to.
“.. oh. No. But you’re not my type,” Inaho tells Calm, who flushes a bit at the blunt, completely unnecessary admission. And he apparently does not think anything is wrong with what he had just said, does not at all think it is rude, as he finally begins eating, the silver spoon easily cutting through bits of meat and broth.
Slaine cannot help it – he makes a soft sound and promptly covers his mouth with the back of his hand, purposefully staring toward the back of the library when the brunet glances toward him.
This is.. nice. How could he possibly want to ruin what he has right now, when things are already so perfect?
“Inaho? I need some help,” Slaine calls, patient as he waves at the brunet from the other end of the counter, gently tracing his thumb over the edge of his thermos. It is not as hot as it had been a few hours ago, but it is warm enough, tastes like peppermint hot chocolate still.
The brunet nods slightly, glancing over his shoulder for a moment to meet Slaine’s teal eyes, just for a second, before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.
It looks as if he has gotten used to this, to working and living a normal life, and by his own admission, he enjoys it. It is something repetitive, something he can do easily and continuously whilst remaining focused. Inaho had gone from not even knowing what a computer is to being able to use it quite efficiently, even outside of what his duties as a librarian’s assistant decrees.
Right now, Slaine is the library’s only patron, with Calm and Nina having left to return home for dinner. Most of the year, this is their routine. The other townsfolk are generally either working, or are studying at home, or are at school, and if they do visit, then it is normally to check out a book to bring elsewhere, or to ask Inaho to order something specific. The blond prefers to study here, do his classes here, both so that he can spend time with Inaho, and so that he has a comfortable, silent place to work and not be completely alone.
.. papa is gone for most of the day, so.. It is lonely, at home, though he knows his father does not mean it to be. Doctor Troyard simply spends most of his time working at the lab to pay for Slaine’s tuition, and for their house, and for everything else, so the blond can continue living a normal life, like his mother would have wanted.
...
Slaine watches as Inaho finishes the row he is currently working on, and then puts the screen on sleep mode, slides a small bookmark on top of the page of the notepad he had been referencing before shutting it.
Simple. Orderly.
“What can I help you with, Slaine?” Inaho asks as he gets up and makes his way over toward the blond.
“I need you to order some more material from the city. For my thesis,” Slaine says, and he leans forward a bit more, teal lingering over dark, dark brown. Inaho’s eyes are so much warmer, now; he remembers when they had been devoid of any warmth at all, when he first arrived. “If you can find anything talking about how different vegetables or fruits or plants in general provide energy when burnt or otherwise transformed into fuel, I would appreciate that. I’m specifically hoping for anything that might detail their different amounts, such as if corn is a better fuel than something like peas,” he says, and used to this now, used to explaining what he needs in easy terms. “As always, I’ll accept any Japanese books or reports you may come across. And it’s alright if you can’t find anything specific – anything that might detail natural, renewable flora as a fuel or source of alternate energy will be helpful, as well,” he adds, making it clear that he will accept anything the brunet deems acceptable.
Inaho nods, used to this too, by now. “I’ll have them here as soon as possible. Is that all?” he asks, and Slaine hesitates, nail catching against the bit of the thermos where the canister and top meet.
“.. actually..” Slaine starts to say, knowing he has to at least try asking, “.. I was.. I was hoping you’d tell me what you want for Christmas, this year.”
“Slaine..”
“Please? Almost four years of spending Christmas together, and you still won’t tell me what you want?” the blond pleads, and he presses a hand over Inaho’s, thumb lightly tracing over the back of his wrist. “Surely there’s something . I found you in the snow with not a single belonging to your name, but you’ve never asked me for anything..” he says, and he continues staring at the other, patient, determined.
No wonder he had been so reluctant to ask.
This is something he asks every year, and the brunet has given him the same answer three years in a row : ‘I don’t want anything, you’ve already given me everything’. It is a bit easier when his birthday comes around; Inaho tends to ask him to cook him an entire dinner and dessert, which Slaine happily agrees to.
“.. do you remember the day you found me?” he asks instead.
Slaine nods, just once, already feeling the nerves and anxiety starting to well up within his heart at the memory. “I.. I was terrified,” he admits, the words already shaky, already a bit uneven, and he gently squeezes the brunet’s hand, “You were freezing. And I found you unconscious, in the park, wearing those thin clothes that no one would wear when walking through town. When I brought you to the clinic, the nurses were worried we might have to take you to the hospital, and when I helped one of the nurses redress you, I..” Trailing off, his gaze slips for a moment, to their hands. “.. I’m just glad you’re safe, now,” he whispers, “And.. and I hope you’ll keep living here. You’ve become very dear to me.”
Smiling and shaking his head a bit, Inaho remains still as the blond continues to gently smooth the back of his hand. “I have no intention of ever leaving. Not when meeting you was the best day of my life,” he assures the other, and Slaine cannot help the way he lights up, knows he must look relieved. “You’ve already given me almost everything I could ever want,” he continues, and that causes the blond to suck in a soft breath, the promise of ‘almost’ enticing, intriguing, “I still have everything you gave me during the time I lived with you. I treasure all of it. They’re my most prized possessions.”
The admission further helps. Slaine softens, and his smile turns sheepish, clumsy, sweet , as his cheeks flush a bit. “I.. You’ve mentioned that, before. And I’ve seen some of the blankets and pillows when I visit. You always use the same scarf every winter, too,” he says, visibly flattered, glad that his gifts are still being used, even after all this time. “What is it you’re still wanting, then? Surely I can give it to you,” he asks, and he finally pulls away to pull at strands of his near-white hair, a bit embarrassed.
Inaho shifts behind the counter, eyes lingering over Slaine’s own. “.. I’ll tell you at your party. It’s something you already have,” he says, and the blond beams at him now, excited by the promise, “It’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Would you like me to bring anything?”
Humming, the other young man thinks for a moment, nails lightly tapping against the thermos again. In the quiet library, it is the only noticeable sound, with the two of them still being quiet, polite, despite being alone. “Mm.. My, ah.. ‘party’ this year is, erm.. just going to be the two of us. I hope that’s alright,” he says, and his cheeks flush just the slightest bit more, “But.. if you could bring a cake or a pie, I’d appreciate it. Since it’s just going to be us, I don’t want to bake an additional thing on top of dinner..” It is soft, and he laughs, trying to ease the nervousness within his heart.
“.. that’s perfect, actually. I wanted to tell you my wish in private,” Inaho says after a moment, and he nods, “I’ll pick something up after my shift, then.”
“Great! It’s a..” Catching himself, Slaine awkwardly clears his throat, hopes the brunet did not realise what he had almost said. “It’s, um.. something I’m.. really looking forward to.” It comes out a bit quieter than he had meant it to, and he forces a smile, eyes lingering over Inaho’s just for a moment before he looks away, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Inaho returns the smile. “.. me too, Slaine. I look forward to it, too,” he assures the blond.
“No one would ever be able to guess you had no idea how to use modern technology when you first came here,” Slaine says, teasing, playful, as he slides over his small jar of cinnamon sticks. “.. and you remember how I prefer my coffee. Even though I’ve only told you once,” he says, and it is softer as he watches Inaho finish flavouring their drinks, accepting his when the brunet holds it out for him.
It is quiet.
The TV chatters softly in the background, about the weather and about what people can expect as the days lead up to the New Year. It is nothing new, nothing they have not heard. Neither of them are paying attention, either; Slaine had only turned it on for noise, has instinctively kept it on despite the fact that he is not alone.
And it is warm. The oven has not been on for some time, now, and dinner has already been eaten, but the blond had made sure to keep the heater on, so Inaho does not get cold. It is pleasant. It is a nice Christmas, and Slaine cannot help but be excited, knowing that Inaho will finally tell him what he wants.
Their dishes lie on a small rack, drying, water drip drip dripping as it runs off back into the sink, and Inaho’s cake is safe within its container, ready to be eaten later this evening.
“That’s because you’re a very good teacher,” Inaho tells the blond, gently tracing a thumb against the rim of his mug.
And he does it perfectly; Slaine likes cinnamon in his homemade coffee during the autumn and winter, as well as three tablespoons of milk, a teaspoon of vanilla creamer, and a pinch of salt.
Inaho prefers his own coffee far simpler, opts for cinnamon and milk, though he adds far more of each, to make it sweeter and spicier.
“W.. well.. you did ask me to help you fit in,” the blond points out, a bit embarrassed by the admission, despite the fact that it is completely true, “And you learnt very quickly. I think the only things you had difficulty understanding was how electricity worked and how to not electrocute yourself..” It is partially a joke, but there were quite a few times he had to quickly intervene whenever Inaho tried to wash something electrical or touch things with wet hands. Nothing ever happened , thankfully, though that was mostly due to how close the blond was watching him.
Looking back, it is not surprising. Inaho did show up covered in scars and bruises, and..
...
Now that Inaho knows better, he is far less likely to hurt himself.
Gently pulling at Inaho’s other hand, pointing over toward the sofa, Slaine leads the brunet over, lets him sit down first before following suit. Their knees lightly touch, brush against each other, and the blond smiles, warm, teal lingering over dark brown. “I.. I’m glad you stayed,” he murmurs, soft. It is low. And he means it; Inaho truly is one of his dearest friends, is someone he cares deeply for.
“.. you’re the reason I stayed, you know,” Inaho says, and the other young man blinks at him, and then looks away, cheeks flushing slightly, “I’m serious. I stayed because I met you. If I hadn’t, I would have left that same day. Assuming the cold didn’t kill me, first.” Setting his mug down on the coffee table, he turns to properly face the blond. “You still haven’t told anyone, have you?” he asks, voice low, even.
“No. I promised I wouldn’t. I mean.. I wouldn’t even know how to tell someone that you were raised in a cult..” Slaine answers as he shakes his head, and he looks back toward the other, heart in his throat.
Though Inaho has always been vague about where he came from, he did mention that other people did not particularly care for him, that they got violent and that he was often bullied. That, coupled with his admission that they lived in a world devoid of modern technology, meant he was wholly unaware and ill-equipped to live here without any help.
Doctor Troyard agreed to let the brunet live with the two of them until he was capable enough of living on his own, and Inaho ended up living here for about seven months, before receiving Slaine’s stamp of approval for passing as ‘normal’, and moved out to live within one of the inn’s rooms, where the owner happily let him keep one of their better suites so long as he could pay a small bit of rent. It worked out well enough; his job at the library ensures he has a steady paycheck, with more than enough to pay rent and extra to buy himself food and clothes and other necessities as needed. He even makes enough to support his sister, who occasionally comes to visit him, and is always excited to see the ‘outside world’, as she calls it.
Staring at the other, quiet for a moment, Inaho leans forward and presses a hand to the cushion beneath them, a small smile on his lips. “.. I wasn’t raised in a cult, Slaine,” he finally says, and the blond feels himself tense up, “I wasn’t sure what you were even referring to until I looked up the meaning of the word in a dictionary. I never corrected you because I didn’t want to scare you.” It is quiet, but gentle; there is a sort of affection within his words, as if he is still trying not to scare Slaine. “You care about me, don’t you?” he asks, and it is still low, still even.
“Of.. of course I do!” Slaine insists, leaning forward – the movement is sudden, and he manages to catch himself before he spills his coffee on the both of them, sets it down on the table just as Inaho had. “I.. I care about you. You’re extremely important to me, Inaho,” he says, and it is softer now, firmer, and he presses a hand over the brunet’s own, gently squeezes it, “It doesn’t matter to me how you were raised, or where you come from. I only care that you’re safe and happy.”
“Would you still care for me even if I weren’t human?” Inaho asks, blunt.
There is unease within his dark eyes, and Slaine feels his own widen at the question. And it is completely serious.
Still, the brunet does not wait for an answer. The words come out quickly, but it is obviously a question he wants an answer to, regardless of what that answer might be. Leaning forward just the slightest bit more, knee lightly brushing against Slaine’s thigh, he says, “I’ve loved you since the day we met. I fell in love with you the moment you told me you’d protect me. And I’ll always love you.” It is a promise. It is sincere. And it is uttered with the gentlest affection Slaine has heard him used, and it is reserved for him .
“I..” Slaine trails off, at a loss of words for a moment, completely taken off-guard by the admission. It almost feels too good to be true, but Inaho would never toy with him like this, and he certainly is not dreaming; the brunet is far too warm, and his gaze is far too piercing as he waits for some kind of response, not about to back down, not until he gets one.
This was not how it was meant to go.
Slaine’s gaze slips to their hands, where Inaho’s is tense beneath his own, nails lightly digging into the cushion. It is anxious, but he is not letting it show, he is far too determined. “.. what exactly did you want for Christmas, Inaho?” he asks, having some small inkling as to where this is going.
“Most faeries covet bits and pieces of a person, or trap them in Elfame, where they’d be forced to dance and laugh and idle the nights away until their soul becomes lost..” Inaho murmurs, and he smiles a bit at the blond, mischief now within his eyes. “I don’t want your soul, or your fingers, or teeth, nor your eyes, beautiful as they are,” he answers, voice even, and he is still completely serious, voice laced with gentle, warm affection, “I want you. I want your heart. And I want you to love me, of your own accord.”
“.. I see,” Slaine says, and he laughs, soft, sheepish, and a clumsy grin starts to pull on his lips. Sitting up a bit straighter, he rests his back against the armrest, and gently cups the brunet’s chin, nail lingering over Inaho’s lip. “.. unfortunately.. I can’t give you what already belongs to you,” he tells the other young man, who sucks in a soft breath, “Is that what you are, then? A faery?”
Inaho nods the best he can, lets the blond gently trace a nail along his lip. “.. when I met you.. I was fascinated. I almost didn’t think you were human. You were far kinder than most faeries, and you were beautiful, and you promised you’d protect me.. even though you had no idea where I’d come from or whether or not you could even trust me..” he says, and it is soft, affection still within his tone, “And you’ve kept your promise. Even though you had no idea what you were even protecting me from. And this whole time, I’ve loved you. And I’ve waited. And pined. I don’t want to go back. I’ve never cared about going back. I want to stay here, by your side, where you’ll care for me.” It is firm. Earnest, though there is a touch of obsession within his voice, just barely contained.
Is he smitten? Moreso than Slaine initially thought? Or..
“.. faeries.. love far, far more strongly than you humans do. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hide my feelings when we’re together?”
...
“Stop hiding them, then,” Slaine tells the brunet, soft.
If Inaho truly loves him that much, then.. then perhaps he should be allowed to.
The other young man does not scare him. Perhaps he should, but he does not think Inaho is capable of hurting him, physically or mentally, or emotionally, and if what he feels is genuine love, then..
It comes out teasing, just slightly teasing, but Slaine means it.
And it is enough – it is the push he needed to give in. Closing the small distance between them, Inaho presses a kiss to the blond’s lips, warm, gentle, and he scoots closer toward the other just a bit more, rests a bit of his weight against Slaine’s thigh. “.. don’t know.. how much I..” It is soft between clumsy, eager kisses, and he does not finish the sentence, far more concerned now with kissing the blond.
Warm. It is warm, and a bit inept, but neither of them can bring themselves to care.
And it is still warm when Inaho manages to pull himself away, breathing a bit uneven, fingers skirting the stitching along Slaine’s pants. It is gentle, measured. “.. you’ll be mine? Truly?” he asks, quiet, looking Slaine in the eye again, not at all shy or flustered or nervous.
“I already am. You’ll have to think of another present, Inaho. I’m afraid I can’t give you something you already have,” Slaine says, and it is still teasing, playful as the brunet continues to stare at him, and he finally lets go of his chin, instead wraps his arms around the other’s neck, “So, tell me. What is it you want?”
“.. you. Just you, Slaine.”