Chapter Text
Another year. Another Games. This year’s Victor wasn’t exactly a surprise – a Career girl from Two, surprisingly nimble for her brawn and wickedly smart. It’s times like this when Eret is able to take some enjoyment in the industry the Games has created, when she can watch the people at the Victory Tour kickoff banquet and not feel any pressure to entertain anyone. It’s not often that he’s left alone at events like this, but with the Victor all dolled up and back to gawk at, it takes some of the heat off him. Makes this easier. Thank fuck.
It’s also fun to watch Technoblade fumble his way through social interactions for the twentieth year straight. The fact that he’s still near-perfect at getting sponsors can only boggle the mind. The martini glass looks far too small in his hand and he stands a good head taller than most of the people around. He meets Eret’s gaze from across the ballroom, eyes pleading a silent help me. Eret hides their laugh behind their own drink, shaking their head, and laughs even more at Techno’s grimace.
This, unfortunately, is what happens when your district wins. People want to talk to you. That’s Techno’s burden to bear this year, and Eret is all the gladder for it.
Dream is doing his social trackerjacking as usual, flitting from group to group and garnering attention wherever he can. District 1 did less than spectacularly, this year. A trap got both their tributes in a single instant. The poor things didn’t have a chance. Eret is glad for this, too, in a perverse and awful way: she didn’t have to advertise any more than she already had. It meant no Victory Tour with Dream, it meant no extended bids for sponsorship, it meant no further attention. No need to “keep up,” no camera crews asking what they’ve been doing in the six months since, no attention as constant as the winning district’s mentors get. If they could get away with being a fly on the wall this year, they’d take it readily.
“Ooh, check out Jupiter Keen’s hair. That’s new.”
A sudden voice to Eret’s left makes him jump; turning, he sees a tall, handsome man in a deep-necked gold shirt, a deeper blue suit, and seafoam green eyeliner standing right beside him. The man looks surprised by her reaction, taking a step back and putting his free hand up non-threateningly.
“Woah, sorry, sorry,” he says, “thought you saw me, my bad. You’re… Eret, right? 59th Games?” Eret nods slowly, but isn’t surprised someone knows their name. The guy nods back, smiling. “Foolish. 57th.”
“Charmed.” Oh, yes, she remembers now. The boy from Four who’d won two years before her. Major Capitol sex symbol, most eligible bachelor in Panem, gets at least three public proposals a week. Known to be a playboy but not a heartbreaker. It’s uncharitable, she knows, but she can’t help but wonder what he wants from her. The same thing as everyone else, probably. She gestures towards the party with her glass, glancing at him. “Enjoying the festivities?”
“I’m just glad the heat’s off me,” Foolish says. Eret raises an eyebrow. Foolish shrugs, smiling sheepishly. “Bad for Techno, I know. But he’s done this long enough, right? Just, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “Don’t love being in the spotlight all the time, y’know?”
“I’ll drink to that.” Eret tips their glass towards him and drains the last of their drink; Foolish does similar, taking a slow sip of his own. “Just sticking to the sidelines, then. As am I.”
“Mind if I join?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “We can peoplewatch together. Make fun of the stupid ones. Again” – Foolish tilts his head towards the crowd – “Jupiter Keen’s new hair.”
And he’s right. It’s astoundingly awful.
How they end up on a balcony separate from the rest of the party is beyond Eret. By now, the actual Victor has gone home; the entire affair is starting to wind down. They’ve spent the last hour on a bench behind a rosebush just… talking. Talking shit, trading stories, commiserating, all while passing the flask from Eret’s purse back and forth between them.
“Iocasta Merrit,” Foolish says, leaning against them, head on their shoulder. “Ever have to deal with her?”
“Is she the one with the…” Eret tries to conjure the details in his mind. He knows the name, surely, but the liquor is clouding his memory more than he’d like to admit. “The fish–”
“The fish scale tattoos,” Foolish finishes for them, nodding. “She’s fucking crazy about me, and I don’t even think it’s about me. She’s just, like, obsessed with District 4 as a concept. Not even the culture or food or anything, just…” He makes a vague hand gesture. “The ocean. And fishing. In general.” He snorts. “And then I try to offer her seaweed chips or bread from home and she’s like ew, oh, yuck, that’s so coarse, why would you ever–”
Eret laughs. “Was she here tonight?”
“Doubt it. Only really comes around if Four’s got something big. Her brother’s a Gamemaker, though. Leonardus. Saw him earlier.” He takes another sip from the flask. “Hate that guy.”
“You’ve been saying that about a lot of the people we’ve discussed,” Eret notes. Foolish snorts again, an undignified sound, and Eret wonders why she had been so cautious about him. He was like her, in a way. They were in this boat together.
“Damn good reason.” And isn’t that just the truth. After a moment of quiet, Foolish sighs; out of the corner of his eye, Eret can see him grimace. “We should go. Don’t wanna be the last people here.”
“There should still be some cabs out front. Maybe we can sneak out through the garden.”
She’ll blame it on the liquor that she and Foolish stumble out to the waiting cars hand in hand. More than one person sees them, almost certainly, but they don’t particularly care. They’ve been seen doing worse, what’s a little hand-holding amongst friends?
They fall, giggling, into the backseat of the cab. Foolish says his address before Eret can say hers – looks like they’re going there. That’ll be fun, he’s never seen Foolish’s place. This makes rational sense, they’ve only just met, but he won’t acknowledge that until he’s sober. They trade whispers all the way back to his building, slumped against each other. Eret can’t stop himself from playing with the rings on Foolish’s fingers the entire ride there.
Both of them have sobered up slightly as they arrive at Foolish’s building, as he pays the driver and holds the cab door for Eret as she gets out. He escorts her inside with a hand hovering just off the small of her back, waving to the doorman with a smile, and keeps his hand hovering all the way through their ride up the elevator. He doesn’t actually touch her.
When they arrive on his floor, Foolish unlocks the door to his suite and leads them in with the same forced ease that Eret themself has used to talk to clients. They close the door behind them, buzzed but able to think a little more clearly. Is he expecting something from them? Does he think they’re a client, too? Does he think that they’ll have sex? That’s usually how it goes, when Eret winds up at a relative stranger’s house, but…
“I can, uh. Give you a tour, if you want,” Foolish says, gesturing to the apartment. It’s not the same kind of casual posture he had before. It’s the kind of posture that suggests empty frame rather than open door. There was once a barrier, but it is now long gone. Someone had to take it away by force. He gestures around, but doesn’t move otherwise. “The bedroom’s over there, and there’s, um, a guest room on that side and–” Eret takes a step forward, placing a hand on his chest. Foolish’s breath stutters. When she looks up at him, she finds his big, green eyes wide with uncertainty. “Is– everything alright?”
“I feel like I should kiss you,” Eret murmurs. Foolish swallows. His hand touches their waist. Light, unobtrusive.
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know. Do you expect me to?”
“Yes.” Then, “Do you expect me to?”
“Of course. That’s usually how these things go, isn’t it? Far too often?”
Foolish chuckles under his breath, smiling as he shakes his head. “Far too often.”
Guest room, then. Probably for the best. When Foolish shows her to the door, he doesn’t move to touch her, to guide her in any way. They’ve both acknowledged a quiet truth and neither would like to address it further. For a moment, both of them stand, looking at each other across the guest room threshold. Not on instinct, not as conditioning, not as training, but as a deliberate, conscious choice, Eret leans up slightly and kisses his cheek. Foolish tenses under the press of his lips.
“Thank you,” she says, soft and sincere. Foolish’s eyes, she notices when she pulls back, are closed, his lips slightly parted. She makes no other move to touch him in return.
“Of course,” he breathes.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right here.” That gets him to laugh, at least, sighed and fragile.
“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” He opens his eyes, relaxing, and smiles when he leans down to kiss their temple in return. “Thank you. Sleep well.”
Eret bids him the same, closes the door, and is pleasantly surprised to find that she does.
Notes:
toss me a kudos n comment if you made it this far! for those of you only here for the whumptober stuff, we got lltbp tomorrow ;D
Chapter 2
Summary:
Eighteen months after their first meeting, Foolish again takes Eret home after the Victory Banquet. While rumors of an affair have been circling throughout the Capitol, this is the first time they've even so much as kissed.
Notes:
ALRIGHT just to get some things out of the way in these notes before we start:
- foolish is aromantic and allosexual
- eret is genderfluid, uses he/she/they pronouns, has had both breast augmentation and bottom surgery, and is referenced as having had some nonconsensual body modifications made during their transition
- both are pretty traumatized from their backgrounds being forced into victor prostitution, with both implied/referenced as having experienced sexual abuse and assault in the past
- characters when they have issues related to sex, intimacy, bodily autonomy, what it means to be a person, and aren't certain where the mask ends and the person begins
- background quackeret. its important to the first fic and while tangential here, it informs some of eret's thoughts and decisionmakinganyway onto eternalduo boning down sweet-and-comfortingstyle
Chapter Text
The Games are over. The battles have been won. District 1 put up a good fight and quite nearly cinched it, but, alas. It goes to a wildcard in Eight this time around, good for him. He’ll make an excellent designer, one day. Mhm. Mhm, yes, all very interesting. Thank you for your time, your patronage was very much appreciated.
Eret’s fucking exhausted.
It’s another year where she’s fucking glad they lost. The competition was way stiffer this year than usual, with Four having both tributes that late in the game. Of course, none of them were expecting the kid from Eight, but that makes it all the better. No more interacting with clients for the time being. No more interacting with Dream if she can swing it.
Ugh, he’ll be at the losers’ party after the Banquet. He’s already vented his frustrations on them once today; they’d greatly prefer to be out of his sights for as long as possible. It’s bad form to show up to the Bacchanal already sore.
Whatever. It’s another year. It’s another Games. It’s another damned Victory Banquet where he smiles and waves and talks to other guests like it’s nothing, and then he gets to go home.
Quackity won’t even be at the party, this year. Senior Gamemakers don’t have that type of leeway, not like how Schlatt does as the head. Eret pretends like this is fine. He does that pretty regularly, these days.
The food at the Banquet is good. The small talk is unbearable. The dancing is elaborate and the outfits even more so. The champagne is fruity and easy on the palate. Eret doesn’t let herself necessarily relax, but she plays the role admirably.
“Mind if I steal a seat?”
For the first time that night, Eret smiles. He pats the chair beside him and is delighted when Foolish sits down. District 4 had come awfully close to winning, as well. He can’t imagine how difficult Foolish’s end-of-Games had been, if his own was as rough as it was.
“Hello, stranger,” she says.
“Good to see you, old friend,” Foolish replies, eyes sparkling. They’ve only known each other for some eighteen months, but he’s called them that ever since they met. He kisses the back of their hand when they offer it, squeezing their fingers lightly. “I like the haircut. Meant to say it earlier, but everything got hectic before I could.”
“O-Oh–” There are butterflies in Eret’s stomach that she hasn’t felt in a long, long time. She self-consciously fluffs the bottom of her chin-length bob, twirling a curl around one finger. “Thank you, I– I’ve been quite fond of it myself.”
“Suddenly shy?” Foolish doesn’t look too bad himself. His dark hair is styled back, a single forelock springing over his forehead in a way that is too perfect to be accidental. His bright green eyes and golden-brown skin are complimented by that seafoam-colored eyeliner they’ve learned is his signature, and his stylists have put him in a dark teal blazer with golden trident detailing. Eret hasn’t blushed like this in years.
“Forgive me for being flustered, sir – I am not so used to receiving compliments from a gentleman as handsome as you.” Over the top of their dark glasses, they flutter their eyelashes at him as flirtatiously as possible; Foolish laughs, bright and fond, and the Banquet doesn’t seem so terrible anymore.
They catch up over champagne and hors d'oeuvres and gossip about how things went this Games around. The conversation remains vapid, obtuse, that special kind of double-speak Victors learn to use among themselves when in larger company. Alone, they can speak more frankly, but Eret doesn’t miss what Foolish means when he says a sponsor is stubborn, but his family’s from Two or an excellent host, to say nothing of her character. He’s sympathetic as Eret regales similar experiences, speaking of how his own sponsors this year always left satisfied or were wonderful conversationalists. When Dream passes their table, Foolish acts the perfect gentleman, positioning himself between him and Eret, flashing his sharpened teeth Dream’s way when he gets too close.
“Thank you,” they murmur, once he’s gone. Foolish shakes his head, smiling softly, hand resting on Eret’s knee.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, giving their knee a brief, reassuring pat. “I’m sure if any of my fans came by, you’d do the same for me.” Eret snorts at his phrasing, but places a hand on his forearm.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asks. “I wasn’t planning on attending the afterparty.” Foolish raises an eyebrow, letting his hand slide slightly higher up on the fabric of her tailored slacks. Swallowing down the brush of anxiety that comes as a thrill goes up her spine, Eret nods.
“Yeah.” Foolish smiles. He squeezes their thigh very lightly, just the once. It feels like two friends sharing a secret. The real secret is that they haven’t even kissed yet. The Capitol’s been abuzz with rumors about them this last year, with how often they’ve been seen meeting up. Being seen leaving together will only bolster those, but Eret finds she doesn’t particularly mind. “That sounds like fun.”
It feels oddly appropriate that they wind up heading back to Foolish’s place.
The situation is a little different, this time around; Foolish doesn’t refrain from touching him as they head into the building, his arm firmly around Eret’s waist. He nods to the doorman and leads Eret towards the elevator and smiles against his temple as the elevator doors close.
The ease with which Foolish unlocks his suite door and guides her inside isn’t forced this time, but it is practiced. It’s perfect in a way that takes effort, that takes skill. The way interviews always described him, Eret had come to think Foolish was always that perfect, always suave and in control. She’d learned different very, very quickly, after seeing him hip-check a sharp counter corner in her apartment and nearly collapse from the sudden pain two weeks into their friendship. As he closes the door now, with that self-same practice she’d seen before, she can’t help but wonder how much of him is acting on automatic.
“I can give you the tour again, if you need,” Foolish jokes, pointing around the room as he crosses to the center. “Guest room, bathroom I held your hair back in, my room, the secret stash of my kids’ baby photos, kitchen…”
“There are articles being written right now,” Eret says, swaying up to Foolish, placing a hand on his chest, “about how we’ve been in a torrid affair for months, and you’re only now giving me the tour?”
“What, was I supposed to start ravishing you the moment we closed the door?” His hands find their hips, confident. Many of their other personal encounters have gone that way. Foolish tucks a lock of hair behind their ear and traces his fingertips along their jaw. “Seems ungentlemanly.”
Eret resists the urge to snort. He’d considered Dream gentlemanly, once.
“And you’re nothing if not a gentleman.”
Foolish leans down then, pressing his lips to theirs. When he pulls away, he’s smiling. It’s their first kiss, quick and lighthearted, exactly how it needs to be. Eret grins.
“Exactly.”
This is often the point where they part for the night, should they be sober enough to not immediately collapse onto the couch. Foolish leads her to his bedroom by the hand, pulling her flush to his chest again once the door is shut. He kisses her deeply, hand cupping her cheek the way a lover might. Are they lovers? The articles that will surely be published tomorrow will likely say so.
“Will I have to warn you against falling for me?” they murmur against his mouth, starting to undo the frogging on his blazer. Foolish’s other hand has started to creep towards the buttons on their blouse. He laughs.
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Good. I rather prefer to keep these things among friends.”
Foolish snorts, kissing her again, and fiddles with the first open buttonhole.
“May I take this off?”
Eret doesn’t remember the last time someone asked him that. It’s such an… innocent question, almost. Face hot, heart stuttering, he nods. Foolish’s smile feels so nice against his skin.
It’s her blouse on the floor first, then both pairs of their shoes, then her slacks, then Foolish’s blazer and sheer undershirt and belt, until the two of them are left in their underclothes and making out on the bed. Eret’s not quite sure how she wound up laying on top of Foolish, but she certainly isn’t complaining. His broad chest is firm under her hands, and while she’s seen him in a less than perfect state before, she feels a surge of pride at, this time, being the cause for his messy hair, blown pupils, and shiny, slightly parted lips.
“You’re staring, old friend,” Foolish stage-whispers. His hands fiddle with the clasp on their brasserie. He’s half-hard against their hip and stifles a groan when they straddle him properly.
“You’re captivating,” Eret replies, rocking lightly against him, “how could I look away?”
“And where’s flattery gotten you so far, Ms. King?” Finally, the clasp comes undone. Eret sits up, letting the push-up slide down their arms in Foolish’s caress, pushing their chest out as his pupils blow wide. They grind against him again, feeling the press of his cock against the line of their cunt. Big as the rest of him, then. Wonderful. Eret grins, tossing their bra off to the side.
“Oh, darling, it’s gotten me everywhere.”
It only feels natural to give him a show. She’s got him underneath her, she might as well show off. Eret stretches her arms up, grin melting into a smirk, watching him through half-lidded eyes. Foolish’s open, wanting gaze moves from her face to her tits and back again; his hands hover by her hips like he wants to grab her and make her grind again, but doesn’t know how to ask for permission. It’s cute. More often than not, her usuals just take what they want. Nice change of pace. Foolish bites his lip, eyes raking over her body again.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“I–” He looks conflicted, rational thought battling lust. Eventually, Foolish settles on, “I’m already here. You don’t need to– impress me.
Eret blinks. That– wasn’t what he was expecting him to say. For a second, he falters, rising to his knees in slight apprehension. Foolish takes the opportunity to sit up and scoot back, now leaning against the elaborate headboard. Only now do his hands settle on Eret’s hips, thumbs rubbing his hipbones. He doesn’t pull him back down, but the touch is there. Meeting his eye, softer this time, Foolish repeats, “You don’t need to impress me, Eret.”
“You–” His hands are warm and encompassing around their hips. His gaze is nothing but gentle, and, yet, it makes them feel like they’re burning inside. Their heart stutters in their chest, nervous and uncertain. “You don’t need to impress me, either.”
“Just…” Foolish chuckles sheepishly, looking away. In that moment, Eret realizes he’s never seen him this self-conscious. “Hard to turn off the part of us that says we do, huh?”
“Incredibly.” They’re in the same boat. They’ve always been in the same boat. Eret sighs, trying to suffuse it with as much affection and understanding she possible can, and kisses him. It’s a careful, tender thing, slow and deep. She pulls back, nudging her nose against Foolish’s, settling in his lap again. “Do whatever feels right. I’ve got you.”
“Got you.”
Foolish kisses her in that same slow, affectionate way, one hand trailing from her hip to her breast. The touch immediately sets her body alight; Foolish smiles when she gasps into his mouth and grinds down on him again. Eret’s certain he can feel how slick she’s become even through the thin layers of fabric separating them. She drags her hips back and forth, up and down his clothed cock, savoring the friction against her clit. Foolish continues to fondle her chest, other hand coming to join as he starts kissing down her neck. It catches Eret off guard how genuinely she moans when he tweaks her nipples, surprised both from the action and her own re-action. She pushes her tits into his hands and, ever so generously, he obliges to feel them up further.
Admittedly, it’s a bit difficult to tell where the performance of sex ends and the pleasure begins. A tiny voice in the back of Eret’s mind insists that he’s doing it all wrong, that he isn’t actually satisfying the client. He should be louder, he should move his hips more, he should throw his head back, he should quit wasting time, get off Foolish’s lap, and suck his cock already. He pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on how it all feels. It’s good. It feels good to rock against Foolish and not have to worry about how enticing he looks to any outside eye. It feels good to clutch at Foolish’s hair when he gets his mouth on their tits. It feels good to be alone with him, truly alone, just the two of them. He’s been in the business barely longer than Eret has. He understands. The pleasure builds and builds and builds, like a slow incline before plummeting off a cliff.
“Wait, wait–” Eret gasps, hips jerking haphazardly even as they lift themself off. Foolish stops, looking up from their chest, hand moving to steady their back.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I–” Eret gulps, taking the moment to breathe. She rests her forehead against his, panting. “Just– getting close. Didn’t want to– come too soon.”
“You wanna switch positions?” Eret nods, arms slung around his shoulders; Foolish smiles against their open mouth, shifting his hold back to their back and hip. “Hang on tight.” They cling to him as he rolls them both over, laughing as the air rushes around them. When they open their eyes, Foolish is tabled on top of them, his own eyes sparkling with fondness. “Hi,” he says. Eret can only laugh again, pulling him in for another kiss.
“Hi.”
And then Foolish is pulling away, moving down, caressing her sides and kissing down her stomach and stopping as his breath brushes the top of her undergarments. He kisses the waistband, fingers hooking in both sides, and slowly drags them down her long, long legs. Eret can’t look away, can barely think to lift her legs and help him get her fully undressed; she can only stare as he tosses her soaked panties away and gets back between her legs, as he meets her eye and kisses her pubic bone.
The first touch of his tongue against their cunt sends a shock up their spine, sends their hands to fist in his hair. He eats them out like a mission, like a meal, alternating between licking deep into their core and tonguing at their clit, hand occupying whatever his mouth cannot. His fingers are big and skilled, driving into them with purpose; his tongue is hot and even more so talented. The build of pleasure is much, much faster this time, Capitol-made-sensitive body or no – Eret can see the cliff coming from miles away and there is nothing they can do to stop from careening off the edge. Foolish stuffs a third finger into their pussy and stars explode behind Eret’s eyelids as their back arches off the bed. Foolish groans into them as they clutch his hair and ride out their high, fingers holding them open as he licks at their hole. He works them through it, generous, attentive, and when they finally pull him off, his face is flushed and his chin is soaked in slick.
“Fuck,” Eret says shakily, trying to catch his breath. Foolish licks his lips and wipes his chin, resting his head against Eret’s open thigh with a dreamy expression. “Fuck.”
“Good?”
“Need you inside me.” She drags him into a rough, searing kiss, shoving her free hand into his still-present briefs and getting it around his cock. Foolish groans, hips jerking into her hand, and shucks the last of his clothing off unceremoniously, fumbling as he kneels between her legs and rummages through the nightstand for a condom. He tears open the packet and rolls it on in a practiced motion, rutting against her to slick himself up. His mouth is back on Eret’s neck as he lines himself up, the head of his cock kissing her hole, and pushes in with infinitely more restraint than Eret would have in riding him. “O-Oh, fuck–”
Foolish sinks into him in a single, smooth slide, a shaky moan falling from his lips as his hips touch Eret’s thighs. With great effort, throat bobbing, eyes squeezed shut, he manages, “Please, please, Eret, can I–”
“Foolish, I swear on all the gems in District 1, if you don’t fuck me–”
She doesn’t have to finish the threat, thank fuck, as Foolish immediately sets a rapid, desperate rhythm. He fucks her hard and fast, cock hot and filling her perfectly, just the right size to have her crying out as he nails her sweet spot over and over and over again. His teeth worry at her collarbone and her nails rake down his back and it’s good. It’s the best sex Eret’s had in– forever, maybe, and not just because the both of them have been engineered for pleasure. When the Capitol remade her, they made certain that she’d never have to fake an orgasm if the other person was even remotely trying – that remake is nothing in comparison to the genuine care she feels coming off Foolish in this moment. It’s a completely different kind of pleasure, and it’s one she can barely handle.
“Close, close–” he warns, again unable to pull himself back. Every thrust sends sparks down to the tips of his toes, electric. He thinks Foolish is muttering something like me too, me too, almost, just let me, just as desperate, just as overwhelmed. His fingers find Eret’s clit again and it’s over; Eret finds himself suddenly caught in the center of an all-consuming orgasm that whites out his vision and makes him go tight around Foolish’s cock. Foolish loses control moments later, rhythm stuttering, a few more hard, rough thrusts before he’s gasping and riding out his own high.
He’s gorgeous when he’s lost in pleasure, and heavy when he slumps on top of her. In the afterglow, Eret finds she doesn’t particularly mind.
The afterward is routine, so it seems, for both of them. Breaths caught, limbs untangled, condom dealt with, bodies wiped clean enough for comfort. They both collapse onto the bed. Foolish pulls Eret into his arms, and Eret thinks, not for the first time, that she could fall asleep like this.
“You’re beautiful,” Foolish says into their hair. “It almost makes me sorry I can’t fall for you. Thank you, fuck, thank you.”
“...Almost sorry?” They quirk an eyebrow up at him.
“Almost. Better this way.” It’s frighteningly close to sincere and they both know it. Teasingly, Foolish adds, “Can’t have me squashing all that competition before they can even breathe, can we? I'm the perfect catch. They wouldn't stand a chance.” Eret chuckles, rolling her eyes, but doesn’t miss how Foolish shifts back into that somber sincerity.
In that moment, Quackity’s apologetic face flashes through Eret’s mind. They can still see the last time the two of them had been together, how sorry he’d looked as he quickly dressed, how gently he’d kissed them goodbye. Their chest aches.
“I think I’ve fallen in love, myself,” she says distantly. Foolish makes a questioning noise. “With… someone else. And I–” She swallows. “–kind of hate it.” Foolish kisses her forehead, nosing at her hair. Eret can only laugh, weak and pitiful. “Rubbish pillow talk, I know.” She feels raw, exposed, like her chest has been cut open so Foolish can see the very beat of her heart. The words keep falling from her, unbidden; if she stops, she’ll choke. “No one sticks around this long anymore. I– I mean, he does, but I’m– out of practice, as it were.”
“You don’t need to impress me, Eret,” Foolish reminds him. Eret breathes out the laugh he didn’t know he was holding. It still sounds a little miserable, but he’s working on it.
“You don’t need to impress me, either.” She presses a slow kiss to his collarbone. “…Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Foolish kisses their hairline in response. “If you need anything else… please. Just let me know.”
“Stealing my line. Scoundrel.” His laugh feels so nice against their chest. Their eyes start to get heavy. “...I’ll tell you.” And, then, “Sleep well, Foolish.”
As they drift off, curled against him, Eret is only partly sure he whispers, “You, too.”
consumptive_sphinx on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Nov 2025 01:23AM UTC
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HesitantResident (ResidentHesitant) on Chapter 2 Sun 02 Nov 2025 11:31PM UTC
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