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 Posted: Sun Nov 01, 2015 5:50 am
[ takes place right after Face the Light and Cast a Shadow ]Somewhere en route between the park and Lorne’s apartment, Mont Blonc had powered down. Even as a man rather than a squire, there wasn’t much weight to Thrymr - Auguste - and carrying him back home was a lot easier than the time he’d carried Colin. The distance was shorter, and more to the point, they just weren’t built the same way. Colin wasn’t as tall as Lorne, but for all his slenderness, the man had some serious muscle on him - it would be a lie to say Auguste was made of nothing, because he was, but in comparison there really was no comparison.
Even if he hadn’t seen any sign of a concussion (thank goodness), he’d still kept talking to him the whole way, muttering softly and soothingly to his friend in French, reassuring him that everything was fine and that they were almost there. His heart was pounding hard against the inside of his chest, though, something Auguste may have been able to feel with the way Lorne was holding him, close and cherished.
The rain had soaked him clear through by the time they made it to the apartment, Lorne fumbling awkwardly for his keys while trying to keep Auguste as comfortable as possible in his arms. With a lot of effort, he finally made it work, kicking the door shut behind him and wincing at the sound. “Nous sommes ici,” he murmured softly, kicking off his squelching shoes and already lamenting that his shoes were leaving distinctly wet prints behind on his way to the bathroom.
He set his friend gently down on the toilet seat, running his fingertips gently, soothingly through Auguste’s wet hair. “I have a first-aid kit.” Because it’d seemed like a good idea to invest in one. Now, he was glad he had. “Wait here, okay?”
As though he was going to be going anywhere fast, Lorne thought to himself with a wince before he went to go dig around for it under the sink.
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He didn’t remember powering down, but at some point he did. At some point, Thrymr eased quietly into Auguste, unobtrusive and simply, without any fanfare. Nothing really changed except his appearance - his head was still throbbing painfully, blood made his hair sticky and matted by his forehead, and his back was agony, though Auguste was trying hard not to mention this. His leg as well, and several cuts on his cheek, all made for a miserable time, in spite of Lorne’s best efforts to remain as gentle as possible.
If he’d been more coherent, he would have felt terrible about Lorne carrying him, as well as Lorne having to deal with him. But Auguste was so tired and so out of it that he hardly seemed to notice the squelch of shoes, or the fact that both of them were drenched in rain - which normally would have made him rather pleased. He was more dimly aware of being carried somewhere else, of being set down, and Auguste lifted a hand, rubbing at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the drops clinging to his lashes from the storm.
Gentle fingers were in his hair. Auguste’s eyes fluttered, and he tilted unconsciously towards the gesture, as though trying to hold onto something that was good and kind, not something painful and frightening.
“Okay,” he said obediently, the word coming out hoarse and not quite entirely his own yet, Auguste swaying unsteadily from side to side, though he was glad to be sitting down.
He wanted to say he was sorry again, but the words wouldn’t come.
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It didn’t take long. Within moments Lorne had fished out the tiny white box and was back beside Auguste again, fingers gently swiping through his hair for a second time as he sank down onto his knees before him. His cheeks were drained of color, not a trace of red on them as he tried to gauge the damage, but -
“I’m going to - to look at the cuts here first,” and he gestured vaguely at the flashes of red against his pale skin and hair, fingers barely brushing the boy’s cheek. “T-then, please - I - uh - I’ll get you things to change into, b-but - but I’ll need to see, uh - does it hurt anywhere else?” He didn’t even know if Auguste could respond or not. But he knew what he’d have to do, and some part of him wondered if he shouldn’t have just called Colin or Nadia right away.
He’d never been in this position with a member of the team before. Even if he was technically prepared for it, buying medical supplies and reading up on some basic first aid in his free time, thinking there might be a day he’d need it - he had less experience. He was more often the one being helped than the one doing the helping.
But he wanted to. He wanted to do this, and he knew he could. “I-I’ll get you things to change into,” he added quietly as he began to tend to the cuts, checking them to see how bad they actually were, cleaning them and setting to bandaging them to the very best of his ability with the gentlest touches he could. “I’m sorry if any of this stings, I - I’m sorry.”
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The second brush of fingers through his hair was rather like a sip of hot cocoa. It was warm and reassuring and it helped ease some of the haze that had settled over him since Amphitrite’s foot had slammed so painfully into his back.
He gave a nod at Lorne, Auguste’s fingers curling around the top of the seat. He swayed a little, but said nothing at first, just letting him do what he was to help clean him up. The first touch of gauze to his face made him let out a soft noise of pain, a flinch crossing his eyes as a stinging sensation ebbed over his skin. It was necessary, he knew this, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it still hurt.
But the other man was very capable. Nimble fingers were simultaneously soothing him and cleaning him up and bandaging him, and Auguste’s gaze slowly came back into focus. He was more aware now of where he was - Lorne’s apartment - what he was doing - being tended to - and why he was here - Amphitrite had attacked him, Lorne had stepped in as Mont Blonc.
Auguste shut his eyes briefly, easing out a soft breath.
“My back,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. His accent came out thicker now, spurred by his lack of inhibition and excess of pain “My...my lower back, she...she kicked me, it…”
He didn’t think anything was broken, but there was most likely an awful bruise there.
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Every time Auguste flinched, Lorne did it with him - on some level he knew it was unavoidable, but it was very much like him to think that maybe he just hadn’t been gentle enough, that he wasn’t taking care of his friend the way he should have been. He breathed out a soft apology each and every time, fingertips lingering a little longer, more soothingly where and when they could.
Sometimes his fingers shook a little from nerves. No, a medical career was not looming on the horizon for him, that was for sure - but he was still trying his hardest, and his bandages were nothing if neat and precise.
His back. Lorne did not hesitate; he went ahead and breathed out another soft apology as he went ahead and grasped the hem of his shirt, and as gently as he possibly could - but no way would ever really be gentle enough for this - he helped Auguste remove his shirt, being especially careful of his long hair and any place that made him flinch.
Bruises. This, though, he had something for. “Okay - okay - I’m going to put something on this, but - i-it’s going to, uhm - smell a bit, I - here, actually, perhaps - could you turn a bit?” Liniment. The very thing that Colin had treated him with after Ploutonion’s corruption. It stank, yes, but it’d help reduce the stiffness and all that come the next day.
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Lorne was gentle. That much Auguste knew, just from seeing him, just from spending time around this man that he had originally believed just to be a casual acquaintance. But both he and Nadia were starting to ease their way into Auguste’s heart, Colin and Andrew as well, until he wasn’t sure how he’d been living without them all this time. They filled a part of his life that he hadn’t thought even existed until now, warmth and light and color all at once.
He was dimly aware of Lorne’s fingers trembling. Auguste wished he could just reach over and hold them for a moment, let him know that he was okay - but his body seemed not to want to move, and he was gripping the seat beneath him in an effort not to tilt sideways. Some of what Lorne was doing hurt, the stinging sensation from the medication making him let out muffled hisses of pain, Auguste coherent enough to try and mask these, clenching his teeth or pressing his lips securely together so that no sound escaped - but flinches and winces would cross his pale features, sweat beading on his brow.
Taking off his shirthurt. Auguste couldn’t help his gasp that time, eyes screwed up against the throbbing in his lower back. A dark, purpleish bruise had started to form beneath reddened skin, and Auguste shifted without too much prompting so that his back was now to the side, and his legs in the direction of the shower.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re - I’m okay.”
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He felt terrible - and inevitably some part of him wished he’d gotten there sooner. Stopped some of this before it could happen. Whether or not he could go back in time and change anything, even if he simply hadn’t known, there’d always be a part of Lorne’s mind that worked like this.
Delicate, still subtly trembling fingers reached up to wipe some of the sweat from Auguste’s brow, and Lorne felt inclined to press a light kiss to his temple, simple and sweet and affectionate. Mostly he hoped it was a little reassuring. “You’re doing wonderfully,” he told him softly, toying with his hair once, gently. “You’re a wonderful patient Auguste.”
He didn’t know if those kinds of things were really any kind of comfort. But he wanted to try anything he could. The liniment should help, hopefully - it’d made Lorne feel better when he’d been aching, at least. But this was a worse bruise than that had been back then. “I’m sorry if this hurts at all,” and he wanted to tell Auguste that he’d stop if he needed him to; but really, this was one of those ‘for his own good’ types of things. “Anywhere else? - after this I’ll give you some painkillers too, alright?” he offered warmly as he began gently applying the stuff.
(Sure enough, it smelled as bad as he remembered.)
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The fingers that touched his brow were kind and gentle, as were the lips that pressed affectionately to his temple. Auguste’s eyes fluttered, feeling a sort of warmth expand in his chest, like he’d taken a sip of something hot and familiar and soothing. A little smile touched his face, his mouth curving upwards, and Auguste said softly, “I wish I didn’t have to be, but…”
He wanted to say how sorry he was, yet again. Auguste would have to make it up to Lorne somehow, just like how he’d said he would make it up to Aegir, after their first meeting, after he’d saved him from that youma without ever believing they would be as close as they were now. And Nadia - he couldn’t even start on how much he owed Nadia, because if not for her, he would never have been a part of what he was now. He would not have met Colin or Lorne or Andrew, or Ash, would not have been a part of something so wonderful, something he cherished. The list of people whom he was indebted to was growing longer, and Auguste swore internally to do something, even if he didn’t know what it was.
“Just...just my head, and a bit on my leg,” he murmured.
The liniment did smell awful, and it did sting, as did the pressure of Lorne’s fingers against his back, in spite of his friend obviously doing his best to be gentle. Auguste’s head fell forward, his hair falling in curtains around his face as a low sound escaped his throat, half bitten back, his entire body trembling.
“Ow,” he whispered, and his eyes were slightly red from how tightly he’d squeezed them shut, a breath leaving him.
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To see Auguste smile like that, Lorne helplessly smiled back, toying lightly with a lock of wet white hair between his fingers. “Me too,” he said, a soft chuckle rolling in his throat.
The laughter didn’t really last long. Not with Auguste tensing as he was, and again, Lorne winced when he heard the first audible ‘ow’ he’d earned from the other man. Reassuringly, he peppered a light kiss to his shoulder, trying to give him something nicer - his cheeks burned as he did it, even if it was purely a friendly gesture meant to soothe. “Sorry,” he breathed, but had to keep going. The faster he worked, the sooner everything would be done and Auguste could rest. (He’d give him the bed. That much Lorne had already decided.)
“After this, I’ll - I’ll let you borrow one of my shirts, and you can, uh - take off the rest of the wet things,” and he was more trying to distracting Auguste from the moment, from the pain, by simply talking to him; he didn’t know how well it was actually working, especially since he wasn’t much good at talking to begin with. But he was trying. “Maybe when we’re all done we’ll watch a movie or something - I mean until you fall asleep or - or we can do whatever you like.”
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He liked the laughter, because it was soothing, liked the quick kiss for the same reason. Auguste didn’t know if Lorne was apologizing for that, or for the discomfort that he was causing in his attempts to clean him up and make him feel better, to take care of him. Even so, he said softly, voice slightly thick with the restraint of holding back pain, “I like kisses, Andrew said they’re good for a lot of things. And I know - “ A hiss escaped unintentionally. “ - I know you’re - you’re helping me, and I very much appreciate it.”
He hadn’t expected it to be painless, after all. Auguste’s head was spinning.
“Can we watch something with music?” he murmured, and slowly - slowly - the stinging sensation was easing into a dull ache, the sound of Lorne’s voice helping to ease him into a better state of relaxation and understanding. “I’d really like something light.”
Something that did not have action or adventure or anything other than just purehearted fun.
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“Andrew?” Lorne echoed questioningly, but didn’t really prod any further than that; he surely didn’t know all of Auguste’s friends, after all. He could have a million that Lorne knew nothing about. (Although he could have sworn he’d mentioned not having many at all… actually, no, he’d more or less flat out said that last time they’d talked, and - maybe he’d met someone new….?)
It didn’t matter so much now. “I’ll remember that,” Lorne said warmly, blushing still, but less sheepish about the act itself. “It’s really no problem, I - I wish I’d gotten there soon, I’m - I’m sorry - she’s a vicious senshi, that one,” he murmured.
As for movies. He smiled brightly. “Of course we can,” he said with a hint of enthusiasm. “That sounds like the perfect thing for tonight. And I’ll bring you some cocoa or something, okay? - something nice and warm.”
Finally, after what felt like far too long, “There. All done.” Lorne sounded relieved. He got to his feet, his knees aching a little from the hardness of the floor. “I’ll go get you some clothes now, okay? - I don’t know if I have any bottoms that’d - oh, maybe Kyle’s would fit - “ and he was more talking to himself than his friend as he wandered off to go gather everything he’d need to get Auguste dry and comfortable - and to take a look at his leg.
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“Andrew,” Auguste repeated, and he smiled a little faintly. “My friend, he’s - Nadia introduced us, that day on the beach, the one with the dark hair right, I think you know him, too.
He couldn’t see Lorne’s blush, but he was steadily learning that the other man did it extraordinarily often, and he suspected that was the case here now, as well. It made Auguste’s smile grow more affectionate, hidden by his curtains of white hair, and replaced a moment later by flashes of pain as his injury was tended to.
“It’s all right,” Auguste said softly. “You - you still came for me.”
He didn’t want to think about what would have happened had not Mont Blonc noticed. Or if Aegir had not found him, unexpectedly, that night in the alleyway. Twice now he’d been rescued by members of his team, and he did not think it would be the last. His abilities were not great, he was not strong, and he’d already been almost taken down several times.
Auguste had settled into a sort of daze while Lorne worked, and did not realize he was done until he stood. He blinked back into coherency and lifted his head, some of his hair falling away from his face as he looked up at Lorne.
“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it, even if the words felt inadequate. “I….yes, all of that sounds nice, I’m...very grateful to you.”
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“What?” Lorne blinked furiously, his head tilting to a side, and then finally, “Oh, do you... mean Isaiah? Scholomance?” he questioned tentatively. He thought he might have heard something like Andrew somewhere but - no, no, his name was definitely Isaiah. As far as he knew, anyway.
His blush darkened when Auguste said that, that he’d still come, although a smile also graced his lips. It was a bitter smile, though, unbefitting his face, as his thoughts inevitably trailed back to friends he hadn’t been able to come and save before.
But he’d done this. He’d been able to help Auguste, at least. And he was so grateful for that.
“I’d always come for you, Auguste.” And he meant that with every fiber of his being.
When it came to being grateful, well - guess what color Lorne turned as he glanced back over his shoulder at the door frame. “You don’t have to thank me for anything - I’m really - it means a lot to me, to be able to help.” If he only knew the half of it.
It wasn’t long before Lorne came shuffling back in with an oversized shirt, one of his own that would surely hang long on Auguste, and then a pair of shorts pilfered from Kyle’s drawers. “Here; shirt first. We can wash it tomorrow, so don’t worry about the liniment,” he explained softly. Then, more carefully, he asked, “Do you - want help putting it on?” Not that he was unwilling, but he had to check; Auguste might prefer to dress himself.
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Auguste’s brow furrowed. “Isaiah?” he said, now slightly confused. “No, he said his name was Andrew - but yes, Scholomance. He’s been...he helped me with learning how to kiss in the first place, he’s a very kind man.”
I’d always come for you, Auguste.
The promise made his heart clench inside of his chest. Auguste felt his breath leave him momentarily before it came back to him again, and he lifted a slightly shaking hand, rubbed at his dry eyes, and tried to remember this. Tried to remember the conviction in Lorne’s voice, so that he would know, so that he could understand that he would not be left alone or left behind.
Amphitrite’s voice was still in his head.
They will forget you.
He pushed it - and her - aside. Lorne had slipped out to get clothes and came back a second later with them in his arms. Some of the color had come back into Auguste’s cheeks, in spite of there still being not much, even with his perpetual paleness, and the look in his eyes was less dazed, a little more back to how they usually wore.
“Help, I think,” he said, and though he did not have an ounce of shame in dressing and undressing in front of people (unless, apparently, he was being intimate with them), he was not quite certain how well he would do with his back being what it was. Auguste reached out and slid the shirt carefully from Lorne’s arms, wincing a little at the movement, and started to unfold it.
“I’m sorry for imposing so much on you,” he murmured, almost absently, his movements slow and pained.
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So it was - “Oh, no, Auguste, I - his name, it’s certainly Isaiah,” Lorne said, biting at his lower lip as he wondered why on earth his friend would’ve given out a fake name. But as for kind; yes, at kind, he smiled vibrantly. “In any case, a rose by any other name, right? - he is a very kind man - sad, though,” he mused out loud, thinking back to that night on the roof and then when they’d met on the bridge, a heavy ache settling into his chest, if only for a moment. “I’m glad you’re close to him - I think he needs that - more people close,” he murmured, sounding as much concerned for his fellow page as he felt.
He worried about Isaiah. Maybe more often than he should.
“Please,” Lorne set the rest of the clothes down and gently reclaim the shirt from Auguste’s hands, leaning down to press a light little kiss to his cheek - since his friend admitted to liking them, then fine. He would have them. “You are no imposition, and I am happy to help you. I wish my magic was more inclined to heal, though, ” if only because it would have made Auguste much less uncomfortable.
“Here, I’ll -” He tucked the shirt up as much as possible, enough that it would really just be a matter of slipping Auguste’s head through the hole and then let gravity to the rest; it was easier said than done, though, to get to that point in spite of the fact that it was so large.
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Auguste frowned slightly, though more out of confusion than anything else. He still wasn’t quite certain where the name Andrew had come from - or really, the name Isaiah - but for now, he would let it go, and focus on the rest of what Lorne was saying. He could tell, even without looking at him, the fondness in the other man’s voice when he spoke of him.
“I’d like to get to know him more,” said Auguste, in a soft voice, and it was, as ever, the honest truth. He brushed a few stray strands out of his face and was rewarded by the feel of Lorne’s lips gently against his cheek in a friendly kiss. He obediently shifted, trying to make it easier on the both of them, and the shirt fell down easily once it was tugged over his head, thankfully with minimal pain involved. Auguste reached up a hand and pulled his long hair out of the collar, letting it cascade around him again, sheets of white beside a pale, lightly freckled face.
The shirt was clearly Lorne’s. It hung down nearly to his knees in length, which made him smile, Auguste’s fingers curling in the hemline of it.
“Your magic already saved me,” he said gently, regaining some of the strength to his voice. “I’m very grateful, Lorne, really. I’ll...I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”
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Lorne hoped Auguste would, and hoped Isaiah would let him. For both their sakes. The more they came to know each other, the more close-knit they’d become as a team, and - and he needed this team to work and to last, and he wanted to be close to those people he felt such an instinctive pull to. He wanted to be happy with them, and wanted them to be happy together. Or as happy as any of them could be.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Lorne countered in his quiet way, blushing darkly and fidgeting a bit, shifting from one foot to the other and nipping at his own bottom lip. Then, he added, rather more quietly, “Except take care of yourself and get better. That’s something you can do, “ although he said it with a smile, warm and inviting.
Really, he wasn’t doing anything special. Just his best, and that was only starting to come anywhere close to good enough.
“Uhm. Also. As for, uhm, the shorts.” The blush was for a different reason now as he held them out to Auguste, flashing him a sheepish grin. “I can’t really - help as much with this part.”
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It was in that way of thinking that they were similar. Auguste did not want to lose these people, did not want them to be taken away, or to be distant with one another. He wanted to be surrounded by them, by their love and their support and their kindness and strength, by everything good that he knew of them. They had brought him into a family, and he wanted to keep that family for as long as he could.
Lorne was given a soft smile.
“I want to do something for you,” said Auguste, not strongly, but gently, as though this was just a simple fact that was going to be followed soon. “You - all of you, all of you have done...a great deal for me, and I haven’t ever given anything in return.”
There was the faintest note of something sadder in his voice, but it was gone a second later. Auguste blinked up at Lorne, a little bemused, but he took the shorts and carefully unfolded them.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I can - I can do it.”
It hurt, leaning over, but Auguste somehow managed to ease up a little to change from the pants he was currently wearing into the shorts. He didn’t particularly seem to notice nor care if Lorne stayed or went; it didn’t matter to him, after all, and once he was finished, his body aching with pain, Auguste sat back down, tilting sideways to rest his head against the corner of the sink. There was a large and ugly gash in his right leg from where Amphitrite had pinned it to the ground with that shell bracer of hers - but it wouldn’t need stitches, the cut shallow and more reddened skin than anything else.
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Posted: Sun Nov 01, 2015 5:53 am
“That’s not - entirely true,” Lorne admitted, fidgeting and averting his gaze to the floor politely as Auguste changed into the shorts. He hadn’t really said it, hadn’t really known how, and still didn’t entirely. But the hint of sadness prompted him to try. “I felt - a lot like you, that - I wasn’t really giving back to anyone, a-and I didn’t really know how… I kept trying, but -- “
He looked at the far wall instead now. “ -- I talked to someone with some insight, a-and then we -- talking to you when - with the ice cream and all - it really helped me a lot.” His cheeks burned hot all over again. It was a little embarrassing to admit, even if Lorne felt good about it. “So I should, uhm - really be thanking you. I mean. For making me feel… useful, finally.”
As much as Lorne wished he could have helped more - shorts were shorts after all. As comfortable as he was getting with Auguste, there were some lines that were not yet ready to be crossed in that department. (God he still got flustered when it came to undressing Nadia sometimes, and they were dating for goodness sake.)
Still, though. When he saw that cut - “Oh! Auguste!” - Lorne went immediately into action. He fetched some of the supplies from the first aid kit again, along with some gauze, and set right to cleaning it up. Again, his fingers shook; he was terrified of hurting Auguste more than he’d already been today.
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A soft laugh could be heard from Auguste, even as he was struggling to change.
“I always thought you were impressive,” he admitted quietly, a little smile on his face, tugging the leg of one side of the shorts up carefully. “I was blown away by Nadia, she’s just...she’s so vibrant, and she’s so full of life, and then you add you, and it’s…” He gave a little shrug, securing now the shorts around his waist, wincing.
“It’s magic, really,” said Auguste, and the little smile was back on his face. “The two of you together, and Colin as well, all three of you - I wish I knew Andrew more, because he’s rather like thunder, I think - and then with you as clouds, and Nadia as a rainbow, and Colin as a bottle of lightning, everything just sort of...works together, and it’s beautiful.”
He was speaking softly, almost idly, as though to himself, Auguste momentarily lost in thought.
He said nothing as Lorne went back to work to clean his leg up, his eyes slightly unfocused - but then he was pulled back into the present, and he reached up, absently tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
“I liked talking to you,” he said truthfully, belatedly returning to the earlier conversation. “It’s...I mean, Colin’s been helping me a little - a lot - with trying to make me feel like I belong, and that talk I had with you just...it helped a lot. It meant a lot - it means a lot, Auguste corrected, with a quiet smile.”
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Him? Impressive? His cheeks burned like lava at the mere thought that anyone could’ve gotten that impression from him. - but he remembered, too. He remembered Auguste calling him the clouds before, and hearing that all now - all of them, and the elements he associated them with -
“If we’re going to say that, then, um - clearly you’re the rain,” he said, briefly reaching up to toy with the ends of his hair. “Because you’re refreshing and delightful and you helped find me a purpose. So. There.” He didn’t know if Auguste would really dig it, Lorne turning around and shoving him in there. But it was already said and done and he didn’t really want to take it back anyway.
Lorne was nearly finished by then - it was not a particularly deep cut, no. Long, but not deep. It was easier to tend to in that way. He, too, gave a quiet smile then as he began to wrap the wound in bandages and gauze the best he could to keep it all covered. “So I guess we - we helped each other then, didn’t he?” he said softly, chuckling to himself. “That’s - that’s good. I really just - I don’t mind so much being helped as long as I can help back, you know?”
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Auguste opened his mouth and then shut it again. A light pink flush had started to creep its way over his cheeks, up to his ears, and for a few seconds he seemed lost for words, his heart expanding in his chest. He had not expected such an entirely sweet reply, turning his own little metaphors back around so that it was him who got the analogy - and Auguste was speechless, his lips parting as he stared at Lorne.
He swallowed hard, the flush making his ears red.
“T...thank you,” he said, and then finally relaxed a little, letting out a small laugh that mingled with Lorne’s chuckles.
“We did help each other,” he said, twisting his hands together in his lap. “We worked with each other, and it’s….I’m very glad.”
Auguste hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed Lorne’s cheek before drawing away.
“I’m glad we were able to meet,” he said, with a small smile.
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It was nice to flatter someone else in such a way; usually it was Lorne that was reduced to wordlessness and blushing, so to be able to make someone else feel that way… it made him smile brightly, vibrantly. But it was twofold when Auguste kissed his cheek, a bright blush claiming Lorne’s cheeks, but it was okay - it was the welcome kind of flustering, the kind that made him feel happy and fulfilled.
“I’m glad too,” he said, reaching out to squeeze Auguste’s hand now that he was done. “I’m glad - I’m happy we’re friends.” His cheeks still burned, smiling so hard it ached, and for once he didn’t feel as badly for what he didn’t do, but allowed himself to feel grateful for what he had.
He eased back up onto his feet and held out a hand to help his friend to the same - because finally, “We’re done,” and that meant an evening of relaxation and movies ahead. Finally. It felt like an eternity had passed since he’d started treating Auguste - not that he really minded since it’d brought them closer again.
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Auguste had already made a mental note that Lorne’s blushing seemed to be both a subconscious reaction to nearly everything, and also that it was kind of endearing, as well as reassuring. He’d always considered these people - Colin, Nadia, Lorne, Andrew (Isaiah?) - as people just out of his reach, beyond the horizon of where he was capable of going. But the more he spent time with them, the more he saw tiny little glimpses of something else.
“Me too,” said Auguste, a little too quickly, and he flashed Lorne a small smile. “Very happy.”
The smile nearly overtook Lorne’s face, transforming it completely. Auguste reached out and accepted the offered hand, wincing as he got to his feet. His leg was throbbing, but not nearly as badly as his back, which still felt unpleasant and uncomfortable, Auguste brushing more hair out of his face and feeling, at the very least, slightly better.
“I’d very much like to lay down now.”
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The process of getting Auguste gently into his bed was probably the easiest thing they’d done so far - the apartment wasn’t huge, so it wasn’t far. Lorne’s room sat closer to the bathroom than Kyle’s, whose door was shut tight for privacy reasons; he trusted his cousin, so he didn’t try to do anything crazy like make him keep his door open or anything.
Inside of his room, Lorne’s bed was relatively big, and as he helped Auguste get settled, he’d probably realize it was a very, very soft bed too. His family had helped a bit with the furnishing of the apartment, along with the rent - thanks for taking care of his cousin while he was going to school in Destiny City.
It was still a rather barren, minimalistic room though; Lorne had moved twice this year after all. That didn’t leave much time to make it personal and his yet.
“Feel free to get comfy - can I get you anything?” he asked, running his fingers through Auguste’s hair again. Besides painkillers and all that.
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He followed Lorne obediently, falling into step beside him. Auguste was only half glancing around at his surroundings, dimly aware he was passing couches and chairs and tables. He had eyes, only at present, for that bed that loomed in front of him, warm and inviting, and it was with a sigh of relief that they finally reached it. Auguste, with some help from Lorne, eased into it
A soft sound of gratitude escaped. Auguste turned and buried a pillow, and tomorrow, when he woke up, he’d be able to see Lorne’s place a little more clearly - hopefully. For now, all he could think about was just relaxing back into the warmth and security the bed and Lorne’s presence provided.
Auguste appreciated very much the fingers in his hair, and Lorne was given a tired smile.
“No,” he murmured, “No, I’m very good, thank you.”
From the direction of - well it wasn’t exactly clear, somewhere in the apartment, a phone started to ring.
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Lorne couldn’t help smiling fondly at his fair-haired friend as he nestled into the bed, gently touching his shoulder once before easing away. “Good. I’ll be right back, then, I’ll just get you - “
His cellphone was ringing; he’d left it back in the kitchen, come to think of it. “Oh! I’ll - you know,” he’d already told Auguste he’d be back anyway, and he could probably tell from the basic, pre-installed ringtone (Lorne wasn’t really much for technology, let’s be honest) that someone was calling. Flashing his friend a sheepish grin, he made his way to the kitchen with wide strides.
Really, in hindsight, he should have checked the caller ID. But after everything that had just happened, and a lot of distractions from everyone on his team and then some, in that moment, the fact that anyone besides Colin, Nadia, or even Isaiah might be at the other end of the line didn’t even cross his mind. A bit breathlessly, not unhappily, he answered, “Hello?”
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Auguste stayed where he was, not on his back, but resting instead on his stomach, because it put less pressure on the bruise that spread across just above his hips. He gave a little nod at Lorne, a small smile on his face, and pressed his head against the pillows, gathering one towards him so that he could curl up with it, hair spread out like a cloud of white behind him.
“Thank you,” he said, and burrowed down.
The voice that would answer Lorne’s breathless greeting was an all-too-familiar one: a slow, quiet drawl, sleek and lacking utterly in any sort of warmth and care.
“Lorne.”
It was not a question, but a greeting.
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The floor felt like it fell out from under him, all the comfort his home held gone the instant he heard that voice. He nearly stumbled, and he let a hand come to rest on the countertop to steady himself. It took him a moment, a long, strained moment before he finally gasped out quietly, “A-Archer.”
Lorne thought to himself in that moment that he really should have just hung up. It would’ve been so much better just to hang up; answering at all had been a mistake. It’d be so easy, it was just a phone, he’d just have to lower it and -
He didn’t.
“I told you not to call me.” He tried to keep his voice quiet, still half-aware that Auguste was in the other room in spite of the shock to his system. It shook, though. “You shouldn’t have called me.”
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On the other side of the line, Archer Wren sat in his apartment, idly flipping through a book on photography in his lap. The glossy pages were resplendent with images of flowers and wild animals, none of them the stereotypical, National Geographic-ish nature. These were dramatic, haunting photographs, artfully staged, and Archer’s fingers slid along one particular image of a black bear with his snout directed towards a young girl, a large, clawed paw touching her arm.
“I knew you wouldn’t call me,” he said, his eyes tracing the curve of the bear’s back. “Though I gave you enough time to. I just want to talk, Lorne, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. I’ve missed talking to you.”
And by that it was clearly meant that he missed having Lorne there as someone he could rely on to be around, someone easy to get to do what he wanted.
“Have you been well?”
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Lorne knew how Archer meant it. He knew that.
He knew there was no reason to talk to him. There was nothing to talk about.
Still, he couldn’t take his phone away from his ear and simply end the call. Still, he closed his eyes, his hands shaking slightly out of nerves, knowing what he should say and do, helpless to just act on it. Why was this so hard?
“I- I have been.”
He’d been through so much lately. He’d gained so much. He’d gotten so much stronger.
He was still too weak for this.
“Nadia and I have been well,” he corrected, although not as curtly or with as much finality as he wanted it to have. “A-and you?”
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His lips curled up into a smile, because he could sense the giving in, could tell that Lorne still wasn’t able to break completely from him. It was evident in the quiver to his voice, the hesitancy, the fact that he had yet to hang up on him, in spite of telling him not to call, not to do anything at all to him, in spite of his denials and rejections.
The mention of Nadia had the smile shifting into a look of irritation, though Lorne obviously wouldn’t be able to see it. Archer turned a page in the book, now gazing down upon a large photo of a snake coiled around a man’s leg, stretching up artistically to rise over him. It wasn’t staged - that was the best part - but manipulated to look a certain way.
“I see,” said Archer calmly. “I’ve been well myself. I’ve been looking at getting a roommate here, so I don’t have to pay much of the rent. I think I have some good prospects, after all.”
There was silence for a moment, and then he said, “I’d like to see you again. When can we meet?”
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Archer did this. He’d been doing this, disarming Lorne with something idle and light only to swing in with something heavier to try and drag him in, back under again - under his influence, not into his affections, and this was something else Lorne knew too well now.
What he hated the most was that it worked, and every damn time, Archer could still slip seamlessly under his skin, slick as oil. Lorne pinched the bridge of his nose hard and told himself, again, it would be so much easier just to hang up. Just run away.
“No,” he said quietly in a voice that still shook. “I - I don’t think that’s a good idea. I - I’d rather not. I have Nadia now, and - and that’s that. So please.”
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It did work. It would always work, because Lorne was his, and that was what mattered. This was just a simple fact, something irrefutable, unchangeable, even by time. Archer had always known that when he came back, he’d settle right back into his relationship with Lorne, and that was that. There was no need to change something that was already good.
“Please, Lorne,” said Archer, keeping his voice level, almost soothing. “I just want to see you for a little while, it’s been so long. Bring Nadia, if you want, I’d like to meet her.”
For a variety of reasons.
In the bedroom, Auguste could hear only one side of the conversation - just Lorne’s quiet, kind voice growing more and more strained, trembling at the edges, and he pushed himself up, brow furrowing in confusion. He could see the hunched form of his friend just beyond, phone held to his ear, and Auguste did not know what was happening, did not know who or what it was that was making the tension rise strangely in the air.
He pushed back the covers and eased himself out of the bed with pained gestures. Auguste swayed a little unsteadily, his leg and back throbbing; but he padded over to the door to the room and towards Lorne. He reached out, touching an uncertain hand to his arm.
“Lorne? Est-ce que tout va bien?”
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No. No no no no no.
He didn’t want to meet Archer, he didn’t want him to meet Nadia, he didn’t want anything to do with this anymore. Lorne saw it happening, saw himself falling into a trap that he couldn’t quite step away from, and he didn’t even know why. He knew the trap was there, he knew it was waiting for him, and he still just - waltzed into it, too willing to just fall back on bad habits and give Archer reasons to keep trying.
No part of him wanted that, and no part of him wanted this. So why was it so hard to just say no? Lorne’s breath came faster, both out of anxiousness and frustration in equal parts, his hands shaking more now and -
There was a hand on him.
He yelped audibly as he whirled to face Auguste, his eyes wide and panicked, his skin paler than it should have been, a visible tremor traveling up and down the length of his body. Then he didn’t quite relax, but a visible trajectory of emotions passed over his face: from fear to realization to guilt and regret. “I have to go,” he wished he’d said that more curtly too, but he didn’t - his voice was shaking terribly and he fumbled to hang up the phone, dropping his head so his hair fell into his face.
“Je suis désolé. Je suis tellement désolé. S'il vous plaît retourner au lit, Auguste,” he stuttered out before biting down hard on his lower lip, his face burning white hot in shame.
How much of that had he heard? - all of Lorne’s weakness laid out like this -
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Archer sat, long after Lorne had hung up on him, just absently turning the phone over in his hands, staring vacantly at the photo in his lap. A slow, quiet smile curved his lips upwards, the fingers of his free hand reaching to slide his fingers over the image of the snake before he reached and closed the book, pushing himself to his feet and moving towards the kitchen.
The expression, meanwhile, on Lorne’s face as he whipped around was not one that Auguste had ever seen before on him. He’d seen his friend soft and shy, had seen him kind and gentle, had seen him uncertain and anxious, yes - but never this, never purely and completely terrified, his eyes wide, his face drained of color, shaking like a leaf.
Auguste stared at him, his chest tight, and he didn’t understand - couldn’t, because he did not know who was on the other side of that line, who was the one who was causing trembles and shaking and stuttered out French, soft and pained in Auguste’s ears.
He reached out without thinking and pressed his hands to either side of Lorne’s face, gentle and light.
“Just breathe,” he said softly, and that was all he said, because he wasn’t sure what else to say, what else to do other than just - be there.
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Lorne stared at him for a moment, his eyes still wide around to see the whites all around the yellow of his irises, his jaw tight and lips screwed together - and then he tried, finally sucking in a low and slow breath that shook and ached as he shut his eyes.
“Je suis désolé,” he repeated again, without opening his eyes, trying hard to calm himself. It was like clawing for purchase on ice. It frustrated him, genuinely, that Archer could still do this to him. “P-please, I - “ What was he going to say? Don’t tell Colin? Don’t tell Nadia? Don’t tell them how terribly he’d blundered that just now?
Finally he let out a sigh, long and harsh and also not totally like him, his brow furrowing as he bit his lower lip painfully hard. “I’m sorry. Please don’t worry about me, Auguste, please, I - I’m just - I’m such a damn idiot.” Especially the way he said that, his voice pitched lower and strained with a harshness he didn’t usually have, wasn’t like him. But of course it was directed solely at himself and no one else.
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“Shhhhh….” said Auguste softly, and he kept his hands where they were, gentle and light against Lorne’s cheeks. ”Vous ne devez pas présenter des excuses.”
He didn’t know what it was that had made his friend so out of sorts, so frightened and unsteady. Lorne resembled a deer in headlights, staggering around metaphorically in search of a place to rest. Auguste let his thumbs drift briefly over the man’s cheeks, just a small, quiet gesture as he looked up at him (he had to reach up quite a bit, Auguste on his tiptoes, privately grateful in this moment, that Lorne tended to hunch).
“You’re not,” said Auguste, and it was instantaneous and could almost have been considered a knee jerk reaction. His ears pinked, but he remained where he was, expression soft as he offered a small, tender smile to Lorne.
“You’re not an idiot, you’re a good man; no idiot would have stepped in to help me,” he said, and his leg was aching now from the strain, so he rocked back onto his feet and lowered his hands a little, resting them on both of Lorne’s arms instead.
He hesitated and then said softly, “If you - if you ever wanted to just...talk about things, I would listen.”
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Posted: Sun Nov 01, 2015 5:57 am
It was a tell-tale sign that Lorne was truly upset and shaken when he did not blush.
Still, he looked quietly grateful, even as he leaned down, trying to make it easier for Auguste, although concern shown in his eyes. “You should be laying down. - I’ll - let’s do that first,” he said softly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his friend’s head.
Then, his eyes downcast and averted, half-lidded, he said quietly, “I’ll - if you really want to - I’ll tell you once you’re laying down. Okay?” His chest still felt tight and anxious. Nadia and Colin had accepted it without really thinking any less of him, but… honestly, Lorne couldn’t help thinking less of himself every time he faltered, every time he failed to just take a stand and properly tell Archer to leave him be.
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He was somewhat relieved to see some of the gentleness back in Lorne’s eyes, in spite of the fact that he was not flushing red the way he usually did. Auguste appreciated the kiss to his forehead, and his lashes fluttered as he gave his friend’s arms a squeeze.
His head lifted, eyes searching, and Auguste gave a little nod.
“I want to,” he said, and then took a breath and added, “Not - I mean, I want to know because I care, because I want to help you, if I can, not just curiosity.”
Auguste’s ears were still slightly pink. “But - but yes, I should lay down,” he murmured, half to himself, because his leg really was painful by now. He turned, awkwardly and slowly making his way back to the bed. Auguste flinched as he bent to climb obediently into it, finally easing out onto his stomach in the middle and leaving plenty of room for Lorne to sit, if he wanted.
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At that, maybe thankfully, Lorne’s cheeks did actually burn a little, his head ducking a little further and his eyes downcast. He didn’t say anything right away - instead, he wrapped an arm around Auguste and tried to help him get back to bed as easily as possible, although he wasn’t much help. More just someone close by to lean on if he needed it.
There was room for him - but after a quick, unsure glance in Auguste’s direction, just to make sure it was in fact okay to do (it being his own bed notwithstanding; tonight, it was his friend’s, not his) before he sat down at the edge of it. Lorne gingerly smoothed out his pant legs, looking for an idle distraction, and his cheeks were still tinted red, all the most striking since he was still pale and a little breathless from his own ravaged nerves.
“That was my ex,” he finally said after what probably felt like too long - or at least it felt that way to Lorne, wincing as he said it. “I dated him, um, back in France. He was from Destiny City, so that’s kind of why we started talking and - and anyway, he moved back, and -” He bit his lower lip hard, searching for the right words. It wasn’t as if he wanted people thinking Archer was a bad person, exactly? - not to say he was a good person either, just a person.
Just a strong person. And Lorne was just a weak person, even if he was trying to be stronger. “It, uhm - it wasn’t really a very - good relationship, I mean - for me, looking back, so - “
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He was momentarily worried about whether or not he was taking up too much space, or if Lorne didn’t feel comfortable around him enough to sit on the bed with him. But a small look of relief was evident in Auguste’s eyes as his friend finally eased down beside him, taking a few minutes to make himself comfortable.
The silence stretched out, not exactly uncomfortable, but tense. The subject was clearly not one that Lorne spoke of often or even at all, his face paler than usual, only tinged with spots of pink. Auguste waited patiently, his hands tucked beneath his head, fingers curled against his palm, hair spread out behind him on the pillows.
His ex? Auguste’s eyebrows rose, his lips parting in surprise. He was not familiar with the ins and outs of romantic relationships, but he could at least tell one thing - whatever the relationship had been, it had not been a happy one. Lorne’s voice was shaking, the words coming out almost stuttered, awkward.
“Did he…” Auguste’s fingers absently smoothed over the sheet. “Did he treat you well..?”
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Lorne’s lips pursed.
“I… he didn’t exactly treat me badly.”
He didn’t realize how much he gave away about their relationship just by saying that. Biting with lower lip now, he ran his fingers idly through his still wet hair, slowly drying, but stray strands sticking at here and there at odd angles. “I mean. I kind of thought our relationship was, uhm… sort of typical until I talked to Colin about it.” His cheeks burned. “I-I mean, we were talking about, uh… intimate things, so it, uh, came up, since he sort of knew I hadn’t been with a girl, and -”
There, again. He was rambling again, but it was kind of more deliberate this time than it’d been before. “It’s one of those things where I didn’t really realize that he, um, we - weren’t really good for each other,” and he was staring down intently at the sheet. This was the third time he was getting into talking about this, about Archer with anyone. And it never really got easier to talk about. Some part of him, though, in spite of his own shame about it, thought that maybe it was good to talk about it - some small, unsure part that had only really begun to take root after he’d finally told Nadia.
“I’m not getting good at - at people, so he - he pushed me hard to do a lot of things - and I mean, I was -” Lorne tried to smile, if only to take away from his own discomfort and the honest shame of the truth. It didn’t really take root. “ - I was alone a lot. And I was kind of only just starting to realize how lonely I was, so I - I was just so happy to be with someone that - I don’t know. If something made me uncomfortable, I sort of just thought it was because I was being unreasonable? I mean I went so long without anyone, and it was sort of my own fault and no one else’s, so - “ So there was something wrong with him. Something that needed to be fixed. Archer wanted to fix it. It had been something like that.
Lorne dropped off there, staring intently at his knees and nowhere else, his words dying before he could even register they were there.
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Auguste was naive in many, many ways, ignorant in so many more because of his upbringing. But in spite of this, he knew how to listen, how to observe, how to watch - and he was watching now, the way Lorne moved, listening to the way he spoke, what he was saying.
And for the first time - he didn’t know if he believed that the ex-boyfriend had not treated Lorne badly.
The fact that Lorne had talked about intimate things with Colin didn’t surprise Auguste, nor faze him, who listened silently even as his friend rambled on. He brought a strand of hair around and toyed with it absently between his fingers, an idle gesture so he could have something to do with his hands - and again, the same feeling of wrongness persisted. The same feeling of this is not right that made Auguste vaguely uncomfortable, and not because of Lorne himself - but because of what he was saying, because of what he was telling Auguste about his past relationship.
Auguste was quiet for a moment, working through the thoughts in his head as Lorne lapsed into silence, his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of his legs or maybe the bed. A hand reached over and pale fingers gently touched his friend’s wrist, just a light, simple gesture.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, his voice low and quiet, and he pressed his lips together, trying to get the words right. “I’m not...I mean, I don’t have much experience in this, I know, but…”
His grasp grew a little firmer.
“Colin told me that - that everything between people should be consensual,” said Auguste softly, his gaze pained. “That if you choose to be...with someone, then it has to be what you want, too.”
And it had been reiterated, multiple times - Don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Make sure that you want it just as much as they do.
Auguste swallowed and then said, “If...if you didn’t want to, and he still...it’s not your fault, Lorne.”
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The touch made him flinch slightly at first, although it was little to do with Auguste and all to do with what they were talking about, and Lorne’s flash of an apologetic look really said it all in case he had any doubts. His gaze was heavy in a way it shouldn’t have been, and even if he smiled when his friend was finished speaking, there was still a palpable weight in his eyes and etched across his face.
After all, he was like a sponge - he took in everything, and had a painfully hard time letting go of things like regret and doubt. Especially when it was something that Lorne thought was over… and now it wasn’t. It was a constant threat that’d been hanging over his head for weeks now on top of everything else.
“Colin’s a good man.”
His gaze dropped again. Lorne bit his lower lip painfully hard. “My ex. He thinks - he’s the one that broke up with me, back in France, but… he thinks we’re still together. I keep trying to tell him we’re not, but… but it’s like… i-it’s like that all over again. I can say it and say it and say it and he just keeps saying things back to me and I can’t just - I’m sorry, Auguste, especially today, just I -”
Lorne squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I regret it. I regret him so damn much it hurts. I - he just makes me feel so - so weak and I - I know I’m not, b-but I - I just wish this would just go away.” Because in the end, inevitably, that’s how he dealt with problems; that was the abridged version of Lorne’s conflict resolution: ignore it, run, run far away until it resolves itself or never go back. Flight was, no matter how hard he tried, his default when it came to anything like this. Even with Nadia and Colin. People kept reassuring him, telling him he was strong when he wasn’t, when Lorne knew he wasn’t, because a stronger person would have pushed him away the first time and walked out. A stronger person would have drawn a line. A strong person would have shouted at him when he’d seen Archer in school. A stronger person would be capable of hanging up a goddamn phone.
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This was not a weight that Auguste could lift, and he knew it. The depth of Lorne’s pain was too much for any one person to bear, and Lorne was being dragged down by it; the very least that he could do was try and support him, to try and carry even the smallest amount, his heart aching for the man beside him.
A small smile touched Auguste’s lips. “He is,” he said softly. “One of the best.”
And so are you. So, Lorne, are you.
But he didn’t say it, not yet, because he wanted Lorne to be able to talk, wanted him to be able to get what he needed out. Auguste kept his hand where it was, having not been taken aback by the flinch, holding gently but not gripping, just a simple, quiet reassurance if his friend needed it.
He could not possibly understand, not really, the heaviness in Lorne’s heart. An ex who had treated him badly, whatever Lorne had said, a man who had taken this kind and gentle man and broken parts of his heart and his sweetness so that what was left was something anxious and uncertain - but Auguste knew the kindness and the gentleness was still there, still at the heart of who Lorne Benoit was, even if he didn’t see it or believe it.
“Lorne,” said Auguste softly, and he inched a little closer and then gave up all pretense, pushing himself vertical with a wince. Auguste sat on his bent legs, his hands in his lap, and reached out, fingers very, very lightly touching Lorne’s temple.
“It’s okay not to feel strong,” he said quietly, and he knew that coming from him, it probably sounded hypocritical, but it wasn’t meant to be. Auguste knew fully well his own limitations, his own frustrations at not being able to get to where he wanted to be, surrounded by people that all seemed so much more than he was.
“You’re strong in here,” he said, and his fingers slid down, touched above Lorne’s breastbone to where his heart lay beneath his ribs and chest. “And - and maybe it might take you a little bit to be strong elsewhere, especially in your head, because I...I know, how that feels, to not feel like you’re good enough, or that you’re not able to get to where you want to be, or that you can’t do anything.”
His hand fell away, back into his lap, curling with the other.
“If it’s not going to go away, then you keep going,” he said, and took a breath and said, a little hesitantly, “There’s...there’s a song, that I always sort of...listen to, and one of the things it says is - ’if you’re going through hell, keep going.’”
A song one of the maids had loved to listen to, just because it was catchy - but Auguste still remembered it now, after all this time. He drew in another breath, hoping that what he was saying made sense, that it was not just coming out as a jumbled mess of words and feelings.
“A single step is still a step,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be strong all at once, Lorne, you can take it one step at a time, because even the smallest, tiniest steps are still steps, aren’t they?”
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Lorne listened as Auguste spoke, and as tight as his chest felt, even as he swallowed back a silly knot that’d caught in his throat, he smiled. He reached out and laid his hand warmly over his friend’s own in his lip, flashing him a grateful look, even as he said quietly, “Less steps and more stumbling. That’s what I feel as though I’m doing - stumbling and hoping for the best, and I just keep falling.” He laughed, suddenly, in a soft, sad way. “It sounds awfully… much when I say it like that, but - i-it feels that way, a lot of the time.”
His life, it was all stammering and stumbling and just hoping for the best. And it was just dragging himself back up time and time again and hoping this wasn’t the time where he couldn’t pull himself back up again, because then that would mean that the future Lorne had so feared had really come to pass.
But that was a bit much for this. It wasn’t Archer that’d driven him mad, it just -
“I told Colin too, I- I just,” He squeezed Auguste’s hands. “I don’t - love him or anything. Arch- my ex, I mean.” His face burned. “And it’s been so long, I just wish I - he shouldn’t be able to do this to me anymore, you know? - there’s - he bothers me so much more than he should - I - I don’t know how to stop that. I don’t even know why I keep letting him… “
Why he’d ever let him, really.
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“Stumbling is still moving,” said Auguste tentatively - but he was trying not to be dismissive of the severity of what Lorne was telling him. The sadness in that smile of his was painful, his chest throbbing, and Auguste wanted to replace it with something else, something more sweet and kind and so much more Lorne. It was a smile that didn’t fit his face, however often he wore it, something that did not match the sheer goodness that should have been exuded instead.
His fingers curled around Lorne’s, securing them between his own. Auguste caught the beginning of a name but not all of it, and he brushed that aside, focused on what he was saying.
“You were…” He drew a breath. “You were lonely, weren’t you? You thought he was a right choice - but Lorne, it still...it still isn’t your fault, you don’t have to carry all of that on your shoulders.”
Auguste shifted slightly, but didn’t draw his hand away.
“What can I do?” he asked, and his voice was gentle, but firm. “And you can’t say nothing, because there’s always something to be done.”
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“Maybe you’re right.”
He smiled. Although he still just wished and hoped it was in the right direction. “Even if I know that, i-it’s - still heavy?” He sounded uncertain because he was. There was no better way Lorne could think to say it, really. He knew it wasn’t all his fault. That’s why he said they were bad for each other instead of simply saying he’d made a bad decision, even though Lorne knew he had. - maybe it was easier. Maybe it was just easier to beat himself up for what he could have changed than just to accept the things that were unchangeable. He didn’t want to blame anyone else. He didn’t want to judge people too quickly if he could help it. He - it was better, really. Just to hold the weight himself.
Whether it was right or not was another story. And he didn’t really know how to dislodge the weight once it was there.
What could he do, “Well, y-you’ve listened, and… and been terribly understanding even t-though you’re -” Lorne blushed deeply. Even though Auguste was hurt. “Y-you’ve been… incredibly sweet, you know.”
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He lifted a hand, hesitated, then gently touched the side of Lorne’s face, just around his upper cheek and temple; a light, almost fleeting touch, a graze of his fingertips.
“That’s why you have us, isn’t it?” he asked, brows drawing together. “So we can help you take away some of that heaviness. Not because you’re weak, or because you can’t do it on your own, but because we want to, because, you know…” A little smile was on his face, soft and gentle. “Because we care about you, I care about you.”
It was so easy to just want to be around them all, so easy to feel comfortable with them - sometimes, Auguste thought, too comfortable, because what would happen if what Amphitrite had said was true, and they would all forget him? But no, that didn’t matter - what mattered was that he was still here with them, even just for now.
Even though he was what? Young? Inexperienced? Auguste didn’t know where Lorne had been going with that sentence, but he didn’t need to know, really, his hand falling away from Lorne’s face as he smiled at him, the hint of a blush evident on his ears and his cheeks.
“You’re worth being sweet to,” he said, and gave Lorne’s hand a squeeze.
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Lorne didn’t really have words for that, and for a moment, he just looked at Auguste, his yellow eyes a little wider than before as he took in what his friend was saying. Then, he smiled, and it was perhaps a little more the type of smile that Auguste was hoping to see, brighter and more vibrant. His cheeks burned as they always did, but he looked happy, maybe even a little delighted. “I - thank you,” he said quietly, and those were the best words he had.
Maybe they were enough.
Then there was a long pause, a comfortable sort of silence falling over them as he squeezed Auguste’s hand back, his smile growing a little warmer still, his face still warm.
Even more as he quietly uttered a halting question: “C-can I - I know you’re - could I ask you a favor?”
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There it was - the smile that deserved to be on Lorne’s face, bright and wonderful; and the blush only added to the happiness that radiated out from him, that Auguste was of the opinion should be there, in his heart and in his head. He rather wished that Lorne had more moments like this, more moments when he could simply know that he was cherished and appreciated enough to let go of at least some small part of his insecurities.
Auguste’s brows rose, his head tilting to the side as he looked over at Lorne, blinking curiously.
“Of course,” he said with a smile. “Anything.”
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His face burned hotter still, and his smile was more than a little embarrassed. But still, painfully quietly, he asked: “C-can I uh - would you mind terribly if I - gave you a hug?” It was an incredibly stupid question, but Auguste was hurt and all, so it was a little harder just to throw his impulse control aside and do it that way.
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Auguste’s mouth fell open. For a moment he just sat there, staring at Lorne, not with an expression of disgust or unhappiness, but rather one of mild confusion, as though he couldn’t quite figure out why the question was being asked in the first place, or as though he couldn’t understand where it was coming from.
His hands slid away from Lorne’s, and then Auguste was rising up onto his knees, sliding his arms around Lorne’s neck without hesitation, his face buried against the other man’s hair. For a few seconds he didn’t speak - but when he did, there was a distinct and unhesitant note of sheer pleasure and affection in it.
“Always,” he said softly.
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At first Lorne worried that maybe he’d done it the wrong way, that maybe asking wasn’t the best thing to do? - or maybe just a hug wasn’t the best idea, that was also a possibility. Here Auguste was, injured and exhausted, and he was sitting here asking for something that would make him feel better, which was really sort of selfish and ridiculous and going right back to the whole base of the problem that’d made him feel so quietly low for so long, taking more than he was giving, and Auguste could see it, Auguste would call him on it, and -
Seconds later, there were arms around his neck, a face buried in his hair. Lorne almost started at first, and his heart was beating impossibly fast, too wound up from residual nerves and a million unspoken fears and doubts that were always churning away inside of his own head. But he relaxed, and quickly, sliding his arms loosely around his friend and easing into the embrace. And when he breathed, it was a whole-hearted sigh of relief - because for as shy as he was, and even now, his face burned, hugs from people he cared about did so much to soothe him.
“Thank you.”
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