“Tulips? No, no, not the right shape. How about roses? Well, I mean, we could, but they’re really formal, and I mean, formal’s all right, but - hydrangea, no, not sure you can even get those. Lilies? Too…”
Rhys waved a hand, trying to find an accurate word to describe said lilies. When nothing immediately came to mind, eh flipped anxiously through the catalogue again, looking a mixture of frazzled nerves and flustered agitation. Colors popped out at him from the glossy pages - reds, blues, purples, whites, lush green leaves, even a few smatterings of black or dark blue.
“Rhys,” said Fritz, in a delicate sort of way that usually indicated he was trying to placate him, “Relax. We’ll find the right flowers.”
The tiny kitchen table in the tiny kitchen belonging to one Logan Hitchcock and Rhys Autenberry was now mostly buried beneath various brochures and booklets and photographs and catalogues. All of them had to do with weddings in one way or another, from tuxedo places, to catering menus, to venue ideas, to flowers, to every possible conceivable thing that could have to do with planning a wedding.
“I am relaxed,” said Rhys, flipping through more pages with the sort of frenzied energy usually associated with pure nervousness. “I’m - totally - relaxed.”
Fritz, sitting across with one leg crossed and a cup of tea in his hand, simply raised an eyebrow.
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Hitch wanted to soothe his fiance, and ********, he was trying. It was just a little hard to keep himself all level and cool as a cucumber when he kept seeing those price tags flashing and blaring in front of his eyes, all but ******** mocking him with all their big numbers that were way out of bounds. How much would a small wedding even be? - the thought of a suit alone was giving him ******** palpitations. Not that he was saying any of this outright, because the last thing he wanted was for Rhys to think money was more important than marrying him, which was definitely not at all the ******** case. He’d just been chain smoking a lot by day, dipping a little more generously into the bourbon by night, that was all. Unfortunately that s**t also ******** cost money so that was a whole other thing.
“How ‘bout, uhm, “ he was halfway through a cigarette just then, pacing idly around the room and glancing over Rhys’ shoulder here and there, tending to some sauce he was making here and there too, fussing over it, “Do they do heartsease or somethin’ like it? Is that a thing? Those are kind of your flower, y’know, so - “
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Fritz’s gaze kept going from Hitch to Rhys and then back again, not that Rhys had looked at him long enough to notice this. He was still flipping haphazardly through catalogues and wondering just how many things had to be involved in a wedding that was meant to be small and intimate? They didn’t need that many flowers, or that much food - an intimate ceremony and a small after party to celebrate was all that Rhys really thought was necessary - so really it was the suits that were going to be the biggest thing.
In spite of Hitch not having said anything, Rhys could hardly fail to notice his lover’s increased smoking, and tendency to pace. The money was always a sensitive subject, and he was trying extraordinarily hard not to make it seem as though he expected anything grand or expensive or fantastical.
He glanced up at Hitch, opening his mouth and then shutting again. “I...hadn’t even thought of those,” Rhys mumbled, cheeks heating a little. It was such a simple solution to his crazed searching, and yet -
“Here,” said Fritz, who had picked up another catalogue, leafed through it, and now slid across the covered table. The glossy pages showed tiny purple and yellow flowers all clustered together. “This company does them, you could get boutonnieres made easily.”
Rhys glanced down at the page, then up at Hitch again, biting his lip.
“Well that...that could mean the flowers are covered,” he said slowly. “But - Logan, do you have any preference on what sort of cake you’d want? I think something small would be good,” he added, since that was the general theme of everything.
“Food too, I think, is more your area of expertise,” said Fritz, who had stood and was now leaning over the stove to peer interestedly at the sauce that Hitch was making. “What is this?”
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Hitch did grin lopsidedly, looking pleased that he’d been kind of helpful, pushing his hair out of his face and humming thoughtfully at the mention of cake. “Uhm. Well. No red velvet, “ he said decidedly with a nod, turning back to his pot. “The only red velvet I wanna ********’ taste is the kind between your le - “ His cheeks burned suddenly because oh, right, hey, Fritz was here. ********, ******** - “- moooon pie slices. Yup. Gotta love your lemon pies, babe.” He winced visibly and wished he could just jump into the ******** pot a little, goodbye cruel world.
Speaking of Fritz though, HEY, change of subject! His cheeks burned a little for a different reason, just because he always got sheepish about his cooking. “Ah, just my mom’s sauce, nothin’ too fancy or nothin’ - playin’ around with it a little today ‘cause you’re a decent guinea pig an’ you’ll tell me honestly if it sucks.” He held up a spoon and brandished it. “Wanna taste?”
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Rhys felt a flood of color seep into his cheeks, his jaw dropping open, while Fritz said, in a tone of exasperation that was, amusingly enough, tinged with a hint of amusement alongside it, “I’m never eating anything red velvet again in my life, just for the record.”
If it was possible, Rhys would have simply sunk into the catalogues and melted away. As it was, he held one up and buried his face in it, trying now to sort through which cake company would be the best - and the cheapest - to make something small and simple for them. There were other options - donuts or cupcakes - but somehow he was rather fond of the idea of an actual cake, even if it was a little one.
He didn’t need the pomp and circumstance, it was true; glitz and glamour wasn’t necessary, or even either of their styles, but it was a wedding.
His wedding. His wedding to Hitch.
Rhys buried his face further into the magazine, this time to hide his silly expression of pleasure.
At the stove, Fritz waved his good hand at Hitch. “Gimme a taste,” he said, “But if it’s poison, I’ll come back from the dead and sue your arse. Are you going suit shopping by yourself, or are you going to bring a friend?”
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“You shouldn’t want it in the first damn place; waste of ********’ perfectly good cream cheese frostin’, “ he grunted almost indignantly. Although he couldn’t help but catch sight of Rhys ducking cutely behind his magazine, and even if he didn’t know what was running through his fiance’s head, the sight still endeared him and earned a smile.
Then rolled his eyes and snorted at Fritz. “Trust me, if I was gonna ********’ poison you, I’d make it a hell of a lot less obvious - well hopefully - I mean unless this garlic’s like super extra ********’ potent - “ he snickered to himself as he lifted up a spoonful of the stuff and gave a command that was usually reserved for the other twin: “Blow.” As for the suit stuff, his cheeks burned a little and he shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t know. I ain’t really thought much ‘bout it. - do people usually bring people for that kinda s**t?” His mom had come for the last suit, but that’d been in a second hand shop and she’d also kind of paid for it and then that suit had plenty of good and bad memories so - maybe better off in the trash for something new.
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“You have very particular ideas about food, sir,” said Fritz pointedly, arching a brow. “First yogurt, now cream cheese frosting and red velvet. Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me that blood pudding is foul.”
“It is foul,” mumbled Rhys from behind his magazine, which Fritz ignored grandly.
Giving the spoon a suspicious look, Fritz blew on it then took a sip, tilting his head to the side as he considered it. It was strong, certainly, but it wasn’t overpowering, and really - very delicious.
“Does it go on anything?” he asked, licking his lips. “That’s very nice. And sometimes, yes. I’ve gone with Rhys a few times when we were in school, but none of it was for an occasion like this. I mean, brides go with their posse, don’t they?” said Fritz, tapping a finger against his chin. “What’s to say it’s different for a groom?”
Rhys glanced up from his magazine, peering over the top of it, which had a picture of a cake splayed across the front.
“What about Olga or - or Jarias?” he asked, biting his lip. “I’d say I should go with you, but, you know…” The flush on his cheeks deepened behind the catalogue. “I don’t want to see you in it before the wedding day.”
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“Never had blood puddin’, “ Hitch remarked with a stupidly wide smile at Rhys’ reaction, reaching over to ruffle his fiance’s hair affectionately. “But with that kinda name, think I’ll take this guy’s word for it.” After all, it wasn’t like he’d grown up out in the English countryside. But leave it to Fritz to make things super English. He snickered to himself at the thought. “Or, uh, what’s the other thing, brain an’ kidney pie or somethin’?”
He didn’t say anything as Fritz tasted it, just quietly waiting with baited breath like he usually did whenever anyone else ate something he’d made. Then he praised it and Hitch smiled, turning his head as if he didn’t want him to see the sheepish little flush of color that had spread across his face. It was stupid. He was pretty stupid. “Goes on your head, clearly, “ as if that did anything to diminish it, a low chuckle rolling in his throat. “Thinkin’ penne tonight, maybe. Anyone got any requests?”
Although he couldn’t help blushing a lot harder and smiling a lot more stupidly when it came to Rhys’ comment about their wedding day, and he shot his fiance a look over his shoulder. Even if he was buried behind the magazine, he just wanted to look at him and ******** he loved him and -
“Wait a ********’ sec.” He stopped dead, and if anything, his face burned brighter as he laughed hard. “That’s for the bride too! When the ******** did I turn into the ********’ bride?!”
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“Then you’re missing out,” said Fritz, with as much dignity as he could muster. “Blood pudding is delicious.”
“It’s not,” Rhys mumbled again, and then promptly jerked away from his brother as Fritz searched for a rolled up magazine to swat him with. He reached for the hand that had ruffled his hair, Rhys shiting to press an absent kiss to Hitch’s palm before letting go again, looking somewhat dazedly at all of the brochures and glossy magazines laid out in front of him on the table.
“It’s steak and kidney pie, thanks,” said Fritz, with a roll of his eyes that Rhys could hear even without looking at him. “Penne is good, I like thicker pasta.”
“Angel hair, maybe?” Rhys said distractedly, shuffling through a stack of wedding catalogues. “I like thinner - what about shells?”
Fritz waved a hand in his direction, whether to dismiss him or hush him up, Rhys wasn’t sure. He glanced over at Hitch over his magazine again and caught the flush to his fiance’s cheeks, his small smile hidden behind the shiny pages. It was stupidly cute to see him get all flustered, and he felt a swell of adoration sweep across him.
It’s really happening, he thought, We’re really getting married.
“Don’t worry, Hitch,” said Fritz, digging around in a drawer and coming up with a spoon, advancing towards the pot Hitch was standing over again. He clapped a hand on Hitch’s shoulder in a brotherly sort of way. “You can both be the brides, that way no one feels left out.”
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The whole exchange had Hitch bemused, the warmth of Rhys’ lips staying with him even after they were gone. He wished for more of them, but… right, Fritz was here, couldn’t be too bad. Then when the whole thing about what pasta came up -
“Mom liked angel hair.” He said it idly, then abruptly went red, both a little sad and a little embarrassed since he’d meant to think it, not say it. She still always popped into his mind at the oddest times, over the simplest little things. “I mean, it’s been awhile since I had it an’ all, so - yeah, I think we got some of that - “ and he took to rummaging around in the cabinets to try and see if he was a liar or not. Sure enough, they had a pack in there, just in case.
He glanced over his shoulder as Fritz slunk over with a spoon, arching a brow and making a face at him. “Gee, you’re so ********’ considerate, ain’tcha? - also, the ******** you think you’re doin’ with that spoon there, huh guy? ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, but spoonin’ me is kinda your brother’s thing.” He couldn’t totally resist, a lopsided smirk threatening to overtake his face.
Then, though, really, “Jari an’ Olga are both ladies though. Wouldn’t it be better if a guy came with me?” Then he mumbled mostly to himself with a roll of his eyes, “Then again, s’not like it ain’t nothin’ Olga’s seen before…”
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He felt, rather than saw, the shift in Hitch’s demeanor. Rhys reached out a hand automatically behind him and caught ahold of his fiance’s, wrapping his fingers briefly around his wrist. He gave it a little squeeze and then let go, glancing at him with a soft expression on his face before Hitch went rummaging in the pantry. Hitch so rarely talked about his mom in such simple ways that the moment ached a little in his heart.
“I am the most considerate,” said Fritz, clearly staying as relaxed as he could to ease whatever odd silences there had been. “Look, I am just full of good suggestions and - “ He gave a tremendous sigh, Fritz’s hand poised above the pot with his spoon halfway towards it. “Bloody hell, you really have zero shame, what on earth am I supposed to do with you, you git. Leave me out of your bedroom, if you will.”
Rhys was blushing furiously, still fighting a smile behind his magazine, which was propped up in front of him like a makeshift paper fort.
Fritz was silent for a moment, then said, “I’ll go with you, if you want.”
Rhys’s makeshift paper fort that toppled over a second later, half because of this completely unexpected gesture, and half because -
“Olga’s seen you - what - “
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That little touch and glance said more than words could have, and Hitch gave a soft little smile in response, quietly grateful for it. He idly wondered to himself if it would ever really get any easier - but then, by then he’d mostly resolved his conflict between what his mother would have thought and his love for Rhys. It wasn’t like it never came back to him in the dead of night when he sat there with a glass of bourbon clutched between his hands, but to be fair, that’s when most things came back to haunt him. At least he could live with himself and could look at his mother’s picture without feeling like he was betraying her at every turn. This was his future, and this was okay. He should take progress where he found it, right? … right?
He flashed Fritz a toothy, cheeky grin at his comment and waggled his eyebrows because why the ******** not. He was about ready to swat the redhead’s wrist when he made that comment, and abruptly he forgot all about it, his eyes going wide, and everything briefly seemed to come to a stop.
“You’d do that?”
He sounded so utterly, stupidly soft and unsure about it that he promptly cleared his throat a little too roughly and looked down before looking back, clearing his throat a second time before he spoke. “I mean, uhm, if you - got time or whatever - that’d be cool I guess.” What a lame a** response that was. He tried for a tentative smile as if that did anything to smooth the whole thing over.
Then he went red because <********> if part of him wasn’t kind of hoping Rhys wouldn’t have caught all that. “It’s a long a** story where I was a drunk a** gross loser an’ she cleaned me up an’ put me in some ********’ shirt with a joke I totally didn’t ********’ get an’ put me to bed, “ he said, waving it off with a small wince. “Nothin’ funny, promise; I ain’t her type an’ she sure ain’t mine.”
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Hitch’s relationship with his mother had been a complicated, painful thing, Rhys knew, and it had carried over even now, because it was not something that he could just move past so easily. He knew of the nights when Hitch woke up - or didn’t even sleep, though Rhys suspected he didn’t know the full extent of them, because Hitch never wanted him to worry him and wouldn’t wake him up most of the time.
It’s okay to keep going forward, Rhys wanted to tell him, but it was easier said than done.
Fritz was still standing with his spoon poised over the pot, looking at Hitch with an expression that was half calculating, half amused. It was his right hand, because his left was wrapped in a brace, which Rhys knew, somewhat dismally, that it was acting up again, though neither one of them had mentioned it, and Fritz was the last person to ever say when something was bothering him.
And also, once upon a time, the last person who would have offered to go suit shopping with his brother’s (male) fiance, which was why Rhys was staring at him now, both surprised and gratified and also a little flustered, his fingers working to pick up the magazine again.
Fritz was rolling his eyes again.
“Stop being such a twit. You need a suit, and you need someone to go with you, so here I am. Don’t complain if I make you try on plaid or houndstooth, though.”
Rhys coughed delicately, then not-so-delicately, because when had Olga seen Hitch naked. This was not a fact of his life that he had ever thought pop up, and he slid his gaze to Hitch, wide-eyed and startled, his hands clutching a magazine about bridal suites clutched to his chest.
“Remind me never to let you go out drinking without me again,” he said faintly, and Fritz let out a bark of laughter.
“I should meet whoever this Olga is,” he said, reaching to dip his spoon into the pot. “Also I’m pretty sure no woman is your type, idiot.”
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Hitch smiled. He didn’t really mean to, but he did, pleasantly surprised and pleased and even grateful in ways he couldn’t really completely put into words. Then, though, his face went blank, and he looked at Fritz and then Rhys and then back again. “... okay so uhm, I know this is a dumb ********’ question, but the ******** houndstooth though? An’ why the ******** would I b***h about it?” Also, for the record, he really didn’t know suits even came in plaid. If they were anything like his flannels though, maybe it’d sort of be up his alley… depending? Who knew? He literally didn’t know jack about suits beyond they were usually black and ties were a b***h. Getting that one figured out on New Year’s had kind of been a nightmare and a fluke.
He laughed along with Fritz and flashed his fiance a vibrant smile; he put a little extra effort into both. Nobody needed to hear that it’d been when Rhys had been in the Negaverse still and that’s why he’d been drunk and everything else that went into it. To be honest, beyond what they had to talk about, he hadn’t really offered a whole lot on what he’d said and done or even where he’d been that week. It was over now. There was no need to labor over all that. They were picking up and moving forward, which was the more important thing. “You got it baby, scout’s honor.”
Then, he couldn’t help but roll his own eyes fondly, finally smacking Fritz’s wrist. “You should. You’d probably ********’ love her. All questions an’ optimism an’ questions - kinda nice, though - she’s a writer, an’ a senshi too, “ and then he made a face. “Though I’d kinda like to deck whatever ********’ cat looked at that girl an’ said ‘yeah hey you should totally go fight the negaverse’. Is there no ********’ screenin’ process to this s**t at all??”
As for Fritz’s last comment, he really did roll his eyes. “Well, yeah. That was the ********’ joke, ya nerd.”
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The look on Fritz’s face was positively gleeful.
“Oh,” he said, glancing from Hitch to Rhys and then back again. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
“Fritz,” Rhys started, an exasperated note to his voice, but he saw the delighted way in which Hitch was laughing, and the smile momentarily left him breathless. It had been so long since he had seen Hitch so relaxed; ever since the pain of the Negaverse and his purification and his memory loss - and now, to see him smile like that, made all the nerves in Rhys ease somewhat.
He looked back down at his magazines, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as he tried to hide his own smile, flipping to a page about hotels and guest services. To the side, Fritz made a protesting squawking sound as Hitch slapped his wrist, but he didn’t try and pull away, still determined to get more of the sauce. “Are you talking about yourself about this Olga person?” he deadpanned.
Rhys sent him a pointed look, then looked back at Hitch.
“So, um,” he said tentatively, and his cheeks were a little flushed, but he kept talking, in spite of Fritz’s presence. “Did you - want to, er...go on a - a h-honeymoon or - or anything..?”
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Hitch suddenly wondered if he should be worried for his dignity or not - like he had much left to lose, though, honestly. “The ******** did I get myself into?” he groaned dramatically to the heavens, brandishing a fist upwards.
In response, he went ahead and pinched at the back of Fritz’s hand, sticking his tongue out at him. “You’re so ********’ clever I can barely ********’ contain myself, “ he bit back sarcastically… and then after a moment, releasing the offending hand and lifting the lid to stir the sauce in question, he just kind of laughed. “Seriously though, that ********’ screenin’ process. Like. I get a ********’ deli job an’ I gotta piss in a cup. Bein’ a ********’ senshi? Cat runs at me gettin’ chased by ********’ weirdo dogs, throws a stick at me, an’ goes ‘hey you’ll ********’ figure it out, bye loser’. ******** senshi screenin’ process man, y’know what, the goddamn cats need one. Shootin’ people up with lasers an’ s**t, like, the ******** cats were okay, yeah; his general opinion on the supposed ‘guardians’ hadn’t changed all that much, though. Quenton had been more helpful than most of those ********, abruptly, the tone totally changed. He set the lid quickly back on the pot and turned towards his fiance. There was a bit of (okay, more than a bit of) color in his cheeks at the mere question, and he slunk over towards the table, toying with the piercing in his lip with his teeth. “I… I mean, if we can… I’d really like to?” He really would. Just… if they could afford it, was all. But he really didn’t want to have to say that.
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”Rude,” said Fritz with as much dignity as he could under the circumstances - which wasn’t much. He glanced down at the sauce and then back up at Hitch, raising an eyebrow, swatting Hitch’s hand away from his own. The expression on his face suggested amusement, and he glanced at Rhys, whose lips quirked up ever so slightly at the corners. Hitch being relaxed enough to joke around and get riled up all over again made his heart feel warm.
“I don’t mind the cats,” said Fritz, rolling his eyes as he finally gave in and lowered his spoon back to the countertop. “I like cats in general, actually, but you already knew that because of Crook. I don’t think I’ve seen any cats shoot lasers though, unless I was just not around for that.”
“You’re just an animal lover,” Rhys pointed out, and Fritz grinned at him.
“Well, yes, there is that.”
There were too many options in front of him for flowers, food, clothes, and destinations; Rhys was starting to get overwhelmed, glancing up at Hitch as he put the lid back on, and the color in his fiance’s face was just as much as the color in his own. The idea of a vacation with just the two of them somewhere else after they got married was a wonderful prospect, but he knew what Hitch hadn’t said. By this point, he knew all too well that money was a stress, and Rhys had no desire to put any more onto Hitch.
“If you could go on a honeymoon, where would you go, anyway?” Fritz asked, arching a brow. “Beach? Paris? The deli next door?”
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“Crook can stay, “ Hitch grumbled, getting the stuff together for the whole pasta aspect of dinner before Fritz got it into his head to drink it all. (Even if part of him somewhere was a little pleased that he actually seemed to like it that much; maybe the tweaking he’d done to the recipe hadn’t been so bad after all.) “He’s alright. Rhys can ********’ vouch for me on the whole laser bullshit thing though. I’d seriously been in this goddamn city for, what, a ********’ month? An’ there’s people ********’ keelin’ over an’ cats shootin’ lasers all over the goddamn place!”
He stopped abruptly, blushing a little and flashing them both a sheepish grin. “********, sorry. Should I not talk ‘work’, “ he used air quotes and all, “at dinner? I’m still not used to… y’know.” Not only was there no more need to sneak around, but he’d gone from that to having really stupidly easy access to people to talk about it with. Like, at-home access. No sneaking around with Rhys. A lot of the awkwardness with Fritz being gone. He could rant about the senshi bullshit the same way he ranted about a s**t day at work. It was only kind of just occurring to him how weird that was. Not bad. Just… weird.
“Oh yeah - the deli meat’s always ********’ fresher on the other side, y’know, “ he droned sarcastically. Not his best comeback, but, you know. He had to try. Then Hitch actually leaned against the counter and kind of thought about it, thinking back on all the travel books and - his blush kind of intensified, because really, honestly, it was the first time he’d ever actually been asked something like that. “I don’t know, “ he started a little lamely, looking down. “I mean, if I could… ********, there’s lots of places I’d wanna go. Like, y’know, there’s Italy. I know my mom was part Italian, somewhere way back, an’ Italy’s got a ton of awesome s**t. Great food, all the art an’ history an’ s**t - I wouldn’t mind seein’ England, ‘specially since I met Rhys an’ what he’s said ‘bout it, “ he hunched his shoulders a little, because it was kind of embarrassing to say it. “Or I could take Rhys back to New York an’ show him all the best s**t an’ maybe do some of the s**t I never got to do, too - or I mean there’s Ireland, an’ France, an’ there’s New Zealand, an’ - y’know, just - I don’t ********’ know.” I do everything with Rhys if I ********’ could, although he didn’t say it.
He cleared his throat roughly and then grinned, his cheeks still burning a little as he asked Rhys, “How ‘bout you, babe? Where would you wanna go?”
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“You’re damn straight Crook can stay,” said Fritz airily, beginning to open cabinets, clearly in search of some dishes. “Are you talking about the whole New Year’s mess, because I seem to recall Rhys mentioning something about shooting cats at some point in time.”
“That’s where I met Logan,” Rhys mumbled, his cheeks heating. “Er - I mean, we didn’t really….talk much until later.”
And then he’d fallen head over heels. He hastily scooped up a few more magazines as Fritz shook his head and said, slightly dryly, “I don’t care about talking ‘work’ at dinner, we’re all three of us powered up, I mean. I’ve just been doing it longer than you two - “ He gestured at the pair of them. “ - have so it’s old hat to me. It is a little weird that my brother’s in this too, but, well.”
He waved a hand and pulled out a stack of plates as Hitch sniped back at him, Rhys smiling a little. He was distracted by the blush spreading rapidly across Hitch’s cheeks, which was endearing and sweet and several other adjectives he could think of at the present moment but couldn’t say. The list of places that Hitch named off made his heart clamber in his chest, his hands absently smoothing over glossy magazines, but Rhys wasn’t really looking at them.
It didn’t feel real. After all this time, it still didn’t feel real: that he was no longer trapped within the Negaverse, that he was going to marry Hitch after all, that Hitch didn’t hate him, that Fritz didn’t hate himl that they didn’t hate each other, his brother and fiance.
That somehow everything was going to work out.
“Oh,” he said, “Um. I - I’m partial to going to Europe, or, um, maybe to New York - or to Ireland? There are a lot of places - oh, and there are caves in New Zealand as well, so that’s a good option.”
Fritz was rolling his eyes again.
“You two,” he said, pointing his spoon at Hitch and then at Rhys. “are a fat load of help.”
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Hitch made a face. “Literally meetin’ Rhys was the only good ********’ thing to come out of that whole goddamn s**t show, “ he grumbled, then smiled, because in spite of everything, “Kinda worth it for that, though. If I could go back, I’d go it again.”
A grin spread across his face. “Old hat, listen to this ********’ guy. I swear, you two are ********’ twins, but he talks like one of those old English grandpas you see in ********’ movies, “ he gestured vaguely at him, “with his ********’ horn-rimmed glasses an’ his tea an’ old hats.” Then, he paused, and, maybe a little more softly he added, “I really don’t get how you did it so ********’ long on your own.” But remembering everything, ********, he didn’t want this getting ******** somber or some bullshit, “Good thing you don’t have to now, right? - don’t know how much ********’ help I am, though, ” and he laughed, hoping he wasn’t just digging the ******** hole deeper here, “You ********’ saved my a** more than enough times!”
Ugh, kill him. He really had no idea how to do the whole tact thing; wasn’t in his goddamn bloodline.
The pasta was in the water and cooking, the sauce was simmering, and that left Hitch free long enough to go sneak over and throw his arms around Rhys’ thin shoulders, nuzzling into his hair with a low laugh. “So you sayin’ you want me to knock you over the head an’ drag you back to my cave? That the kind of honeymoon you thinkin’ of?” he teased in a low purr in his fiance’s ear. Then, “I don’t care where the ******** I go, long as it’s with you.”
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“Please,” said Fritz, holding up a hand. “Please, I am begging you, don’t make me throw up before I eat dinner. I think I might be nauseated by all this fluff, it’s disgusting.”
Rhys bit his lip to hide his smile, his gaze flickering towards Hitch, cheeks warm with pleasure. He stacked a series of magazines about dresses to the left and pushed them aside - he had no use for those - and instead turned to a catalogue about linens, idly flipping through it, listening to the banter between Hitch and Fritz with a welling sense of happiness inside of his chest.
“They are not horn-rimmed,” Fritz was protesting, sounding half outraged, half exasperated. “And I like tea, and so does Rhys.”
“I prefer coffee,” said Rhys, somewhat sheepishly, and Fritz threw up his hands as though done with the pair of them. He reached out, and jabbed Hitch’s side with his elbow.
“Stop that. You’re doing just fine, you idiot. You made it this far, haven’t you? Have a bit more confidence in yourself, mate, otherwise Ill be the one to kick your arse.”
He reached up into the cabinets again, presumably looking for cups this time. Rhys made a note in one of the magazines and felt Hitch’s arms encircle him, warm and familiar, lips against his ear. Heat suffused his cheeks, and he let out a small sound that was partially a laugh, partially a little bit of a gasp, Rhys lifting a hand and curling it over one of Hitch’s arms. The engagement band glittered on his finger, a continued reminder.
“I don’t care either,” he murmured. “I just want to be with you.”
“Can you please wait until after dinner to get all mushy with each other?” said Fritz, setting a stack of glasses on the counter. “I can’t even hear what you’re saying, but I know it’s mushy.”
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Making Fritz squirm was definitely still one of his favorite past times, thanks. Hitch grinned smugly to himself, much like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. The smile only grew broader when Rhys took his side on caffeinated drinks. “See, an’ this is why I’m marryin’ you, “ he teased, blowing a kiss in his fiance’s direction and batting his eyes.
As for ‘making it this far’, he resisted the urge to mention Cinnabar and the train and the starseed incident at the carnival because he knew that’d be a whole thing, and plus there was the whole thing Fritz had been through that could counter it. Although if you asked him, it wasn’t the same situation at all, but, you know; instead, he focused on something else, rubbing his too-warm cheek like that would diffuse the color. “Mate? Wait, what, wait, did you just ********’ go straight up Australian on me? I’m so ********’ confused. Everythin’ I knew’s a lie.” Lame, bordeline offensive stereotype joke; hey, always worked like a charm! Then he turned to Rhys and stage-whispered, “Do you ********’ say? I ain’t never heard him say that!” Probably a good reason for that.
He hummed contently, kissing the side of Rhys’ head and just savoring the closeness and the scent of him for a moment longer before pulling away. ********, nothing grounded him more, really… then he grinned wickedly as he stirred the pasta. “What’s the matter, bro, you feelin’ left out? - do you wanna hug, too?”
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“This is why you’re a git,” Fritz corrected Hitch, rolling his eyes.
Rhys was still trying to hide his laughter. Fritz said, sounding half-strangled, “It’s an English term too, you blasted idiot - what planet do you even live on? I can’t - “ He waved a hand again. “I can’t even handle you right now, how on earth does my brother tolerate your outrageousness, because you’re about two seconds from me strangling you with a piece of spaghetti.”
Warm lips were against the side of Rhys’ head, and as Hitch pulled away, he caught his fiance’s hand again and brought it to his mouth. Rhys looked up at him, adoring and affectionate, and gave his fingers a squeeze before letting go somewhat reluctantly, looking back down at his magazines.
Fritz, on the other hand, was looking up at the ceiling as though praying to Cosmos for some sort of magical intervention.
“Please, no, if I ever have to suffer through another hug of yours I think I might cry, and that would not be pretty.”
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“What planet?” Hitch grinned cheekily, mischief flashing in his dark eyes. “Uh, Brooklyn, I guess. - no, wait, uh, “ he hummed thoughtfully. “s**t, ********, I really do have my own ********’ planet now. Touche, ginger snap.”
Man what he wouldn’t have given to linger. Like, slink down into one of their chairs, invite Rhys to crawl into his lap, and - focus on dinner there, champ. There’d be time for that later when his twin wasn’t a spectator. Still, he couldn’t help but shoot Rhys a meaningful look, glancing over him once up and down before turning back to his pasta.
“Aw, don’t say that - have some confidence, Fritzy. You look super pretty when you cry!” It was really hard NOT to push his luck with him okay. “You’re so ********’ lucky, “ he droned, “That this pasta’s done - remind me though. I owe you, one ********’ massive bone crunchin’ hug.”
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“Cosmos help me,” Fritz muttered. “I’m stuck with a pair of idiots.”
“Hey,” Rhys protested, and Fritz grinned at him from the counter before looking at the pot of pasta on the stove. Rhys, on the other hand, had caught the significance of the look Hitch gave him and blushed so hard it was a miracle his face didn’t wind up on fire. He shifted in his seat, clearing his throat a little, and tried to focus. Focus on the wedding, not on the honeymoon and everything that comes with that.
Fritz had lifted his spoon and was now pointing it threateningly at Hitch.
“If you so much as come near me, I will slap you with this - no, stop that, you do not owe me a hug.”
A slight pause, and then -
“And stop calling me ginger snap.”
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“Ginger spice more your thing? Somethin’ else? - should I go back to old man time?” Hitch asked with a hidden smile as he poured the pasta into a colander and then back into the pot again, and then - “Dinner’s up; make sure an’ tell me how much you want, baby. Also, that ********’ spoon, wow, I’m so ********’ scared big man, “ he teased as he grabbed a plate and started piling pasta on it. “Who first? - probably this guy who’s been loomin’ over me for the past twenty ********’ minutes - “
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”No,” said Fritz, as delicately as possible but also as firmly as possible. “How about you just call me by my name.”
Rhys had glanced up just in time to see Fritz smacking Hitch’s arm with said spoon. His eyes drifted to the plate in Hitch’s hand, knowing well enough as it was that even if he said ‘not much’ Hitch would likely pile a heap on his plate just to make sure he ate enough anyway.
“You can give me however much,” he said, as Fritz leaned over the pot again.
“It hasn’t been twenty minutes, you’re exaggerating - now hand over the food before I have to take the entire pot and run off with it.”
”Fritz - “
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“Fiiiiine, “ Hitch sighed. “You got it Fritzy.” He snickered when the spoon smacked him, nudging Fritz in the side with his elbow before he set to adding the sauce. “Good, ‘cause that’s what I was gonna do anyway, babe, “ and he flashed him a teasing grin.
Then he gave an ‘enduring’ sigh and passed the plate off to Fritz. “Here; an’ get the cheese outta the fridge if you want it. Bon appetite or whatever.”
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“Bloody hell - “ was all Fritz said in exasperation as he accepted the plate offered to him. “You’re such a handful.”
But he carried it over to the table, looking pleased, and settled down, fork somewhat awkwardly held in his right hand instead of his left. Rhys glanced up at his fiance, then back at his brother, trying to figure out in what universe this would have happened, because it seemed almost impossible to think that he was sitting down with his brother and his fiance for dinner.
Impossible, and yet it was happening. Rhys got to his feet and padded over to the fridge, pulling out the cheese before stepping over to Hitch. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple.
“Thank you,” said Rhys softly. “It looks great.”
He didn’t mean just the dinner, and they both knew it.
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“Mom used to say that, too, “ he teased with a wink, then set about preparing his fiance’s plate. He was very careful about it, thoughtful, wanting to put enough but not so much where Rhys would feel obligated to finish if he was full. Not that careful was exactly his strong suit, but…
He shut his eyes at the kiss, and quietly, could hardly believe either that this was where he was. They’d gone somehow from the bowels of hell to… even better than before? Sure, there were some things still to work on, but he was still marrying Rhys, and now Fritz was okay, and just -
Some part of him wondered when it was going to go back to hell, what he’d do to mess this one up; as much as he wanted it, did he really finally deserve this? Didn’t he?
He wanted to. He wanted it to stay like this. He really, really did. A soft smile lit his face as he looked at Rhys, extending the plate to him, finally. “Yeah - it kinda does, huh?”
frayedflower
