kingdom of gross

“You will thank me in the morning when you are far less drunk.” Aleksei pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and returns his gaze to the pathway. The muscles of the other man’s back tense and ripple beneath his fingertips with the effort of another unsuccessful retch. “You’re empty. Now move.” 

Jemini makes a pitiful sound, almost alarmingly so, and spits again at the ground. In spite of the obvious, Aleksei decides the most certain tell that he must be utterly inebriated is the way that he actually obeys. They have known each other long enough by now to bloom awareness that this never means good things. After a moment’s rest, Jemini pushes himself up to stand as upright as he can muster, which is admittedly not very. Aleksei keeps a steadying hand on his back and guides him out of the alley and back onto the path. 

The lantern lights are burning low. The town is bathed in quiet gold. It would be serene, and even romantic, if Jemini knew how to control himself around a tavern. But control was never among Jemini’s strengths. Aleksei had learned that the moment they’d met, and at some point between then and now, he'd come to accept it.

“You don’t have to be so mean all the time, Leks.” 

Aleksei nearly startles at Jemini’s voice, which now sits at the hoarse base of his throat rather than in its typical confidence, resonant and low in his chest. His own chest clenches in sympathy. He pushes Jemini to walk a bit faster. “Yes, well. You could exercise more control of yourself. No need to be so reckless, either.” 

A beat passes. 

“And I am not mean,” Aleksei adds, muttering, “you are annoying. I am justified.” 

Jemini’s ear twitches. He jolts with a hiccup. “I heard that.”

“It was not intended for you not to hear it.” 

For a moment, Aleksei is hopeful that Jemini might’ve stabilized. This is the furthest they’ve managed to walk since leaving the tavern, and shockingly, the most Jemini has managed to speak. It’s almost comforting. 

Almost. 

Until Jemini stumbles and abruptly pitches forward with a guttural belch, bringing up an acidic mouthful of dark liquid. Aleksei pulls back just in time to avoid getting it on him as a much more productive wave spills onto the gravel. He shoves Jemini off the side of the path to lean over the grass and gathers the length of his hair in one hand, the other never leaving Jemini’s spine. 

Aleksei runs a gentle touch along the curve of it. Jemini hiccups again. He coughs and spits and then brings up more sick, smelling distinctly of liquor and something sweet. Aleksei grimaces.

“Alright. You’re alright. Breathe,” he says, tender without trying, and Jemini seems receptive to the shift in tone. 

He attempts a breath in and fails first, cut short by a gag. Jemini rubs at his chest and lets out a sour belch from the very pit of it, ending with a mouthful of froth. He attempts another breath, and this time, he succeeds. A little knot in Aleksei’s chest unfurls as the other man steadies again.

“Done?” 

Jemini makes a noncommittal noise. Aleksei decides for both of them that there’s no time to analyze that any further; if anyone were to find the head guard indisposed out here, it would do nothing good for anyone’s reputation. Not that much is ever secret in the close communality of Haaywyn. 

And so the journey back to the central building begins again, in teetering, swaying steps beneath moonlight. They fall into something akin to a rhythm. Aleksei leads the taller man into pace as he follows along, pliant with drink and seemingly content.

By morning, he’ll be miserable. Likely, he’ll be entirely indisposed by the consequences of a lack of inhibition and an excess of hubris. Aleksei might just want to kill him, then, if he weren’t so sorry for him, which he certainly will be by the end of it. But for now, with just the two of them in the quiet of night, with Jemini tamed and giggling softly to himself about nothing, Aleksei can’t really be mad.

Maybe it’s the warmth pooling in his own stomach, feeble in comparison to his companion. Maybe it’s the way heat radiates off of Jemini’s skin and the comforting familiarity of being close to him. Aleksei doesn’t have it in him to be mad. Steadying Jemini as he almost trips, he actually finds himself toeing the edge of something sentimental and soft.

This crosses her mind for two reasons. First of all, she hadn’t accounted for the chance of running into any inebriated tavern-goers. There are not many, but there are certainly more stragglers than she’d bargained for. And secondly, she was wrong to be so naive as to think she could ever shake Reese’s incessant ass, because among the stragglers is him. He’s hobbling away and looking strangely guilty, with a rip in the side of his shirt and a trail of feathers following him. 

She considers turning the other way. In fact, she really wants to. But there’s a part of her that cannot be described as anything other than masochistic as it inclines her to go up to him. She deliberates on it a moment too long, because he spots her first. Reese waves to her, stumbling along in her direction with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “Maaaaallll!” 

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, shaking her head and trudging over to meet him if not just to get him to stop yelling, and calls back, “Yeah, I hear you! Yes.”

He just about falls into her arms once he reaches her, swaying dangerously. She resists the urge to reach out to him. “What the fuck happened to you?” 

Of everything Reese could possibly respond to her with, the last thing Mal expects is for it to come in the form of a hiccup and a mouthful of vomit directly at her feet. 

“Fuck! Oh, gross–” she takes a step back, looking heavenwards and taking a long, regrettable breath. The smell of alcohol assaults her senses and from the sheer potency of it, she realizes maybe the vomiting was not the least reasonable response for him to give. “Gods, Reese.” 

He reels back in return, turning to the side and bracing against his knee with one arm, hugging himself with the other. He groans and spits and burps again, bringing up more dark liquid. And then again. And again, like a fussy baby or a–a bird. Mal huffs. Fitting. 

Against all of her stronger instincts, Mal leans in and puts a hand on his back. Reese coughs and splutters, leaning some of his meager weight against her as he continues to throw up, an almost constant stream of little gags and hiccups spilling from him. A few other people, definitely no less sloshed than Reese is, peer over. They’re on the side of a path beneath a streetlight; it’s not like he chose a particularly discreet place to do this. 

One person in particular looks on with a level of judgment that is definitely not warranted given that they came from the same place. Mal glares at him and flips him off. 

“Hey, Reese.” 

Reese whimpers. “Dude. Reese. Stop puking for a minute–fucking swallow it or something.” 

Reese tries and nearly chokes. Mal swears under her breath. This guy is beyond pathetic. 

She rubs his back as he burps and coughs again, and then she gives up hope that it’ll end anytime soon and accepts the potential of getting puked on as she shoves him off the path. He stumbles, so she takes his wrist and opts to drag him along with her. “Come on. Let’s get behind a–a building or a bush or something. Anywhere but here. So you can stop fucking embarrassing me.” 

Reese gives her a thumbs up with the hand she’s guiding, other hand cupped over his mouth. A noise comes out of him and it sounds like he almost certainly throws up directly into that hand, but Mal chooses not to acknowledge it and carries forward. She’s almost gotten them situated between two shops, long shut down for the night, when she hears a noise from him she can’t choose not to acknowledge: a sniffle. 

“What–are you crying?” 

“N–hic-huuRRRPP!–no.” Reese sniffles again. 

Mal drags him into the alley and pulls the hand away from his face, predictably sullied with sick and snot. He really is crying. Given the fact that he still reeks of booze, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. And it’s not that she is surprised, really. But that doesn’t mean that she has a lick of a clue what to say. 

“Why are you crying now? You’re so fucking hammered.” 

Reese gags emptily, spitting at the ground and whimpering. He gulps a few times, burps. And then he takes a long, shuddering breath. “Dunno. M’sorry to…embarrass you.” 

Malika has spent the entirety of the time she’s known this guy berating him, insulting him, threatening him, and fully prepared to bite, and somehow that’s the comment that does it. Even worse, for some reason, hearing him actually seem hurt by her, seeing him cry like this, does something funny to her heart. Before she can come up with anything to say, he’s fully barrelling forward with an empty retch. It sounds painful, and she cringes, hand going back between his shoulderblades. “Alright. Shit, Reese.” 

“Sorry.”

“Shut up.”  

“O–hic!–okay.” 

Mal rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything further. They share the silence for a while, save for the sound of Reese’s hiccuping breaths. Malika searches around for something to say as this whole situation catches up to her and she finds herself wondering again if this is some twisted limbo fever-dream. Standing around and looking tenderly upon another person, especially by her own free will, isn’t necessarily in her nature. 

Reese’s breath hitches for a second and she thinks he might start getting sick again, but he makes a sad noise and slinks away from her, sliding down the wall like he’s deflating. He puts his head in his hands. Mal wishes she was half as drunk as he is now, even after all the puking. Maybe it would give her some ease of dealing with this situation or cajole her into some spur of kindness. Maybe it would push off the urge she has to walk off and leave the sad sack here, or even greater, the feeling of obligation she feels for him and all of his persistence in looking after her. She takes a deep breath to steel herself and sinks down beside him. 

“What’s going on?” 

Reese sniffs. “I–I–” he makes some incoherent noise of distress, “nothing. S’nothing.” 

“Bullshit. Tell me before I hurt you.” 

That gets a giggle out of him. “You’re being sooo nice to me.”

“Don’t push your luck. Now why’re you like this?”

“Well…don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“Who the fuck am I telling?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Reese picks his head up out of his hands, crossing his arms around his knees and wrapping his wings inward and around himself like a blanket. “Well, I invited Vince out to the tavern with me tonight…for a few drinks.” 

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’re in love.”

“Well, no. I mean. I don’t know, but I should probably get over it or something now, ‘cuz I kinda started blurting stuff out about how he shouldn’t like me and then I tried to go home and he’s so nice, Mal, he’s so nice–”

“Get to the point.”

“--anyway, he’s so nice but I kind of stood him up at my own date by freaking out a bit and sneaking out the bathroom window and I ripped my shirt and I told him I’d be right back and I never came back, so…” 

Mal heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Sweet fuck, you’re an idiot. And dramatic.” 

“I am such an idiot, Mal! And now I’m gonna be so lonely.” Reese pouts, nose all pink from the crying and the cold, and wipes at the snot running across his upper lip. “It’s a good thing you’re my friend now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far–”

“Come oooonnn, Mal. We’re friends. Face it with your sad, sorry ass that you have a friend now, cuz you probably never have in your life with that attitude…” 

Mal whips around to look at him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Reese jumps, blinking at her. She pushes herself up to stand.

“You know, I could just fucking leave your sorry ass here for Vince to find you and fucking kick you–”

His eyes well up with tears all over again, and the anger starting to well up in her resolves just as fast. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Mal slaps a hand across her face and shakes her head, completely exasperated. She drags it down. Takes a good, long look at him, and it’s then that she notices he’s shivering. Even with those big bird wings wrapped around himself, he’s trembling like a leaf. “You’re cold.”

“I mean, a little…” 

She heaves a long breath out and reaches out her hand. “C’mon. Get up. Go home.” 

Reese makes a funny face, something akin to a pout but a little more sincere and a little more pathetic. “Are you gonna come with me?”

“No. I’m gonna leave you to fall flat on your face in the dirt and die. Now take my hand.” 

He smiles, reaching up for her and wrapping long, cold fingers around the back of her knuckles. She pulls him up to stand, and he wobbles a bit, but he manages to get upright now. It’s a slight improvement from his condition earlier, but it’s an improvement nonetheless. She doesn’t let go of him as they begin the trek to the guard barracks.

But Reese invited him, all eager smiles and dancing eyes. And for much of his life since coming to Haaywyn, and twice as much before, Vince has kept to himself. So he figured going out once couldn’t hurt and accepted Reese’s offer. The place is crowded, and although Vince has himself tucked up in a corner and out of the way, a few people have bumped into him on the way out. Whether it’s more a result of his stature or their state of inebriation, he hasn’t really been able to tell. 

Reese sways from side to side to the music, wearing an easy smile and an effortless comfort to him that Vince is still trying to figure out. There’s a handful of things Vince is still trying to decipher about Reese, and a good chunk of them find him coming to wonder why Reese chose him to cling to in the first place. Since shortly after Reese and Remi were stationed here in Haaywyn a handful of months ago, the two of them have hung around the barn near-daily. Remi seems to come by for the animals more than anything. He’s a quiet guy. Vince reckons Remi isn’t too keen on talking to people sometimes and finds more comfort in the unsaid, which is just fine by him. Animals can be leagues better than people. 

But Reese seems to come around for Vince, specifically. Reese invites him to things. He notices what he does and notices what he doesn’t, and he notices when there’s a shift in either one. Reese takes note of what he likes and what he doesn’t, and Reese seems to love being all up in his personal space, and Vince just can’t place why. It always seems like something is going on behind his eyes even when he acts like there’s nothing but air between his ears. 

“So Vince!” 

Vince almost jolts, broken out of his stupor by Reese’s voice cutting over the din surrounding them. He gives a hum of acknowledgement in turn. 

“I think I deserve a round of applause. Because!” Reese drums his fingertips against the table, grinning. “I finally got Mal to eat some soup.” 

“Wow,” Vince nods, taking a sip of his drink. “Congrats, birdy.”

“Thank you, thank you. I know, I’m amazing. It only took me like a week, a lot of persistence, plenty of pouty lips and eye-batting, and of course, my incredible charm to pull it off…” Reese pauses to hiccup, closed-mouthed. “But I did it.” 

“Atta boy.” Vince clears his throat, staring down at the table for a minute before committing to the thought of what he wants to say. “What’s your thing with that, anyway?”

“What thing?”

“With Mal and the soup or whatever. Why try?”

“Well, you see, sweet Vinny, when someone doesn’t want friendship or kindness – hic-urp! – I think…they need it more than anything, and who better to give it than I?” Reese laughs a little, waving his hand as if shooing off a thought or a pesky fly. 

Vince huffs a laugh back, though he doesn’t get what they’re laughing at. He takes a long swig of the ale and it pools warm in the pit of his gut, like he’s sucking up the heat of the fire. And then he wipes the back of his wrist against his mouth. 

Reese runs a fingertip around the rim of his cup, still half-full. Vince figures it’s probably for the best that Reese doesn’t finish it. Unlike himself, Reese is small and slender and always buzzing with energy. There’s no reason why he’d be any good at holding his liquor. And Vince also figures he should’ve considered that before accepting the offer to come out to a tavern of all places, but maybe it’s better off if Reese gets himself messed up in capable company rather than the alternative. 

“You wouldn’t get it. But I get it,” Reese continues. “I get it so much. But you wouldn’t.” 

“I wouldn’t?” Vince leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. “Why’d you reckon?” 

Reese gives a half-hearted shrug. Something contemplative comes over him, but a wave of mead washes over it, dismantling inhibition. “There’s nothing more inspiring to me than the word no. S’probablyyyy…why I like you so much, Vin.” 

Vince snorts. He’s almost taken aback. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” 

“Well, I’m sure you don’t want me around so much, but you don’t seem like you want anyone around so much so I’m jus’ thinkin’ maybe–hic!” 

Vince grunts, unsure of how to respond. 

“I’m just thinkin’ maybe–I mean. That just makes me wanna be around you sooo much more, c’z you’re all mean and tough n’big and why would you wanna be around me? Buuut like, you hang around me now, so m’have to be doin’ somethin’ right.” 

“Hell. You’re sloshed, bird.” 

“No,” Reese shakes his head, resolute. But a look crosses over his features like his brain has finally caught up with his mouth. “I’m good! I’m so good. So, so good. Um.” 

Reese stands abruptly, chair skidding back with a squeal. A couple of heads turn, but a lot don’t. Vince raises his brows. 

“This has been so, so fun, Vin. Thank you so sup’r much for comin’ out with me, but–y’know, it’s late, and I think maybe I should go back to the…to the grind.” He sways. Vince reaches out a hand to him, prepared in case Reese topples over. 

“Well, alright. I can walk you back, or–” 

“No!” Reese shakes his head again, firm, so firm it looks like he’s dizzy after. “No–hic!--no need, Vin. I got it…”

Vince is already standing. “You’re real messed up, Reese. Let me make sure you get back to the barracks safe.” 

Reese pushes Vince back down, and it’s not a hard push, but Vince isn’t expecting it and obeys before he processes he’s doing it. Reese surveys the room, eyes flitting about with a weird sort of franticness, though the alcohol has his gaze all hazy and slow. 

Just as Vince is about to get back up, Reese takes a few steps back and says, “M’gonna go to the bathroom, actually! Just the bathroom. I’ll be–right back! Be right back.” He turns and adds a “don’t follow me.” 

Vince opens his mouth to answer, but by the time he’s gathered himself to leave, Reese is already gone, swallowed up by the crowd. He sighs under his breath, resting his elbows on the table. Another thing to add to the list of all that Vince still needs to decipher about Reese: whatever the hell that was. 

As they come up to the posts, Vince’s ear twitches. He always picks up on them being around. He turns to face them, dropping the rake and fixing them both with a nod. He saunters over to meet them, wiping his hands off on his work pants. “Howdy, folks.” 

His brows are pinched in a furrow. His cheeks are flushed, though his complexion is pale. Thick dark waves of hair fall stringy in his face. Overall, he looks wrong – not quite sick, but not quite right, either. Reese and Remi exchange a look. Reese squints.

“Howdy yourself,” Reese chirps. He leans in against the wood between them. “You good, Vinny?” 

“Huh? Yeah.” Vince’s answer is immediate even as his chest jolts with something akin to a hiccup. He looks aside, pressing a fist to his lips for a moment. His throat bobs with a swallow. “M’fine. Why, you alright?”

Reese’s look turns skeptical. “I’m great. What was that, though?”

“Was what?” Vince rubs at the back of his neck, and then across his ribs, looking for something to do with his hands. “That. Y’know, that whole thing you just did.”

Vince cocks a brow, shaking his head in confusion. “No whole thing. There’s nothing.” He clears his throat, changing the subject. “What’s up with you guys? Need something?” 

Reese clearly isn’t satisfied with the redirection. For a long moment, he stares at Vince, trying to pick apart what might be wrong with him. He seems a little breathless, but in early autumn on the water, it’s far too cool for a heatstroke. He doesn’t look quite sad. He doesn’t seem angry. Vince keeps his gaze, resolute in playing stupid. Reese can’t place a finger on it and gives up the staring match. “No,” he runs a finger along the top of the fence, picking at the grooves in the wood. Beside him, Remi shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “We just came to visit you! Like usual, because you love our company.”

Remi hums his agreement with a nod. 

Vince gives a noise of acknowledgement, smiling a little. “Okay,” he says, though his face screws up in discomfort shortly thereafter. He presses one big hand beneath his ribcage, dragging it across his torso. He presses a fist back to his lips to muffle a long belch; neither that nor his closed mouth does much to quiet the noise, and his expression turns apologetic. “Oof. Sorry.”

Reese perks up immediately, alert. Remi tilts his head.

“Is your stomach upset, Vince?” Remi asks. 

Vince huffs. “No, it’s–bruuRRP–mmph,” he covers his mouth again, too belated to hide the deep belch that interrupts him. “M’okay. Sorry.”

“No sorry,” Reese chimes in. “That doesn’t sound okay, Vin.” 

Vince’s fuzzy ears flick back and he looks away. “S’nothin.’”

“Doesn’t sound like ‘nothin.’” Reese mimics Vince’s accent, smirking towards him. Vince gives him a deadpan sort of look in turn, swallowing a sigh. 

“You are damn persistent, birdy.” Another raucous belch slips up Vince’s throat, and he coughs after, cheeks going a bit pink. “Good gosh. ‘Scuse me.” 

Both Remi and Reese have their eyes really trained on him now, and Vince looks between the two of them once, then twice. He blows out a sigh. 

Not a moment later, a long, churning gurgle comes from his stomach, and he pushes a hand back square in the center of his gut, leaning forward. Reese resists the urge to reach out for him for a second, and then decides he can’t really keep it up. He puts a hand on Vince’s bicep, feather-light. “Why don’t you come and sit down? Come take a break and hang out with us.” 

“It may help to sit. Perhaps you could use some water?” Remi adds.

“Y’all don’t gotta fuss,” Vince mumbles. He drops the hand at his waist, trying to straighten up. His stomach makes another unhappy sound about that. 

Reese grips a bit harder on Vince’s bicep, supportive. “Please?” And, because Reese has started to grow familiar with Vince’s stubborn temperament and even more stubborn devotion to being polite, he throws in a, “we’re technically your guests now, sooo…” 

Evening color is starting to breach the horizon, turning the sky pink and blue. The night lanterns come alight, almost as if agreeing that it’s time to turn in for the day. A chill comes on the breeze. Vince opens his mouth to oppose, and then shuts it in consideration. He frowns a little. Furrows his brows. And then he exhales a long, slow breath through his nose, heavy enough to move the gold ring in his septum, and he rubs a hand down his face. 

“Fi—huuur-ouuurRRRP!--” Vince dips his chin for this one, tail flicking side to side in displeasure behind him. “Fine, fine. Hell, ‘scuse me.” 

Reese beams, turning towards the barn. “Great! Let’s go hang out in the stable with the horses. Remi loves the horses.”

“I do love the horses,” Remi seconds. “And I’ll get you something to drink.” 

Vince grunts, already making his way out of the pasture and towards the barn himself, waving them off. 

Reese rolls his eyes, turning to Remi. “He loves us already, I think.”