#antivanwine14

1: Who is the better cook?

probably laslow!! i think he's had to cook for himself a lot more frequently than xander has. i don't think he's great, but he's not bad. you can put him on cooking duty and rest assured you won't be poisoned.

xander can follow instructions. important. he can do what a recipe says. but there's some know-how he lacks, and i think his food might end up slightly bland? but also this is a good chance to insert one of my favorite pictures i took from one of my fates runs

XANDER'S MACARONI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

21: Any routines one has that the other had to get used to (ex. morning, nighttime, sleeping habits)?

18: What are they like when they're drunk? How do they act together? & when 1 is drunk, while the other one's sober?

MMM i think laslow gets progressively more chatty the more he drinks. you could get any number of secrets out of him if you get him to drink enough & despite that he's pretty much aware of this it doesn't always stop him...... xander relaxes a little for once in his life LOL but also gets more physically affectionate? and perhaps he laughs a bit easier. honestly i think it's pretty rare that he'd drink until he's drunk tho, usually he's just buzzed at most, esp when around other ppl. he'd *drink* in public, but absolutely wouldn't get drunk

TOGETHERRR i feel like they'd be a "get a little drunk and then sit in bed and talk for a while" kinda couple. warm and comfy. taking the edge off a hard day. and again, they probably drink together every so often, but they don't often get that drunk laslow drunk and xander not drunk is probably xander being amused at his ramblings and then putting him to bed. xander drunk and laslow not drunk is probably laslow trying to figure out how the heck xander got so drunk, poking fun at him until they inevitably have some sort of sweet talk, and then going to bed together

23: Who initiates cuddling more?

probably ULTIMATELY laslow but i think xander would more frequently initiate physical contact that isn't necessarily cuddling. xander will wrap an arm around laslow's waist, or a hand on his back, but laslow's the one who tends to, like, climb directly onto xander while he's reading on the couch bc he's being needy LOL

24: Sleeping/cuddling positions? (Big spoon, little spoon, etc.)?

Leo’s decided to just hang out with him while he’s dying here, for whatever reason, working on something on a desk near Takumi’s bed. It’s seriously embarrassing enough that everyone knows Takumi got sick, Leo doesn’t have to stick around and watch him roll through the covers miserably.

That’s exactly what Takumi’s doing, too. He groans, and he flops onto his side, as if facing the left will make him any less sick than facing the right might. “I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that weird fruit,” he mumbles, pulling his knees closer to his chest.

Last night, Takumi had a typical Nohrian dinner—which is to say it was pretty damn atypical for Takumi’s tastes. And ultimately it was fine, just not what he’s used to, but there was this one thing. A Nohrian fruit with a skin covered in bumps to peel off, that was mushy and sweet to eat. And he didn’t hate that either, but he had a bad feeling about it.

“We don’t know it was the food, you know,” Leo comments, obviously not working and rather eying Takumi with his legs crossed. Takumi squints at him.

“I ate it, and now I feel sick. What part of that doesn’t point to the food?”

Leo shrugs at him, of all things. It isn’t Takumi’s fault Leo fed him something weird. Takumi shuffles more under the blankets, feeling just as gross but also moody.

Leo, still not working on whatever it is he’s working on, leans forward in his chair. “Have you been able to stomach anything I gave you?” he asks. Takumi frowns, and he glances over at the plate of food Leo offered earlier. Much more simple stuff, easy grains and soup. Takumi sighs.

“Kind of,” he says. “The crackers were okay.” His stomach is in complete knots, and those were basically the only things that didn’t make it worse. But he can’t say he has an appetite anyway.

Leo hums. “The water?”

“Don’t want it.” Which makes Leo frown.

“Not even a sip?”

“Later, okay, I don’t want to vomit.” Mostly Takumi doesn’t want to have to sit up to drink it, actually. Leo gives him such a look, too, like he knows. Takumi gives him a look right back. “What’s with you?”

Leo raises an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re being pushy.” Which doesn’t seem to bother Leo as much as Takumi would’ve liked it to. Annoying. “Go somewhere else. I don’t get why you’re sitting in here with me.”

Leo, pretty pointedly, does not get up. “Because I care about you. Or is that not allowed?” he says, which is also annoying. Leo turns to his work, still clearly not intending to leave, and then glances back to Takumi. “Just drink the water.”

Takumi scrunches his nose. But he’s too sick to think of a retort, so he shuffles up onto his forearms and finally takes his drink. And yeah, it’s nice, whatever. It doesn’t cure him or anything. But it’s about as tolerable as the crackers were.

It’s almost more irritating that Leo doesn’t give Takumi a haughty look, but instead just an average one. “You should probably sleep, too.”

Takumi scoots back into the covers. “I’m too tired to sleep.”

“Interesting. Any other hypocrisies you’d like to share?”

It’s a lot easier to deal with Leo when he’s being himself. “You’re such a pain.” Takumi barely knows what to do otherwise. Especially while he’s sick—which is also why Leo’s being weird, for sure, so this is just a useless situation all around.

Takumi does mean it when he says he’s too tired to sleep. It won’t work, plainly, he’s just stuck staring at the ceiling feeling miserable. He’d love to pass out and get better so then hopefully Leo will stop being nice to him because it’s intolerable—but he’s stuck conscious.

So, he flips around again, and also flips his pillow, and tries to look at the papers on Leo’s desk. “What are you working on, even?” he asks. Leo looks his way briefly, then sighs, finishing a sentence before he puts his quill down.

“It’s for Camilla,” he explains, rubbing his fingers absently. “It’s this orphanage program she’s trying to put forward. I’m giving her some financial estimates.”

Takumi blinks. “Oh yeah?” Takumi wouldn’t have guessed, exactly, but that’s not unexpected for Camilla. Leo nods.

“She’s always been interested in developing one. But… Ever since Siegbert was born, she’s just been—I don’t know. I wouldn’t call it baby fever, but it’s something similar.” And then Leo starts working again, just like that.

Takumi guesses it is pretty significant to have a baby around the palace. People were freaking out when Shiro was born, Takumi included. He’s still kind of freaking out about that. It’s been a little while now, though.

“Their other kid is close, right?” Takumi asks, then elaborates more. “Your brother and Laslow's.” Takumi’s met Siegbert a few times, and he’s cute, but it felt like he’d barely been around long before it was announced they were having another. Takumi doubts Ryoma’s going to have more, since Shiro’s already a rascal as a not-even-one year old. But Siegbert’s been calm whenever Takumi’s met him, so. Maybe that spurred them on.

“Quite,” Leo says. He looks away, out towards the door. “I wonder if you’ll be here when it’s born.”

Kids are something that seem really far away from Takumi. He’s too sick to even think about it long. It was crazy enough to suddenly have a nephew. There’s a weird way things have felt like they’re moving both faster and slower, now that there isn’t a war to worry about. And to be honest, Takumi’s not in the mood to go fast.

Leo tilts his head, looking thoughtful. “You know. I think Laslow might’ve gotten sick when he ate that fruit for the first time,” he says. “Maybe it’s something you acquire a tolerance to.”

Takumi, feeling right but way too sick to appreciate it, huffs. “Don’t feed it to me again, then.”

“You only gain tolerance by repeating the process, you know.”

“What if I’m just allergic? I don’t want it,” Takumi says back, not eager to experience this stomachache again. “I’m not sure I liked it enough to really want to try, anyway.”

Leo gives him a ghost of a grin, then gets back into his financial whatever. “I really think you should sleep,” he says. Takumi buzzes his lips and pulls the covers over him more.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, mind getting foggier by the second. He might be too tired not to sleep now, thank goodness. “Wake me up when the baby’s born.”

And—it’s kind of nice. The last thing Takumi hears before he drifts off is Leo’s light chuckle, and the sounds of quill on paper.

Xander’s at work right now, much deeper into the still-unfamiliar city that’s strikingly more gray than Windmire’s black. And Inigo, just a short while ago, got back from a dance class he found nearby. He’d like to say he’s going to a rehearsal tonight, but… Well, he’s between jobs.

He doesn’t really have connections in this part of Nohr. It was a struggle to get them for a while in Windmire, and he made the poor assumption that because he already went through that once, he wouldn’t again. Inigo’s been beating himself up for not asking around more to see if there were any friends-of-friends around here when he had the chance. Anxiety and freelancing unfortunately do not go hand-in-hand.

He hasn’t been completely jobless, but he’s certainly not busy at the moment. It’s harder to get a shoe in for contracts and auditions when he’s relatively unknown. And even if he’s been socializing in his classes to try and make some meaningful connections, so is everyone else, and Inigo is really great at flubbing things up.

Xander keeps telling him not to feel guilty—it’s always a possibility to be without work for a while with a job like this, and Xander makes more than enough to keep them afloat. But it’s hard to help it. Inigo was hoping he’d have gotten into a groove by now, yet he very much hasn’t, and it’s hard not to feel guilty using Xander’s money for his own things.

Not that moping by the sea is improving his situation whatsoever. But it’s pretty, it smells nice. And if nothing else is lovely in this gray city, at least the gray ocean has a charm. He doesn’t get to see it often.

Inigo’s outside longer than he realizes, because he gets a text from Xander asking where he is. He’s probably home, then—whoops. He tells him he’s by the ocean side, and asks if he should come back, but Xander doesn’t reply. So Inigo stays put, sitting quietly on his blanket, until he hears footsteps from behind.

Expectedly, it’s Xander. “You found me,” Inigo says lightly, scooting over a bit to make room. Xander sits down next to him, still in his stuffy work clothes, and he kisses Inigo’s temple lightly.

“You weren’t too hard to spot.” Which is fair, since Inigo’s like, the only person out here. It’s cold today—and Xander’s nice and warm, so Inigo certainly doesn’t mind the company. He leans into him, eyes still on the ocean, loneliness drifting away for a while.

“How was work?” Inigo asks. He’s still surprised it’s gotten so late. He’s not usually the sit-still-and -close-your-mouth type, but he’s feeling awfully sluggish today. So perhaps that’s why.

Xander sighs. “Fine,” he says. “Work.”

“Ah, yeah. At least you’re done now.” Xander’s work clothes are also gray, sometimes black, and sometimes Inigo gets him to wear a colorful tie. But he’ll always have a shock of blond that keeps him standing out. Inigo’s just the opposite, hair gray and dull, but he likes to wear blues and greens and whites. Sometimes purple, too, because his mother likes it most.

Xander puts his arm not quite around Inigo, but sets it down behind him so it crosses over his back. “How did your class go?”

Inigo shrugs. “Good, it was good. Pretty fun today, we worked on new stuff.” He inhales, then slumps. “I, uh. I’m kind of sort of making some friends?” It’s hard to be a socialite when the one tactic he had is completely off the board, now. Getting married kind of kills the flirting game. Not that he always got the best results with that, anyway.

Xander hums. He leans into Laslow, too. “I’m glad it’s coming along.”

“Ah, that’s a good term for it.”

A cold and slightly wet wind comes by, and they both shiver. Even if you can’t see the sun in Nohr, the nights are still colder than the days, and the evening is rolling in without a second thought. It was already chilly, but it’s getting chilly chilly.

“What are you doing out here?” Xander asks, and Inigo chews on his cheek. There’s why is he out here, and why has been out here for so long, which are two different questions with two different answers.

And despite what he asked, Xander’s probably looking for the latter. “I… Just got lost thinking, for a while,” he says. He looks down at his knees, covered by soft blue sweats and not doing a great job at keeping the cold out. “Wishing I’d get a call back, or something.”

Xander does put his arm around Inigo now, rubbing his arm gently. It warms him up a bit, and Inigo goes on. “There's this terrible feel of… Isolation, that I've got. Like—if you and I weren’t doing this together, what would I be doing? Living in a hovel and eating stale bread, workless as I’ve been?” He huffs, and cuddles into himself. “I hate having nothing to do.”

Xander scowls, in a very cute way that involves his lips scrunching a bit as his eyebrows lower. “You aren’t alone, there’s no point in giving what-ifs attention,” he says. “I’m here, I don’t mind. Take your time.”

“I know, I know,” Inigo says with a pout. “And I’d rather you here than not. It’s just—boring. And depressing. And you work for entirely too long, I get lonely.” That being, Xander works a respectable nine-to-five which he’ll only sometimes come back late from, since Inigo pesters him immensely otherwise.

Xander gives a small and considerate looking grin. "Maybe I'll try harder to beat the traffic next time," he says, which is nice. “Do you have plans for tomorrow yet?”

Inigo’s classes are every other day with a three-day weekend, so when a fraction of his time isn’t taken up by that, he’s sort of left open ended. Not that Xander doesn't work tomorrow, though, so he can't count on his company until later.

“I might go to the gym?” Inigo says, since he’d much rather be ready than not if he does end up getting a proper contract. “And, uh—if we need anything, I could go shopping, too.” Xander thinks for a moment, and so does Inigo—and then he completely hangs his head. “I feel like—like, I’m all washed up. Don’t I sound washed up? Am I still young enough to say I’m not old enough for this? ”

And Xander does not seem to appreciate the comment. “You aren’t washed up,” he says firmly, then frowns. “You were doing fine in Windmire.”

“But I feel like I am, and that makes all the difference.” Inigo throws out an arm, like he’s presenting himself. “Look at me. Sitting dramatically by an ocean, on a dark cloudy day, getting rained on—”

“Is it raining?” Xander says, interrupting Inigo’s self-deprecating rant and glancing up to the sky.

Inigo lets it go pretty seamlessly. “Oh, it has been. Only a little.”

Xander looks similarly unamused. “We’re going back inside,” he decides, and starts standing, leaving Inigo quite cold and alone.

“What? Nooo,” he says, since he was slightly enjoying the miserable feel. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

Xander extends a hand to Inigo. “You’ll get yourself sick.”

Inigo just looks at his hand for a moment. And then he frowns, and takes it, and as he’s pulled to his feet he grumbles, “I won’t get sick.”

“You will,” Xander says, meaning Laslow didn’t mumble his grumble enough. “And then you’ll sulk around the apartment feeling useless all day.”

Laslow snatches up his blanket from the rocks. “I do that anyway.”

They start walking back together. Xander looks pretty cold in just his button up, so maybe it’s better they do. It’ll only be getting colder, after all.

And Inigo guesses—even if he’s feeling guilty and washed up, and even if he’s antsy all day and anxious all night—

And Xander’s been the same this morning. Lugging himself out of bed looking just as stressed as before he slept. He's got just terrible and dark smudges of eyebags, and frankly, he looks tetchy.

And now, hair brushed and face washed, Laslow is dressing Xander in his day clothes. He doesn’t really have to do this anymore, but he likes to anyway, at least some parts. When they’re both slow and groggy in the mornings, it’s sometimes easier to say hello by just touching.

“Did you sleep well?” Laslow asks gently, kneeling in front of Xander while siding buttons into holes and tying strings into bows. Xander exhales through his nose, in such a way that Laslow expects the answer to be no.

“I didn’t have dinner,” Xander says, sleep in his voice. “The consequences woke me up more than once.”

“You didn’t eat?” Laslow pauses his work, shocked at the very notion. “You can’t be doing that, you should’ve gotten something.”

“I thought I could sleep through it.”

Laslow huffs. “Clearly not. Eat a big breakfast today.”

It must’ve been because he was working. He came back very late last night—which is common for him, and Laslow hates it. But forgetting to eat is very new. And it’s certainly not something Laslow’s going to let become a habit.

“…Um. My love,” Laslow says quietly, beginning to fiddle with Xander’s sleeves. “What is it you’ve been obsessing over that's capturing your attention like this?”

“I haven’t been obsessive.” Which is untrue, and also doesn’t answer the question. Xander looks quite irritated already. Tired and hungry has never been a great mix for him, but there’s also whatever mystery he’s dealing with adding to the drama. Laslow frowns.

“It’s slightly obsessive if you work non-stop and tell no one about it,” Laslow counters. “And now forgetting to eat.”

Xander scowls deeply. “I didn’t forget.”

“Choosing not to eat is no better.”

“Are you finished?” Xander snaps, surprising Laslow and taking his wrist away. “You’ll be quite dismissed if you continue with this.”

Laslow raises his eyebrows. That actually kind of struck a nerve. “'Dismissed?’” And where might he be dismissed to, their bed?

Xander tenses, as he probably ought to, an uncomfortable look suddenly on his face. “I wasn't—”

“Don’t... Speak to me that way,” Laslow says before he can regret it—and also before he can regret not saying anything. “I don’t appreciate it.”

Xander swallows. Glances down at what must be Laslow’s very sour expression, then sighs. “I’m sorry. I—don’t mean to.” He looks like he’s going to says more, but his mouth just twitches awkwardly, and he shakes his head. “I don’t mean to.”

And, you know, Laslow believes him. He knows much better than to take a very stressed outburst at face value. With an exhale, Laslow gets up, then sits on a plush stool that was previously where he’d set Xander’s clothes.

It isn’t like Xander doesn’t scold him from time to time. And it isn’t like they don’t have positions. Laslow, by official documents, is still very much Xander’s retainer. But this isn’t that. It cannot become that.

“You can’t get away with everything by using a scary voice,” Laslow begins, looking at his knees. “And I know you know that I’m not only around for your convenience. And, perhaps you never really did treat me like I was.”

Xander doesn’t say anything. He’s still frowning, though not at Laslow. And Laslow doesn’t mean to lecture him while he’s already feeling so bad, so he tries to dull the sharpness of his tone to something much more caring.

“But I’m still not. So you don’t get to—push me away like that. Please don’t push me away.”

Xander adjusts the sleeve Laslow had just been holding, not entirely buttoned yet. “I’m not trying to,” he says, and then after Laslow makes a face at him, “…It isn’t about you.”

Which does make Laslow grin a little. “I sure hope you haven’t been going through some lengthy process of kicking me out of the palace,” he says, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers for Xander to offer his sleeve again. And he does, so Laslow starts to button it up. “It doesn’t matter that it isn’t about me. And believe me, I know there are some things you don’t want to talk about. And I—I’d like to think I respect that. I’d like to get better at respecting that.”

Last button in place, Laslow doesn’t give Xander’s hand back to him, but instead holds it, running his thumb over his knuckles. “So you don’t… Have to tell me. I’d like it if you did, but I’d be alright if you didn’t.” Laslow eventually just slides his fingers in the space next to Xander’s. “But I don’t want you like this. Working so much, letting it seep into everything else. Don’t stop me from trying to help.”

Xander stays quiet for a bit. And then, with his free arm, he puts his elbow on his leg and his fist over his chin and mouth, thinking. Eventually, his knuckles move to his forehead, and he shuts his eyes.

“...I’ve been putting together my father’s funeral,” Xander explains with a low voice. “And there’s been much that’s been… Difficult. It’s an arduous task.”

Oh. “Xander,” Laslow says softly, leaning in a bit closer. “You can’t—you’re not doing it yourself, are you?”

“It’s traditionally planned only by royalty and close associates. And I wouldn’t ask my siblings, I… They’ve been through enough, concerning him.”

Laslow sits silently, still holding Xander’s hand and feeling him press back. A funeral for a king is no simple matter, that is a heavy burden to bear. Especially for a king with such a complicated reputation, such as what King Garon had. And—for one with such a complicated relationship with his son.

“I’m—a close associate,” Laslow offers. “Can’t I do anything?”

Xander glances at him. “What do you know of Nohrian funeral traditions?”

Laslow can feel his face cringe a bit. “I could learn?” Though he knows full well that a student would be less than helpful now.

“There’s already much talk asking why we haven’t held one yet,” Xander continues. “Many questioned why my coronation came first, even.”

Laslow scoffs. “Nohr needed a king!”

“That it did.” Xander takes a deep breath. “But this can’t be put off any longer. Were there a body left, it would be rotted by now.”

It’s all quite unavoidable, then, isn’t it. Laslow admits he likes to take shortcuts and desire paths, but he’s started running into more and more circumstances where they just aren’t feasible. He holds Xander’s hand a bit tighter.

“At least take proper care of yourself, then,” Laslow says. “Eat your breakfast and come sleep for a few more hours. And then—please, would you stop working at a reasonable time? Before I go actually nuts waiting for you.”

Xander gives him a decent frown. But Laslow stands and tries to pull Xander up with him—though Xander stays very seated until he decides to indulge Laslow, getting to his feet slowly and standing close.

“Let’s get some breakfast in you,” Laslow says. He pauses, then lets Xander’s hand go and twiddles with his own fingers. “And really, if you’re not sure what you need. Talk to me.”

Maybe marginally less tense, Xander nods. Laslow thinks they’ve solved more than they haven’t, though. Laslow gives his cheek a peck, and finally succeeds in getting Xander to grin.

Some of Xander’s vulnerability comes out in ways Laslow doesn’t expect. But he’s been getting better at looking for it. Xander, he isn’t an angry person—maybe a stern one, or serious. But he’s awfully gentle, too.

And sometimes, Laslow needs to look past his very kingly facade and just see the man. Because Xander really is only a man, and Xander might need some help with seeing that, too.

But it’s okay. One step at a time. Nothing’s easy forever. And who says forever is something to strive for, anyway?