#augustrope

Brendon always jokes it's easy to get you to smile. No one believed him of course. You only really smiled at patients when they came in for their surgeries. Very rarely did your co-workers earn such a gift.

Then again Brendon got to see you outside of work. Mainly in his clothes.

The first time he realizes how easy it is to get you to smile is the first morning you spend the night at his place.

He had cooked breakfast and was setting the table when you walked in. "Good morning, Rose." Brendon says walking over to you.

You hum as he kisses your head. He watches as you look over the table as a smile slowly climbs on your lips. "You made me breakfast?"

"I have to keep my girl fed." He whispers nuzzling your neck, holding you close.

"You girl, huh?" You ask relaxing into him.

"Yea, he says nipping at your skin. "My girl."

The next time Brendon makes you smile, it's after a patient disparages you for your size.

He ushers you into his office as he sees you fighting off tears. You sit on his couch and cover your face with your hands.

Brendon watches as your body shakes, broken breathes coming from you.

"Rose," he says finally sitting next to you.

"I'm fine." Your voice cracks.

He carefully takes your hands from your face to see your eyes red rimmed. "He's an idiot."

You give a dry laugh and shake your head. "You're only saying that cause I'm sleeping with you."

You yelp as Brendon pulls you to straddle him. You look at him to see his lips pressed into a firm line.

"Your weight and build have nothing to do with your skill as a nurse."

"But-"

"No, he's an idiot and he's lucky I'm not his doctor." He watches you try to fight a smile.

"He would be lucky." You say.

"Not after he insults my girl. I'd give him a fucking student to work on him."

You can't help smiling, forcing you to nuzzle his neck to hide it. "You're horrible, Dr. Park."

He kisses your head and strokes your hair back. "Only when needed nurse Callaghan."

You trudge into your apartment, the double shift weighing on you. You offered to cover your night shift colleague, needing the extra pay with Brendon planning a vacation for your one year anniversary. Even though he wasn't very happy when you told him about the double.

As you pull your shoes off, you notice Brendon's work bag on the couch.

"Brendon?" You yell.

"Bathroom." You hear before following his voice.

You let your hair fall from its ponytail and run your fingers through your hair.

You stop in the door way into the bathroom. The tub is filled with petals, steam coming off the water. There's gentle music playing with a mood light to look like live water.

And standing in the middle is Brendon.

"What..?" You ask feeling your throat tighten up.

"I know you are tired after work. I figured," he walks over and wraps his arms around your waist. "You could use some relaxation after a double."

You smile up at him. "You really are pulling a Roy Kent now."

"I… don't know who that is." He says as you start to laugh.

"I really need to have you watch more TV." You say smiling as he starts to strip you of your clothes.

Once you're stripped Brendon helps you into the water. "Now, I'm going to check on your breakfast then head to work."

You nod then pull him into a kiss. He grunts and grips the back of your head.

You pull back pecking his lips a few more times. "Thank you," you whisper.

"Anything for my girl." He whispers back standing up.

Brendon is in a department head meeting, bored out of his mind. He taps his phone to check the time, your smiling face greeting him.

"When did you take that?" Robby asks sipping from his travel mug.

Brendon knew you got along with Robby outside the hospital. You never explained why, but it worked.

"We went apple picking last week." He thinks about how he got you to smile in the first place.

You had spotted a bright red apple too high for you to reach. Brendon jumped grabbing a branch close by and pulled himself up plucking the apple. He drops back in front of you holding the apple up.

"You didn't have to do that." You smile taking the apple from him.

"If it means seeing you smile, it's worth it."

You didn't stop smiling, so Brendon decided he needed a new lock screen.

"She's lucky to have someone like you, Park." Robby says.

"I feel like the lucky one." Brendon says as a notification comes through letting him know his order was ready for pick up.

Brendon tangles his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to kiss along your neck.

You moan as he nips at your pulse point. "Bren." You whine as he moves back.

"I'll give you what you want in a minute, baby." He takes a few steps back and kneels behind you. "Turn around."

You turn around and cover your mouth at the sight. "What are you doing?"

He holds the ring box out to you. "Will you, Rose Callaghan, be my girl forever?"

When Brendon opens the box inside is a rose-gold ring with a dark pink spinel in the center with branches holding it in place.

You can't fight the smile taking over your face and Brendon has never felt as enchanted by it before as he does in that moment.

You nod, smile still wide. "Yes. Yes, Brendon Park, I'll marry you."

He slips the ring on to your finger before standing and pulling you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into your mouth. He's rewarded with a moan and you gripping at his shirt.

The day you get Brendon to smile in a way you know no one had ever seen will live forever in your mind.

"Rose," Brendon yells through the house. He was concerned because while he was in a surgery, you went home sick.

"Living room." You say.

Bran quickly walks over to you and kneels in front of you. Your curled up in basketball shorts and one of Brendon's hoodies.

"Are you okay? Garcia said you left early." He takes your hands in his.

You squeeze his hands. "I'm fine Bren."

His brows knit together, "then why…"

You smile at him and set his hands over your belly. He blinks at you, his eyes going between his hands over your belly and your smiling face.

"You're pregnant?" He asks.

You nod. "It's why I came home; morning sickness."

You’re smooth beneath his palm. Alive and breathing, untouched by the things that haunt him.

You smell like fresh laundry and cheap soap, something ordinary and domestic, something that belongs in a world where people wake up, drink coffee, go to work, and don’t spend their nights staring at crime scene photos until they can’t remember what normal looks like.

It gets to him. You get to him.

You’re like a balm to his spirit, smoothing out the cracked edges broken off by Dora Lang, by his daughter, by his divorce. You’re something he never intended but desperately wants to keep. His a bear coming up from hibernation, looking for his first meal. He’s found that in you, the ability to be satiated.

He rolls his eyes at his own thought. A bear, who is he kidding? He can barely keep it together on a good day, and yet he’s comparing himself to a bear. It’s so illogical it’s funny. Would you laugh at that? Maybe, he’ll see. He’ll tell you when you wake up.

Rust likes when you laugh.

He likes seeing your smile lines, the shape the shape of them. They show your age sure but he’s no spring chicken himself. The way you wrinkle your nose when something amuses you spreads to your mouth, an infection of joy. He wants to memorize it all, like he’s studying a case file he refuses to close.

Give him a test, ask him anything. He’ll know the answer, he swears he will.

You shift in your sleep, your hand moving lazily until it lands against his chest. Rust freezes, because he isn’t used to sharing a bed yet. He can’t exactly call this ‘sharing a bed’ it’s your bed, where he spends half his nights, but still, it’s uncharted territory for him.

He takes your hand and holds it. Your fingers fit between his like they were made for it, and that thought is ridiculous, the kind of thing he’d normally dismiss as human beings creating patterns where there aren’t any.

He doesn’t let go. He thinks he could stay like this forever. If he had any say in it, you’d be the first thing he saw every morning and the last thing he saw every night.

You sigh, pressing yourself closer to him, ankle hooking around his. “Hmm… Rust?”

“Shh,” he murmurs quickly, hoping you’ll listen. He likes watching you sleep. “Go back to sleep. You’re dreaming.”

You blink up at him, rubbing your cheek with the back of your hand. “Do you have to go?”

“No.”

You don’t respond verbally, just sigh and settle back down, draping yourself over him again, then you kiss him. Rust forgets every theory he’s ever had about existence.

You’re soft against the roughness of his stubble, and when you turn your head away because it scratches, he follows. He leans forward until you’re pushed flat onto your back, laughing despite yourself.

He nuzzles against your skin, using the stubble to annoy you just enough to hear that sound again, his favorite sound.

“Rust,” you complain, trying to shove him away. He ignores you, his mouth moves along your cheek, your jaw, anywhere he can reach. “Rust!”

You laugh louder, legs wrapping around his hips as your hand finds his shoulder.

He finally gives you mercy, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before pulling away.

The sight of you, messy hair, flushed cheeks, annoyed expression, does something dangerous to him. It makes him happy.

“You need to brush your teeth,” you whisper, completely breathless.

Rust raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes.”

His hands skate down your sides, and you unknowingly lift your hips, letting him drag your shorts and underwear down. He pulls them off, discarding them behind him as you stare at him.

“I can do that,” he murmurs, but your hands are pulling at his waistband. “Or I can do this.”

Your heel nudges against his back, fingers moving up to his neck as he pulls down his boxers. “I think I prefer this.”

“Good.” He shakes his head, catching your jaw between his fingers and pressing a quick kiss there.

He’s met with no resistance when he pushes in. You sigh before his arm slips under you, angling himself deeper and kissing along your shoulder. His thrusts are slow, a little lazy, but the sounds you make work shivers down his spine.

Your fingers fist in the back of his wife beater, legs locking around his waist even though his isn’t going anywhere. He likes the closeness, likes feeling how deep he can feel within you and the best part is you like it too. He nips at your jaw and you twist your face, capturing his lips with yours.

The red light of your clock blinks and he’s going to be late for work. Marty will understand, will see the flush pink of Rusts cheeks and grin without a word. Rust is grateful for that, because you’re a secret. He’d claim you properly but this is all still new to him, to you, and it’s dangerous enough, letting his heart get opened like this. He doesn’t want to risk it all just yet, and considering his job, he doesn’t want to risk you.

If he stays here long enough, maybe if he lets you keep touching him, keep laughing at him, keep pulling him back into the world, it won’t hurt to live sometimes. Eventually, maybe he’ll be able to sleep properly. Maybe even dream a little.

That could be nice.

x

A series of crashes and clangs and clatters jolts Olruggio awake, his whole body going startle-stiff for a moment before he registers groggily that he’s on the couch in the living room. The imagined crunch of snow beneath boots lingers on the edges of his mind, and he finds himself grateful for being so abruptly pulled from a souring dream into the sweetness of a house filled with the scent of something sugary baking.

“Tetia!” Agott’s voice is scolding, “Be more careful! Master Olly is sleeping.”

“Oh, right!” More clattering, quieter now, fallen pots and pans being picked up. Tetia calls out brightly, “Sorry, Master Ol—” She’s cut off with the sound of a hand slapped over a mouth, and Coco’s voice is both aghast and giggling when she exclaims, “Richeh!!”

Some kind of muffled tussle seems to break out then, and Olruggio snickers to himself at the sound of their stage-whispered bickering. He yawns, not yet willing to open his eyes. He’s had two solid weeks of terrible sleep, buried beneath a mountain of tedious and uninspiring commissions and hounded by demanding patrons. He’s more or less caught up now, and he really should go back to his rooms and actually go to bed, even if it is only early evening. But he’s long since learnt that nightmares come more easily after extended periods of stress and pressure, and nothing chases those nightmares away quite like the happy sounds of life being lived out around him.

He hears the quiet swooshing skitter of the brushbuddy coming across the rug, and the gentle creak of a floorboard near the doorway. He peeks his eyes open the tiniest bit, shuffling with the blanket draped over him, pretending to be resettling after being disturbed. Qifrey is leaning against the doorframe, fidgeting with a tea-towel draped half-forgotten from his fingers. Through the blur of exhaustion and eyelashes, Olruggio puzzles for perhaps the millionth time over the aching longing that so often seems to flit across Qifrey’s face when he thinks Olruggio is not looking. At every turn it has always been Qifrey who puts up walls between what they are and what they could be, and yet he forever looks as though Olruggio is denying him something. Strange, infuriating, precious man.

“Well don’t just ‘over there, lookie-loo.” He grumbles it, stretching his arms up over his head and then pulling his feet back towards himself to free the end of the couch. The brushbuddy scampers up and curls itself on his chest, tiny pinprick claws kneading at him almost ticklishly. “If the girls aren’t liable to burn the place down, come sit.”

Qifrey’s smile is a lie that Olruggio wishes he’d never taught him how to tell, but he comes anyway, perching on the edge of the cushions with all the commitment and comfort of a nun in a brothel. Olruggio snorts, and kicks his feet into Qifrey’s lap, using his shin to shove Qifrey further onto the couch. He reaches backwards over his shoulder and grabs a novel from the table behind him that he knows Qifrey has been slowly picking through in between the more serious reading he does for the purposes of learning and of teaching.   

“Here. Take a break, Master Qifrey. ‘m going back to sleep. Wake me up when whatever the kids’re makin’ is done.”

“Of course, Olly.”

“Mm.”

He does manage to doze a bit more, stirring eventually when Agott plops down on the floor with her back against the couch at his side. He sneaks a hand down and snaps one of the cookies on her plate in half, shoving the stolen side into his mouth while her head swivels to glare at him.

“Don’t give me that look.” He makes a point of talking open-mouthed around his chewing, and Richeh makes a disgusted sound from the armchair she and Tetia have taken up residence in. “If it weren’t for me working my rear off there’d be no cookies to be ‘ad.”

Coco is leaning back against Qifrey’s knees. She laughs softly, depositing another cookie from her plate onto Agott’s.

“I brought extras in so we could all have some while they’re still warm. Would you like another, Master Olly?”

 “Don’t mind if I do.”

Tetia shakes her head slowly and solemnly.

“Master Qifrey, Master Olly shouldn’t get rewarded for stealing Agott’s treats!”

Qifrey’s smile has a mischievous edge. He reaches over and steals away the fresh cookie just as Olruggio takes a bite.

“Quite right, Tetia, he should really apologize to Agott before he gets any more.” He bites into the same spot Olruggio just had, casual as you like, and Olruggio’s stomach swoops like he’s a teenager all over again. For pity’s sake. “Goodness, girls, you’ve outdone yourselves. These are delicious.”

“They certainly are, and if the most accomplished young witch of the House of Arklaum would grant me forgiveness, perhaps I’ll ‘ave another.”

Agott rolls her eyes at him with all the drama that only a twelve-year-old can manage.

“I’ve better things to be doing than holding a grudge against you, old man.”

“Oh, now that ‘urts my heart.” He goes to put a hand to his chest and ends up petting the brushbuddy instead.

“Aren’t you meant to be resting? You’re the one who always says that sweets aren’t good when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Well sure, Miss Richeh, and what else do I always say?”

And all four girls, in perfect, synchronous imitation, quote, “If there’s one thing you can learn from me, it’s don’t be like me.”

They all burst into giggles then, and Olruggio right along with them. He can feel Qifrey’s joining laughter against his leg, though when their eyes meet he sees something quiet and lingering behind the laughter.

After another round of cookies, and tea fetched to go with them, the girls drift into talking amongst themselves, and Qifrey drifts back into his book, and Olruggio drifts back to sleep. When he half-wakes some indeterminate amount of time later, it is to Qifrey quietly shooing the girls from the room and tweaking the spell-lamps to something dim but not dark. He returns to pull another blanket from the basket of throws and cushions set beside the couch and drape it over Olruggio. And then, wonder of rare wonders, his long fingers comb once through Olruggio’s hair, dragging his breath to a held stop. Qifrey’s voice is a nearly-nothing murmur in the shadows.

“For what it’s worth, Olly, nothing would please me more than to have my students be like you.”

And then he’s gone, and Olruggio shoves those words down deep into the strange holes in his heart where it feels like things are inexplicably missing.