#capriss2k16

Hydrangea Laurent had been born on a stormy spring night. Hennike and Aleron had shown up on Egeria and Theomedes’s doorstep just after midnight, and when they’d left Auguste had been lying in Damen’s bed, turning nervously around and around. "When my baby brother is born, you have to teach him how to be a good little brother,” he’d said. Damen had nodded. “I will.” “And I have to be a good big brother. I’ll be the best big brother.” “Better than Kastor?” “I’ll be better than any other big brother, you’ll see.” They’d hooked their pinkies in a promise, and that’s how Aleron had found them, blissfully unaware of the wind howling outside, when he’d come to pick them up. It had been raining when they’d knocked on Hennike’s door, lightning cracking the sky open when Auguste’s brother had stared right at Damen, his eyes blue like his brother’s, only clearer, his lashes fluttering to the beat of the drops against the glass of the window. That was the first time Damen had been so close to something, someone that hadn’t been before and that today was, as if he had appeared by magic.

By magic he’d made Auguste smile, by magic he’d made Hennike and Aleron calm and tired and quiet while they’d been hugging each other. So, on his way out, Damen had picked some wet flowers from the blue hydrangea bushes in front of the hospital’s door. “For Laurent,” he’d told Auguste, his expression serious. Auguste had taken the flowers in his chubby hands and nodded. “I’ll give them to him. He can’t appreciate them yet, but someday he will.”

So Damen had kept bringing them, always bringing a different flower that, time and time again, would go to Hennike because Laurent was still too small to appreciate it.

Eventually, he’d stopped. And it would be a long time before he started again.

18 years later, February

Visiting Auguste’s flat had always been similar and different to visiting him when he’d been living home

Different because while Hennike used to make him keep his room tidy, now there were clothes Damen was sure Auguste had worn last week abandoned on the kitchen chair. Just like before, though, you could find Laurent sitting on the couch with his legs folded under him, quietly reading while Auguste was nowhere to be seen. Damen figured that if he was going through with this, and he was going through with this, then he’d be seeing a lot more of Auguste’s brother from now on.

“Where can I put this?” Damen asked, jerking his chin towards the box he was holding.

Laurent didn’t lift his eyes from his book. “Auguste said to wait for him.” He briefly glanced at his watch. “But that was two hours ago, so I suggest you just leave it here somewhere,” he said, waving his hand in the air with nonchalance. “Is it fine here?” Laurent lifted his eyes very briefly from his book. “Whatever. Do as if it were your home.” Damen snorted at that. “Don’t worry, kid. I will.” Laurent unfolded from his position, stretching his legs in front of him and leaning his right foot on the opposite knee. He didn’t answer, though.

Damen dropped the box next to the couch, then picked up one of Auguste’s jackets that had somehow gotten under it and hung it on the coat rack.

“You better stop doing that.” “Pardon?” “Leave him his clutter. Hell, let him die in his clutter if he so wishes.” Then the silence came back. It lingered until the key turned in the lock and Auguste walked through the door. “Sorry, I’m late,” Auguste said from the doorway.

“Don’t worry, you always are.” Laurent’s voice was cool, but Auguste just smiled. “You’re right. I always am,” he replied, then he put another big crate right next to where Damen had put his. It had been closed with paper tape, Damen written on it in familiar, neat handwriting. “She said Kastor told her. I thought it would be better if–” Damen nodded. “Yeah. It is. Thank you.” He averted his gaze from his name, hands going up to massage his temples while Jokaste’s words repeated themselves again and again in his mind. “It’s the way things are, Damen. People fall in love and–I’ve loved you so much. And I still do bu–”

The noise of Laurent turning a page rose in the atmosphere, and then he was brought back to the reality of Auguste’s tastefully furnished living room, only Auguste wasn’t in front of him anymore.

It was just him and Laurent. “It’s not your loss.” Another page turned.

“Pardon me?” “I said–” Laurent’s voice lowered. “It’s not your loss.” He put the book down, stretched his arms in front of him in that boyish way he had. “If you don’t get your shit together, though, it won’t be her loss, either.” Damen blinked once. Twice. Then started laughing. “Thanks, kiddo.” Laurent’s eyes narrowed at that. “No, really. Thanks,” Damen repeated.

Laurent shrugged.

When Damen had accepted to move in with Auguste he’d been aware that Auguste came with Laurent. What he hadn’t taken into account was that Laurent came with Nicaise, and that today youths had no respect for sleep or relax whatsoever if they thought that 10 am on a Sunday was a reasonable hour to start studying. Damen hadn’t even known 10 am existed on Sundays.

He turned around, trying to go back to sleep as the chattering went on in the living room, trying to find once more that place where his muscles would start relaxing, his breath slowing. He’d been just there, on the brink of it, waiting for sleep to pull him under when Nicaise’s high pitched voice jerked him back to awareness. Whatever Nicaise said, Laurent’s answer came in that smooth, clear voice of his that reminded him of the honey covered lemons his mother would make them after every football game.

It was a nice voice, more melodic than either Aleron’s or Auguste’s.

It would’ve been a good singing voice.

Jokaste has a good singing voice, too.

And that, Damen knew, was his cue to get up.

Laurent and Nicaise had taken up most of the living room. Laurent had curled up on the couch, his textbook in his lap and a highlighter in his palm, Nicaise was half draped over the main table, his arms crossed on the tabletop, his face buried underneath them.

“Kids,” Damen started, “no offense but don’t you guys have a life?”

Laurent snorted from the couch while Nicaise flipped him off.

“Don’t you have a shirt?! Seriously, Damianos, you’re going to give Laurent a heart attack.” “Ah, I see. Trouble with schoolwork?” “Go get dressed and shut up, will you?” Nicaise exclaimed. Damen shrugged. “Coffee first, bitching later,” he said, ruffling Nicaise’s hair on his way to the kitchen. “You guys want any?” Nicaise made a gagging sound, so Damen turned around and nodded at Laurent. “You?” Laurent lifted a hand, putting a strand of blond hair behind his ear and then rested his hand against his throat. It had, before then, never occurred to Damen how slender Laurent’s throat was. Long, and delicate, as if it were to fit better a statue than a person. Then again, statues didn’t flush, Damen thought, while a blush that didn’t quite manage to be darker than pink climbed all the way to Laurent’s cheekbones.

He saw Laurent’s adam’s apple bobble when he swallowed.

“Yes, please,” he said. His voice calm and cool, his face expressionless as he went back to taking notes. Damen nodded, turned towards the coffee maker, set everything up and waited as the coffee dripped into the carafe, its aroma filling the air, mixing with the scent of her skin in his mind, clean and hot, and that of all the mornings they’d spent in bed, making the coffee go cold. When she’d left him, he hadn’t know anything about making coffee. Now, though, even if it wasn’t as fantastic as hers had been, it wasn’t too bad either.

“I’ll take the blue cup.” “He’ll take the blue cup,” Nicaise repeated, ripping the page away and throwing it at Laurent. Laurent dodged it. Damen watched them with a smile then went to pour the coffee. He was about to bring it to Laurent when something occurred to him. “Two spoons of sugar, a little milk,” came the cool voice before he could say anything. Damen nodded. “I don’t know why I was under the impression you drank it bitter.” “So do my parents. I think it’s because I hang out with him.” Nicaise’s pen flew across the room, missing Laurent by thirty centimeters or so. “But people assume I like bitter things in general.”

Damen snorted, making his way towards the couch. “That must be it,” Damen said, winking at him. When Laurent took the mug from Damen’s hands, the blush had yet to fade. Damen liked to think that it was the same blush that lingered on his cheekbones the next sunday. And the one after it. And every time Damen would pass him, without no more than a nod, a blue cup with two spoons of sugar and a little milk in his hands.

March

“Your brother is pretty.”

It had slipped out. They’d been at Hennike and Aleron’s place, washing the dishes, the pink roses he’d gotten Hennike for her birthday blushing under the kitchen lights, their color reminding Damen of Laurent’s skin. The way it flushed with the steam of tea or coffee, too pale to really turn red.

“What?” The dish Auguste had been holding fell back into the foamy water, the splash making some drops reach them. “First of all, my brother isn’t pretty,” Auguste said. Then he clarified: “Nicaise is pretty, my brother is gorgeous.” He huffed. “Second of all, no. Damen, he’s too young for you.”

“Calm down. I was just thinking.”

“Well, don’t think about my brother!” “You are aware he’s an adult, aren’t you?” “Hands off.” And then Auguste was frowning, pointing a wet finger at him. “Also, I think you scare him.” “What?” Auguste shrugged. “He is usually very quiet. Around you, more so. Maybe it’s the whole–” he gestured his hand at Damen, encompassing his entire body with the movement. “–man-beast thing you’ve got going on.” Damen shoved him on the shoulder and Auguste answered in kind, then went to dip his hands in the dirty water. Damen had known Auguste long enough to know that he wouldn’t hesitate and would, in fact, splash him with dirty soap water. So, being the firm believer in quitting while you were ahead and knowing how and when to pick your battles, he ran straight to the stairs that led to the upstairs living room, leaving Auguste to curse him and finish the dishes on his own. Oh well, Hennike would’ve had both their heads anyways if they’d ruined their shirts.

The upstairs living room was the place in the De Vere house Damen was the most familiar with. He, Auguste, and Laurent had spent almost every rainy afternoon of their childhood in it, sprawled on the soft blue rug, playing with the legos and making puzzles so that quiet, shy Laurent could play along rather than watch from behind Auguste. There had been minor changes through the years; now there were pictures of the three of them hanging on the wall and on the cabinets, and the curtains were different, but there was the same once-forbidden cookie jar, now full with dried flowers, sitting on the top of the armoire, and the same old couch with its same favourite occupant in exactly the same spot.

“Do you do anything else despite reading on couches?” “I read on chairs.” “And besides that?” “I am an accomplished reader in beds, too. Were they to turn it into a sport, I’d sure be one of the top contenders.” He paused. Then: “Why? Does it bother you?” Damen shrugged. “Are you afraid of me?” Laurent cocked an eyebrow. “Of you?” “Yep.” “Damen, I have known you my whole life.” Damen shrugged. “Blame your brother. He said you’re quieter around me than around others.”

“We really don’t have much in common.” Laurent shifted uncomfortably, crossed his feet at the ankles and pulled his knees towards his chest. “I don’t know.” Damen shrugged. Laurent narrowed his eyebrows, puzzled. Damen went on: “It’s stupid, I know. But–” He frowned “ you can’t be sure of that. I–You don’t know.”

Laurent looked up at him. “That’s my point.” Damen shrugged. “Well, I don’t like reading as much as you do. I can’t focus and it makes me sleepy. But besides that–” “Ah, yes. I’m sure your professor is thrilled,” Laurent said, then he lowered his voice to mimic Damen’s deep one, his eyes glittering with mischief. “Excuse me, sir. I couldn’t finish the chapter because reading makes me sleepy.” Damen frowned. “Why are you so on my case about university?” Laurent shrugged. “It was… very unlike you.” His voice had returned to its normal pitch, but it had a serious tone. Damen sighed. “I know. It's–I know.” And then there was only the slight pitter patter of rain on the rooftop, the droplets sliding down the glass of the windows. Damen stared at the pictures, at the younger versions of themselves gazing back at him from within the frames. What would they think of the people we have become? Absentmindedly, he picked up the book Laurent had left on the couch.

“It’s not about the action of reading,” Laurent said. “I was just teasing.” “I know. But–It’s about the story. It’s about discovering. And getting to know more.”

Damen smiled, thumbing through the pages of the book in his hand. Then he lifted his gaze “You? Being curious? You don’t say.”

“Oh, shut up,” Laurent groaned. “You’re like a cat,” Damen said, poking him in the leg with the corner of the novel. Laurent slapped it away. A smirk. “That’s false.” A snort. “Like hell it is.” “Nuh-uh.” Damen pointed at the old cookie jar. “That’s why you knew how to get the cookies, right?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Maybe nosy would be a better word for it, actually.” Then: “Admit it, I know stuff about you.” Laurent rolled his eyes, still curled up in his corner of the couch, the tension leaving his shoulders as he made himself comfortable. “I concede. Do I get no credit at all?” “I think you should try to go to college. It’s want you want. You’re smart, so what’s stopping you?.” “I’ve loved you so much, and I still do. But–it’s not the right time. It’s not the right kind of love to keep us together. I’m sorry.” “Mom, I can’t make it. I don’t think I can anymore. What? No, it’s not because of her.”

“You’ve won your house a hundred points,” Damen said. Maybe a thousand, he didn’t know. “It’s not like me to give up, isn’t it?” Laurent shook his head. “Not at all.”

The day after, he woke up with the feeling of Laurent’s skin still etched into his skin. Not at all, Laurent had said, not at all. Then he’d gone quiet. So Damen had said “I think your mother wouldn’t appreciate it if you were late to cut the cake.” And he’d extended his hand. Laurent had stared at it. “Come on, stand up,” Damen had said. And it was with a slightly trembling hand that Laurent had grabbed his, unfolding and letting himself be pulled to his feet by Damen. “By the way,” Damen had said, “I like dogs better than cats, your brother makes fun of me because I keep putting his things in the washing machine every time I find something out of its place, and,–” He’d made eye contact. “–I actually do like bitter things.”

The smoothness of Laurent’s skin, the fine bones of his fingers, his lashes fluttering in puzzlement had been novel. Endearing.

“I see.” Laurent had said, pulling his hand away from his. Then, remembering that first conversation when Damen had arrived, he said: “You’re not very good at doing what you’re told, either, are you?” Damen had shaken his head. “Nope. He’s not going to die in his clutter while he’s with me.”

There was a sharp knock and then the door to Damen’s bedroom was pushed open. Auguste made his way to the bed, shaking a small box wrapped with pretty paper between his hands. “Open it,” he said, letting himself drop down on the mattress. “Come on, open it.”

So Damen did, a feeling of uneasiness rising within him as he looked at Auguste biting his thumb nail, waiting on Damen. “Say,” Damen began, looking at a second box, wrapped in a beautiful paper just like the first one had been, which had fallen out of the previous one. “Who is this present from?”

Auguste didn’t answer. Damen had to unwrap two more boxes before coming to hold a small, light blue mp3 player. It took him a moment, once he’d turned it on, to recognize the tracks. The note just read: My favourite colour is blue – L

“Why did my brother give you an mp3 player?” Auguste asked. “Oh well, you know,” Damen said, fishing out his cell phone from his pocket. He quickly typed in a message and pressed enter. blue? no way. red is better. thank you. “It really is quite like him to gift an entire library, isn’t it?” Laurent texted him back a moment later. Wouldn’t want you to fall asleep, would we?

April

The audiobooks Laurent had put on the mp3 player were mostly his course books and study material in general, but there were also four novels. Since Laurent’s text they had been keeping an ongoing exchange of small facts about themselves.

From Damen: I hate cauliflower, I really like the colour grey From Laurent: Yes, because it’s as dull as your personality From Damen: I’d really appreciate it if you were to fuck off From Laurent: Got nobody to fuck off with, will keep you updated From Damen: Is the spot open?

From Lauren: I really like the quiet late at night, it allows me to think From Damen: Don’t you think too much already? From Laurent: Better too much than too little; thank you for telling me

The last one from Lauren read: I’d really like to know your opinions on the novels

Damen got started on la Dame Gentile on a thursday while driving from university to the gym, and kept listening to it during dinner. When Laurent came by the day afterwards, he was almost done with it. “I knew you’d liked it,” Laurent said, his arms crossed and his teeth worrying his bottom lip–full, dry from the cold but not yet chapped–out of habit. “How did you know?” The more Laurent worried his lips, the redder they got. It made Damen want to reach forward, take his chin between his thumb and forefinger and pull him towards him, press their mouths together. Were his lips soft? They certainly looked it.

But then the teeth released the lip, and Laurent’s eyebrow went up. “Duels and war campaigns and honour? ”

And Damen thought back to the roman soldiers figurines he’d had as a child, and how he and Auguste would build entire armies with them. He laughed.

“True. Do you like it, too?” Laurent scrunched up his nose. “It’s more your style.” Damen nodded, then went to get the coffee in the kitchen. “Which of the ones you’ve put on there is your favourite?” Laurent’s eyes widened minutely and glimmered under the light. “Why don’t you try and guess?” he said in the most honeyed tone Damen had ever heard and immediately realized he was being made fun of. He passed Laurent the blue cup, their fingers touching as the cup went from one hand to the other. “Don’t think I can do it, do you?” Damen asked. Laurent lifted his cup, as if in a toast. “You’ll see,” Damen said. And then: “By the way. Red suits you very well.”   Laurent blushed at that, then tipped his head back. His blue eyes met Damen’s brown ones, and there was a lazy smirk on his lips. “You think so?” Damen’s breath caught in his throat, and he became unable and unwilling to shift his gaze away. In the back of his mind, he could hear Auguste screaming. Lord knows he was in trouble. May

The more the exams session neared, the heavier the small mp3 player seemed to grow in his pocket. Damen had tried listening to them once, and he’d gotten the feeling that it was much like being in class, with the added bonus that he could stand up while listening as well as follow along with his hands and no one would nag him for it. I see, Jokaste had said when she’d seen him trying to study by gesturing more with his hands than speaking with his mouth. You’re a kinesthetic learner. Then she’d went and taught him how to study best and how to keep track of informations with his hands.

In the end, he thought, it had been that which had broken him. Every time he’d sat down and tried to understand what was written on his book, keeping track with his hands, beating to a tune with his foot to associate sound and knowledge, he’d seen her trying to teach him, gentle and soft and laughing and witty. Eventually, he ended up leaning over his books, with his face in his hands and tears waiting to roll down his face. After she’d left him, he’d screwed up his session. When lectures had started up again, he hadn’t attended them, only barely handing in the assignments. He might as well not have handed them in at all. It was as if It was her idea. I used to do this for her had been written on every one of them.

Now, sitting cross legged on the floor, he took his mp3 player in hand. It’s what you want, so what’s stopping you?

It was a memory, only somehow the voice was morphed, lowered, turned masculine and smooth, and just the slightest bit breathless. It’s just–it isn’t like you.

So he took a deep breath, grabbed his notebook, and pressed play.

“So, have you found out?”

The sushi place was full, and had Nicaise not been working there for the past semester and holding a grudge against the owner, they wouldn’t have gotten a table. As it was, Nicaise couldn’t have cared less about “that asshole and his policies”, and they’d skipped the line and gotten a table anyway. Admittedly, Damen didn’t know if it was for the best. He was pretty sure running two flights of stairs just to catch up with a blond head that might or might not have been Laurent had been a pretty bad plan in the first place; keeping on staring at him instead of looking at the menu was an even worse one. Only he couldn’t help it.

“I thought you quit wearing glasses when you were, like, sixteen,” Damen commented casually. "And I thought you knew that contact lenses exist, but what can I say–” Laurent put his menu down on the tabletop and placed his hands neatly over it.“–we live and we learn.”

“So”, Laurent said after a moment, drumming his fingers on the menu. “ What’s your guess? It’s not like there’s that many books to choose from.” “My answer isn’t ready yet,” Damen said, watching puzzlement change the set of Laurent’s lips. “It’s not a test, you know.” “With you, everything is.” Laurent arched an eyebrow, and Damen went on: “I’m getting the feeling you’re trying to understand something.” “Is that so,” Laurent said, his voice low, his black rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. “And what test would it be?” The place was loud and hot, and chatter could be heard from the other tables around them. At the front, the line was growing longer and the waiters were having trouble getting to the tables. So, the first thing Damen thought was Don’t, you’ll scare him. The second was He can’t run away, anyway. Which really didn’t justify why he still opened his mouth. “About how well I know you. About how well I’m getting to know you. And I want to pass with flying colours.” He saw the way Laurent’s shoulders stiffened, saw the heaving of his chest under the night blue shirt quicken as his breathing became faster, saw his eyes go wide and the bridge of his nose turn pink. His plan had been to cover Laurent’s hand with his, but just before they touched he moved it, putting it on the table just so that his thumb was touching Laurent’s skin by slightly overlapping his wrist, pressing the pad of his thumb ever so slightly against his slender bone.

“You don’t think you could pass it now?”

Damen shook his head, gently brushing his thumb over Laurent’s wrist, just as if he were made of air and the slightest pressure would have him skittering away and dissolving under his touch. “I think that if I had no chance, you would have already told me by now.” Laurent raised his eyebrow, his eyes darker than usual, clouded, his pupils slightly dilated; they looked a lot like the blue hydrangea flowers he’d picked up for him more than eighteen years ago.

It was Laurent who pulled away first, his eyes never leaving Damen’s while he slid his hand away from Damen’s touch. He leaned against the back of his chair, holding his wrist where Damen’s thumb had just been. “So.” Damen cleared his throat. “Do you have classes later?” Someone huffed impatiently next to Damen and then he felt the edge of a clipboard being tapped against his shoulder. “Are you ready to order?” Nicaise asked. Laurent nodded, then gave his order. Damen was about to give his when he felt a foot timidly pressing against his. He couldn’t help but grin at Laurent, stalling in giving his order just enough for Nicaise to roll his eyes. “Oh my God, I don’t have the whole day.” Damen stopped himself again only to see Nicaise’s lips rise in a smirk. “You’ve been staring at Mister Marigold over here, haven’t you? Do you even know what we offer?” Damen felt himself flush. “He’ll have the same as I am having.” It was Damen’s turn to lift his eyebrow. “How do you know I’m going to like that?” he said, using his feet to trap Laurent’s foot between his. “You think you won’t?” Laurent countered. “That wasn’t the question.” “Ah, I see. Maybe you think I’m not observant enough, perhaps?” A smirk. “Like you?”

“I’m going to barf.” “Fine with me, but not anywhere near our table. I don’t want to slip when I get up. I have classes to get to,” Laurent said. Nicaise rolled his eyes and jotted something down, then made his way to the kitchen. “I think we better leave him a good tip,” said Damen, watching Nicaise leave. “What time do your classes start?” Laurent wiggled his foot, which Damen only now realized was still trapped between his. “Why are you smiling?” Laurent said. “So… I haven’t been the only one doing the staring, have I?” “The girl–” Laurent nodded to the table in the alcove on the other side of the aisle they were in “–has been picking raw fish from her plate and giving it to her partner the whole time, and he–” He nodded to the waiter rushing between one table and the other “–knows he got the order wrong and will likely give them a discount.” “If it’s your way to tell me I’m not special, I’m not falling for it,” Damen deadpanned. Laurent wiggled his foot between Damen’s again. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?”

Damen laughed, and held Laurent’s foot tighter between his. He laughed again when he took a sip of the green drink Nicaise had brought to their table, and said: “You do like bitter things, after all.” “I never said I didn’t. I said people always assume I do.” Damen nodded. After a while, he spoke again: “May I walk you to class?” Laurent tapped his finger against his lips, the movement rhythmic like the pendulum of a metronome, hypnotizing. “You may.”

The walk from the main building to building C–where Laurent was supposed to take his lesson–was ten minutes. Fifteen if you took the dirt road that made its way through the open-aired portion the botanical gardens, its path steadily disappearing between the reds and greens of the flowers and the vine covered pergolas with a barely visible plastic roof. Countless times, while making his way through the campus with Auguste, Damen had purposefully avoided that road–because it was Jokaste’s favorite. There were dark clouds looming over them now and the wind was whipping Laurent’s blonde hair against his cheeks, and even though Damen knew he should’ve taken the fastest road, he couldn’t be bothered to give up those five extra minutes with Laurent. He made his way to the gardens.

Four minutes into their walk, Laurent looked up to the sky just when a drop of water fell on his nose. “I’m going to kill you,” he said. Seven minutes into their walk, lightning was splitting open the sky. Nine minutes into their walk, the wind was howling around them and it was pouring, and Damen was grabbing Laurent’s hand, still not any warmer than before, and pulling him behind himself as they run to the closest pergola. It was raining so hard and Laurent’s hand in his was so soft, so delicate and slender–but not small–, the places where their skin touched so hot and threatening to get him lost that it was only the sound of rain hitting plastic that told Damen they had effectively reached shelter. He stopped abruptly and turned around, Laurent careening into his chest before he was able to stop himself. “You motherfucking–”Laurent hissed through his teeth "What in fuck’s name–” But Damen was only half listening, his arms closing around his waist, pressing him against his chest and feeling–just feeling–their hipbones touching, the rising and falling of his chest and his breath ghosting against his neck. It was dark under the pergola, the vines and clouds covering any light that might have filtered through. Still, he recognized the smell; it was heavy, mixing with Laurent’s fresh one. It was that and the adrenaline and the beating in his own chest that made him say: “Laurent?” “What?” he snapped. He was still leaning against Damen. “Would you go out with me, say, tomorrow?” Lightning lit up Laurent’s face, who was staring up at Damen, his eyes wide and flickering between Damen’s own eyes and his mouth. Damen felt his arms tighten around his middle. Thunder reverberated all around them, the sharp crack of a whip tearing open the sky covering Laurent’s words. It was a good thing, Damen thought, that they were pressed against each other or he’d never felt the nod.

“Laurent?” Damen lowered his head, his lips touching the shell of Laurent’s ear. “May I kiss you?” Lighting tore open the sky a second time, and Damen smiled as the flash of light illuminated the scenery around them. How beautiful, he thought. They were dark blue rather than indigo, soaking wet and scattered all around them, so that when Laurent ran his hands up his neck, fisted them in his hair and pulled him close, pressing their lips together, he did so among hundreds of dripping hydrangea flowers.

For the second time in his life, Damen thought Laurent must be magical.

He smiled again when their lips parted, Laurent’s mouth chasing after him, a barely audible sigh coming from his throat. “You taste bitter” Damen said, going in for another kiss. Laurent smiled against Damen’s lips, and Damen felt the flutter of his lashes against his cheek. “Ah, but I know you don’t mind.”

The first time it happens it's because it is the hottest day of the past 50 years and Laurent doesn't know what to do with himself. He lies spread out on the marble floor of his kitchen, the windows and blinds closed, and he prays to the AC gods that they come back to him after being dead for three weeks and save him from his misery. You'd think that owning a penthouse apartment in Manhattan would make sure you'd never have to live through moments like this.

 When he feels like he's going to turn into a zombie any moment now – an overheated fever zombie – he drags his body out of his apartment and over to the guy he just refers to as the Crazy Greek. To say he has a feud with Damianos Basileus would be an understatement. It's been war for years. Whenever Laurent has people over, Damen makes sure to shut the party down precisely at 11pm and Laurent returns the favor by singing loudly in the shower whenever he hears Damen taking a bath. Which seems to happen often. Perks of sharing a bathroom wall.

 The door opens and Laurent watches the metamorphosis. Wide smile, an easy posture, all of it turning into a deep frown and squared shoulders within seconds. And then his voice. Hard as stone. "What do you want?"

 Laurent would be too proud for this on any other day. But now he's hot. And desperate. He's a hot, desperate mess. "Your AC… Is it working?"

 "Yeah, why?"

 Laurent doesn't wait for a real invitation. He just pushes past Damen, into the cool heaven that is Damen's hallway. Laurent shivers. "Oh my God."

 "Uhm. I don't want to interrupt, but… What the fuck?" Damen closes the door and just stares at him with wide eyes.

 "My AC has been down for three weeks," Laurent mumbles. "I'm melting."

 "If only that were true," Damianos growls, but then something strange happens. Because his frustration seems to be beaten down by something else and whatever it is, it makes him look a lot less crazy. "Do you want a coke?"

 The moan that escapes him isn't very dignified. "God, yes."

 The first time it happens it's because it is the hottest day of the past 50 years and Laurent doesn't know what to do with himself. He sleeps on Damen's couch like a refugee after he spent hours drinking iced coke with him and talking about everything and nothing and he doesn't question it when he stops thinking of Damen as the Crazy Greek.

 ---

 The second time it happens it has nothing at all to do with the weather. It's more that Laurent can't sleep and he tries to beat down his thoughts with the rhythm of Metallica blasting through the entire apartment. When Damen rings the bell, Laurent knows how things will go. Damen will say something grumpy because he has the soul of an eighty year old who thinks too much about his tax return and Laurent will try his best to come up with a sassy remark. Damen even opens his mouth, but whatever he wants to say, the words are swept away and Damianos cocks his head. "Are you okay?"

 And instead of snapping back, Laurent turns down the music, completely resigned. "Sorry. I'll try to be more quiet."

 "Do you…" Damen pauses, apparently carefully weighing his words. "Do you want to come over and watch a movie? I'm bored."

 What Laurent learns that evening is this: Nothing works better to forget any dark thoughts than making popcorn with Damen and bickering with him about Hogwarts Houses and how they'd be sorted.

 ---

 Laurent remembers the first time they really yelled at each other in the hallway. Laurent opened the door to let in his friends the exact moment Damen opened his to let out a tall blonde woman who kept snapping at him. Both she and Damianos froze when they saw Laurent who was still not over the fact that the jerk had sent the police to his place a week earlier. He tilted his head and smiled at the woman.

 "Looking for better company than his?" Laurent nudged his head towards Damen. "Because I'm sure we'd have a glass of wine to spare."

 Jokaste really did stay that night even though she wasn't there for long. Now, almost two years later, Laurent regrets inviting her over. Because he has to listen to Damen who tells him that his brother is getting married to his ex. This time it's Laurent who suggests to watch a movie and make popcorn. He also suggests to go to the wedding together.

 Damen looks surprised while Laurent gives him a wicked grin. "Believe me, when I go with you, nobody there will be talking about you and her anymore."

 ---

 It's four months until the wedding. Four months of seeing each other almost every day. Four months of endless talks and countless laughs. Weird things happen. Damen learns how to crack a joke. Laurent learns how to blush.

 Two times Laurent is so tired from work he falls asleep during the movie. Two times he wakes up and finds himself tucked in with his shoes next to the couch and a pillow under his head. Damen never comments on it or teases him for it. Laurent is incredibly grateful for that. Both times he buys donuts and presses oranges while he makes coffee for breakfast. Damen looks different in the morning. Sharp and vibrant. Laurent smiles when he finds out that Damen is singing under the shower too.

 ---

 He was right. He told me he would steal the thunder, but I didn't believe him. Not really. I should have. He's golden threads and dark blue silk. He laughs at the jokes of my grandaunt. He dances with my niece and talks about football with Uncle Don. He charms each and every one at the entire wedding except for Jokaste who glares at him like it's her job and me who now looks like a complete idiot for complaining so much about the stupid neighbor when apparently he's the nicest boy they've ever met. I know the real Laurent, though. I can't be charmed. Not even when he looks at me as he dances. Not even when he smiles at me.

 And then I remember how I saw him standing in my hallway. The hottest day of all time. Eyes closed, lips parted, he moaned. And I wanted to keep hating him so badly, but he looked so delicate, his face flushed. So I asked him if he wants a coke. And now here we are and he looks like he belongs and I feel like I don't. Shouldn't have had so much fucking wine.

 ---

 He shouldn't have had so much wine. Laurent blames it all on that. Damen weighs a ton and he's leaning most of it against Laurent who tries his hardest to keep them both upright in the elevator while Damen keeps babbling something unintelligible.

 "All good, big guy," Laurent mumbles. "We're there soon."

 Dragging them both to the hotel room is a task that takes almost half an hour, but finally Laurent manages to push the door to the bedroom open and get them both inside. Damen falls into bed, his arms spread out. He's grinning like an idiot. Laurent feels strange.

 He grabs a pillow and a blanket and swallows hard. He's grateful they have a suite. "I'll take the couch outside."

 But then warm fingers wrap around his wrist and Damen turns over to reach up with his free hand and tug on Laurent's blazer. "Stay."

 Damen shouldn't have had so much wine. Or maybe Laurent should have had more. He feels like the world could shatter from every move he makes, but he still slips into bed next to Damen who just keeps on smiling and pulls him close. Laurent barely dares to breathe. "What are we doing?"

 There's no answer. Damen just nuzzles into his hair. His voice is thick with sleep. "You smell like the first warm day in spring."

 And with that, Damen falls asleep while Laurent stays awake, listening to his own heartbeat.

 ---

 This is what Laurent wants while he still lies in bed next to Damen: To never talk about it again. It didn't happen.

 This is what Damen wants: To remember what exactly he did to make Laurent look at him like this.

 This is what they get: Damen's best friend Nikandros doesn't knock when he comes in to wake Damen up to take him to the airport.

 ---

 The flight is tense. Not just because Damen's friend kept making accusations about secret and/or fake relationships from the hotel all the way to the check in. Damen has this tension written around his eyes that makes it obvious that he has a headache. As soon as they are sitting down to wait for boarding, Damen grunts that he won't go back home for at least fifty years. Laurent tries to understand but doesn't. He thinks the wedding was nice and that Damen's family was great. He also misses his brother.

 On the plane, they barely talk and it continues during their ride home. Damen manages a mumbled thank you when they reach their apartment doors and then they are both home. Laurent doesn't know why he feels like crying.

 ---

 They don't talk for two weeks.

 ---

 Laurent is drying himself off when he hears a faint cough and then another a little closer. Then the door to Damen's bathroom and once again a cough that makes him cringe hard because it sounds incredibly painful. He stands and listens a moment longer, then he shakes out of it and gets dressed for work. He forgets all about the cough until he hears it again the very same evening, this time when he's about to unlock his door. There is some sneezing too. Laurent rolls his eyes and instead of entering his own apartment, he rings Damen's bell.

 The sight in front of him can't be described as anything other than a tragedy. Damen is shaking slightly and even though his posture usually lets no doubt about his self-confidence (and his ego, Laurent thinks) right now his shoulders are hunched and his eyes red-rimmed. He's sneezing again as soon as he sees Laurent.

 "Come over to my place? I'm making you chicken soup."

 Damen squints. Suspicion isn't usually a flaw of his. Only when Laurent is involved. Still, he nods and trails after Laurent, his cough like a grater shredding his airways.

 "I hate being sick," Damen whines and he flops down on Laurent's couch, burying his face in one of the cushions. "I don't wanna be sick."

 "Cry-baby," Laurent replies, but he can't help and smile. Damen looks like a child.

 Laurent gets a blanket for him and makes him tea before he starts to chop up the ingredients for the soup. A little while later he carries two bowls and a basket of warm bread to the living room only to find Damen sound asleep. He's snoring softly. Laurent sets down the tray and sits down on his living room table. Even years later he won't understand why he doesn't just wake Damen up like any normal person would. Instead he watches him for a minute or two, his eyes tracing the curves and edges of his face as though they were a pencil. There is something irresistible about Damen's handsomeness. Like the phrase "easy on the eye" has just been made for him.

 Laurent reaches out and touches Damen's cheek, brushing away a strand of hair before he squeezes his shoulder. "Hey… Wake up. Food's ready."

 Damen blinks open his eyes and looks at Laurent like he just saw someone else. A ghost maybe. Or an angel.

 They eat together and watch Rocky of all things simply because Damen's eyes light up when he sees it's been added to Netflix. Laurent finds out that his Crazy Greek considered a professional boxing career once in his life and that he's trained in five different martial arts as well. Damen gets excited when he talks about close quarter combat and in a way that's adorable because it doesn't add up with the three layers of sweaters and the stuffed up nose.

 Laurent shares a few childhood memories himself. He's tried with fencing and lacrosse as well as some typical family sports like skiing and rowing. He also finds himself telling Damen that nothing has really been able to keep him excited except for his horses. That also reminds him that he hasn't been out of the city for way too long and he says it out loud.

 "We should go." Damen says things like that and he never ends them with a question mark. He has to put it all into perspective otherwise. "If you want to."

 Laurent nods. "I do."

 ---

 Damen's flu keeps him to the brink of death – according to himself, not an actual doctor – for four days. All four of them he spends in Laurent's apartment. They ease back into their friendship. It feels good. Laurent hasn't been aware of his loneliness until he met Damen.

 ---

  The countryside isn't made to keep distance. That's what cities are for. The buzz and the business keeps people at arm's lengths and Laurent has managed to keep it that way even for people close to him. It gets harder the moment they set foot into the cottage that looks cute and cozy but actually cost Laurent's family a fortune. His uncle is still secretly annoyed with the fact that it wasn't part of his parents' last will but rather of a trust fund for Auguste. The cottage, the ranch and the apartment in New York are the only thing that truly belong to Laurent. The money and the company will remain with his uncle until he's 25.

 'Soon,' Laurent thinks as he steps into the cottage that feels like one of the last corners of childhood bliss to him.

 It feels strange to invite Damen into this world that's so detached from his everyday life. It comes close to a miracle that Laurent's nostalgia isn't noticed and before that can change, he shows Damen the two bedrooms, the bath room and the kitchen. He also explains that it's a 30 minutes walk just downhill through the woods or a 15 minutes ride with the car to reach the ranch. It would be short enough to use the rest of the day for it, but they're both tired from the drive so instead they grab a bottle of wine and two glasses and sit down on the small patio to watch the slow change from day to dusk to night.

 Laurent nips from his glass and shrinks down a little on his seat. He's surprised when Damen slips out of his cardigan and holds it out for him. Laurent smiles, but takes it gratefully. Even when Damen shivers, he doesn't give it back but instead gets inside to bring him a blanket. After that they just sit and stare at the stars. The silence is comfortable and it's what Laurent enjoys the moth. As much as he loves to talk to Damen, he's one of the few people who know that sometimes people don't have to talk.

 It's only when the wine is gone that Laurent feels the sudden but urgent need to say it out loud. "My brother. He's dead. I miss him."

 Damen looks at him in the darkness, his face only half lit by a candle that's slowly burning down on the table between them. He doesn't say anything. He just patiently waits for Laurent to continue.

 "It's the first time I say that to anyone." Laurent even lets out a small laugh. "Stupid, huh? Considering the fact that I miss him like crazy every day."

 "It's not stupid," Damen replies and he rubs his hands to warm them. "Is he the guy in the pictures inside?"

 Laurent nods. "Yes. We came here with our parents. I feel like every corner of this mountain holds a story."

 The curiosity builds up a tension and Laurent feels it. And yet, all that Damen says is, "I'm sorry."

 "It happened ten years ago," Laurent answers the unasked question. "A drunk driver crashed into his bike. Nothing they could have done. Back then I wanted to sell this place. I… I thought I wouldn't be able to bear the memories. Now I'm glad I still have it."

 Damen swallows and reaches over to take Laurent's hand. Any other person, Laurent would have pulled away from. But there is a comfort he can find in this very moment that he just can't deny himself.

 "I can't even imagine what that must be like." Damen has the rare gift to offer sincerity in phrases that sound shallow from other people. "I don't even want to, I think."

 "At first, I wanted to kill the guy who's responsible," Laurent admits. He can feel his cheeks grow warm. "I found it so unfair that he was still alive while my brother was gone."

 "It is," Damen says, squeezing Laurent's hand. "It is unfair."

 "Yes, but I also believe in fate. A little bit at least. Maybe it's because that's the only way to cope. I think things that are meant to happen, happen. Things that are meant to be, will find their way."

 Damen smiles now. "Do you think it was fate we became neighbors?"

 Laurent rolls his eyes, but he smiles back. "Some twisted joke of fate, yes. But fate nonetheless."

 "Fate," Damen repeats and the sky sparkles a little brighter. It feels like they just exchanged their best kept secret.

 ---

 One time this tall brunette opens Damen's door to get the newspaper. She smiles at Laurent, all white teeth and smooth dark skin. She seems to be the embodiment of the word "curve". She's round and soft in all the right places. Even Laurent can see that.

 When Damen texts him that evening asking if he has time to go to the gym together, Laurent texts him back that he can just do a few push-ups into his new girlfriend instead. Damen texts back with a simple '???'. Laurent is getting more and more annoyed and contemplates not answering at all when in the end he clarifies that he means the girl that got him his newspaper this morning.

 'Gross, man. That's my little cousin.'

 Laurent stares at the words and blushes. He feels very stupid for a few days afterwards.

 ---

 It's getting cooler outside. Not just during the nights, but during the day as well. The mornings look golden, but they are fresh and Laurent wraps his cardigan tighter around himself. I don't think anyone else could pull off chunky crochet the way he does. But it looks right on him. Just like everything else looks right on him. It's a gift of Laurent to make everything he owns specifically his. I wonder if that happens to people as well.

 When he turns around he blushes and smiles. I roll my eyes and laugh because I don't know what else to do. I didn't mean to make him notice that I look at him. It just felt like such a magical moment. Laurent with a cup of coffee on my balcony, and both the sunshine and the wind have to go through him to get into my apartment. Every day could start like this.

 It's strange that I can't remember it. That moment when I started to look at Laurent and wanted him to stay for the first time. I always want him to stay these days.

 ---

 There is a fight that almost ruins everything. It starts with a harmless discussion and ends with a snarky remark from Laurent that Damen takes more personally than he should have. As a reply, he tells Laurent that he always thinks he's better than anyone else when in reality he's just a spoiled brat who's scared to let anyone or anything close.

 Laurent freezes at that. It's not necessarily the words that are spoken, but the tone of them. They reopen a myriad of wounds, small and big ones, all of them carefully sealed in their months as friends. They all start to bleed at once, a gateway of raw emotions that break loose.

 Laurent reaches for the glass he's been drinking from and throws it after Damen who steps aside and lets it shatter on the wall. It's like daggers fly between them. They use whatever information they've gathered in the past months to use it against each other, yelling and snapping back, both too furious to let it go. And then, from one moment to another, Laurent's anger boils up one last time before it implodes and turns into a hell of ice. He squares his shoulders, sets his jaw and swallows. "Delete my number. And don't come near me ever again."

 "Scared again?" Dex asks with an arrogant smirk.

 "Or maybe just done with you." Those are his last words before he storms out.

 ---

 They don't see or hear each other for three days. Then, there's a bonsai tree standing in front of Laurent's apartment. It's a small apple tree and there's a small note slipped between its branches.

 'You said that you like bonsai trees. I hope you like this one. I miss you.'

 ---

 Laurent puts the apple tree close to one of the big windows. He doesn't text Damen, doesn't go knocking on his door.

 ---

 After not hearing from him, I didn't expect to find a fruit basket on my doorstep. The note sounds like his voice.

 'You probably think you deserve one of these. (I miss you too.)'

 ---

 Laurent has his ear pressed against the door and he hears Damen laugh. Five minutes later he gets a text. Damen invites him over for pasta at eight.

 ---

 It feels stiff that evening. They have worn each other down. Now they are raw and vulnerable but so very determined to get back to where they were. Sometimes that's enough. Sometimes what you really need is just the will to try again. You know you wouldn't do it for just any person, but you will do it for this one.

 Most of their conversation is lighthearted. There's a lot of teasing involved and they are both relieved they're still able to laugh together.

 It's only at the very end of the evening that Laurent lets his eyes drop for just a moment before they find Damen's again. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't think. I fight dirty when I fight."

 Damen shrugs. "I think I managed to stand up to you. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

 "You only look big," Laurent says and manages a small smile. "It's all of the muscles. Deep down you're just a softie."

 Damen laughs at that. "You got me. Now how do I pay for your silence?"

 "No way you can think of to shut me up?"

 With a small hum, Damen's eyes flicker to Laurent's lips. Laurent's heart first skips a beat and then starts to race. The moment lingers, unfolds, stretches out until it snaps. Wordless, Damen shifts his weight and reaches out to cup Laurent's face. His thumb brushes over his cheek and then he leans in. He stops an inch before their lips can touch before he closes the distance between them and Laurent's eyes flutter closed when Damen's mouth is suddenly on his. It's not the kiss that takes his breath away. It's the promise behind it.

 A few seconds. Not longer. And everything is different. Laurent pushes himself up and the chair he's been sitting on almost topples over. His cheeks are so hot they boil tears into his eyes but they don't fall. He just blinks and excuses himself. "I'm sorry, I have to… I should go. I… I'll see you around."

 ---

 I don't know why I don't follow him. Maybe it's the panic in his eyes. You might catch an animal that's scared of you, but you'll never tame it. I know that it's just imagination, but I can still taste Laurent on my lips. It was more than just a kiss. So much more.

 ---

 Laurent paces. He's done this his whole life. When there is a problem, he only has to pluck it apart, piece by piece and to then from those pieces build a solution. It can't be that hard.

 Only this time the problem is Damen and whenever he thinks about him, he can't think at all. And whenever he tries to pluck him apart, piece by piece, he only ever finds a million new ways to look at all of them. When he rebuilds Damen from his pieces, he's only ever more than he has been before. And now there's the kiss. And Laurent can't even begin to wrap his head around that.

 The words from the fight ring once again in Laurent's head and he knows without a doubt that Damen was right. He's scared. So, so scared to let anyone close. He's been spending the past couple of years trying to convince himself that he can do it alone. That he's strong enough. That he can do it all. Letting Damen in means admitting that it's easier when there is someone else. It also means risking that he will lose it all again.

 He doesn't sleep. Not even when his eyes start to burn. His apartment slowly fills with the grey light of dawn and Laurent comes to the conclusion that the solution to the problem doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Laurent just wants. He wants Damen. He wants someone in his life.

 ---

 When he steps outside the apartment, he's wearing the clothes from yesterday. His hair is disheveled. He must look like hell. Damen is wearing a suit. He's on his way to work.

 "I've called you the Crazy Greek." Laurent's voice is quiet and hoarse. "Before I got to know you."

 Damen just stares at him with wide eyes. "I called you Resting Bitchface."

 Laurent laughs at that. A nervous giggle. It's a sound he's never made before. It's what you get from a sleepless night and falling for someone hard. "Are you still calling me that?"

 "No."

 "That's the thing," Laurent says and he takes just one small step closer while he fumbles with his own hands. "I still call you Crazy Greek sometimes."

 "Uh huh." Damen look skeptical and a little offended.

 "When you make me laugh," Laurent continues and once again he takes a step. "Or when you tell me one of those adventurous stories from your childhood. When you do that little happy dance when one of your teams score."

 "It's not a happy dance. It's a victory cheer."

 "Crazy Greek." Laurent closes the distance between them. "My Crazy Greek."

 And that's how one small word makes all the difference. Damen reaches out and touches Laurent's chin. A small touch that startles them into a new life.

 ---

 It's frantic now. Nothing of the caution from the hallway. Laurent stumbles into the apartment behind Damen who pulls him inside before throwing away his bag. He then reaches out to grab Laurent tight and lift him up just enough to kiss him without leaning down. It's different than the night before, giddier, but still holding that same promise.

 They are a whirling storm until they reach the bedroom and while Laurent still wants, wants this and everything and Damen with every fiber of his being, Damen slows them both down. There are feather light touches and sweet whispers, all of them compliments that make Laurent blush. With every step they take, he's feeling a little more at ease.

 He's always scoffed about it. 'Making love.' As if sex wasn't something purely animalistic and physical. But this is so much more than just that. Just like Damen, Laurent thinks. Pieces plucked together only to be rebuild and form something more. And how could he call that anything else but making love?

 Their kisses become open mouthed, their muscles tense up. It's getting hot and yet there are shivers run through their bodies. The pain of it is delicious, the clumsiness only attracts them to each other further.

 When it's over, they lie tangled up and breathless. They are more than what they were this morning. Laurent closes his eyes and wonders if he should be scared of changing. But then he tells himself that it doesn't feel like change. More like he's finally becoming who he is for the first time.

 ---

 It takes half a year to their next fight. This time it's a rational argument, but it's still heated and in a few ways mean because they try to make their case which apartment they should live in. Laurent talks about the better view and the extra walk-in closet. Damen talks about the security system and the mosaic tiles in the bathroom.

 In the end, they talk to the landlord. There's little money can't do. The hallway between their apartments is closed up and their apartment doors torn down. They turn Damen's bedroom into a small library with a fire place and Laurent's bathroom into a sauna. They redecorate the whole place together.

 In the very end, Laurent takes his apple tree bonsai and puts it on the table next to the new apartment door, where they keep the bowl with their keys.

 "Why there?" Damen asks and hugs Laurent from behind, placing a small kiss on the curve of his neck."

 Laurent hums and cranes his head to reach Damen's mouth. "There's only one place where it makes sense to plant an apple tree."

 "And where's that?" Damen asks with a grin.

He was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” Laurent said carefully. “And you’re not a patron.”

That made Damen slip into a posture of further shame, dropping his elbows onto his knees and placing his head in the palms of his hands. “Oh my god,” he was saying over and over again.

It made Laurent almost want to reach over and touch him, place a soothing hand between his shoulder blades. He had liked that, back in the Summer Palace. It was a strange thought to have, and it almost made Laurent recoil. Damen didn’t look very different. He was still wearing a suit - with the addition of a badge - and his hair was the same mass of dark locks. His confidence and full-bodied charisma was lacking, but that might have been a product of the shock that he was still struggling to process. All in all, despite the investigation being over, Damen had not magically transformed, physically.

No, the change was in the knowledge that this was not Damen Karthas, patron and frequent visitor of the Summer Palace. He was Damianos Akielos, leader of Ios Investigations and current member of the bloody FBI.

And Laurent had never been Laurent d’Acquitart, an escort of the infamous brothel. He was Special Agent Laurent de Vere.  

“How have we never met?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Damen muttered, lifting his face from his hands. “I mean, I don’t usually run investigations for the Bureau. They usually just call on me for intel. But I’m a contact and they said they needed someone who could-”

“Play the part,” Laurent finished for him. They had said the same thing to him. Though he’d assumed that, for him, it was because the Assistant Director knew he wouldn’t say no. Who better for the job than a pretty face with a desire to prove himself and nothing else to do for the six months it would take to go undercover.

Or under covers, if he was feeling humorous.

Damen’s mind was running down similar roads, because he turned to Laurent with a wide-eyed expression of utter guilt. “Oh god. I am so sor-”

“No, don’t apologize,” Laurent cut him off, nipping that train of thought at the bud. “I knew what I was signing up for. To that extent, at least.”

But that didn’t feel exactly true. Because while Laurent had worked hard enough to make it into the boss’s inner circle, the amount of prostitution that he had done was very little. Every client who had come seeking his blond hair and pale skin had been expertly redirected into someone else’s arms. But that hadn’t stopped Damen and Laurent from falling into bed with each other numerous times over the last few months. Until now, he’d never let himself admit that it was something other than the job.

Maybe it was a good thing that Damen had been undercover as well. It would have been no good, Laurent realized, to have fallen in love with a crime lord.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” Laurent said quietly, “and hope that you’re just a very dedicated cop and not a pervert.”

Damen laughed softly, and Laurent’s mind was once again split open by how close it sounded to the one that had so often been pressed into the curve of his neck.

“I’ll deny the pervert part.” Damen paused for a moment, debating whether he should continue. He looked away before he spoke. “But… Fuck, this is going to sound so bad. What happened between you and me, Laurent… I can’t honestly say that it was just an act.”

For a few seconds, the air between them was heavy.

“Good,” Laurent said finally.

A shocked breath pushed out of him, Damen looked up. “What?”

“For a moment there, I thought I was the only one.”

They gazed at each other, and it was ridiculous, really, for it to have taken two detectives of their calibre this long to figure it out. Because underneath the gaudy silk wardrobe and the flashy wristwatch and the denial as thick as that stupid velvet bedding, Laurent knew that it wasn’t the belief that Damen was a key role in the chain of prostitution rings that had lead them together.

No, it was the smile he had shot Laurent across the bar on that first night. It was the genuine interest in his life hidden in the intel-probing flirting. It was Damen’s strong arms and the awed way he looked at Laurent in the morning and it was the rush of thrill and arousal that spiked through him when he spotted him in the lounge. Most of all, it was that fateful conversation when he had held Laurent in bed and promised him, risking everything, that he would get him out of there.

Damen knew this too, and it left his jaw dropped open like a fish. There were a thousand words unspoken when the door of the task manager’s office opened and an assistant informed the two of them, with a familiar embarrassed expression, that Makedon would see them now.

“At least we caught him,” Damen said slowly. It was an out, not meant for himself, but for Laurent. He could still shake this off and say Yes, at least there’s that. We cracked the case open. The only good part of this whole mess is that one hundred criminals are behind bars. He could say that and walk away.

He didn’t.

He said, with a war raging in his head, “I think you’d find that my bed is much better quality.”

A slow smile spread across Damen’s face. “I’m sure it is. But I think I’d at least buy you dinner before finding that out.”

“I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Oh, I would never assume that you would.”

The two of them were grinning now, not caring that poor Makedon’s assistant was waiting.

“Typically,” Damen looked into Laurent’s eyes, “a relationship starts with dinner and ends with sex.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Laurent turned to see Nicaise on one of the benches usually reserved for the audience. His ears were adorned with delicate golden earrings - a gift from Laurent that Nicaise had accepted with a surprising amount of gratefulness.

“They’ve been at it for a while now. Didn’t even see me come in.” A grin spread on Nicaise’s lips. “Your barbarian’s quite well endowed.”

Laurent rolled his eyes and sat down next to the boy. “Trust me, I know.” Crossing his arms, he watched Damen and Nikandros wrestle.

“And they call us inappropriate,” Nicaise said. “What even is this supposed to be?”

“Sports, apparently.”

Nicaise snorted.

“They take it quite seriously. Damen was appalled I even joked about it.”

“I’d be appalled too if you’d make a joke.”

Laurent gave Nicaise a light smack on the back of his head.

It had all been a mess; dealing with the aftermath of the Regent’s death, starting to free Akielon slaves, enforcing laws forbidding anyone to have an underaged pet. Nicaise had shown up in the middle of it all, looked up at Laurent and said You promised you’d buy me, didn’t you?

Of course, Laurent did not buy him, Instead, Nicaise now had his own rooms in various palaces, though he always chose to stay in the same palace as Laurent. He insisted it was all purely coincidence, but everyone knew not even he believed it.

“You two are getting domestic,” he said after a while. Damen and Nikandros had finished their match and were wiping themselves down with wet towels and starting to get dressed.

“We’re not going to unite Vere and Akielos by having sex all day,” Laurent replied calmly, gaze rested on Damen’s bare body. “Sadly,” he added a few moments later.

Laughing, Nicaise leaned back and rested his feet on the back of the seats in front of them. “I mean it, though. The proposal? The goodbye kisses? It’s surprising no one’s gotten sick around you yet.”

That left Laurent thinking. About how everything had changed, and it had all gone so fast, about how he went from hating Damen to tolerating him to loving him. About how there were still so many things he was uncomfortable with, and Damen was learning what he could and couldn’t do and simply accepted it with a smile.

Fuck, they were getting domestic.

Damen must’ve sensed Laurent’s gaze, because he turned his head and flushed delightfully at seeing his fiancé and Nicaise in the audience’s seats.

Laurent waved, expression as relaxed and calculated as ever.

“You’re not fooling him,” Nicaise said.

I know, Laurent thought, and smiled when Damen waved back and Nikandros turned to look at them. Nikandros looked a lot more shocked than Damen did and began quickly talking to his best friend, which Laurent took as his cue to stand up and gracefully descend into the arena.

“Not that I didn’t enjoy the show,” he drawled, blue eyes glinting in the sun, “but I am a little bit concerned with how you manhandled my fiancé, Nikandros.”

Damen’s flush was still there, though barely visible, and Laurent found it to be absolutely adorable.

“It’s a sport, Laurent,” Nikandros said with an exasperated sigh.

“A very nude sport. Not even loincloths.”

“It’s tradition.”

Laurent laughed and waved his hand, signaling a change of topic. “I just finished a very draining meeting, but this does mean that neither of us have any more obligations today,” he said to Damen.

The flush disappeared and instead Damen smiled, that bright and kind smile that still made Laurent’s knees weak. “I have an idea,” he said, approaching his fiancé and gently taking his hand.

“Does it have to do with sports?” Laurent joked.

“Sort of. Let’s go get the horses and ride to the lake.”

The lake was really more of a pond, hidden just outside of Ios. They’d discovered it whilst riding some weeks ago, and it had since become a favored spot when the two of them wanted some time alone.

Naturally, Laurent said yes, then made sure to inform Nicaise of it before the boy could complain.

By the time they reached the lake, the sun was starting to go down. Laurent slid off his horse and led her to the path of green by the lake, where he let her graze as she wanted. Damen did the same with his horse, then walked up to his fiancé and wrapped his arms around him from behind.

“How did you enjoy the wrestling?” he murmured, lips pressing against Laurent’s soft hair.

For the first time today, Laurent allowed every muscle in his body to relax as he sunk down onto the soft grass, Damen following. “I would’ve enjoyed it more without Nikandros there to block my view.”

Damen laughed. “I can get naked and oiled up for you any time, you know that.”

“I’m holding you to that promise.”

Gently, as always, Damen moved Laurent until he was laying down on his stomach, chin resting on his folded arms. A sigh left the blond’s lips as Damen began to work the tense muscles of his back.

“I should be doing this for you,” Laurent mumbled, eyes closed. “You’re the one who’s been training all day.”

“And you’re the one who dealt with the annoying nobles.” Damen placed a kiss between Laurent’s shoulder blades. “A feat I could never accomplish.”

Laurent rolled onto his back and pulled Damen down, holding him close. It was getting easier for him to initiate physical contact, though he still had moments where he needed his space. Damen knew better than to comment on it, and kissed Laurent’s nose with a smile.

“We can’t fall asleep here.”

While Damen was still looking out into the rain, a servant arrived to remind him of the meeting he was supposed to attend in the evening; talking about new treaty regulations and taxes between Akielos and Vere with some influential merchants in the house of one of them. So he got ready, actually thankful for a reason to leave the palace and the thoughts of missing a certain Veretian; of blue eyes looking at him with so much honesty in them, soft blond hair between his fingers…

It was still raining when Damen rode out of the palace’s gates with Nikandros and the little guard that accompanied them, and soon, Damen felt like his cloak was soaking wet. The anticipation for the evening quickly vanished, what was it than just more hours of negotiations, and when he was just wondering when he might be able to go on a state visit to Vere, the world suddenly seemed to lose its ground, he was flying, flying through the air, the breath getting knocked out of his lungs, and then there was darkness, the world going black, black, black…

“Laurent?” Auguste’s voice caused Laurent’s eyes to snap up from the book he had nearly fallen asleep over; fixing on his older brother. His lips were tightly closed, a hint of worry in his oh so blue eyes, and in an instant, Laurent was wide awake. “What happened?” “A messenger has just arrived. From Ios.” Laurent balled his hands into fists, nails digging into soft flesh. “Apparently, Damen was taking a ride on a rainy day, and somehow, his horse slipped at a wet cobblestone, and he fell.” Auguste had witnessed his little brother growing up to be a man who was an expert when it came to controlling his emotions in front of others, but he himself had known Laurent for too long and knew him too well to miss the panic in his eyes, the trembling of his hands that he fought hard to supress. And he was sure that Laurent wouldn’t waste a second in getting to Damen’s side.

When Damen woke up, he was confused. He was laying somewhere, probably in his bed judged by the soft pillows supporting him and the familiar smell; his head hurt, it was pitch black and there was someone else in the room with him. Damen could hear them breathing, not deep or even enough to be asleep, and so he started to speak. “Hello?” Damen heard a sigh, one that sounded relived, and shortly after he felt a hand in his own, grabbing it tightly. He wouldn’t have needed the light of the candle that was soon lit to recognize that it was no one but Laurent at his side, and though Damen was still confused and feeling a bit dizzy, he felt himself smiling. In brief words, Laurent told Damen about what had happened, how he fell off his horse and lost consciousness for days, how Laurent had hurried to Akielos as soon as he had gotten the message about what had happened. And he nearly expected Laurent to comment on it but he didn’t, and he wouldn’t say it, but Damen could see just how worried he had been. So both of them stayed silent, holding each other’s hands a bit tighter until Damen fell asleep again.