“Why did I agree to this?” Tim muttered, voice low and a little croaky, which indicated he needed water before attempting to speak more.

There was the sound of the sink turning on, and Tim mourned the loss of his sleep. Now that he is conscious enough to hold a conversation, he won’t be able to fall back asleep.

He got up with a small stretch that caused a satisfying whine, wiping at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself further.

“Because you love me,” Kon replied as he walked back in with a glass of water, still in his boxers but one of Tim's old shirts thrown on. Tim hummed a thanks as he accepted the glass, gulping down the water and trying not to let it trickle down his throat. “And you know how much I love shopping with you.”

“You mean you love my money.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Kon joked with a wink. Tim watched him head to the closet, eyeing the shape of his butt a little helplessly. God, he loves Kon so much.

“Is there anything we need to pick up while we’re out and about?” Kon called out, the sounds of hangers moving pausing as he considered his options. “You said we need to do grocery shopping soon, yeah?”

Tim got up and opened a drawer. Unlike Kon, he didn’t usually put that much effort into his outfits. For simple days like this, a simple hoodie and some pants work just fine. “We’re running a little low on some items, but we can do it after your store,” Tim affirmed as he changed out of his shorts and put on blue jeans.

“I’m guessing you made a list,” Kon didn’t even ask, already assuming because Tim always made lists.

“Mhm,” Tim replied as he looked for his GSU hoodie, something Steph got him as a gag gift. Except Tim really appreciated the thought, so it backfired on her. “I was thinking we can always stop by the media store next to your thrift store.”

Tim found the dark hoodie with a loud hmph, slipping it on and sighing at its bulky size. Steph didn’t even try to get it in Tim’s size, but that’s the thing that Tim loved about it. It made him feel like a child, but in a good way. Comforting, as if this was something that belonged to Bruce.

He turned around to find Kon wearing a black crop top that fit tight against his abs and muscles, his happy trail peeking like a tempting sin. He wore chino joggers, comfy but easy to change, and Tim swears his brain stuttered and restarted with the blue screen of a failing computer. Simple outfit or not, his partner will always be hot.

His face flushed at Kin’s sultry expression, and he couldn’t help but wrap his arms around Kon’s waist. “You’re trying to kill me,” he nibbled at Kon’s lips, pinching the taller man’s hips when his smile widened.

Kon squeezed his hips, love and adoration clear in his cyan eyes. Tim could easily get lost gazing into them. “We’ll head out after breakfast, okay with you?”

12:00 PM

Tim glanced up from his phone when Kon stepped out of the stall to show him the last outfit.

They’ve been at this one store for about two and a half hours. The first half was Kon looking between racks of clothing, trying to see if something would fit his build and if something needed some classic DIY love.

Tim, being someone who grew up rich, never truly saw the appeal of thrifting. But this was something Kon loved. The challenge of finding something good at the stores, the creativity needed to plan outfits and designs, the specialized skill of picking out the most horrendous design, and seeing potential in its pattern or texture.

Kon looked conflicted when he stepped out in a red cocktail dress full of lace, the sleeves cutting before his shoulders in a way that resembled ruffles and accentuate its vintage look, and tight-fitting in a way that accentuated his legs and butt nicely. However, as pretty as it was, the dress itself wasn’t Kon’s style.

“I was really hoping this would be a good one,” Kon muttered more to himself than Tim. “I really liked the shade.”

Tim tilted his head, trying not to yawn as his energy started crashing from staying still for so long. “You don’t think you can use the lace for anything?”

“Nah,” Kon twisted himself in the mirror, as if the new angle would make him love the dress more. “Not comfortable enough messing with lace.”

Tim opened his phone again, humming when Kon planted a kiss on his head. “Let me pay, and then we can head to a cafe close by.”

“I can pay instead,” Tim offered, but Kon shook his head in reply.

He reached out to squeeze Tim’s hands, an apology for taking as long as he did. Tim squeezed back, truly not minding.

12:40 PM

Tim sighed when Kon leaned over to take a sip out of his drink. “How many times are you going to do that?” He pouted as this was the fifth time Kon had done this, as if Tim didn’t ask if he also wanted something to drink from the cafe.

Kon squeezed his fingers from where he held them in the pockets of Tim’s hoodie, keeping them warm with his body heat. Kon always ran hot thanks to his Kryptonian biology, and while Tim loves this about Kon, that doesn’t mean this is a reasonable trade for his tea.

“Shouldn’t have bought something with peppermint then,” Kon teased, stealing another sip before Tim could shove his face away.

Tim pinched him on the hand, then rubbed the mark with his thumb. With Kon’s invulnerability, it won’t even turn pink, but Tim still wanted to soothe the touch. “You’re an ass.”

Kon leaned down to kiss him, and Tim hummed when Kon used his TTK to tug him closer, an invisible hand running down his hair and cupping the back of his neck, soothing and cool to the touch.  

“Are we looking for anything specific at the media store?”

Tim shook his head. “Just wanted to window shop. Will you let me know if there’s anything that catches your eye?”

Kon shook his head, exasperated by Tim’s insistence on buying everything today. “How ‘bout this,” the words were drawled in that good-hearted Kansas accent. Kon always spoke with an accent when thinking of the Kent farm and the family he made there with Ma and Pa, usually faint enough that most don't catch it. “Help me find something for Ma, and I’ll let you buy that.”

Tim smiled at the compromise. “Deal.”

1:20

“What’d you got there?” Kon leaned his head over Tim’s, arms wrapping around his waist to anchor him there. In response, Tim leaned onto Kon’s chest, tilting the book up for Kon to look.

“You know how Jason and Damian have that book club thing?”

“Oh, they’re still doing that?” Kon replied. “I think I remember Jon mentioning that a while back.”

Tim hummed. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard them talk about it.”

“Is that what that’s for?” Kon nodded his head, bringing his hand up to trace the book’s title. The words were crooked, the pressure changing to replicate handwriting in pen, with a picture of a muddy road surrounded by the outskirts of trees and bushes.

Despite popular belief, Tim was not a reader. He was the stereotypical math and science nerd, caring more for data and numbers than abstract themes and metaphors. Jason teases him and Dick about this all the time, citing that he and Damian were the only cultured people in the manor. Dick always hit back that Jason was just jealous that he was the only theater kid in the family.

Despite this, Tim knew the importance of literature and the arts. While he could never find enjoyment in reading, he knew how important the club was for Jason and Damian. It was a way for them to connect without being direct, a way to discuss thoughts and connections in a way that the rest of the family could never really understand.

It was tough finding books for them, though, with Jason reading books as if he needed them to breathe, and Damian with his picky ego making it hard to predict what he would like without the gift being disguised as a test of intelligence. But they both like reading various classics, hence the copy of As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner in Tim’s hands.

He hasn't touched the book since middle school, but he remembers themes of morality and existence, alienation and dysfunctional family dynamics, suffering, and hypocrisy. There was the chance that Jason had already read this, but…

“I don’t know,” Tim mumbled. “Feels kinda stupid trying to get something for them.”

“It’s not stupid,” Kon reassured, nuzzling the back of Tim’s head. “I think it’s nice. Thinking of them like that.”

Tim had nothing to say to that, except that, as much as Clark was a great hero, there will always be a bitter part of him that hates Clark's inaction towards Kon. It was the same bitter part that hated his parents neglect, understanding as to why but never able to comprehend the how.

“Did you find something for Mrs. Kent?” he squeezed a hand on Kon’s arm around him, letting the taller man maneuver the book into his own hands. Looks like they’re buying the book after all.

“Ma will have your head if she knows you still refer to her by her last name,” Kon chided lightly, the sound of him kissing Tim’s cheek loudly ruining any reprimand. “Do you remember how she mentioned that she lost her only CD of Billie Holiday?”

“The one that Rebecca lost back when she hosted a get-together at the old youth center?”

Kon reached for his pocket, and there was a brief tapping sound of nails hitting plastic as he tapped the album. “The very same one!” Kon shook the case in front of Tim’s face, laughing as Tim ended up cross-eyed from the closeness.

"Rebecca lost it, what, eight years ago?”

“Pretty sure that was the last time anyone has let Rebecca borrow anything.”

Tim nodded. “She already was making a reputation from it. Not surprising that was one of the last straws for everyone else.”

Kon hummed, putting CD on top of Tim's book. “Anything else you want to look at?”

Tim shook his head. “Let’s go pay, and then head for the groceries.”

4:00 PM

“Tim,” Kon calls out, voice weak from where he has his head in the fridge.

Tim pauses from where he’s trying to store canned foods in the pantry, a can of tomato sauce in his hands as he tries not to sweat. Please don’t say Kon spotted Tim’s stash of Zesti cans, please. “Yes?” He tries to tilt his voice sweetly. Innocent, if someone didn’t know him well. Kon knows him too well.

Kon barrels forward, no hesitation for shattering Tim’s heart. Tim turns his head to see Kon leaning against the doorframe, a Zetsi resting in his hand. Tim licks his lips, eyes sweeping to Kon’s and the can, debating if he can outmaneuver a being with superspeed.

“Pretty sure Alfred said you aren’t allowed any of these for the next two weeks.”

Tim steps closer, angling his head to look at Kon through his eyelashes. It always makes the Kryptonian weak, seeing piercing blue eyes look up at him through long lashes. “Alfred doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Kon exhales through his nose, hands lowering. Tim tries not to smirk. “Tim, I was there when Leslie and Alfred came to that agreement. Are you seriously questioning a doctor’s orders?”

It wouldn’t be the first time the bats don’t follow Leslie’s words. “It was a recommendation, not anything serious.”

Kon just stared at him in disbelief. Tim took the chance to snag forward, fingertips brushing the cold metal before Kon moved across the kitchen’s island. “Let’s make a deal!” Tim rushed out before Kon could say anything, “Please, love.”

Kon sighed at the blatant manipulation, and Tim's smile widened. “Honey bun, sweetheart, babe, my soulmate and love of my life—”

“Ok!” Kon chuckled out, a blush creeping over his cheeks. Tim wanted to run his hands on Kon's face, kissing and biting to see the blush grow. “What’s your proposition?”

Tim shuffled closer, wrapping his arms around Kon’s waist. “Let me keep the Zetsi’s, and you can monitor how much I drink.”

Kon put the drink down on the counter when Tim stepped further into his space, and now he was twisting the fabric of Tim’s shirt, his warm hands brushing against Tim’s sides. “Two cans a week?” He tried bargaining.

Tim gave him an unimpressed stare, daring him to try haggling to that extreme. They both know that if Tim doesn’t verbally agree with this deal, then he will stash them somewhere else. X-ray vision or not, Tim will find a way for Kon to never find them.

Tim leaned closer to Kon, chapped lips brushing over plump ones. Not a kiss, but close to one, depending on how these next minutes go. “A pack every week.”

Kon hummed. He wasn’t falling for Tim’s tricks anymore, causing Tim to pout; stupid partner and his stubborn consideration for Tim's health and well-being.

Kon kissed the corner of Tim’s mouth, bringing his hands up to scratch at the back of Tim’s skull. Tim melted in the touch, sagging like a kitten getting head scratches. Yeah, guess he can’t be too upset at Kon. Maybe he was becoming a little too dependent on energy drinks this month, but whatever. He’s never admitting to this.

“How about half a package every week?” Kon didn’t even try to suggest this offer, already knowing he won.

Tim kissed his lips; soft and slow, gentle and heartwarming. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Kon smiled into the kiss, hands moving to cup Tim’s cheeks, rubbing at the skin in a soothing gesture. “How about I make your favorite today? We finally have cheese to make burgers.”

“Hm,” Tim considered this. As much as he loves Kon’s cooking, he was still feeling a bit petty. “Nah, let’s order pizzas.”

Kon groaned, head thumping gently against Tim’s. “Does it have to be with that atrocious order of yours?”

Tim’s chest felt light and giddy. Eyes crinkling from his smile, Tim only laughed at Kon’s response. “You know it, clone boy. Come on, I thought you loved me?”

Kon thwacked Tim’s shoulder, the impact gentle enough that Tim barely felt it. “You have horrible taste buds, and literally everyone agrees to this.”

Thranduil was lying on his back, his pale hair spread across the pillow like a trail of light. Bard was completely pressed against him, one arm stretched along his torso, one leg thrown over his thighs, as if he refused to let him escape by even a centimeter.

“Say it again,” he murmured, lifting his eyes toward him.

Thranduil rolled his eyes so hard that Bard briefly thought his iris might actually get stuck.

“Gi melin.”

A wide satisfied smile stretched Bard’s lips. He snuggled closer, repeating carefully:

“Gi melin.”

Thranduil gave a small disapproving hiss.

“Your pronunciation is very bad.”

“Then I need to practice.”

He kissed him long and lovingly, as if practice required a practical support. When he resumed his position, Thranduil let out a long sigh. It was not a sigh of weariness. Beneath the obvious satisfaction, there was a hint of worry. Bard grumbled.

“What?”

“How are we going to manage with the children…?”

Another sigh. Bard frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well… you are extremely loud.”

Bard’s mouth opened into a perfect O, almost indecent, as if the air had been torn from his lungs. His eyes widened, shining with outraged astonishment, and something between disbelief and pure offense passed across his features.

“Ooooooooooh!!!!! Me, I am loud??? Did you hear yourself earlier?! You were squealing so loudly we must have been heard all the way to Erebor!!!!”

Color rose to Thranduil’s face.

“You were pounding my prostate as if you had lost your freaking mind!”

“Yessss. I was massaging it intensely because it was calling for me with body and soul,” Bard said dreamily, proudly. “Anyway, don’t say I’m the one making the most noise, it is undeniably you.”

Thranduil inhaled deeply, regaining a semblance of dignity.

“The problem remains the same: how will we handle the children? I do not want to restrain myself, and I certainly do not want to traumatize them.”

Bard thought for a moment, suddenly very serious.

“Can’t you use your magic, make them temporarily deaf, something like that?”

An eyebrow lifted.

“That is not how it works… Do you take me for Harry Potter?”

“Or we simply soundproof the walls…”

Thranduil remained thoughtful for a few seconds.

“That would indeed be the best solution.”

He tightened his arm slightly around Bard and kissed the top of his head.

“Do you think Bain will react well to the idea of leaving Dale?”

“And living in a huge estate, with a pool for the summer, the smell of forest instead of fish, a bedroom as big as our apartment? I think it will be fine, yes…”

Thranduil gave a slight smile, but he was not entirely reassured.

“You know what I mean… It is still his home. The place where he grew up.”

Bard’s expression darkened briefly.

“We do not only have good memories there.”

Thranduil did not reply. He simply held him closer. Bard lifted his head and gave him a softer smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be very happy. And Legolas? How will he react?”

Thranduil remained silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.

“He will not make a scene, if that is what you fear.”

Bard raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t see him throwing a tantrum, no. But living with someone is different from seeing them on weekends.”

Thranduil nodded slowly.

“He will observe. He will say that everything is fine.”

“And that will mean everything is not entirely fine.”

A small amused breath escaped Thranduil.

“Probably.”

Bard traced absent circles on his skin.

“He has always had his clearly defined place. His room, his habits, his moments with you.”

“He will keep his room.” The tone was immediate, almost protective. “Nothing will be taken from him.”

“Of course. But he will still share the house with another teenager. It gets noisy, messy, monopolizes the bathroom.”

“Does Bain already monopolize the bathroom?”

“You have no idea.”

Thranduil sighed.

“We will have to establish rules.”

“Real rules. Not vague Elvish ones.”

“Elvish rules are not vague.”

“They are endless.”

“I think the most delicate part,” Thranduil resumed more calmly, “will be space.”

“Physical or emotional?”

“Both.”

He finally turned his head toward Bard.

“Legolas is used to silence. To an organized house.”

Bard smiled faintly.

“So Bain will make him spiral in three days.”

“Probably.”

They stayed quiet for a moment.

“We could give them some time before imposing anything,” Bard suggested. “Not immediately the big mandatory family dinners.”

“Yes.”

“Let them find their rhythm.”

Thranduil considered.

“I will need to speak alone with Legolas.”

“And I with Bain.”

Thranduil nodded.

“And you?” he asked. “Bain…”

Bard shrugged slightly.

“He will pretend to be cool. Then he will ask me fifty questions when I least expect it.”

“Such as?”

“Such as ‘is it that serious between you?’, ‘are you sure?’, ‘what if it doesn’t work?’”

Thranduil made a small face.

“That is legitimate.”

“Yes.”

Bard moved a little closer.

“We may need to reorganize the bedrooms,” he continued more concretely. “Not theirs. But the common spaces.”

“The library will remain intact.”

“I suspected that.”

“The music room as well.”

“We will not put a game console in it, I promise.”

Thranduil looked at him suspiciously.

“Bard.”

“I am joking. Half.”

“It will be noisy.”

“Yes.”

“It will be messy.”

“Probably.”

Bard looked up at him.

“Does that scare you?”

Thranduil thought.

“A little. It’s just that… it has been a long time that it was only Legolas and me. So it gives a bit of vertigo. But not enough to give up. After all, it was my idea.”

Bard smiled, satisfied.

“Then we will manage.”

He rested his forehead against his shoulder.

“And if they hate each other?”

“They will not hate each other.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because they have your sarcasm and my patience.”

Bard laughed softly.

“So they are doomed to get along.”

“Exactly.”

A calmer silence settled… full of things to plan.

“We should perhaps tell them together,” Bard said.

“Yes.”

“Not like a decision falling from the sky.”

“Like a project.”

“Our project.”

Thranduil ran a hand through his hair.

“Four under the same roof.”

“Yes.”

“And soundproof walls,” Bard added.

Thranduil smiled.

“Indispensable.”

A silence settled after they had spoken about the bedrooms. Then Thranduil sighed again, staring at the ceiling.

“Legolas slides down the banister.”

Bard sat up immediately.

“Excuse me?”

“He slides. From the top.”

“From the top?!”

“Yes. On his feet.”

Bard looked at him as if he had just announced he was raising tigers in the garden.

“And you tell me that calmly?!”

“I am not telling you calmly. I have been telling him to stop for years.”

Thranduil turned toward him, very serious.

“He takes momentum from the landing, jumps slightly, and lands at the bottom with unnecessarily spectacular precision.”

Bard froze.

“He jumps?”

“Slightly.”

“I am going to die.”

“He has never fallen.”

“That is not a guarantee!”

Thranduil sighed.

“I explained that it was not dignified.”

“It is not dignified?! It is dangerous!”

“Both.”

Bard ran a hand over his face.

“And you think if Bain sees that he won’t try?”

Thranduil closed his eyes briefly.

“Of course he will try.”

“Of course?!”

“Teenagers are stupid by definition.”

“You include your son in that definition?”

“Affectionately.”

Bard collapsed back against the mattress.

“So we are going to have two stuntmen under the same roof.”

“I already forbid that practice.”

“And does he obey?”

Thranduil paused.

“He slows down when I am at the bottom of the stairs.”

Bard burst out laughing despite himself.

“Oh my God. Do you realize I am going to have repeated heart attacks?”

“You are dramatizing.”

“No. I am imagining Bain timing himself.”

“I will increase supervision.”

“This is not a forest, it is a house!”

Thranduil thought for a second.

“We could install a thicker carpet at the bottom of the stairs.”

Bard stared at him.

“You are adapting the house to your son’s dangerous behavior.”

“I am pragmatic.”

“You are complicit.”

A very slight smile appeared.

“I am realistic.”

Bard nestled against him.

“I am going to spend my life shouting ‘come down normally!’”

“And I will say ‘Legolas.’”

“Just his name?”

“He understands.”

Bard sighed.

“I was not ready for this.”

“For what?”

“For raising acrobats.”

Thranduil slowly ran a hand through his hair.

“They need to expend their energy.”

“Not on the banister.”

“We will find something else. You see?” Thranduil murmured. “That is also living as four.”

“Night discussions about stair railings?”

“Exactly.”

Bard smiled.

“Fine. We soundproof the walls.”

“Yes.”

“We secure the pool.”

“Yes.”

“And we install a ‘no sliding’ sign?”

Thranduil hesitated.

“They will not respect it.”

Bard laughed: the idea of the house full of noise, rushing footsteps, laughter and absurd sliding no longer made him want to have a heart attack. Just eager to be there.

“Tell me…”

He was tracing slow, absent lines across Thranduil’s chest, following the faint shadows cast by the moonlight on his skin.

“Hm.”

“How old are you, exactly?”

Thranduil did not move. Not a muscle. Only the faintest tightening at the corner of his eyes betrayed that he had heard.

“That is a dangerous question.”

“Oh come on.”

“Elves do not answer that kind of trivial inquiry.”

“Humans do.”

“Humans also die.”

Bard lifted his head slightly, unimpressed.

“Very reassuring.”

A beat of silence.

“I was born before the fall of Doriath.”

Bard blinked.

“What does that mean?”

“Several millennia.”

“That helps a lot.”

A slow inhale.

“More than six thousand years.”

Bard went completely still.

“…Sorry?”

“Approximately.”

His voice was calm. Casual. As if he had just said “a few decades.”

“Approximately?!”

“A few decades do not really count at that scale.”

Bard stared at him, trying to process the number. Six thousand. The human brain was not built for that.

“So when you told me you had waited centuries without sleeping with anyone… it wasn’t a figure of speech.”

“No.”

“Damn.”

He let out a low whistle under his breath.

“And you had Legolas at what age?”

“Well after reaching full maturity.”

“Meaning?”

“I was not a reckless young elf, if that is what you suggest.”

“I am not suggesting anything, I am trying to understand if I am sleeping with a… prehistoric veteran.”

“I am not prehistoric.”

“Six thousand years, Thranduil. You were there before half the mountains.”

“The mountains are older than I am.”

Bard closed his eyes briefly.

“You see, that is exactly the kind of information that overwhelms me. Doesn’t it feel strange to you?”

“What?”

“Me.”

Thranduil’s brows drew together slightly.

“Explain.”

“I am going to age. Quickly. Compared to you, who will always remain the sublime stunner you already are.”

There was no self-pity in his voice. Just fact. Thranduil didn’t smile at the compliment.

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Yes.”

The answer came without hesitation. Bard looked up.

“Oh.”

“But not enough to renounce you. Elves live forever. That does not mean we do not feel urgency. With you, each year will carry more weight than a hundred empty years.”

Bard snorted softly.

“So basically, I am your short-term investment.”

“You are insufferable.”

“I am realistic.”

“You are dramatic.”

“You are ancient.”

“I can still lift you with one hand.”

A faint smirk tugged at Bard’s mouth.

“That is true. Six thousand years… And I am thirty-four.”

“Thirty-four.”

“Yes. And before you raise another eyebrow — yes, I had Bain very young. We were both eighteen.”

The eyebrow rose anyway.

“Eighteen.”

“At your scale I was probably still chasing butterflies.”

“At my scale, you did not even exist yet.”

Bard barked a short laugh.

“Charming.”

“Thirty-four… that is young.”

“Not that young.”

“For a human perhaps. For me…”

Bard’s fingers slowed over his skin.

“Does that make me feel… temporary?”

Thranduil’s gaze shifted. Not cold. Just honest.

“It makes me feel that time will be unfair.”

Bard nodded slowly.

“It already is. I do not regret having Bain young. Even if I was lost. Even if I was scared. It forced me to grow faster than expected.”

“You were a child.”

“I was in love. It makes you stupid and brave at the same time.”

“Like now?”

Bard looked up at him, steady.

“No. Now I am just brave.”

Silence settled. Thranduil’s hand rested at the nape of his neck.

“You still have your whole life ahead of you.”

“Yes.”

“A life that will pass quickly.”

“Yes.”

“But it will be yours.”

Thranduil stayed motionless for several seconds after that, then whispered:

“It is a shame.”

Bard frowned slightly.

“What?”

“That you are not a woman.”

He blinked.

“Sorry?”

“We would have had magnificent children. Your green eyes. Mine blue. A deep icy mixture.”

Bard stared at him for a full second — then huffed in disbelief.

“So after six thousand years your regret is genetics?”

“It is not regret. It is an aesthetic observation.”

“You just said ‘it is a shame.’”

“That is scientific.”

Bard pushed himself up slightly on an elbow, studying him like he’d just discovered a rare specimen.

“Your traits are harmonious.”

“Oh no.”

“Your gaze is expressive.”

“Do not analyze my face like a work of art.”

“It is.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“Children with your eye color and my bone structure.”

Bard froze.

“You really said ‘bone structure’ in such an intimate moment?”

“I am precise in my choice of words.”

A light silence settled between them again. Bard shifted and stretched back against him, resting his cheek on Thranduil’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath his ear.

“We would have had monumental fights over names.”

Thranduil gave a slow, dignified nod, as though acknowledging an inevitable diplomatic crisis.

“Your choices would have been mediocre.”

Bard lifted his head slightly, squinting at him.

“My choices are simple.”

“Vulgarly simple. Your son has a Dwarvish name.”

Bard pushed himself up onto an elbow at once, scandalized.

“My son has a very beautiful name! It symbolizes solidity, strength!”

Thranduil did not blink.

“It remains a Dwarvish name. And you? Bard like… a bard?”

Bard shrugged with exaggerated calm.

“Yes, simply.”

Thranduil’s mouth twitched, unimpressed.

“Your parents did not exert themselves.”

Bard narrowed his eyes.

“Whereas yours had meningitis… Thranduil. What does that even mean, by the way?”

Thranduil straightened almost imperceptibly, chin lifting with unmistakable pride.

“Vigorous Spring,” he replied proudly. “Which is accurate, you must admit.”

There was a beat. Bard froze. His lips parted. He inhaled sharply through his nose, trying—genuinely trying—to maintain composure. His shoulders trembled once. Twice. He pressed his lips together. It lasted three seconds. Then he lost it. The laugh burst out of him sudden and loud, warm and uncontrollable. He tipped backward onto the mattress, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes as if the name itself had physically overwhelmed him.

“I do not see what is funny,” Thranduil said, deeply offended, though the faint pink creeping up his ears betrayed him.

“Oh, I see very well!” Bard gasped between laughs, wiping at the corner of his eye with the back of his hand. “Vigorous Spring—”

Another wave of laughter hit him. He rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach. Thranduil crossed his arms, regal even while half-naked in bed.

“It is a noble name.”

“That’s exactly why it’s funny!” Bard shot back, still grinning helplessly. He propped himself up again, eyes bright. “And Legolas? That means…?”

Thranduil answered without hesitation, as though delivering an ancient truth.

“Greenleaf.”

Bard blinked.

“…Greenleaf.”

He exhaled slowly, trying to recover some dignity of his own.

“Fine. I officially forbid you from ever mocking my son’s name again.”

He jabbed a finger lightly at Thranduil’s chest for emphasis.

“And I thank heaven I was not born a woman and never had to carry your children and debate their names with you.”

Thranduil arched a brow, affronted and smug all at once, while Bard’s grin lingered—half amusement, half affection—before he dropped back down against him again, still shaking his head at the thought of raising children named something like Radiant Dawn of the Third Age or Eternal Silver Blossom.

“They would have had elegant names.”

Thranduil said it with serene conviction, chin slightly raised, as if elegance itself were an objective fact and not a matter of debate.

“They would have had unpronounceable names until the age of eight.”

Bard shifted on the mattress, propping himself on an elbow, grinning lazily up at him.

“It is a matter of education.”

“It is a matter of common sense.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed a fraction — not offended, just sharpening.

“If you had carried my children, you would have accepted my choices.”

Bard snorted softly.

“On what basis?”

“My natural authority.”

That did it. Bard laughed again, softer this time, but deeply amused — the kind of laugh that warmed rather than exploded. He traced a finger down Thranduil’s sternum as he spoke.

“Your natural authority would not survive nine months of pregnancy.”

“I fear no ordeal.”

“I can totally see you fainting at the first contraction.”

Thranduil’s jaw tightened.

“I remained at my wife’s side throughout the entire labor when she gave birth to Legolas!”

Bard leaned in slowly, deliberately, brushing his lips at the corner of his mouth before murmuring:

“So did I. Vigorous Spring.”

Thranduil exhaled sharply through his nose, somewhere between indignation and reluctant amusement.

“I love your name.”

“Obviously.”

“Even if it is ridiculously grandiloquent.”

“It is not.”

Their laughter softened, dissolving into something quieter. Bard’s head settled back against his chest again, his palm resting flat over Thranduil’s heart.

“Anyways…. We already have two extraordinary boys.”

There was no teasing in his tone now. Just truth.

“I know. I would not trade that. And I prefer you as you are.”

Thranduil’s fingers moved absently along Bard’s shoulder, slow and thoughtful.

“Even without beautiful blue-green-eyed children?”

“Even so.”

A small silence. Not heavy. Just reflective.

“Six thousand years… and you still imagine things.”

“Elves imagine much.”

Bard tilted his head slightly.

“Even the impossible?”

“Especially the impossible.”

The words lingered between them like something ancient and tender.

“Will you miss it, truly?”

Thranduil did not answer immediately. His thumb traced the curve of Bard’s jaw, as though memorizing it.

“No. What I have is sufficient. More than sufficient.”

Bard’s hand slid lazily along his side, fingers brushing skin in a slow, idle movement that carried no urgency — only closeness.

“Good. Because I have no intention of changing configuration.”

“That would be disappointing.”

A quiet pause followed. The kind where breathing synchronizes without either noticing.

“We would have had beautiful children” Bard said again.

“Indisputably.”

This time, Bard didn’t laugh. He smiled and kissed his bicep, letting his lips travel along its entire length.

“Now… show me how vigorous you are…”

Thranduil ran a hand through his hair, stopped at the crown of his head, closed his fingers in a sharp gesture, and pinned him against the bed.

“Because I have seen you have a positive emotion in a week,” Jack said as he finished his beer and signaled the bartender for another one. 

The shooting had been two weeks ago now, and while no one they had worked with had been super happy since then, he had started to see some smiles and jokes happening again among the staff as he walked around the pitt each shift. But then there was Robby, the grumpy man that was somehow Jack’s best friend, who he hadn’t seen smile in over a month. 

Jack looked over at Robby, then followed his gaze across the bar, to where Robby had been looking at a group of some of the younger members of the ER staff who had somehow wound up at the same bar as them. 

Jack had to shake his head when he noticed them as he and Robby walked in. It wasn’t all that often they would go out drinking just the two of them, and somehow they wound up at the same bar as all of those kids. 

Jack took a sip of the new beer as the bartender slid it over to him. “You know, if you really want we can go say hi to them?” Jack said. 

Robby blinked, finally looking to his left at Jack. “What are you talking about?” 

Jack had to raise an eyebrow. “You’ve been looking at them for the last twenty minutes,” he said. 

Robby didn’t say anything, just continued looking at the group. 

That was when Jack noticed them. Two people, right on the outside of the group. 

One was the Whitaker kid he had seen on the day shift every now and then the last couple of weeks, an omega that Jack knew Robby had an eye on, despite Jack repeatedly reminding him that the kid was hands off - at least until the kid finished med school. 

The second guy wasn’t someone Jack recognized. But the way the man was leaning into the kid’s personal space, smiling at him and causing the kid to smile back, Jack would bet the guy was hitting on the kid. 

Next to Jack, Robby let out a long breath through pierced lips. “It’s not right,” he said. 

“What’s not right?” Jack asked. “And stop shooting daggers at them.” 

“I’m not doing anything to them,” Robby said. 

“Right, right,” Jack nodded, playing along. “Sure you’re not. Now what exactly isn’t right over there?” 

“Just look at them,” Robby said, as if it would be clear as day to Jack. 

Jack humored Robby as he looked at the kid and mystery man for a couple of seconds. Whitaker was giving the man that sheepish smile Jack had seen him give a couple of people when he was nervous. 

And the way the man was looking at Whitaker… he was definitely interested in the kid, romantically and sexually interested.

“Yeah, that guy is hitting on your little shadow. He’s an adult, Whitaker will be fine,” Jack said as he looked away from the two across the bar and back at Robby. 

“My little shadow?” Robby asked. 

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you guys at work,” Jack said. “There’ve been entire shifts that you’ve had him follow you around like a little duckling.” 

Robby chewed lightly on his lip as he listened to Jack. The man wasn’t wrong, but he had his reasons, very good ones, for having Whitaker follow him around for those days. 

“Whitaker is allowed to have a boyfriend,” Jack said. 

“I know that,” Robby said. “I have no problem with him dating someone.” 

That got a laugh out of Jack. “Well, from the way you’re staring daggers at that man over there, I’d think otherwise.” 

“He’s not right for Whitaker,” Robby said as he brought this glass up to take another sip of beer.

Jack looked over at him like Robby had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “And what the hell is telling you that man isn’t ‘right’ for Whitaker?” 

“His scent for one thing.” 

“You can smell the kid’s scent from here?” Jack asked. 

“Yeah,” Robby shrugged. “You can’t?” 

Now Jack knew that as a beta, he never really had that strong of a nose for scents as Robby did, Robby could smell when someone brought in a roast beef sandwich when he had his hands covered in blood trying to stop a bleed. But right now, in this crowded bar, all Jack could smell was beer, sweat, and the bad chicken wings someone had ordered three feet from them. 

“He smells stressed,” Robby said. “And not the stressed like in the middle of a crazy shift. Stressed like he just wants to get out of here.” 

Jack still looked at Robby like he was crazy. “Well then maybe you should do something about it.” 

Jack had said that as a joke, he hadn’t meant it. Whitaker was standing right on the edge of a group of at least ten of his coworkers. If the kid really was that stressed, surely one of them would pick up on it and help the kid. 

Robby stood up from his seat anyway, asking Jack to watch his beer as he went over to Whitaker and the other man. 

“Hey,” Robby said as he approached Dennis and the new man, a new man that Robby instantly recognized as another alpha. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Robby didn’t miss the look of relief that washed over Dennis’s face as the alpha turned to him, standing between him and Dennis. “And who are you?” he asked, his tone guarded, not at all wanting Robby to interrupt whatever they had going on. 

Robby gave the alpha a tight smile. “I’m Robby,” he said. “I work with Dennis.” 

The man’s eyes glanced at Dennis for half of a second, and Robby took the opportunity to slide in between him and Dennis. 

The man smirked at Robby. “Well, we were just talking if you don’t mind.” 

Robby didn’t miss the way that Dennis took a side step over to stand slightly behind Robby. “Funny, I don’t think he really wants to talk to you,” Robby said. 

The man looked Robby up and down for a couple of seconds, then turned his gaze back to Dennis, who took another quarter step closer to Robby. 

“Fine,” the man scoffed. “You weren’t worth it anyway,” he said as he turned around and walked away from them. 

Robby then turned around, doing a quick glance over Dennis. His scent was still off, not as acridic as before, but he didn’t look hurt. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

Dennis blinked his wide eyes as he looked at Robby’s “Y- yeah,” he said. “He was… I’m fine.” 

“What do you say we both get out of here?” Robby asked. 

Dennis’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating slightly, and Robby could smell a small amount of surprise coming off of him. “Like… together?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Robby said. “Figure I’ll finally show you where I live.” 

A smell of both surprise and delight wafted off of Dennis then. “Yeah,” he said as a smile grew on his face. “Sounds amazing.” 

As Robby turned to walk away, holding Dennis’s hand as Dennis followed after him, Robby caught sight of Trinity looking at them, watching them as they walked out of the bar. 

"Minerva changed the patrol rotations ," I say. I keep my voice quiet, I do not look at him, instead watching the students, other instructors; watching the world carry on.

"D-d-did she?" He glances at me, then back down at his untouched breakfast. "I hadn't heard yet."

“Indeed, she did. You’re on the late rotation now, assigned the Forest perimeter.”

An ugly janging sound forces a grimace. Quirrell's hand has jittered and struck his spoon. He blanches and pushes the bowl away.

The Potter boy and his friends glance up at the racket, then lean in towards each other across their table.

"She's added the Forest? B-but why? Surely Hagrid is sufficient."

Odd.

Quirrell is many things: weak, pathetic, foolish, but not stupid. I slide a new glance at him when he's not looking. His eyes dart over the Great Hall in restless motion, like a fox watching for hounds.

"You can reason that out, undoubtedly," I say. "A unicorn has been slain, which is unprecedented, and Hagrid is one man. The forest is large."

Both his hands tremble now, and his face is parallel with the table, as if examining the wood grain. The ridiculous turban makes the feat appear almost impossible.

"Surely you're not afraid of the Forbidden Forest," I venture. "You spent enough time out there before your leave."

Quirrell looks up this time, and there is a flash of something unpleasant over his features. The downwards curve of his mouth, narrowed eyes.

He passes a hand over his brow, and the expression disappears.

"I'm not scared of it, exactly, Severus. I'm scared of b-b-being scared of it. After the Black Forest, you know…." He trails off and shivers. "But I can m-manage it,” he adds. “Perhaps a p-pairing would be more efficient.”

"Ah. Yes, your alleged vampire encounter."

Unexpectedly, he continues to watch me. The first time all morning he's held my gaze.

"As for patrolling in pairs, you should suggest that zero more times. We haven't the manpower, and I wouldn't protect you anyway."

His hands on the table close into fists, bloodless from pressure. Only his ears have any colour, bright red. Without the turban, they stick out too far and make him look younger than he is.

He takes in a deep breath. "That's all right. You'd only make me n-n-nervous anyway, no doubt."

I do not respond.

They had grown closer over the past weeks, spending a lot of time together, pouring over maps and devising strategies and plans for the battle that lay ahead.

She liked how smart he was, how much he knew, the way his voice sounded when he explained an old map to her, all warm and excited, and the way he looked at her whenever she came to talk to him, fond and softer than anyone would expect of him.

She had to admit that she had come to like him, against all odds, and that just made the situation even more difficult.

With another sigh, she knocked on his door, and he opened a moment later, smiling slightly when he saw her.

She couldn’t help but smile back, even if the situation was serious. Seeing him just always made her heart flutter, an entirely new experience for her.

“Neria”, he greeted, the warmth in his voice making her heart beat even faster. “Did you need something?”

She nodded. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped back, walking over to the seating area of his room, and she opted to sit opposite of him, thinking it might be easier.

Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at him straight on, deciding it was best to just say this outright.

“You know that we have learned that to defeat the archdemon, a Warden has to die.”

“Let me…”, he interrupted, but she shook her head before he could get any further. There was no doubt that Loghain would offer to sacrifice himself, and Neria really didn’t want to hear that.

“No. Morrigan has found a way to prevent that. A ritual, I suppose, that will direct the essence of the archdemon elsewhere, so neither of us will have to die.”

Loghain nodded slowly, his brows furrowed. “So what is the downside?”

Neria almost smiled at that, because of course he would notice that it couldn’t be that easy.

“This ‘elsewhere’ has to be an unborn child, carrying the taint.” Neria took a deep breath, then she just said it. “You will have to sleep with her.”

Loghain looked stunned, not even blinking for a moment, then he frowned even deeper than before. “I don’t want…”

“I know you do not want to.” Neria sounded as gentle as she could, which was largely a foreign concept to her. “But it would save our lives.”

“You want me to do this.” Loghain sounded unhappy, which she could understand. It was not something she was asking lightly, but it was a solution, an opportunity they needed to take.

“I want us to live. And there is no one else.” She sighed. “Maybe I should have made Alistair stay after all. He would have finally been good for something.”

The corners of Loghain’s mouth twitched at that. “You really don’t like him.”

Neria shrugged. “He did not want to lead, then suddenly he throws a tantrum about it.” She rolled her eyes. “As if the Grey Wardens haven’t always conscripted criminals. And if he cannot see how important you are, how much I – we – need you, then he is even more of a fool than I thought.”

Loghain was clearly fighting a grin now. “Thank you.”

“Of course. But alas, he is gone, and here we are.” She sighed, and Loghain’s expression grew serious again.

“And you trust the witch?”

Neria could understand his doubts, she had had her own, but she trusted Morrigan. “She has no reason to lie.”

Loghain nodded once. “Then I will do my duty.”

At that, relief flooded her. “Thank you. I am glad you understand.” She had thought that he would need more convincing, but she should have expected that he would see the practical side, just like she had.

“I will tell Morrigan then.”

Neria got up, but before she left, she looked back at Loghain. She prided herself on being able to read people easily, and he looked resigned, sad almost. He wasn’t looking at her, his jaw set and his eyes hard, not at all how he had come to act around her, especially when they were alone, and oh.

This wasn’t right.

With a few quick steps, she was at his side, sitting down next to him, placing one hand on his clasped ones.

It still came as a surprise how much bigger his hands were than hers, but she liked that, liked how his hands felt holding hers, or touching her face or grabbing her hips to pull her closer.

She hadn’t learned yet how his touch felt everywhere, they had only kissed twice so far, and to her absolute surprise, she had liked it. She had only kissed one person before that and had found it disgusting, but with Loghain, it was different, just like the warmth in her chest and the fluttering of her stomach and the excited beat of her heart were different.

And now she had asked him to sleep with someone else. Of course he had to be thinking that she had changed her mind about him.

“Loghain”, she said softly, trying to put her feelings into her voice. “Please look at me.”

He sighed, then finally did as she asked, his expression dejected, she would almost say heartbroken, and her heart squeezed in turn.

“You misunderstand”, she started, and he frowned a little, the sadness still not leaving his eyes.

“What I am asking, I am asking because it is necessary. Because I do not want to die, and I do not want to see you die. Quite the opposite. I want to live. With you. Together, if we get that chance.” She swallowed, not used to baring her heart like that. “If you will still have me.”

“Neria.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Are you sure?”

“Of course”, she answered immediately. “It is just a chore like any other. It has no meaning for us.”

“Thank you.” He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, moving even closer in the process, and she felt herself blush, something that did not use to happen to her, no matter who was paying attention to her or admiring her, but with him, even the smallest gesture of affection did it.