#frostbek

if u ignore the fact im still working on their anatomy it’s peak

The alley Torbek slept in behind the carnivalé was cozy. He’d stayed in many hovels and streets in his life, all varying degrees of livable, but Karnivalé LeCroux’s twists and turns always felt especially homey. The particular tilt of the walls kept the damp out especially well, the sun hit the dumpster just right at high noon, and when he laid down to sleep the view of the stars overhead mixed with the festival lights felt almost magical. The area is unbothered enough that he can even keep his few worldly items nearby, and no one even throws things at him here.

One day, he finds it even tidier and more snug than normal: the slime oozing from the walls is now almost nonexistent, and the abandoned crates pushed to the wall have even been alphabetized. Mr. Morning— Frost is standing nearby (“‘Frost’ is fine,” the Tabaxi had said during his first week of employment, as a very sweaty Torbek had fumbled through a greeting while avoiding eye contact), using his invisible-brain-hand to upend a fallen box. While Torbek stumbles through a thank-you (because there is no way Frost doesn’t known he lives there; Torbek is aware he’s well-known among his cohorts, and not favorably) he asks offhand “you really like organiiiizing stuuuuff, huh?” Just something to fill the silence. Frost tilts his head, taking it as seriously as he does everything else, considering. Gives Torbek a look that the bugbear can’t really decipher.

“Yes, it calms me. I dislike sloppiness.” And off he goes.

Torbek knows he probably, maybe, didn’t mean anything by it. Frost is really, really nice. He teaches Torbek to read sometimes, and speaks to him kindly, and now he’s cleaned where he lives. He couldn’t do all those things if he disliked Torbek. Right?

-

Many years later— for Torbek, anyway— the bugbear has woken next to Frost twice now and still feels like he’s in a dream. The very first night the two of them were so exhausted all Torbek could focus on was the untethered, unreal feeling of Frost next to him. The next, he’s a little more aware and also has a much harder time sleeping. He keeps waking up to make sure Frost is next to him, and then trying (and spectacularly failing) to suppress the butterflies every time he is. When the sun is filtering through the tent’s canvas, Frost’s eyelids flutter open. His heart starts knocking loudly against his ribs almost immediately.

“Hiiii,” he whispers as soft as he can (Kremy is somewhere just outside prepping breakfast), tucking in close.

“Hello,” Frost says, soft, looking up at him shyly through his lashes. Torbek grumbles happily and curls around him, earning a pleased purr that Frost badly tries to hide by tucking his head into the bugbear’s chest. All it really accomplishes is making his entire chest hum and vibrate with the sound: he’s pretty sure some faecurse could brutally take him out right now and he’d still die happy. His fantasy moment is quickly shattered, however, as Frost makes to get up. Torbek lets out an involuntary startled, sad noise; it’s not time for him to get up and meditate yet. He knows because he made sure to get up before then specifically for some extra cuddling time.

“Where are you goiiiiing?”

“I just have to use the restroom for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Torbek sulks anyway as the Tabaxi slinks off. “Okaaaaay.”

While Frost is gone, he tries very hard not to think about how this is easily the longest anyone has tolerated physical affection from Torbek. While Torbek knows logically that Frost would never be mean enough to lead him into a relationship (is that even what this is? He’s too afraid to ask) purely out of polite obligation, his heart is less sure. Especially after being burned so many times.

What if he did leave because he found Torbek disgusting? What if he had awoken and immediately realized the terrible mistake he’d made? Honestly, he probably left just to try and formulate a way to let Torbek down gently—

“What’re you smirkin’ about?” He hears Mr. Kremy say just outside, trying and failing to keep his voice down.

“Hmm? Wh-what?” Frost is much more successful at keeping quiet. “Are you referring to me?”

“You see anyone else up right now? ‘S ass o’clock in the morning and you’re comin’ back from a piss grinnin’ ear-to-ear like a damn weirdo. What’re you so happy for?”

“Not all of us get up in a bad mood,” Frost scoffs evasively, before ducking into the tent and quickly tying the flap. He jumps a little when he turns and notices Torbek leering at him, expression schooled back into his usual default of cool detachment. Torbek does his best to break it with several calculated eyebrow maneuvers.

“Yes, yes.” Frost grumbles as Torbek continues to perform. “I— I know you heard that. That’s quite enough.” The insides of his ears are very pink. Softer, he adds, “Come over here.”

-

The Frost that looks at him now isn’t the same Frost who jealously taught him the wrong letters and looked down on him for his filthiness. Even though Torbek knows this, the words from all those years ago still sting. When they bunk and hunker down at a relatively shady inn for the night, Torbek quickly volunteers to stay behind with the supplies while everyone else shops: the place is shabby, but a quick glance into the bathroom shows a relatively large tub.