#kensposo

"You can move some of it," Barbie suggests gently. "He - "

"No," Ken snaps. Barbie flinches, and he squirms with guilt. He'll apologize later, when he has the energy. "I can't."

Ken closes his eyes, willing the onslaught of memories to leave him alone, but he knows it's wishful thinking. Ryan haunts his dreams, face contorted with rage, it's your fault I'm dead, why didn't you stay home, I thought you loved me?

Barbie, Gloria, and Sasha are kind enough to lie to him, but Ken wishes they would tell him the truth. It's all his fault; he already knows it, so what difference would it make? They probably talk about him, how worthless he is, how badly he fucked up. After all, they have plenty of time. They're holed up in the same house, and Ken's been cast aside, lost, adrift, and alone.

Ken buries his head in his hands. He's not being fair. They've been reaching out, trying to get him to talk, inviting him over and begging him to spend time with them. He can't make his hands reach for his phone. It's too much energy.

He doesn't matter that much anyway

"Maybe I should stay home." Ken puts his bag down and leans against the doorframe. Nervous energy buzzes through him, white-hot and angry. Ryan needs him. Why? Ken doesn't know. He only knows that he does.

Ryan swivels around in his seat and raises an eyebrow. "Ken, I'm fine. I've been looking at the screen for too long. I'm going to take some medicine, go to bed, and I'll be fine. It's a headache. Stop fretting."

Ken had gone off to work, trying to shake the uneasy feeling off. But Ryan didn't answer two, four, five and a half hours later. Six hours into his twelve hour shift, he races home, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The house was eerily silent, and Ken remembers the stairs creaking as he climbed them, getting tunnel vision as he walked down the hall and into the bedroom he shared with his husband.

A massive brain aneurysm, the doctors told him. He hadn't felt a thing.

Ken hasn't slept in his bed in weeks. Hasn't even entered the room. How is he ever supposed to go in that room again, surrounded by his clothes, his cologne, his side of the bed, empty and cold? The couch is fine. It's not the comfiest to sleep on, but that's fine.

Ken doesn't deserve comfort. He's a paramedic. He has pretty damn good instincts, instincts that were screaming at him to stay home that day, instincts that he ignored.

Ryan's dead, because he failed him. His husband's trust lay cradled in the palm of his hand, and Ken broke it. Destroyed it. He's existed for over seventy-five years. Ryan didn't even get fifty.

They didn't even get ten years together. Seven years isn't enough time for anything. They had so many plans! And it slipped through his fingers, because even years after becoming human, he's an idiot who makes the same mistakes over and over.

He never deserved Ryan anyway. It should've been him.

But it wasn't, and he just knows that his family thinks the same.

It's fine. He doesn't need them.

Matt rolls his eyes. If it were anyone else, he'd take offense to it. He playfully flicks Ken's shoulder, ignoring his indignant gasp. "How do you do that? How do you just...Know which strings are which?"

"Oh. That?" Ken's blue eyes flit between Matt and the guitar. He studies the other man for a long moment, and Matt swallows. "It's kind of hard to explain. I can teach you, though!"

"Oh, that's fine, I won't -"

Ken ignores his protests, sliding the strap off his shoulder and onto Matt's before Matt can so much as blink, sticking out his tongue in concentration. Matt's heart swells with fondness. It's one of the many quirks he loves about his partner. Ken positions the guitar and sits back for a moment.

"That feel okay?"

What's it supposed to feel like? The acoustic guitar is heavier than he expected. Matt glides his pinky over it. The material is cool and smooth under his skin, strings still warm from Ken's hands. Okay, maybe he's imagining that part, but Matt offers him a one-shouldered shrug. "I guess?"

There's a soft chuckle, and Ken scrambles to his feet. White sneakers crunch on gravel, and then his partner is behind him, warm and solid. Matt turns his head, capturing Ken in a chaste kiss before turning back to the guitar. Ken's hands wrap around his own, marveling at the fact that they dwarf his own.

"It's a bit easier to show you. So, the first string is E." Ken positions Matt's finger, and Matt gives it a strum. He closes his eyes. It's a bass note that reminds him of Ken's voice - soothing. But without the uniqueness.

"See! You just played your first note. How's that feel?"

Matt grins. "Teach me how to play a chord, and I'll let you know."

Ken tuts. "Cheeky. Relax, young grasshopper, and learn from the master."

It's intimate in a way Matt's never experienced before. Warm, steady hands guide clumsy fingers across the strings, voice low and soothing as the man behind him allows a newcomer to inhabit a critical part of his world.

When Matt plays his first chord, it's awkward and off key. He winces and turns back to face Ken, embarrassed. "Sorry, I forgot where the G was and - "

But Ken's lopsided grin is wide and excited. "You played your first chord! Look at that!"

"It was off key, wasn't it?"

Ken shrugs. "Who cares? You still did it. No one's perfect on the first try, babe."

Oh.

"What do you think? Wanna try again?"

It's intimidating. How does Ken play complicated songs on this? How has he memorized every string, how to strum to get the exact sound he wants? But more than anything, he wants Ken's expert hands on his, guiding him, cradling like Matt's the most important thing in the world.

Though he was eager to enter into a relationship with Liam, Ken was not ready for intimacy. Kissing and cuddling he enjoys very much. Holding hands? Sign him up! He’ll proudly introduce Liam as his boyfriend with zero hesitation. But he’s overwhelmed whenever his partner’s tongue delves into his mouth, and blushes deeply whenever someone mentions the subject or there’s an intimate scene in a show.

He has never had anything like this before. He’s only been human a few months, and he hasn’t had romantic contact with anyone but Liam. 

And though he claims he’d like to eventually, he just isn’t there yet. Liam promises to take it slow with him. He doesn’t put any pressure, he respects whatever boundaries Ken sets – or asks permission to try something he thinks he’ll like. (He likes when Liam sucks at his throat. Very much. Sometimes he likes it so much he needs a cold shower.)

Liam offered to give him The Talk, knowing this might be part of it. Ken stammers out that he received The Talk already when he went to file his paperwork with Mattel. Aaron Dinkins had been awkward as hell about it, but at least he’d been thorough. Ken even knows how it works with two guys. “I think about it sometimes,” he admits with face aflame. “You above me.” But he is unable to continue the conversation after that, going as far as fleeing the room entirely.

If they got together on Christmas, it’s only been a little over a month. Liam’s not in a rush to hit ‘milestones’ or whatever. Having Ken at all seems like a blessing he’d never dared to hope for, not after everything with Gloria. He’d rather court him properly, for as long as Ken wishes him to. (He doesn’t even know if Ken possesses the drive for any of that, anyway.) With Valentine’s Day around the corner, he tries to think up some activities that focus on other things. There are plenty to choose from.

Flowers seem like a good place to start. Step two: probably a very nice dinner at a restaurant, but not the stuffy kinds that will need a reservation, something more cozy and casual. And an activity. Hiking? A movie? Beach? He stresses about it, because he’s sure Ken has never been wooed before and he wants to make it special without overwhelming him. The flowers will have meaning to him, probably more than most. But skip the reds and pinks and roses – that’s tired. He chooses the things that remind him of Ken: sunflowers and gaily colored daisies, curling stems weighted with jewel-like snapdragons, and sunny orange California poppies (he even picked most of them himself). He carves a shell into their initials and threads it into the ribbon around the vase. There. Ken’s going to love it when he gets home.

What he doesn’t expect is for Ken to walk through the door with flowers in his hand. He looks nervous at first, his mouth opening and closing at the sight of Liam standing there. Then his gaze falls to the vase on the table, and his brows rocket upward in surprise. Their eyes meet, and Ken crosses the room to press his own blooms to Liam’s chest. “I, uh,” his face goes red. “These are for you.”

The bouquet is a muted palette of purpley blues and indigos from the bulbs of hydrangea, bursts of thistle, and shoots of delphinium. The surprise is the hazy cream of the plumerias dotting the arrangement like stars in a night sky, and he has never seen anything like it. “They’re beautiful,” Liam breathes, surprised that he’s this overcome. He’s not the person who gets flowers. That’s never been a thing in his life, so he’d never entertained the thought of its possibility. “Thank you.” He pulls the man in for a floral-scented kiss, and pushes the vase toward him. “I got you some, too.”

The sunny colors of the flowers add a warm glow to Ken’s face as he smiles into them and they smile back. “I didn’t think- no one’s ever-” he begins giddily, then trails off, lifting his eyes to Liam’s once more, his excitement relaxing into a contented smile. “I love them.”

“I was planning to-”

“I was thinking of-”

They break off, staring at each other. “You go,” Ken concedes.

“Nah,” Liam thinks he does that too much. “You first.”

Even something so small makes Ken go all melty. He deliberates through a bashful smile, momentarily at a loss for words, but Liam doesn’t rush him. “I was hoping you’d let me treat you tonight. I was gonna cook, and then…maybe we could catch the sunset on the beach?”

“Oh, I-” Liam stutters in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be on the receiving end of being wooed. “Are you sure? I was kinda hoping to spoil you, too.”

Ken’s smile is bittersweet, but not upset. “I think you’ve done enough spoiling the people you care about and getting nothing in return,” he tells his boyfriend, and Liam’s heart lurches against his ribs. “Besides…I’d really like to romance someone who actually wants it. Whaddya say?”

How can he deny that? Liam tosses his half-made plans out the mental window. “I’d like that.”

It isn’t anything over the top. They go bowling, until Ken accidentally throws the ball two lanes over – then it’s a very quick pivot to mini golf. Ken is only slightly less of a hazard at this, and wields his putter like a baseball bat – but that gives Liam a chance to flirt by demonstrating how to swing. “Here, let me show you.” Sure, Ken is taller than him, and beefier. But sliding his hands down those arms, framing him with his own body, leeching the animal heat out of him, has Liam’s breath coming quicker. Ken remains focused on the putt, but as they separate Liam catches flushed cheeks, the way he gulps and stammers. Ken gives him several opportunities to…teach.

The only absurd thing is what Ken cooks for dinner, and it’s only absurd in how absurdly good it is: pan-seared duck in orange fig sauce. They find a use for the bottle of nonalcoholic wine Liam had procured for the night, and enjoy their meal by candlelight.

Liam can’t remember the last time he had a candlelit dinner. Some girl he dated after college, probably. Or was it the guy? And there were those swanky restaurants with Gloria on big anniversaries, but neither of them had lit those candles themselves. This is…intimate. Like there is a curtain around them, shutting out the rest of the world. Just the two of them in the flickering light, with some exquisitely good food. And the company is… Liam has to tear his eyes away as Ken licks his fingers, ignoring the heat the other man obliviously inspires with the most innocent of actions.

They walk hand in hand along the rippling beach, carrying their sandals. The seagulls cry. The dune grasses crackle in the sea breeze. The palm leaves flutter coy hellos from their gently swaying treetops. The water crashes against the shore, fizzling its way up the sand only to teasingly retreat again. The sun sinks toward the horizon, blazing and golden, the angles of its light playing out in orange and red on the broken surface of the water and the dreamy streaks of clouds above. His Ken in this moment is bathed in a golden glow. They pause as the sun sinks below the horizon, one more day come to a close.

“Thanks for taking me out, Ken.”

“Thanks for letting me,” Ken says with giddy shyness, letting his forehead rest against his boyfriend’s.

“I love you,” Liam hushes with the sea.

“I love you too,” Ken breathes with the breeze.

It’s peaceful like this, just the two of them as night falls, the waft of one another’s breath, the warmth of one another’s arms, before at last they turn toward home.

And, surprise bonus, Ken lets Liam touch his butt! 

Liam’s totally getting him back, though. Not just butt touching – he’s still planning on spoiling Ken just as earnestly as Ken is spoiling him. He’s got dibs on their next big date night, and he fully intends to go all out.