#pdh garroth

Her boys had grown out of her help. Garroth was doing well for himself in high school and was in and out of the house constantly. Baseball practice, tutoring, work, anything. Zianna wasn't too sure what he always did when he wasn't home, but she trusted her oldest.

Zane had been in a rebellious phase lately. He didn't want Zianna's help for anything and wanted to be independent. Something in Zianna's heart cracked the first time he told her no when she noticed a rip in his pants and asked if they needed mending. "I'm not a baby anymore," he'd said. It had been a painfully sharp reminder.

And Vylad . . . Vylad saw how his mom felt and tried, but he was a billion times smarter than Zianna had ever been. The only help he really ever needed was with homework, but the methods had changed and it had been so long since Zianna had actually learned the material that she didn't know how to do it anymore.

But food she was good at. She could make sure everyone in her house—resident or guest—was well fed. She took a sort of pride in it, seeing as Garte wasn't particularly good at it and her children were too busy to make anything for themselves aside from cups of ramen. Cooking belonged to Zianna.

She was humming as she ascended the stairs, balancing a silver tray in one hand and lifting a jug of chilled tea in the other. Garroth's door was clicked shut when it entered her field of vision, and she thought nothing of it until she heard hushed laughing behind the door.

Her brows furrowed and her steps slowed the closer she got. Zianna set the gallon of tea on the ground and placed her ear by the door, trying to listen through the slab of wood.

“Garroth.” Your tone was intended to be firm, but the laugh in your voice kept it from sounding that way. "we are not making Ryan Reynolds the idol of our country."

"Why not? He'd be a great idol."

"What are we gonna do, kidnap him and force him to lead our country?"

"Maybe."

Another burst of laughter sounded behind the door, and Zianna found herself smiling. She turned the knob, gently pushing Garroth’s door open. He sat at his desk, laptop open but not paying it any thought. No, is his gaze was focused on where you laid on the floor, holding your stomach and trying to catch your breath.

Zianna couldn’t imagine what was so funny about Ryan Reynolds being the idol being of a fake country, but she was sure there was a load of much needed context.

“What are we laughing about?” she asked, stepping inside and clearing a corner of Garroth’s desk to set the silver tray down.

“Nothing,” Garroth replied, the final remnants of laughter falling from his lips.

Well that was odd, Zianna thought. Garroth never answered her questions with nothing.

She raised a brow at her son. He didn’t seem to quite understand what the look meant, but Zianna saw his eyes slightly widen and watched him give the subtlest shake of his head. She took a moment, but decided not to question it—for now.

“I brought you kids snacks!” Zianna quickly changed the topic (another thing she was good at) and motioned excitedly toward the tray of homemade snacks and jug of tea. “You aren’t allergic to anything, are you, dear?” she asked you. “If you are just let me know and I’ll whip something up for you.”

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, pulling your legs to your chest and shaking your head with a kind smile. “No, I don’t have any allergies. Thank you, Mrs. Ro’meave.”

Zianna couldn’t tell if you were lying just to be nice or not. “Okay,” she drew out the word, crossing her arms and leaning against Garroth’s doorway. "But if you're allergic or don't like anything, let me know. I won't let my son's friends go hungry. And please, call me Zianna."

Your smile seemed to widen, and you nodded. "Okay. Thank you again, Mrs. Zianna."

Zianna hummed. She spared Garroth one last glance before slipping out of the room. She stepped to the side so she could see when he shut the open door behind her and continued a muffled conversation on the other side. She held her ear up once again and heard you softly laughing. Again.

On her way back to the kitchen, Zianna called Sylvanna.

"Sylvanna," she started before the other woman could even offer a greeting. "You need to come over. I think Gar Gar is hiding something."

Okay, maybe she had pitched a more intriguing line than what was actually happening, but Zianna was curious. And, she reasoned, there was nothing else for her to do.

—

Let me tell you the plan:

Zianna would go back up to Garroth's room, phone in hand. She would discreetly take the undoubtedly emptied silver tray. On her way out, she would accidentally leave her phone. Sylvanna showed Zianna something that Aphmau had showed Sylvanna, which was that you could click the little ear in your phone's setting and connect earbuds, which would allow you to listen in on whatever was going on in the same room your phone was in.

Zianna thought it was genius. If that didn't work, of course, then she and Sylvanna decided that they'd situate themselves outside and crack the window. Or attach a microphone to the end of a stick and shove it under Garroth's door and figure out how to work whatever technology went with that.

The plan is a go—Zianna made her way back upstairs. She knocked on the door to announce her presence and slipped in before she got a proper answer. She gave a sweet smile and reached for the empty silver tray and dug her hand in her pocket and—

Where was her phone?

Don't panic. Don't panic. Okay. She forgot her phone downstairs. How great. Okay, that's fine. She could work with this.

Sylvanna popped up from her seat at the dining room table when Zianna descended the stairs. In two strides she was falling into step beside her friend, fondling with the wireless earbuds she had brought from home.

Zianna groaned. "I left my phone down here!" And, like a taunt from hell, light glinted off of Zianna's phone screen. The phone that sat on the counter. That she was meant to take upstairs.

"Okay. Okay!" Sylvanna was definitely way too energetic for an evening scheme. "That's okay! This is exactly why we made a plan B."

Plan A was a complete flop, but Plan B was going much better. Zianna searched the garage for the ladder Garte used to hang the Christmas lights every year and situated it in the yard. Sylvanna, the ever brave and kind soul she was, volunteered to climb the tall ladder with the confidence of a rooster.

"Uh . . . Mom?" Zianna nearly jumped out of her skin at the voice, but relaxed when she realized it was her youngest. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, sweet pea! Mommy's just having some fun with her friend." She gives a strained chuckle, holding on to the ladder with a white-knuckled grip to provide some kind of stability for Sylvanna.

"Right . . ." Vylad's eyes flick between his mom and the window. "Isn't that Garroth's room?"

"What?" Zianna had never been very good at pretend. She glanced up at the window and gasped dramatically. "Is it? Sylvanna was just checking the gutter but what a coincidence! Say, you don't know anything about Gar Gar's friend, do you?"

Sylvanna was crouching, trying very hard not to get herself tangled in the tree while trying to peer into Garroth's window. Vylad, not knowing how he was even supposed to respond, slowly shook his head.

"Do you mean Y/n?"

"Yes?"

Vylad shrugged. "I know they have a lot of classes with Garroth, but I've never really talked to them."

Zianna hummed. "Does Gar Gar talk about them?"

It took a moment for Vylad to shake his head, but he did. Slowly. That's how Zianna knew he was lying, and when she sharpened her gaze her son relented. "Listen, I don't know that Garroth would want me to tell you about his business."

"What? Why not?" Zianna's volume level was enough to say why—she was loud. Often. Vylad wasn't entirely sure she knew what a whispering voice was.

"Because, you do things like—" Sylvanna yelped, and seconds later Vylad watched a flash fall into the bushes against the house. His eyes widened, watching as Sylvanna sat up. "That."

“Sylvanna! Are you okay?” Zianna, any questions about why Garroth wouldn’t want her to know about whoever was up in his room gone, rushed to pull her friend out of the bushes. Vylad, not wanting to get caught up in whatever that was, stepped back into the house and retreated to his room.

Garroth opened his window, pushing the screen forward and popping his head out. You tentatively peered over his shoulder.

“What was that?” he called down. From where she was, Zianna could barely see the top of your head.

“Nothing, Gar Gar! Don’t worry, Sylvanna just tripped.”

“Right . . .” Even knowing that he probably should be worried about it, Garroth chose to ignore whatever was going on and shut his window.

Another plan foiled. Finding out how someone felt about someone else was a lot more difficult than Zianna remembered. Before the information was exchanged through giggly and hushed conversation during sleepovers. Now . . . Well, maybe it was because she wasn’t exactly having sleepovers with her son that it was so difficult.

—

“Is your mom always this, uhm . . .” You trail off, not wanting to say the wrong thing and offend Garroth.

“Nosy?” he finishes for you. “Yes. Usually it’s more endearing and funny, but this is . . .”

“Annoying? A complete invasion of privacy?”

“Exactly.” A short laugh is shared between you two—something genuine but somewhat performative on the surface. Like you were both scared of laughing too loud. “It’s weird. This is the first time I’ve ever been annoyed by it. I usually kind of feed into it as a joke but this time I want . . .”

Like he had been about to reveal a big secret, Garroth paused. His gaze flicked, focusing on your own instead of the corner of his room. Whatever he had been about to say was clearly something he didn’t want to say in front of you.

He cleared his throat. “How was your stats test?”

You groaned, lifting your hands and dragging them down your face in self-disappointment. “I bombed it so bad. I’ll be surprised if I get above a twenty.”

You continued ranting about the test—about how you could never remember how to find the standard deviation of a distribution and as a result always just came up with a random number—but Garroth found himself tuning you out. Not that he meant to. Never in a million years would he want to miss what you had to say, but he enjoyed just watching and listening to you. Your voice was like a comforting cadence, one he might play to make himself relax.

He was paying enough attention, though. “You can always go in to retake the test, right?”

You sighed. “Yeah, but my teacher just has such a complicated schedule for it. I swear, it changed every week and he doesn’t even update us.” You rolled your eyes, and when you checked the notification that made your phone ding, you frowned. “I should start heading home.”

Garroth hoped without realizing that you were frowning because your time with him was being cut shot. He thought for certain that’s what it was, since he couldn’t think of any other reason for your mood to so suddenly dampen, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

He helped you pack your things back into your backpack and walked you to the front door. He took note of the fact that Sylvanna had left the house and his own mother was lurking in the living room, pretending to look busy by picking at her cuticles when Garroth knew she was trying to listen in.

He stepped onto the porch with you and closed the door behind him, hoping that was enough of a hint for Zianna.

“This was fun,” you said. “We should have another study date where we actually get something done.”

Garroth chuckled—light, charming in the way he knew to be to impress. “Yeah, we should. I know you’ll be busy soon, so we can work around that.”

You nodded, not knowing what else to add to the conversation but lingering anyway. After a long moment, you finally said, “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Garroth.”

He smiled. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

You gave him one last smile before turning and stepping off the porch. Garroth watched until you had walked down the street a good ways away from him before turning, jumping when he saw that his mother was standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

She had that sly smile on her face. “How was your friend?” she asked sweetly, innocently enough for Garroth to think she was genuinely curious.

He knew better.

“Good.” It was curt; vague on purpose. He gave Zianna a tight lipped smile before stepping back into the house and locking the door behind him. His hand lingered against the doorknob, wondering if he was strolling through your thoughts the same way you seemed to waltz through his.

He took a breath. Garroth knew better, but maybe taking advice from a married person would benefit him. Carefully, slowly, he met Zianna’s gaze. She was looking at him expectantly, almost like a wolf waiting for its slice of steak.

“Mom,” he began cautiously, wondering if he could dip at the very last second and redirect, “when you like someone—”

Zianna clapped, a short cheer falling from her lips. How clever she was, she thought, to have figured it out before Garroth told her.

He waited until she calmed again. “How can you be sure that you like them?”

Zianna hummed, wordlessly directing Garroth to the living room, where she sat beside him on the couch. She really considered his question, knowing her son had a tendency to focus on one person for a short period before moving on.

“Well, it depends. It was different for me and Garte, since we married out of a necessity of sorts,” she started, crossing her arms and leaning back on the couch. “But . . . Well, I suppose I knew I really liked him when I realized he was at least making an effort, even if we weren’t in love.”

Garroth’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he got me flowers often. It seemed like every time a bouquet died he would give me. fresh one.” She smiled fondly at the memory, turning to Garroth. “Obviously they don’t get you flowers. But when you start noticing the small things, I think, is when most people realize.”

For a moment, Garroth considered this in the lingering silence, the echo of Zianna’s words ringing in his ears. When he started to notice the small things?

There was the pins on your bag—something he was sure everyone saw but not like he did. Sometimes Garroth went into a store for the sole purpose of finding a pin for you to clip onto your bag or school lanyard or anywhere else a pin could go. He noticed how you always leaned closer to read the notices on the school board—the font was too small, you said, so you needed to lean in.

Hm, Garroth thought. Maybe I’m more involved than I thought.

literally forgot how to flirt so if anyone notices stiff dialogue between garroth and the reader no you don’t :)

anyways hope you guys enjoyed this! i realize that i kind of accidentally switched between tenses? and that it ends kind of abruptly?? but i wanted to make it fluffy and kind of goofy to stay sort of in style with the early series so i think it’s okay…

divider by @/saradika-graphics and @/cafekitsune

first Sketch doodle thing of this concept, just flat stiff figures floating in nothing