When Donald is 4, he asks his mother about the name written in black on the inside of his wrist.

“Bertram,” he sounds it out. “Who’s that?”

His mother, still in her scrubs from work, kneels in front of him to look at his wrist. “Oh,” she says. “That’s...that’s your soulmate’s name, honey. Someday you’re going to meet Bertram and you’re going to fall in love and spend the rest of your lives together, and you’re going to be so happy.”

Donald furrows his brow. “But...but why’s it a boy’s name? And why don’t you have your soulmate?”

His mother straightens up, presses her hands to the small of her back and stretches. “Sometimes that happens, sweetheart.”

----

Nobody ever explains to Gilfoyle what the name on his wrist is - he figures it out on his own when the kids on the playground make fun of him. When he tells his mother that they’re bullying him cause his soulmate is a boy, she grimaces.

“Cover it up,” she spits. “Don’t tell anyone.”

So Gilfoyle goes through life covering his mark with sleeves and bracelets and avoiding anyone he meets who has the name Donald.

Until Jared tells Richard about Gavin changing his name on his first day at Hooli.

“My real name’s Donald,” he says, and Gilfoyle almost chokes on his coffee.

----

Donald doesn’t meet any Bertrams until his senior year macroeconomic theory professor, Bertram Gladwell. But Professor Gladwell is happily married, with two children Donald’s age, and one day Donald catches the name “Marie” on the inside of his wrist.

By the time he joins Pied Piper, he’s almost given up. And then, something in Gilfoyle’s file catches his eye.

“Bertram Gilfoyle,” he says softly, tracing the name with his finger. “Bertram.”

----

They run into each other in the kitchen.

“Bertram,” Jared says, at the same time as Gilfoyle says “Donald.”

They stand there looking at each other for a few moments, and then Jared slowly rolls up his sleeve and extends his wrist. Gilfoyle does the same, and they stare at the names next to each other.

“Well.” Gilfoyle says.

“Well.” Jared echoes.

And then Gilfoyle abruptly steps forward and grabs Jared’s face, pulling him down into a passionate kiss. Jared tenses at first, but then gets into the kiss, grabbing at Gilfoyle’s long hair. They don’t stop until Dinesh clears his throat and Jared immediately jumps back, his face red.

Oh damn, this is a good one. And I’m sorry this is probably not at all what you wanted but it reminded me of an idea I had a long time ago and never actually wrote. It’s a lil bit dark in places, so please bear that in mind! (Also I would like to say thank you to @ten-bobcats who convinced me not to be too embarrassed to post this.)

x - a flash of anger

It’s not that Richard hadn’t prepared himself for it. He had. Had heeded everyone’s warnings - the cases made against it - he’d taken them all into account. He was well-prepared for Jared’s oddness. His many idiosyncrasies. His near-constant allusions to a past filled with mysterious tumult and hurt. What Richard wasn’t prepared for - now that they were living together, on their own, away from the incubator, in their own lovely little house - was how helpless it all made him feel.

It’d been easier, perhaps, when they were surrounded by people. The house always so noisy, Jian Yang’s friends of friends in the den playing foosball, Dinesh and Gilfoyle bickering, so many distractions, and before they cashed out their shares in Pied Piper, always so much work to do.

But here, now, filling whole, long, wonderful, indulgent days with nothing but Jared, Richard can’t help but notice. How all of it is harder than he’d braced himself for. The stretches of silence, the hours Jared spends sitting alone in the dark, his occasional jumpiness, how he wakes up shouting, the unexplained - perhaps unexplainable - scars.

Tonight, Richard can’t sleep. Can’t make his anxious brain do anything but replay the way Jared had recoiled when he’d set his hand unexpectedly on his back in bed that morning. The small, tremorous sound of his voice as he pleaded, bitte nicht bitte nicht bitte nicht, still half-asleep and seemingly unaware of saying it. The flailing, bitter helplessness Richard had felt then. A feeling he believed they’d left behind them.

Richard resolves to demand answers. Which he does, that night, and Jared gives them willingly. Spills secrets into the darkness - asking only that Richard not repeat them - until it’s overtaken by the light of day.

“Wow. It feels good to have you know all this,” Jared says, with a laugh, a little shocked, as if he’d expected the opposite. 

And even then the gears are turning in the back of Richard’s head, plotting how he’ll use this information, how he will exact revenge. The violence he will do to Jared’s trust in him.

–

One soft knock. Then another.

Jared leans his ear against the door and beckons, gently, “Richard? Darling? You’ve been in there for hours. You sure everything’s okay?”

He tests the door and finds it open.

“Richard,” Jared starts, stepping tentatively into the room that doubles as Richard’s office and as the guest room they keep, where Richard had gone hours before, he said, to work on his latest project. Jared looks around the room, feeling an icy coldness wrap around his heart as he takes in the scene he sees there. Richard, his back turned toward Jared, hunched over his laptop, and there on the screen, a name Jared recognizes. A social security number. An address in Pennsylvania. A photograph of someone Jared hoped he’d never see again. And in the corner of the screen, a small chat window reveals Gilfoyle, following along and listening in.

“Richard,” Jared says. “What, ah. My goodness. What is going on here?”

Gilfoyle points, then, and Richard notices Jared. He tears his headphones off indelicately, spins around in his desk chair, and slams his laptop shut.

“Private information,” says Richard, weakly, fruitlessly, knowing that Jared has already seen.

“My god,” says Jared, and something dark and hard and angry flashes across his face. Something strange and unfamiliar. Something almost frightening. “Richard, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” says Richard. “Nothing yet.”

Jared fumes, frantically, reaching up to tug at the strands of his hair. “This is - goodness, Richard - you - you - you,” and he bites down on his lip, caging something else he wants to say inside it. He gestures wildly, erratically, with his hands. “What made you think digging into any of this was appropriate? And to involve other people? That it didn’t warrant” - Jared takes a breath here, closes his eyes briefly and steels himself, recalling all the times he was told be good be good be quiet and forcing down his anger, wondering vaguely where it is that it all goes - “at least a conversation with me?”

“This guy,” Richard splutters, gesturing lamely at his laptop. “Jared. He’s still out there. He has a fucking oncology practice. He has a fucking family.” And, because he can’t resist, Richard laughs a little maniacally and adds, “I could destroy his life with one fucking click if I wanted to. He’s lucky I haven’t. Yet.”

That night, and the one after, Richard sleeps in his office.

–

“Hey,” Richard says, softly, standing in the doorway, not sure if he’ll be welcome into their bedroom, and thinking that seems exactly fair. He watches the rise and fall of Jared’s shoulders where he lies, faced away on their bed. His breath too even, too well-measured, like a person feigning sleep.

Jared, for his part, doesn’t know what to feel exactly, at once sickened at the thought of Richard’s betrayal, and slightly, illicitly thrilled at the thought of Richard, his Richard, righteously angry, seeking revenge on his behalf.

“Jared,” Richard pleads, stepping into the room and kneeling by the edge of their bed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t - I didn’t. Jared. Jared. Look at me.”

Jared says nothing. His silence too silent, dragging on for long moments. And Richard doesn’t know what else to do or say.

“I love you,” says Richard, and something in Jared finally melts.

“Come here,” he says, turning around and holding up the covers, beckoning Richard into bed.

“Jared, I – “

“Shh. It’s alright,” Jared swears, and he means it, sincerely, moving on already, adding this to the catalog of things he’s buried in the past. “Richard. I forgive you.”

“You know I wasn’t really going to do anything,” Richard mumbles. “It was only - ah - only,” but he finds he can not finish the sentence. He feels a little like he’s choking, a bit like he might cry.

“I know, I know,” says Jared, kindly, generously, and he reaches out with cool fingers and touches Richard’s cheek. “I know how good indulging in a fantasy can feel.”

“Jared, you’re way too sick to go to work today, you need to stay home,” Monica says, as Jared doubles over in yet another coughing fit. 

“I’ll be fine,” Jared says when he finally catches his breath. “Just...where has that darned DayQuil hidden itself?”

“I hid it,” Monica says. “I’m not going to let you run yourself into the ground.”

Jared straightens up. “Monica, stop. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions. Now give me back the DayQuil.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Monica explodes, and immediately regrets it when Jared shrinks back, wide-eyed and terrified. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry, Jared, please don’t be scared.”

Jared sniffles, and Monica isn’t sure if it’s from his cold or because he’s crying, but she reaches out to him all the same and takes his hand in hers. “Shhh, shhh” she soothes, rubbing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. “Shhh, you’re safe now, you’re okay, I won’t hurt you.” She feels Jared relax as she keeps repeating “You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Sorry,” he says softly.

“It’s not your fault, baby, you didn’t do anything wrong. Now, how about you go back to bed and I’ll bring you some tea?” Monica says.

I have this headcanon that one of his housemates in college taught him to play Mario Kart and he loved it.