Rich

Davey grinned when his words pulled a surprised laugh out of Rich, exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. Though Davey did suspect that if Rich had dreamed of him at all—which it seemed like he had, just like Davey dreamed of Rich—at least some of them involved Davey naked in his bed. Even if they didn’t involve sex. All the soft moments they’d shared in Rich’s bed Davey had been naked for. Clothes weren’t something they spent a lot of time in at Rich’s apartment. Which had been nice, if not embarrassing for poor Timmy. He’d seemed to have gotten over it, though. Davey let out a soft chuckle at Rich’s answer. His smile softening at Rich’s question. “Sometimes,” he murmured. He’d dreamed about Rich a lot of different ways since the last time they were together. Sometimes naked and cuddling in Rich’s bed, Rich smiling at him in the morning light. Sometimes it was more heated than that. “Other times I’d dream I was naked and you were painting me.” They had plenty of memories of that too; Rich loved painting Davey and Davey loved posing for him, mostly because he liked watching Rich paint and being his model gave Davey the best view of all the ways Rich’s expression would change when he was concentrating. The way he’d get lost in the work but then catch Davey’s eyes and look at him like he was something worth painting. “In my favorite dream,” he continued, his fingers tracing gently over the skin on Rich’s lower back, “You’re wearing a Prides shirt and that Prides hat Jenny got you, and you’re sitting between her and Timmy in those matching hats and you’re all waving at me,” he said with a soft smile that faded just a touch. It was a bittersweet memory. All of his favorite people together at his favorite place, smiling at him and at each other, just a couple months before Davey lost all of it. But not all of it. He was back in Richie’s arm. 

Rich didn’t know if Davey had really dreamed of him naked because humans could lie. But he wanted to believe Davey wouldn’t lie to him now, just like he’d felt certain before everything went terribly wrong that Davey wouldn’t. Even though Davey had clearly missed him, clearly still wanted to be with him, because he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be.  Rich was surprised to learn that Davey had dreamt of him  in any way but terrible ones. He smiled softly at the thought. The smile growing when Davey talked about Richie painting him. “My muse,” he murmured. Davey had always been very patient wit hthe fact that Richie loved painting him. They were some of Richie’s favorite memories of their time together. It had been hard at first to go back to painting because of it. But drawing and painting had always been Rich’s escape even as a kid so he’d been drawn back to it eventually. As soft as those memories where the next one had even more regret tainting it. Jenny. Realistically Richie knew what happened to Jenny wasn’t his fault. He might not have even been able to prevent it. But he still felt responsible for what had been done to her. Riche held Davey a little tighter. It was hard t talk around the lump the memory caused in his throat but he did so anyway.  He chose his words carefully. Wanting to make sure that there was no room for Davey to doubt what he felt. “I remember that day. It was one of the happiest times of my life.” It was important to Richie that Davey know that. That  he knew that everything before their breakup had been real. Richie hadn’t faked any of it. He didn’t want any of Davey’s memories of Jenny that involved him to be tainted with any doubts about his feelings especially.

Davey smiled against Rich’s lips at that happy noise he made when Davey kissed him. A soft, contented sigh lost against Rich’s lips as Davey felt his fingers curling into his shirt. Wearing a shirt in Rich’s bed was new, not at all their norm, but Rich didn’t seem to mind it. A silent sort of indication that it was okay that Davey wasn’t exactly the same as he’d been the last time they were together. The scars hiding under the shirt were proof of that, but they were also the least of the differences in Davey. There was still a small part of him that worried maybe he was too different. Too damaged from the Veela. Maybe it was selfish of him to show up in Rich’s life again. Only Davey noticed the changes in Rich, too. Not just the physical, though Rich was a little more muscular probably from all the times Davey saw him training with Nik. But Rich also seemed more settled, somehow. Steadier, even though he was apparently involved in something that could save Timmy but might hurt him. Steadier in a way Davey needed now, maybe, and maybe in a way that meant he wouldn’t mind if Davey didn’t wake up happy every morning like he used to. He was happy this morning, though. Mostly. There was a tinge of sadness underneath it; maybe that would always be there, the empty space Jenny left. But with Rich back, the empty space in Davey’s heart was filled halfway back up. A little more, maybe, when Rich spoke, calling him love in a way Davey didn’t think he’d hear again and kissing him again. Davey moved his hand on Rich’s side around to his back, pulling Rich as close as he could get him. “Me too,” he murmured softly at Rich’s whispered words, stealing another soft kiss. “Know how I know it’s not a dream?” He said afterwards, kissing Rich once more then pulling back so he could smile at him. “I betcha would have dreamed me naked.” 

He liked that sigh he felt more than heard. That feeling of Davey being happy here in his arms. It was all he wanted. It didn’t matter that Davey was wearing a shirt. That things weren’t exactly how they were. Rich just wanted the chance to make Davy happy again. Succeed this time. He hoped anyway. There was a slight fear that he might screw it all up again. The same one he felt with Timmy. Things were so good there it was throwing him off kilter a little. Still waiting to do something stupid and piss Timmy off. Only this time he wasn’t giving in to what felt inevitable. It also helped that Timmy knew the truth. Maybe that would help with Davey too. Or maybe Davey would remember that he wasn’t who Davey had thought he was. For now it was enough that Davey was pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. It wasn’t hard to just enjoy their kisses and let himself hope. “Hmm,” he asked when Davey asked him about knowing it’s not a dream. His words surpsirsd Rich enough that he laughed. Given that Davey hadn’t wanted to be naked around him it was maybe something he shouldn’t admit to. Only he couldn’t lie. He also didn’t want to lie to Davey. “It’s no secret I’ve always liked you naked. Particularly naked in my bed. So you may have a point.” Never mind that his dreams of Davey did not involve Davey naked. Except for those awful few of him and Georgie that Rich did not want to think about ever. Because the problem with seeing your ex with someone else, taunting you with their relationship, was that you knew exactly how your ex would look enjoying himself so it wasn’t hard to picture a realistic version of things. “And what about you? Would you have dreamed me naked,” he asked instead of dwelling on things.

Davey grinned when he got that small smirk from Rich, the very same one he’d been hoping to get with his comment about all the not sleeping they’d done in Rich’s bed. He liked that look. But he also liked that softer look Rich gave him. Davey had seen glimpses of Rich’s softness from the beginning. It was one of the things that drew him in. So he’d been surprised, as he got to know Rich better, to discover that Rich didn’t show that soft part of him to many other people. Just Timmy. It made Davey love that softness even more, knowing that it was something special that Rich chose to let him see. Now, he thought, maybe it was another sign everything really had been real. Not just Veela magic. Rich may know how to put on that sort of facade, but that wasn’t what Davey ever got from him. Davey wasn’t entirely sure why that was, what about him had made Rich decide to let his guard down and let Davey in like that, but it was precious and special and Davey loved him for it. Davey let out a soft, happy noise when Rich kissed his nose again. “Me either,” he answered, leaning up to kiss Rich’s chin. “I can’t believe you’re real,” he kissed Rich on the chin again then scooted up a little bit so he could rub his nose against Rich’s, nuzzling into him. There was so much outside of this room that made everything far from perfect, but right now Davey let himself shut all that out and exist in this perfect warmth, just him and Rich snuggled up in Rich’s bed. The rest of the world could wait. With that in mind, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Rich’s lips. 

Richie’s smile grew at that happy noise Davey made. He chuckled softly when Davey kissed his chin. “I can’t believe you’re really here,’ he answered. Davey nuzzling into him like he always did. Richie had thought about that too. How much he missed the little touches not just the sex stuff. The snuggling and the way Davey seemed to just love being close to him. He loved it too. All things he never thought he’d have again. It didnt’ matter that Davey was wearing a shirt and boxers or that he’d slept in boxers too. Davey was in his arms. Kissing him. Richie made a happy noise against Davey’s lips. His fingers on Davey’s back curled around the shirt he was wearing. “Morning, love,” he whispered softly, lips brushing against Davey’s after the kiss. He couldn’t resist leaning in for another kiss. “If this is a dream I hope I don’t wake up,” he whispered after that kiss ended. At least not till it turned. But his dreams about Davey weren’t like this. Soft and sweet. Davey looking at him like he still loved hm instead of that look of betrayal he’d gotten. It was a look that had stayed with him, haunting him. Seeing Davey smile at him again was like the first day of spring after a long, cold winter. He wanted to bottle it up.

A soft smile pulled at Davey’s lips when he heard Rich’s voice answer him, sounding about as unsure as Davey was that this was real. And as hopeful as he was, too. Maybe that meant this wasn’t a dream after all. That kiss on his nose certainly felt real. Davey was also pretty sure that whenever he dreamed about Rich, he didn’t question whether it was a dream; he just woke up disappointed. But he was scared to open his eyes, to let himself wake up and feel that disappointment again. Davey didn’t think he could handle that disappointment on top of knowing that Jenny was gone. Then again, if this was a dream, Jenny wouldn’t be gone. And he wouldn’t feel sort from all the running he did the night before. So Davey let his eyes flutter open, blinking in the sunlight coming through Rich’s windows, his own soft smile widening a touch as he was met with the sight of Rich smiling at him. His heart—bruised and broken as it was from everything he’d learned yesterday—beat a little faster, reminding him that it was still there, that it could still function. He smiled again at Rich’s words. “You are too,” he murmured back, almost surprised that this dream didn’t fall apart the moment he spoke. It really was real. “I missed waking up with you,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against Rich’s skin where it sat on his side. “And sleeping with you.” He added, and then, “And not sleeping with you.” He smiled again at that. 

Davey in his bed had always been something special. Even that first morning. Richie just hadn’t realized how special. Not till later. It’s why there were so many drawings and paintings of Davey in bed. It had always been something he wanted to capture. Something that felt so beautiful it should hang on a wall somewhere taking breaths away. His always was. Even more so this morning after so many empty mornings. Richie hadn’t thought he’d ever see this again. So he watched Davey, took it all in. The sleepy softness about him. The way his eyes fluttered open. The sun spilling over his body, adding to the divinity of the sight. Love itself waking up in his bed. He felt a mix of things as Davey spoke. Davey’s thumb against his skin, such a light touch that still had a rush of heat going through him. Richie had never been touched by anyone the way Davey touched him. He’d been deprived of it so long that just that slight touch brought heat. His words brought warmth to Richie’s broken heart. A glimmer of hope that maybe it would be healed. And more heat with that addition of not sleeping. There was also a sadness and guilt tickling at the edges like annoying gnats that wouldn’t go away. It was his fault that Davey had missed this. His fault that he’d missed it too. But Richie did his best to push those away. He didn’t want to ruin this moment with anything. “We did do a lot of not sleeping,” he said with a slight smirk. But it softened. “I missed it all too. Missed you so much.” It was all he could do to stop himself from holding Davey tighter like he was afraid the other might melt away. He was a little but he settled for placing another kiss on Davey’s nose, intentionally this time. “I can’t believe you’re really here, smiling at me.” Something he didn’t thin he’d ever see again.

This was weird. Just being in Rich’s flat—not drunk, not high, in broad daylight—was weird. But it felt even weirder to see the bloke smile like that talking about his boyfriend. About Stubby meeting his boyfriend. Why the hell would he want Stubby to meet the bloke when he’d never even mentioned him before? Not that Stubby could think of a reason Rich would have mentioned the bloke. Just another thing to add to the list of ‘why are you doing this?’ Stubby wondered, for a moment, when Rich said everyone liked the bloke, if they liked him in the same way everyone liked Stubby and Wren. But—no. He was real. People like the bloke because he was real. Either Rich was wrong about how real the bloke was or the bloke was hanging out with very different people from him, but then how the hell had he even met Rich? It was all too much to think on with a million other things racing through Stubby’s head that was still dully aching from sobriety. Even just thinking of what he wanted from his flat was difficult, except he’d surprised himself with the clarity by which he landed on what was really important. Three things in the whole flat. Two, really; the clothes were more necessity. He didn’t care what happened to anything else in there, he realized. So the thought of Rich and Wren finding a way in didn’t bother him, even if part of him questioned how they’d accomplish that with the security guard who would probably show up. Then again they’d probably just pay whomever off, a thought Rich voice. He was right. There had only ever been one security guard who seemed to take looking after Stubby seriously, and he’d been fired for doing it. The bloke telling off his father—to no avail—one of the last clear memories he had before the haze of potions dulled everything again. “You won’t have to worry about him,” Stubby said quietly, and then, “….thanks.” The word was tentative, uncertain, if only because he still wasn’t convinced this was for him. But if whatever Rich was getting out of this was less awful than whatever his father took from him, he probably still offered the bloke his thanks. 

Rich’s laughter was surprising, if only because Stubby was pretty sure he’d never heard a real laugh from the other, softer, more natural than when they were both wasted, throwing their heads back so everyone else could see what a great time they were having, performing rather than feeling. More surprising was Rich’s answer. “Boyfriend?” Stubby asked softly. He hadn’t known Rich had a boyfriend. Vaguely he wondered if that was a new development or an old one. Either one felt just as possible, a reminder of how little he knew about Rich. And yet here he was, in Rich’s flat, wearing Rich’s—or Rich’s boyfriend’s?–clothes, trusting him not to owl Stubby’s father and tell him where he was in exchange for money or fame or potions. Because he had no other choice. So Stubby was surprised when Rich added on more detail about the bloke, smiling as he said so. A baseball player. That was another surprise. Less surprising was that Rich wouldn’t have had t-shirts otherwise. Lucky for Stubby, then. He felt like he should probably say something more, but all he could manage was a slight nod. It was a relief when Rich spoke again, though Stubby was surprised yet again to hear him repeating his offer from before. This time, at least, Stubby had a slightly clearer idea of what he wanted. “Thanks. Um. Some clothes would be good. Everything from my bottom dresser drawer.” That was where Stubby stashed all the clothes that were not ostentatious or uncomfortable enough to fit the Stubby Boardman brand. “And uh…there’s some notebooks. On a shelf in my room. Or….” He frowned. “Some were out. Before I left….” Were they still spread out the way they had been when he’d been writing before his dad showed up? Probably. And wherever they were, Stubby just knew he didn’t want his dad to have them. Even if Rich proved untrustworthy and did something with the bits of music in the notebooks, it was better than his father doing something with them. “And the acoustic guitar. Um. If you can….” he added, feeling awkward, shoving his hands into the front pocket of the hooded sweatshirt and frowning as he realized something else. “I don’t actually think I have a key…” Which clearly his parents hadn’t thought about when they’d send him nothing and then not showed up to get him today. Usually the security had that, but clearly whomever had been sent to fetch him hadn’t been in a rush to show up to the hospital. Which had worked out well for Stubby, at least so far. 

Of course going home wouldn’t be good, but it was still a blow to hear it out loud. Stubby’s flat was the only thing that felt like his—but then it really wasn’t, was it? It was his father’s as much as everything else was. Maybe going someplace entirely different would be better. Stubby couldn’t help thinking wistfully of those summers at that beach house, of walking through the sand away from crowds of people who all knew his name, of sitting by the ocean and writing music to the sound of the waves. It felt like a foolish, silly thought, and he almost regretted even asking before Hestia’s face lit up at the mention of the place. It was still there. And it was empty. And he could stay there. For the first time this plan was actually starting to sound something close to good, rather than just better than going back to his father. Stubby wasn’t sure about Hestia staying there with him. Or Rich or Wren, for that matter. Though he also wasn’t sure about staying by himself. It sounded sort of nice. But Stubby couldn’t remember the last time he was completely alone. What if it was too much? What if he decided to have a drink, or a potion? Stubby tried to focus on the last thing Hestia said. No fans. Now that he was sure sounded nice. Rich’s offer surprised him, or rather the fact that Rich was still actually being helpful, and Wren was chiming in his agreement and the offer to go shopping for him too. This all still felt like a lot. Too much to process beyond just agreeing to go to Hestia’s beach house, and even that felt like too much. A lump settled in his throat, and he managed to voice a soft, “….Thanks,” to all of them. It didn’t feel like enough. But he was also confused about why they were all offering all this. About when the other shoe would fall and he’d realize there’d been strings attached the whole time, just like with his father. At least with his father he knew what to expect. Now Stubby was agreeing to walk into the unknown just for the slight chance at something better. Was it really worth it? He considered the alternative. Going back to his flat. Waiting for his father to show up and tell him what Stubby Boardman was expected to do next. More of his music turned into bubblebum trash. More potions. More getting picked up from rehab, only if he said no today, odds seemed good there’d be no one there for him next time. “I don’t…I’m not sure what I want.” He said in answer to Hestia and Rich’s comments. “Can we just get out of here?” Maybe away from these white walls, maybe out of these clothes, he might be able to better decide what he wanted just in the short term. The long term felt too heavy to even begin to contemplate now. 

Stubby was surprised when Hestia suddenly pulled him into a hug, but maybe he shouldn’t have been. She was, after all, the sort of person who seemed to think a hug could fix anything. But when was the last time she’d actually hugged him? When was the last time anyone hugged him, other than some fan who ran up to him in the street and got past one of his bodyguards? Had she ever hugged him on those nights he showed up too wasted to remember? Stubby wasn’t sure. All he did know was that his body seemed to have forgotten how to respond. He stood there, stiff and surprised by the gesture until several moments too late he remembered how to mechanically lift an arm and place it hesitantly on her back. And then those words whispered in his hear. We can find out together. Stubby’s other arm worked its way around Hestia’s back and he held her a little tighter. Why? Why did she care? Enough to offer her family’s money, even. Stubby knew her family had far more wealth than they let on; it was one of the reasons—more like the main reason—Stubby’s father had befriended Mr. Jones, though Sanford had always been good at making sure the people he befriended for their money were unaware of the fact. But why on earth would her parents spend their money on him? They were in business with Stubby’s father, after all. For all he knew they benefitted tangentially from Stubby Boardman, if only because it meant more money for his father to put into joint business ventures with the Joneses. 

Before he could voice any of that, though, Rich was surprisingly speaking up again. Offering his place? That one was a surprise. Why? Stubby let go of Hestia and turned to listen. Drag them through the mud until they have to let you go. …Could Stubby do that? He was pretty sure there was shit in the contracts about that. What happened if he broke them? Azkaban? Or —what, he lost all the money he already didn’t have? What if his parents tried to imperius him to get him back in line? Would that really be any different than how things were now? But maybe Rich had a choice. Not trying that meant more of this. More hospital rooms. More pivoting. His father never letting go. And there was something about hearing it from Rich that made the words feel less like some candy-coated wishful thinking pipe dream. Stubby had, to some degree, noticed the change in Rich. At some point he’d fallen as far as Stubby, a constant presence on nights out, both of them trying to drown something out. They never talked about what, but there was a mutual understanding there. Both with famous names. Both with massive, crushing expectations from horrible fathers. And then at some point that had stopped for Rich. Had ended with Rich taking Stubby’s potions, trying to save him from himself. Stubby had been pissed at the time; another person trying to control him, unable to see past the burning need for potions he’d felt at the time. He still wanted them. But that was muffled by the detox and the potions from the healers. 

What changed for Rich? The Minister’s son, still seemingly under the man’s thumb. But he wasn’t drowning anymore. Did he find a way out? “….I guess things can’t get worse,” he said finally, his voice soft, tentative, still not fully convinced. Even if his parents could be fought—did Stubby have what it took to do that, when he was terrified of what would even be left of him on the other side? Assuming he even got there. He looked from Rich back to Hestia. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to fight his parents. But he also wasn’t sure he had it in him to fight Rich and Wren and Hestia, all here urging him to try something, anything. What was in it for them? Was it really nothing? Was it really just him? Or was he missing something? Did it matter, if it got him away from his father? His shoulders slumped, resigned, and he let out a quiet sigh. “What do I do now?”

youwantstubby​:

You’re not a thing. Wasn’t he? Did it matter, when his parents could make him do whatever they wanted? There had been a time when Stubby also thought about getting away. But to where? And how? How far would he have to run to escape their clutches? And by the time he’d started thinking about that, he’d already long lost sight of who he even was without Stubby Boardman. Or who he even wanted to be. Hiding out with the Jones’s wouldn’t change anything, surprising as it was that she was so adamant about trying to help him get out. And it wasn’t just Hestia.

Stubby wasn’t sure whether he was more surprised that Rich and Wren had actually stuck around, or that Rich—who’d also been listening in, apparently, here for the free Stubby show—stepped up and said something that suggested maybe he wasn’t just here for the free Stubby show. And then there was Wren, stepping up next to Rich, looking uncharacteristically nervous, unsure of himself to the point Stubby almost wondered if it was someone on polyjuice. 

“You’re not alone, Stubbs,” Wren said, remembering the conversation he’d had with Ebony. “We’re all here for you. Not for you name, or your money, or any of that shit,” he added, because that was what he’d always thought. And it had been the same for Stubby. They’d both known what they were getting from the other—but that wasn’t why Wren and Rich were here today. They were done with that. “We can get all that shit on our own.” That would sound pretentious, maybe, to someone else, and maybe it was, but the point was they didn’t need to use Stubby like so many other people did. So maybe that would help Stubby believe them when Wren added, “We’re here for you.”  

Stubby looked between Rich and Wren and Hestia, three earnest faces looking at him like they all believed this was something he could do. His choice. And somewhere in the back of his mind was the glimmer of a realization that there was nothing in this for them, in his abandoning Stubby Boardman. Quite the opposite, in fact. Unless there was some other angle, one he just couldn’t see yet. Wasn’t there always an angle? How was Stubby any better off trying to fight the man who’d proven he valued Stubby Boardman over his son’s own life? He shook his head. “They’d find me at your place.” It would be one of the first places they looked, most likely, if Stubby’s dad thought Hestia was enough of a problem to try to cut her out of the picture. “You don’t get it. I’m Stubby Boardman. I can’t just—drop off the grid to get away from them.” And dropping off the grid was the only way to get away from them, Stubby had thought about it before he decided drowning everything out with potions was the best path forwards. “It takes money to do that.” Especially for someone as famous as him. He’d end up chained up in some crazy bird’s basement if he tried to go anonymous. “And they have it all. They have everything. They have my bloody name!” Again hopelessness crept into his voice. Why was he even here? What was he staying sober for?

“And–” His eyes found Hestia’s, and his voice was small as he added on, “I don’t know who I am without it.” 

Hestia was surprised, and pleased, to find that perhaps she had been wrong about those two. They did seem to care about Stanley after all. But sadly Stanley still seemed to think there was no choice in it for him. That there was nothing else for him. Hestia wasn’t sure if it was his words or the way he said them that made her heart feel like it was breaking all over again when he looked at her and said he didn’t know who he was without it. She didn’t hesitate or say anything, she just wrapped her arms around him in a hug. Wishing with al her might that a hug could be as powerful as it had felt when she was little. Back then it had seemed a hug could solve anything. But she knew that wasn’t the case now. Still hugs were a special magic all their own. Hopefully Stanley was feeling it. “We can find out together,” she whispered in his ear. Hestia didn’t believe that the Stanley she knew was all gone. Or that the Stubby Boardman these blokes knew was all that he was. But he had always been right that he wasn’t the same as he was before, Hestia knew now that going through something terrible did change parts of you even when you tried so hard not to be changed by it. Whoever Stanley was now without all the things his parents owned, or Stanley thought they owned, she was sure he deserved just as much love and care as the Stanley she’d grown up with did. “And my parents have plenty of money, they’d help you,” she added because money simply wasn’t an issue. Hestia had a feeling her parents had more money than Stanley’s but she didn’t add that. Her parents never made a show of money the way Stanley’s had. They lived in a large country estate, but it was one that had been in the Jones family for so long that no one remembered exactly how long. It was well and truly loved too, a proper warm and cozy home not some cold stately estate. Easy to forget the owners were rich. Even the way her parents were, how they dressed, how they acted, her mum cooking, her dad gardening, made it easy to forget. But Hestia was certain they had enough money to help Stanley.

blackhairpinkercheeks​:

Hestia had a feeling they were talking about her. It felt paranoid. Sort of like when she worried she was being followed as she walked through the market. Or that the bloke she’d passed on the way to her building was actually watching her. But, like both of those things, it also felt probable. There was a good chance she was followed when she went out or that her building was being watched. Just like there was a good chance they were talking about her. Funnily enough, just like when she thought she was being watched, it gave her courage. Only instead of continuing on her day pretending like she wasn’t bothered, today it was courage to get up and talk to the pair of them. “Pardon me,” she started politely. Manners mattered. “I couldn’t help overhearing that you’re here for Stubby. Are you mates? It’s just you don’t really look like bodyguards. His are always very strong looking and you two…well I’m assuming you’re friends of his.” From the looks of them party friends but Hestia didn’t say that. “I just wanted to say that I think it’s very nice of you to come and see him. Assuming that’s all you’ve come for. After all it would be rather terrible to pick someone up from rehab just to take him out to party. Absolutely horrid actually. Obviously, I don’t know either one of you, though you look vaguely familiar,” she told the older one. “Anyway, my point is if you don’t have the best of intentions towards Stubby you should go now. If something else were to happen to him and I found out you were involved in any way… well I can be positively unpleasant if I need to be. Something you’ll be smart to avoid finding out,” she finished sounding almost as stern as Professor McGonagall. “Good day!” With that she turned and went back to her seat. Hestia felt better for having warned them. She didn’t enjoy trying to intimidate people — this was the first time she’d ever attempted it and no, she did not enjoy it at all. But if it made them think before doing something that could put Stanley in harm’s way it was worth it.

Wren snickered at Rich’s comments about the bird. “Lucky Stubby’s on his way out,” he added with a smirk that he quickly schooled off his face as the bird got up and…oh, she was coming toward them. Okay. This felt normal, actually. Of course this random bird wanted to talk to the pair of them. Wren flashed his most charming smile, and it was only years of practice that kept that smile in place when she mentioned Stubby. So that’s what she was here for. Wren was instantly suspicious. And then confused when she started talking about Stubby’s bodyguards. Should he have been offended by her saying they didn’t look like bodyguards? Maybe he should have been, but frankly Wren’s ego was big enough that it would take more than some random bird suggesting he didn’t look tough to offend him. Especially considering ‘tough’ or ‘could be a bodyguard’ were never descriptions he’d tried for. And most of Stubby’s bodyguards were sorely lacking in fashion sense. Frankly Wren would be more offended if she did think he was a bodyguard. Wren was far too polished for that sort of physical labor. His brows pulled together as she went on, basically implying that they were here to take Stubby to a party. From rehab. Seriously? And who the hell was she? Just because she didn’t look like a typical Stubby Boardman fan didn’t mean that was out of the question. Anyways if she was a fan she was one of the crazies anyways, waiting out here for him and trying to scare his actual friends off. Or the closest thing Stubby had to actual friends, probably. Unless he’d been hiding one somewhere, but if he was it was doubtful it was some bird who liked to knit and wore uglier sweaters than Ebony did. Well—equally ugly, Ebony owned some remarkably ugly sweaters. And was she threatening them now? Were they supposed to be scared of that? Of this small bird who’d been knitting just minutes earlier?

If she was trying to either intimidate or offend him, she’d failed miserably. It was with pure confusion that Wren turned to look over at Rich as the bird stormed away as quickly as she’d come up to them. “Did she just…?” Yeah, it was clear from Rich’s face that had just happened. “Ugh,” Wren sighed, thoroughly put out that now this was something they had to deal with. Obviously they couldn’t just wait until Stubby got out to find out if this was some crazy fan. That wouldn’t be good for him. And so making sure something like that didn’t happen seemed like a friends thing. The friend things was turning out to be bloody uncomfortable a lot of the time. But Wren didn’t do things halfway, so—time to be a good friend, he supposed. Which apparently meant dealing with Stubby’s psycho fans. 

Wren didn’t get up like the bird did—as if he could be bothered with that—and instead addressed her from where he sat, bringing a leg up to rest that foot on his other knee and leaning back comfortably, as if there was no place he’d rather be than the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. “It’s funny you think we look familiar, ‘cause I’m certain we’ve never seen you before,” he said, his voice practicedly friendly though the implication, of course, was that she was a nobody. A nobody who didn’t know Stubby because Wren had sure never seen her with him. Probably a psycho fan who’d somehow figured out when Stubby was getting out. “But speaking of things that would be shitty to do to someone just out of rehab, I don’t think Stubby’s gonna be looking to sign autographs on his way out the door. So if you don’t have the best of intentions maybe you should go. We can be pretty unpleasant ourselves,” he said easily, though his pleasant tone and comfortable posture didn’t change. Wren wasn’t really used to intimidating people, and besides, his words were true enough. The last thing this bird was gonna want was to try to get to Stubby through two Veela. A lift of Wren’s hands and she’d be napping in her chair.

For someone who was used to feeling like he belonged anywhere he decided to go, Wren felt decidedly out of place on the stiff chair in the St. Mungo’s waiting room. And there were a lot of reasons that went beyond the fact he and Rich were easily the best-dressed, best-looking people in the stark white waiting room; that was pretty much standard everywhere Wren went, after all. First was the fact that Wren was here with Rich, doing something that felt—well, heavy. And it was. Stubby had almost died. From the same sort of potions he got from people like Wren and Rich. Granted Wren had never been one for pushing the potions. And he’d done his best to help Rich keep the shit away from Stubby once Rich clued Wren in that he’d been doing that. But there was an uncomfortable, nagging guilt at the fact that he hadn’t thought to do that for so long. Would it even have helped? Stubby’s family seemed pretty shit. Wren hadn’t paid that close of attention—paying attention to things was a new thing for him, and it was already exhausting—but Rich had clued him into some of it after the first time Stubby wound up here. And here he was after not even a full day out on his own. And then there was the very new, very uncomfortable thought that Stubby might not even want Wren here. They weren’t really friends, were they? Wren had gotten closer with Rich, had some real conversations with him, but Stubby was still too busy drowning himself in potions to do that. And yet still Wren felt that strange sense that, as with Rich, maybe Stubby was more of a friend that he’d originally thought. All three of them had been out at those clubs in search of something. All three of them with everyone’s eyes on them. Or maybe it was just that it seemed like Stubby needed a friend, and for better or for worse he and Rich were Stubby’s best options. Because there was no one else here for Stubby, not even his parents, and Wren doubted they’d show up. Whoever the bird was who kept looking at them definitely wasn’t here for Stubby. Wren’s lips curled into a slight grin at Rich’s comment, more glad that Rich was breaking the weird tension of just sitting there waiting for Stubby than anything else. Wren glanced at the bird again. Something about the ugly sweater reminded Wren a little of Ebony, and it made him answer a bit more nicely than he might have otherwise. “Maybe she’s a volunteer,” he said in a low voice. “Here to read books and give ugly hats to drug addicts. Is that a thing?”

Davey let out a soft chuckle at Rich’s words. He’d been surprised when he first learned about Rich’s reputation while they were dating. Even now it didn’t seem to fit with the Rich he knew, but that was something that made even more sense in light of everything he’d said about his public life. Maybe that was part of it. And now more than ever Davey could understand the need for a distraction, for the warmth of another person. Granted he’d sought that comfort in just one person instead of a string of one-night stands, but truthfully it didn’t feel all that different. Davey took the fact Rich wasn’t asking about his choice to sleep clothed as a silent reassurance that it wasn’t something they needed to talk about tonight, that there would be time later to figure out all the things that might make picking up exactly where they’d left off difficult. Davey was okay with that. Everything felt difficult now, but being with Rich wasn’t. Even if they had to make some adjustments and pick up someplace slightly different, it was still him and Rich. There was still that worry that Davey was different, too different for Rich, but it was easy enough to brush it aside for now when Rich was saying he liked Davey in his shirt. “I like wearing your shirt. It smells like you,” he added with a grin. Davey watch unabashedly as Rich took off his own clothes. He’d always been fit and now he looked even more so, his muscles more defined than they’d been before. Davey wondered if that was from all the times he’d seen Rich in the training arena with Nik, or if it was something else. It was a surprise when Rich offered to put pajamas on. Davey wasn’t sure if he’d even seen Rich sleep in boxers before. The offer was for him, and he appreciated it. But he shook his head. “No, you’re perfect,” he said with a soft smile. It was his own new scars he was worried about; he had no complaints about Rich lacking clothing. “Now get in here.” Davey crawled under Rich’s covers and then pulled the blanket back so Rich could join him, his heart racing at just how close he was to being snuggled up with Rich again. 

He smiled at Davey’s words, and that grin. Knew exactly what Davey meant. As he’d held Davey near his door he’d been happy to smell Davey again. Davey sweaty and dirty just made him think of hugging Davey after a game before he’d had a chance to shower or Davey right after a work out. So many memories flooding back in. Even now, with Davey on his bed there were plenty of memories, didn’t matter that Davey was clothed. Rich felt Davey’s eyes on him as he undressed but instead of preening a little he wondered if Davey still liked what he saw. Objectively he knew he was better looking than Georgi, he was a Vila so of course he was. But Davey hadn’t ever been like anyone Rich knew. The worry that Davey might want the real Marchbanks after all instead of the imposter was there despite evidence to the contrary. Worries that Davey pushed away with that smile and his words. Rich nearly took his boxers off too, the last time he’d slept in them was the few days Timmy had stayed over. Despite the familiarity this was new. He wanted to make sure Davey knew that he was okay with not jumping right back to where they started. That they could take things as slowly as Davey needed. Truthfully this was far more than he deserved. But he wasted no time crawling into bed beside Davey. Rich was okay taking things he didn’t deserve when they were offered. Snuggling with Davey even more so. “I missed this,” he whispered after they’d wrapped around each other with familiar ease. Finally being in bed with Davey he was more certain than ever he’d probably not sleep despite feeling more relaxed then he had since the last time Davey was in his bed. There was still that worry that he’d wake up and this would all be a dream. Far more wonderful than his usual but a dream all the same. He kissed Davey softly, trying to get in one more before the dream might end just in case.