retired whump writer

Lars suspected Jake had been fighting more than just the chlamydia infection, given how much better he looked after just three days of the antibiotics in his system. The kid – and Lars knew it was a bad habit to think of Jake as a kid, as they suspected they were close to his age if not younger – looked night-and-day better than the half-dead torture victim Marcus had carried to their front door, bloodied and sunken-eyed. As Lars made their way home from another grueling shift, they wondered how much better he would look by the time they got home.

This morning, the bruises had still been there – hell, some of them looked worse than when Jake had arrived – but the swelling on his face had gone down, and he had light in his eyes where before there had only been dull terror. He had a healthy appetite now, too. His short-cropped hair was still dull, but Lars had been able to get their hands on a shampoo a Black coworker at the HRT clinic suggested. After just two days of that, they’d seen improvement.

They had fielded that coworker’s questions. She’d assumed the shampoo was for someone Lars was dating; Lars let her believe that. It was a reasonable enough lie, although the prospect that they would probably have to start keeping track of all the lies and all the people they told them to made their head throb with exhaustion. Celeste was at least content to let the mystery remain a mystery. But eventually people would start wondering why Lars was spending less time at the clinic they ran, why they were so distracted at the job that actually paid the bills, and eventually someone might show up to their house, and then they might see two very good reasons why Lars should be in the same kind of fucked up AMTEC torture cell they had heard so much about.

They took a hand off the wheel to chew at their nail bed. Maybe I should take up smoking, they thought bitterly. It was probably healthier than putting their hands in their mouth after working a thirteen-hour shift on the ambulance. At least they always wore gloves, and washed their hands.

At long last, after what felt like an hour but what they knew couldn’t have been longer than twelve minutes, they pulled into their driveway. Their eyes caught the telltale flicker of movement in the living room window. Lars knew without seeing him that it was Marcus behind the thick white curtain; they suddenly had a vision of being greeted by an enormous dog, one that kills silently instead of barking when threatened.

Their throat tightened. That dog was living in their house.

But that wasn’t right – they knew that wasn’t right.

When Marcus followed Lars into the kitchen after finding out about the chlamydia test, they thought for sure he was going to… to do something to them. And all he’d done was stand there and dissociate for several minutes. When Lars changed the dressing on Jake’s arm yesterday, and Jake cried out, they’d thought he would do something then, but he hadn’t. He just gritted his teeth and held Jake through it.

And now. He’s not guarding the house against me. He’s making sure it’s nobody but me.

They fumbled for their keys as they approached the front door. It opened before they could find the right one. Marcus stood in the doorway, face in that weird blank expression he had so often. Lars pursed their lips.

“All good?” they said, clipped.

“Yeah,” Marcus said. “You’re just home.” He stood aside.

Oh. He was being… helpful.

They wondered, briefly, how long Marcus had been a Lev – or what other explanation there was for him to be so goddamn socially abnormal.

As they walked in, they set eyes on Jake. He was out of bed and sitting at the dining room table.

“Holy shit,” they said, a grin breaking out across their face. “The dead rise.”

Jake didn’t seem to mind the faux pas of referring to Jake as the dead when he’d just recently come so close to actually being one. Marcus looked like they’d just slapped him. They silently cursed and tried again. “You’re looking a lot better. How you feeling?” They heard their own voice taking on their uncanny patient-provider cadence. They shook it off. “I mean. How do you feel?”

Jake smiled at them. He had such a sunny smile, and it had been coming out more and more. It was good to see. “I’m feeling… pretty good. Just had a pill, which is probably helping. But I had a shower today, and Marcus made sure I ate. Slept well last night, too. Feeling better than I have in…” The smile faded; his focus did, too, as if he genuinely was trying to figure it out.

Lars would hazard a guess the answer was: at least six or seven weeks. But maybe it was longer. The life of a Lev didn’t exactly sound like a cakewalk. There had to be a reason these two left, with the cost so high.

As Lars watched, Marcus crossed to Jake and bent to kiss the top of his head. Jake leaned into Marcus, eyes sliding shut at the contact between them, and Marcus leaned in, too; Jake’s head rested on Marcus’s stomach, and Marcus’s fingers stroked through Jake’s hair. It was just one instance out of dozens of the simple, easy touch between them. Jake looked like he always did, but Marcus seemed to become someone else entirely: gentle, vulnerable, soft.

Lars wondered if Marcus had ever been those things with anyone, even himself, before he met Jake.

“You’re almost out of eggs,” Marcus said, dragging Lars from their reverie.

They blinked. “Huh?”

“Eggs,” Marcus said flatly. “You’re almost out.”

“Oh.” Lars went to the fridge and opened it. All things considered, they weren’t doing terribly on groceries. There was enough there to throw together something for the three of them tonight, as much as they longed to just strip off their scrubs and fall into bed. “Okay. I’ll grab more while I’m out tomorrow. Sorry, I should have checked this morning, I just didn’t—”

“Is there a way for us to get a phone that isn’t traceable by AMTEC?” Marcus said. “That way we can contact you.”

Lars pinched the bridge of their nose. “I don’t know,” they said. “Fuck. I don’t feel like cooking, but I shouldn’t get delivery again.”

“What are you hungry for?” Jake said. “We can help, you don’t have to do it yourself.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Lars said. “I mostly just want to go to bed.”

“We can do it, then,” Marcus said, and the certainty in his voice made Lars want to fucking cry. “I’ve been feeding him all day. You should sleep. You’ve been… You need to rest, too.”

Lars closed the fridge and slowly turned to look at Marcus. He was staring at them, his gaze as steady and unnerving as it ever was. Their relief at his confidence – earned confidence or projected Lev swagger, they didn’t care – as well as their gratitude at his willingness, all mixed with several days of exhaustion, was a potent mix. Emotion washed through them.

Discomfort quickly crowded it out. They squirmed at their own mushiness – and couldn’t help but ruin it. “All those gourmet cooking classes at Lev academy paying off?” they said lamely.

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. Lars quailed.

Jake snorted. “Latchkey kid,” he said, pointing to himself. “I’ve been talking him through it.” He pointed at Marcus.

Exhaustion and embarrassment at themself swirled in their stomach. “Like… brains and brawn?” they said, regretting the words as they said them but unable to stop themself. They cringed.

Jake’s smile fell. “I wouldn’t say that,” he said.

“Right,” Lars rasped. “Sorry. I, uh. I need to go to bed, I think. Sorry.” They skirted around Marcus and made a beeline for their room. Once they were there, they buried their face in their hands, shuddering with bewilderment at why they hadn’t just shut up when they had the chance. They took off their scrubs and binder, and fell into bed in just their boxers. They didn’t even brush their teeth before they were sound asleep. They didn’t move until their alarm woke them in the morning, and Lars had to consider just how badly they needed this job.

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