#Yvaine is thrilled at this development

[velnica]

FFXIV Write 2023: #8 Shed

G | Sanson/Guydelot | 665 words

A/N: Part of Singing Along to the Start of Forever, my Modern AU.

“Sanson, Guydelot, would you be a dear and grab me the hedge shears from the shed please?” Yvaine chirped from behind the byregotia bushes in the front yard, elbow deep in mulch and dirt as she tended to the flowers. Perspirations dotted her brows despite the wide-brimmed hat perched atop her head; the late summer sun still had a lot of kick in it this year, humidity included.

“Sure mum, be back in a minute,” Sanson replied, hooking the hose sprayer on the fence for easy access later when he came back. Guydelot too paused from his task of weeding around the verandah to follow Sanson to the backyard, glad to be out from the sun. Sanson couldn’t say he disagreed with the sentiment; only the Matron herself could stop Yvaine from pruning and clipping her garden until it was in tip top shape, but Sanson could do with a lot less sweating if he could help it.

The small wooden shed out back looked sorrier than Sanson remembered. The lock on it was practically dangling from a dilapidated door handle, and the shelving inside was caked with accumulated dirt over the years to say nothing of the rotted wood panelling that it called walls. At least the tools inside were well kept.

Sanson found the shears easy enough, but he paused just before he closed the door, thinking of all the memories this little shed had held through the years. He remembered then how he could barely see past the second shelf at one point, being a rather short child, or how his father had a mischievous habit of moving one of his mum’s tools around so he could pretend to help her find it, all so he could spend more time with his wife. But alas, the weather had not been kind to it, and Sanson feared that one strong wind would be all it took to finally topple the entire thing down.

A hand on his elbow jolted him from his daydream.

“The waterwheel in your head is grinding like mad, care to share?” Guydelot asked gently, his eyes soft. The contrast between his outward nonchalance and his keen observation still took Sanson by surprise, and he cherished every single instance.

“Mmm, just thinking of getting mum a new shed for Starlight. As beloved as this one is, it’s turning into a bit of a hazard,” Sanson confessed.

“Ah, I was about to comment about the rotting woods, but you’re obviously three steps ahead of me. Tell you what, I’ll chip in if that’s what you’re getting.”

“You don’t have to, it’s not a small purchase, Guydelot.”

“All the more reason for me to help out then.” The ease in which Guydelot reaffirmed his plan stoked a different kind of heat in Sanson’s chest. It hadn’t even been a year since they’d known each other, but Guydelot’s presence by his side already felt like the most natural thing in the world.

He found that he liked that, a lot.

“It’s settled then, I‘ll start shortlisting some options when we get back to the flat.”

A deep resigned sigh rumbled out of Guydelot, followed by an amused smile. Sanson felt bashful all of a sudden; despite all of the familiarity, he still found himself flustered whenever he sensed that Guydelot was about to tease him, just like now.

“Sanson, it’s September.”

On cue, his cheeks burned bright red. “Well, there’s no guarantee we’d find one easily… and besides there might be delivery time and—”

The softness of Guydelot’s lips derailed his train of thoughts and before he knew it he was kissing back just as eagerly, his embarrassment now a distant memory. They parted, eventually, but the warmth in Sanson’s chest refused to leave. He held on to it tightly.

“Let’s get back to Yvaine before she lobs our head off, aye?” Guydelot offered his hand and Sanson took it. Their fingers interlocked, as if they had always belonged together.

“Yes, let’s.”

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