Mountain and Dewdrop going on a date?
this is perhaps the sappiest thing i have ever written. you must listen to Hallelujah by Jeff Buckley while reading. it's required. and this is not so much a date as . . . well, you'll see.
im not sorry if you tear up a little
To put it bluntly, Dew’s been pissy all afternoon. He’s in a certified Mood, untamable by food, sleep, beverage, or even sex. He snaps at almost everyone who tries to initiate conversation, with varying degrees of bite and malice. They chalk it up to his fire ghoul nature, a wild blaze that just has to burn itself out with time.
But Mountain?
Mountain is ever resilient to the forest fire that is Dewdrop. A point that is illustrated when he takes Dew’s hand late in the evening, pulling him off the couch and out of the common room, ignoring his protests and snapping teeth the entire way. He hadn’t seen the earth ghoul since dinner, yet here he was whisking him away for some unknown reason. He’s confused, ornery, but secretly intrigued.
The path is familiar, the same they take for midnight mass. Mountain rounds the corner to the chapel, its large wooden doors slightly ajar, spilling warm, dim light into the hallway.
“Why the fuck are we here, Mountain?” Dew spits. He expects the earth ghoul to yell at him, tell him off for being rude, like the others. But he doesn’t. His face remains placid, calm. There’s even a hint of a smile, if he squints.
“Wanna show you something,” Mountain says softly, leading them into the chapel. Dew’s already got a retort ready on his lips, but the words die in his throat as they walk past the pews and closer to the pulpit. Dozens, if not hundreds, of candles litter the open space at the front of the chapel, various colors of votives and tall prayer candles in a wide circle on the floor. Their warm flames scatter soft light against the tall stone walls and darkened stained and leaded glass windows. Mountain himself is thrown in a golden relief, honey-brown eyes shining as he looks back at Dew.
The earth ghoul stops in the middle of the circle, dropping Dew’s hand and holding out both of his in a placating gesture. “Just wait; one more thing, okay?” Dew nods, his tense expression already softening.
Mountain walks over to a record player situated against the side wall. He softly flips the switch, and the space fills with that familiar static hum of the start of a record. The melancholy, slightly dissonant chords follow shortly after, echoing off the vaulted ceiling and sitting themselves right in Dew’s heart.
“You bastard,” he says softly as Mountain walks back to him, slotting himself against the fire ghoul’s lithe body. Dewdrop can’t help but melt immediately, guilt and remorse contorting his face into a sad frown. Mountain just holds him close and places a kiss between his horns.
“Hey, fire lily,” the earth ghoul whispers just as the guitar turns sweet, lilting into the song he knows too well. “I just wanted to spend a little time with you. Just the two of us. If that’s okay.”
Dew buries his face into his torso, emotions of all kinds tugging on his heartstrings. He nods his assent, not trusting himself to speak.
I heard there was a secret chord,
That David played and it pleased the Lord.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
Mountain tucks his chin against the top of Dew’s head, swaying slowly in time with the music. The smaller ghoul tries to keep up, let Mountain move them, but he stumbles over his own feet as they step in small circles.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
“Hey,” Mountain says softly, pulling away to look at Dew, searching those icy-blue eyes turned copper under the candlelight. “Let me?” he asks vaguely.
“What?”
And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch,
And love is not a victory march,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.
“Your feet, just—” Mountain toes his shoe underneath Dew’s, encouraging him to put his foot over his own. He does the same with the other, the fire ghoul now perched on the tops of Mountain’s shoes. He realizes too late what the earth ghoul is doing, and a deep crimson blush colors his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he buries his face back into Mountain’s shirt, face now even with his sternum instead of his upper stomach.
Well, there was a time you let me know,
What’s really going on below,
But now never show that to me, do you?
“Come on, trust me,” the earth ghoul whispers into his hair.
But remember when I moved in you,
And the holy dove was moving too,
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah?
Dew lets Mountain shuffle him around, waltzing through each verse and chorus effortlessly, light as ever on his feet. He takes all of the smaller ghoul’s weight, rubbing his back and humming that calming baritone against his temple.
And it’s not a cry you hear at night,
It’s not somebody who’s seen the light,
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.
Dew’s engulfed with the sweet smell of cool balsam and crackling pine, with hints of cinnamon and fresh rosemary.
It’s quietly, uniquely them.
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