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allbeendonebefore · 17 days

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Casual Cruelty

Happy Monmonton Day gang.

So, I don't write anything other than comics like, ever, let alone writing for a dedicated ship event because what even is that. I may chicken out and expunge this from the earth because it's cringe as hell but we'll see. I wrote this literally on my phone any time I was waiting somewhere without wifi or late at night when I couldn't sleep for some reason over the past, like, idk year and a half? I started with the title and went from there.

This is a (canon?*) story featuring Edward and Étienne, friends with benefits, in some indeterminate time period in the late 20th century in Montreal. Ed struggles with a lot of internal strife that almost wanders into the territory of self harm, but not quite. Lots of pining and seemingly unrequited feelings. Some drinking but nothing excessive, and just a tiny bit of bad French. There's nothing particularly unsafe for work although some undressing happens and Ed has very low standards in his fantasies. So, without further ado...

---

There were a lot of things that were likeable about Étienne Maisonneuve. He was attractive, naturally, though it was more how he carried himself, curated himself than anything else. One would look from his dark, carefully coiffed curls to the loud and erratic patterns on his clothes into his bright green eyes, peeking over a sunrise of long lashes and an amused smile, and one would gasp in genuine shock as he nonchalantly revealed how his older, taller, more handsome brothers would comment on his various shapes and sizes with caution or contempt, that he needed to tone his body up or his attitude down. Who would tell Étienne of all people that he wasn't enough? Too much, perhaps.

Edward, naturally, liked the coiffed hair and the loud prints and especially the green eyes. He was (silently) pleased that Étienne was not particularly tall (so they were generally at eye level), and whether Étienne could fit into his jeans one way or the other didn't particularly bother him (as Étienne, whether there were comfortable handles at his sides or whether you could cut your hand open on his hip, always chose jeans that were probably a little too small).

It was Étienne's unconventional physique (and his unconventional physicality) that Edward liked because Étienne was always changing, he could barely be held in his own skin. When Étienne reached out for him, which was often, it was all Edward could do to hang on for the ride. And it made him feel that, even with ten years of medication and self hatred and complete lack of control over his own body, perhaps he could become something desirable too. Even if only for a moment.

But it wasn't Étienne's appearance that was particularly occupying Edward's thoughts, even if it was rather pointedly occupying his lap and flashing a gleeful grin towards the other occupants squished tightly together into the booth. It was what he was saying, and the conjectures of Meaning that Edward's mind was trying to keep up with.

"And so I couldn't pretend like I hadn't seen him, I mean, how fucking cowardly!" (The others tittered encouragingly, not wanting to miss the blow by blow, while Edward busied himself with a cluster of little triangles printed on Étienne's shoulder and tried to pay attention and not think about how he himself was a fucking coward more often than not.)

He missed the details about the confrontation in his concentration.

"But I said to him, maybe if he wasn't a biphobic de crisse de-"

The altercation rapidly being sketched in Edward's head, at least, was full of expression and colour and electricity. Étienne had run into (an acquaintance? An ex? An old flame who had burned him one too many times, who had made him swear off love for good?). One (Étienne?) was on their way in, one heading out of the (cafe? diner? dispensary? trading post? dep?). Words were exchanged, the fur flew, Étienne naturally emerged victorious (pleased? bitter? wounded?). However it had felt in the moment, clearly amongst attentive friends it was a savourable challenge and good humoured.

Edward was convincing himself it was something he had taken that made the details slip through his brain like earthworms through wet mulch. Surely it was down to some substance that made his stomach clench, not the fact that he had heard some version of this story from Étienne enough times to wish he hadn't. Étienne confronts the weak-minded conservative. Étienne dashes any hope of salvaging a relationship against the rocks. Étienne pierces the heart of the next poor sap who dares to remind him he ever had one of his own, just because he can.

This is how Étienne is and has always been, Edward reminds himself as he calmly takes a sip of whatever Étienne has pressed into his hand (he can't taste it). What he thought he read from him over the years was projected onto ink and tears that had long since dried, delusions of childish fantasy. The person in his lap was more real, carried more weight, than whatever scrawling Edward had been trying to interpret since before he was literate.

"Eddy?"

"Mm?"

"What do you think?"

Edward stared at him stupidly. Was he supposed to tell him he'd done the right thing? That his casual cruelty to the poor sap who just wanted to pay his bill and go home was his sexiest quality?

"The drink."

Edward weighed the question.

"It's okay."

Peals of laughter rippled forth and jostled Ed from his position, clearly the wrong answer.

"That's Eddy for you, always a polite word. A true Canadian," Étienne teased as he slung an arm around Edward's neck.

Edward flushed. The only thing more embarrassing than not paying attention was being caught out as undiscerning, uncultured.

Back home, he would have leaned into it, but here... The insult would have to slide off his well-oiled armour. He managed a grin, almost as if he meant it, and took another sip.

---

His guard was still up even after they stumbled up the metro steps, and as he leaned his head against the bus window away from Étienne's shoulder. It remained so even after the front door closed behind them and Étienne had pirouetted away with their coats and boots.

He excused himself to try to settle the emotional soup in his stomach in front of the bathroom sink before Étienne had a chance to pin him in place. For someone who was so easy to be around, Étienne had a way of making him feel uneasy.

Ed's malaise was chronic and ebbed in like a tide; Étienne was mercurial and his mood shifted sharply and unexpectedly. It was in Edward's interest to deal with himself first rather than risk Étienne misinterpreting him, or worse: feeling responsible for him.

Maybe he'll ask if I'm alright, he thought as he completed his routines. Maybe he'll ask what took so long, or make some joke about getting lost that will lighten the mood enough for me to tell him.

Tell him?

Edward caught his own inquiring eye in the mirror as he dried his hands and swept away the ring of droplets around the rim of the sink. Tell him he didn't perform these little gestures out of the traditional guest-host relationship? That he wanted something impossible?

He leaned on the counter unsteadily, somewhere between faking being sick and being sick.

Here came the tears. What the fuck did he want? For Étienne to knock the door off its hinges and rescue him? To wipe the sick off his face and tuck him in? Or would he rather be back home, imagining becoming the latest villain who dared to try to make E. M. fucking Maisonneuve commit?

This, he reasoned, was the alcohol. Clearly he was simply a sad drunk and the only thing for it was to brush his teeth, splash his face enough to hide any tear tracks, and sleep it off.

He caught himself eyeing the tub in the mirror. It wouldn't do any good, acting on that impulse. Imagining the slip, the fall, the impact and the shout was already giving him a headache. Even if the idea of being exposed, broken, and cradled was appealing. Christ-like, even... he managed a smile. He would find that funny.

Where might his host have got to? Ed doubted he was awaiting him with bated breath. He would surely find him bored, asleep waiting for him on the couch. Or perhaps he had already moved on to amuse himself elsewhere. He dried his hands, flicked off the light and peered down the hall.

There was no sign of life from the living room, but he heard running water. Étienne trying to wash the taste of the evening out, no doubt.

Edward cautiously hovered at the edge of the kitchen, a dimple curving despite himself. Étienne, of all possible things, was furiously washing the last of a generous array of dishes.

"You clean up well, Maisonneuve," Edward gave him an exaggerated once over, smiling at the large amount of water Étienne had somehow spilled down his front in his haste, revealed as he twisted around to acknowledge Edward's presence.

"I was hoping you'd take a little longer, you aren't supposed to know how much I had left to prepare for you and how little I'd done," Étienne smiled and turned back to rinsing the last few stragglers hiding beneath the suds.

"The illusion of your carefree bachelor life is shattered," Edward mock sighed. He leaned against the wall, unable to answer the impulse to help. Somehow, finding Étienne this concerned over it was so...

It was like a dream, watching this private moment. Étienne fiddling with the cap on the dish soap, scrubbing a particularly displeasing spot, nails scratching over the towel. One might even mistake him for mortal, wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans after fumbling around in the dishwater for the plug.

Edward's heart ached sweetly. He couldn't have everything he wanted, but he could continue to savour this tart hurt for a hundred years more. Whatshisname de Biphobe was missing out.

"Effortless." Étienne grinned, scrunching his face in mock satisfaction that blossomed into nothing short of a genuine smile as Edward met his eyes.

"Your secret is safe, I'm nowhere near sober enough to remember your kitchen as anything but spotless," Edward twirled unsteadily out of the doorway to prove his point.

"I'm sorry for that, Eddy," Étienne laughed and reached out to catch Edward's fingers and complete the clumsy flourish. "You flew five hours only for me to find you the worst drink in town."

"I thought you knew this city," Edward's eyes and his resolve crinkled up like tin foil, he couldn't help but interlock their fingers.

"I'll make it up to you," Étienne's gaze sunk briefly, his smile rose.

"Mm? I dunno, I may be ruined for trying new things forever."

"Perhaps I find bad things on purpose," Étienne grinned maliciously. "Get the worst out of the way so that you tolerate the rest. Or that you appreciate my favourites."

"I fly out five hours to "tolerate" the farce of national unity at work, I don't "tolerate" you," Edward looked away from Étienne's face and back down to studying his shirt pattern, dabbing at the damp spots uselessly with his hands and causing Étienne to try to wriggle away.

"What are you doing?" Étienne whined, "It's cold!"

Edward dropped his hands abruptly as Étienne took the opportunity to return the favour, poking and prodding Edward against the wall.

"You're doing, it wrong," Étienne paused, laughing briefly between words, angling for his next attack. He looked up to see Edward's worried expression, which was disturbing enough for Étienne to straighten up and meet his gaze.

"Oh, come on Eddy," he stepped in closer and started playing with the collar of Edward's shirt, "You've barely smiled since you got here. Are you not having fun?"

Edward gulped. He hadn't been, but Étienne knowing this was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

Then again, what other reason did he have to come out here? Their entire relationship for around two decades seemed to balance on Étienne as his personal concierge of fun, legitimate or otherwise.

"Has something happened?" Étienne's brows knit, eyes searching.

"No," Edward recovered. "No more than the usual bullshit."

Étienne looked unconvinced for a moment, but he expertly shifted the tone.

"I'll help you forget all about it." Étienne, clearly plotting something, grinned wickedly as his arms shot out to pin Edward's to his sides.

"What are you-" Edward flushed as Étienne slowly pivoted him back to the door frame.

To his surprise, Étienne released him as quickly as he had caught him. He grinned over his shoulder at Edward, "You were in front of the fridge."

Reaching in for what he was looking for, he added, "There's a jar in the cupboard on your left, please. And I'll also need a bowl and two mugs."

Edward blinked at him stupidly before retrieving the dishes, opting to use what he could find in the cupboards before turning to the freshly washed items by the sink. By the time he had found the jar, he heard a curious hissing sound and nearly dropped the thing when he figured out where it was coming from.

Étienne's electric kettle was soon whistling merrily, and Edward finally brought himself to comment while Étienne reached for the offered bowl.

"Seems you aren't about to burn the place down," he laughed weakly.

"Ha, no, it took some courage for me to try it out but so far it's worked like a charm and expanded my repertoire significantly. I can make all sorts of things: oatmeal, noodles..."

Edward's heartstrings nearly snapped with the strain. He really needed to heighten his standards. The thought of Étienne preparing cup noodles for the two of them should not be attractive. He had to look away before he started imagining him ruggedly heating water over a campfire.

"And the powder?"

Étienne handed him a spoon from the drawer as he fumbled for whatever he was looking for. "Cocoa. I've been experimenting with my own blend," he replied as he triumphantly pulled a beater out from where it had been wedged in the drawer. Slotting it into place with a satisfying click, Étienne turned up the dial and his hand mixer roared to life.

Edward spied the carton of whipping cream next to the bowl and everything fell into place.

Étienne, catching his eye as the mixer powered down, winked teasingly. "Don't worry, I've made extra for later." He handed Edward one of the beaters and could barely restrain his giggles as he popped off the other and brought it to his mouth.

The cold cream did little to help the first blush creeping up Edward's neck and ears. The sour taste did.

Étienne choked on his beater. "Oh, Eddy, no... I swear this was good yesterday," he frantically tried to grab the other beater from Edward.

"It's not bad," Edward spun away with a smile as he finished licking up the cream. "Better than that first drink you gave me, anyway."

"Eddy, you'll make yourself sick-!"

"It isn't that far gone, honest. If it really bothers you, put some plastic wrap on the bowl and we will cook with it tomorrow. Whipping cream is a decent butter substitute, and it'll taste much better than this heated."

Étienne looked at him with amazement for a moment before he hastily followed Edward's instructions. "Where do you learn this stuff?"

"You've been around three centuries and you don't pick this stuff up?"

"I pick it up," Étienne leaned against the fridge door as he closed it, hands behind his back and a sly grin on his face, "off a plate. With a fork."

"How do you survive?"

"Much better now. You're a life saver, I mean it."

Ed turned his attention to the hot chocolate, saved from spoiling, to distract himself from thinking too much about what exactly he meant. Picking it up, he glanced warily at Étienne who gave him an encouraging nod and smile.

The bitter cocoa, the sweet sugar, the hint of cinnamon... Everything had been smoothly whisked and there was even a kick of chili at the end. Étienne's smile grew as Edward's eyes widened.

"It's good. I like it." Surely he could come up with a better compliment than that.

Étienne didn't seem to mind his awkward bluntness, smiling into his own mug without breaking his gaze. "You see, I may be a fuck-up, but things eventually turn out just as I intended."

Edward said nothing, focusing on the cocoa and not the story of the evening. Of course, Étienne Maisonneuve, conquering hero. Always.

The companionable silence as they drank was unbearable. Edward quickly broke it.

"This might be the first hot meal you've ever made for me." He meant to muster a smile, but must have forgotten.

Étienne blinked in surprise. "Not so," his eyes narrowed in concentration. "You remember I made that... the roux, with the peas and corn?"

"Rubaboo," Edward supplied.

"Rubaboo! Now, I could make that at some point, surely. And far more meal-like than this."

Edward didn't want to think about old times. He didn't want to think about his childish thoughts or his naivety and he didn't want to think about the self satisfied glow in his chest that Whatshisname de Biphobe would never, could never know Étienne as long or as well as Edward did.

He didn't want to think about sacrificing almost two hundred years by ruining their relationship and becoming the next poor sap to be discussed over one of Étienne's outings.

Suddenly, the weight of his escape from home settled between his shoulders. He put down his empty mug unsteadily into the sink.

"I have to pass out." He was too tired to try to be anything but his blunt, boring self.

"Of course," Étienne smiled, setting his own mug down and fluidly steering Edward out of the kitchen.

"I'd just brushed my teeth," Edward moaned pathetically.

"Mhm," Étienne flicked off the light behind him.

"It's like 6:00 AM in my head and I just got here and I'm boring and tired, and-"

"And drunk."

"And drunk. And not fun." Edward hiccupped weakly for emphasis.

"Where to?"

"Yours. I won't be able to sleep with Rocket Richard staring at me."

Étienne caught him by the shirt before he could collapse on the bed. He quickly unbuttoned it for Edward and held it back, letting gravity do the rest. Edward fell with a soft sigh, eyes closed.

"'Tienne, peux-tu..." For some reason, it was easier to ask for something in French.

"Bien sûr." He didn't see the smile on Étienne's face, but he could hear it. He felt well practiced hands undo the belt and button at his waist; he then half-heartedly tried to wriggle free.

"Et peux-tu me cuisiner," Edward murmured. "Demain."

"Qu'est-ce que tu voudrais, Édouard?" He felt the denim peel off his legs.

Edward was silent for a long time, drifting off, grasping for the right word. "Oatmeal," he said.

He struggled to hang onto consciousness. Though he couldn't keep his eyes open, he heard Étienne laugh. Seconds later, or maybe a few minutes, he heard the clink of a cup set against the nearby night table.

Even nearly asleep, a wave of guilt lapped at him. It wasn't so long ago that he could keep up with Étienne, that he could be fun, almost without pretending. Now Étienne was tucking him in and keeping him hydrated, like a child, or an old man.

"J'm'excuse..." he mumbled.

"Ahh, Eddy. Toujours le 'Canadian'." Étienne teased, a mocking melody on the English. Edward felt the warmth from Étienne’s cupped hand, mussing his hair gently. "Bonne nuit, mon chum."

There were a lot of things he loved about Étienne Maisonneuve. He loved how he never took himself, or anyone else, too seriously. He loved how every time he fucked something up, he would find a way around it or through it. He loved his warm dishpan hands and the solid press of him against his back. He loved the way he was causally cruel, biting and acidic. He loved when his smiles met his eyes and when his eyes met his.

---

END

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*It's canon in the sense that they are immortal personified cities but it's only "canon" if you accept it as such. I try to position myself somewhere in between @randomoranges' fluffy candy writing and @quatschmachen's angsty torment writing I guess, so today you get a little of both.

#projectcanada cities #monmonton day #it is the monmonton #pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #hapo writes #if you saw me accidentally post this two days early trying to fix a typo #no you didnt <3

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