#nonsie love | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bookwyrminspiration · 5 months

Note

“ are you sure there isn’t anything i can do to help you in the kitchen?" w/ Tam + whoever you please

I chose Fitz (and loved this prompt)! And would like to dedicate this to @when-wax-wings-melt as consolation for facing the hard truth that Fitz and Mr. Snuggles are a better duo than Fitz and Alvar (dedication will make sense once you read) <3

a perfectly normal, not at all unusual day <- ao3 link

warnings: death (background), grief

word count: 7.1k

Living in a home so large you couldn’t see the end of it had more drawbacks than benefits--trying to find someone at any given time was nearly impossible, remembering in which of the hundreds of rooms you’d set something down became a lost cause, and trying to give guests directions to the bathroom was a nightmare.

But despite that, sometimes a cavernous and unending place was exactly what you needed.

Everglen’s maze-like halls and labyrinth of rooms could prove to be a boon, if you didn’t want to be found.

And Fitz did not want to be found.

He’d brushed Biana off with barely a word when she’d stopped by, hollow tears on her face. She’d only sighed like she’d expected it, and already had her imparter in her hand as she left.

Another benefit of the infinite rooms was that, at a certain point, most of them became superfluous. Decorated but useless, unused--awaiting a true purpose.

Which meant when a need for a certain space arose, there were more than enough rooms to convert without making a dent in the number left.

He’d tried sharing the main kitchen with everyone else for a while, he really had. But with the constant stream of activity from various people--his parents hosting and organizing dinners and meetings, the gnomes helping with prep, his sister’s random snacking--the place had always cornered him, despite its size (vast as everything else, of course).

Which is how Fitz found himself with his own kitchen. Formerly a large sitting room a little ways from his bedroom, but now complete with all the best the elven world had to offer. His mother had made sure of it when he’d quietly voiced the request.

Elaborate molding on the cabinetry, ventilation so effective it was near drafty, hand-crafted measuring cups and bowls, more ovens and stove tops than he could ever conceivably need in his life, and a full-wall window overlooking the grounds beside a plush seating area all to himself.

Few people knew of this place, just one unassuming room out of hundreds, thousands. An oddity, a secret second kitchen for a boy who put all the feelings he couldn’t say into fragile sweets and pastries.

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady the tremble in his bones, Fitz measured out the nectar, pouring gently instead of smashing the pretty glass cup into pieces. Because he knew, he knew the destruction was only a temporary relief. That once the glimmers spread across the wooden floor, a halo of all he couldn’t process and a tinkling crash ringing in his ears, all he’d be left with was a broken cup to clean and skin too soft to hold it without bleeding.

He knew that.

He still wanted to smash it.

But he didn’t. Enraged thoughts stormed screamed scraped in his head while he stood there, trembling but otherwise still. Poised. Watching the sweet syrup reach the appropriate line in the cup.

And he didn’t hurl the bowls of nectar, sliced fruit, and cream at the walls to listen to them shatter as his breath heaved, teeth cutting into curling lips.

Quivering with haphazardly repressed rage, he didn’t follow through on any of the impulses.

He didn’t think, trying to let the thoughts simply pass by in a whirlwind until it calmed enough he could look at them without being decimated.

“I was afraid I’d find you like this,” a quiet, low voice came from behind him, sending a buzz through his already aching lungs, but he didn’t stop to acknowledge it.

Instead, he continued pressing the tart crust into the pan as the fruit marinated.

Tam, one of the few people in the world who knew of this secret kitchen, continued. “Sorry it took me so long. I wanted to check on you as soon as I heard, but…” he must’ve shrugged in the pause, but Fitz still hadn’t turned around to look. “I got caught up by an argument.”

Silence reverberated for a moment, Fitz’s hands stilled on the pan.

As soon as I heard.

The thoughts he was trying so hard not to think pressed in closer.

“...How are you doing?” A hesitancy hovered over the words, as though Tam was aware of exactly what dam he was unleashing and was bracing for the deluge.

Fitz tensed, turning sharply. “How am I--what do you fucking--”

He cut himself off, hands fisting at his sides as he took a deep breath, then another, pressing his palms into his eyes.

The brief glimpse he’d gotten of Tam burned against his eyelids alongside all the flickering colors.

Braced against the door frame, body inclined toward his with one hand on the necklace Fitz had gotten him the day he’d agreed to be his, eyes searching him--but it was the raw, unfiltered grief on his face that rocked Fitz to his core.

Grief for him.

Grief that Fitz had been trying to ignore as it sweltered alongside the hurricane in his mind, trying to numb himself to, because he shouldn’t be grieving such a worthless, insidious, antagonistic, uncaring brother.

A brother whose body had been found that morning.

“Hey,” Tam’s voice soothed, softer, closer, footsteps nearing as Fitz’s breath started to shake. “Hey, it’s…I’m sorry.”

A hand brushed against his cheek as he tried to breathe, desperate to ensure the fury boiling him alive wouldn’t find its target in the person he cared for most. Anyone, anything else, just please not Tam.

A noise half whimper and half snarl was all he could manage. Freezing instead of lashing out, ice limbs better than bruised and the best he could manage, unable to do the right thing and pull himself away. Distance himself before he went off like a bomb and took everything with him; as Tam’s fingers brushed against his face again he realized they were wet.

Anger surged hot and heavy in his chest, coating the back of his throat with a putrid, rotted taste.

Tam wisely said nothing as he thrust his hands from his eyes through his hair, grabbing to the strands and holding tight like a lifeline, blinking in the sudden light.

Silver-blue eyes watched warily, but unafraid.

He didn’t deserve that.

He didn’t deserve the trust put in him as Tam stood so close he could see each individual lash framing his too-observant gaze; he knew better than anyone how dangerously close to exploding Fitz was, and yet there he was.

In his kitchen with his body next to his, despite knowing the storm they’d have to weather.

“I--I can’t,” he managed through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut in a long blink as he inclined his head to look to the ceiling.

“Can’t what?” Tam’s hand fell from his face; he didn’t know where it landed.

Fitz shook his head, counting internally, filing away different thoughts and memories to be dealt with later--when he had something to punch. Desperately, he racked his mind for every coping mechanism and strategy he’d ever heard of, anything to keep him reigned in and Tam safe. Anything to keep cobalt eyes and heroes from his mind.

“I’m gonna need something to work with here--or do you want me to go?”

“No.”

The word shot from his lips with enough force it surprised them both, Tam flinching as his brows raised, Fitz’s own eyes widening at the confession.

He hadn’t realized how badly he didn’t want to be alone.

No--that wasn’t right.

He hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted Tam to stay.

Silence fell over the two, his heavy breathing the only disturbance.

With it, he realized where Tam’s hand had fallen to.

Fingertips brushed feather light over his chest with each ragged breath, hovering over his heart, yet not quite touching.

“I can’t--fuck--I can’t even…I can’t think,” he gasped, fingers tightening. “I don’t--I don’t want to yell at you.”

Tam made a noise. “If you yell at me, I’m walking out until you’ve cooled off--just because I understand doesn’t mean I’ll put up with it.”

“Don’t go yet,” he begged. “Please. I’m--god, I’m trying.”

“I know.”

A thousand questions stormed his mind, of how could he? And did it hurt in the end? And what happened? And who did it? And was he partially to blame?

Each sliced through the raw ether of his conscience, a hurricane trashing anything and everything it could get its gnarled hands on as he stood there, tears tracking down his cheeks, throat dry. Each building in a muted scream he couldn’t understand, a question he couldn’t voice, didn’t even know he was asking.

Tam knew. “What now?”

Quietly, after a breath, Fitz lowered his hands, wrapping it around Tam’s and pulling him closer. Closing the distance and pressing his palm over his screaming heartbeat and holding it there.

“I don’t want to think about it,” he rasped, voice hoarse. Raw without ever loosing a scream.

“Then don’t.”

Despite himself, Fitz snorted a laugh, squeezing Tam’s hand. “If only it were that easy.”

“There are less broken things than I thought there’d be.”

That sobered the brief levity. “I’m not--you have no idea…how hard it is. The effort it is taking to not…” he swallowed, mind drifting to the maelstrom. If they stayed here, could they last long enough for the storm to calm? For him to actually look at it?

He loosed another breath, feeling Tam’s fingertips tap against his skin with the motion of his chest.

In and out.

Again and again, familiar from the days when he wasn’t even allowed to think about things like this, not without a shooting pain through his chest and worried whispers about echoes and damage.

His eyes drifted around the room, the fruit-filled bowls, the poised plants, the paintings on the walls, the floor-to-ceiling window letting golden light spear through glass, speckles of color added from baubles hanging from the ceiling.

But he couldn’t keep his attention away from Tam, not as he felt himself being watched.

As he looked back, Tam averted his eyes, a faint color to his cheeks as he looked down at his chest, where their hands lay.

Fitz followed his gaze--no, he wasn’t looking at their hands, but instead at the pendant resting below his collarbones.

The matching half to the one he wore.

“Can we--can we pretend today hasn’t happened?” Fitz asked, the question falling from his lips before he truly knew what he was asking for.

Tam’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I mean…can we pretend like everything is normal and they didn’t find Alvar’s body this morning? That we’re hanging out because we want to, not because you were worried to leave me alone?”

“...Can we?” he asked, cautious.

“Please? If I think about him…” his lips thinned, and he grasped tight to Tam’s hand to keep the room from blurring. “If I think about it and everything he’s done and everyone he hurt, I'm going to want to break things, and I don’t want to want to break things.”

They let the hidden meaning remain unspoken. That he didn’t want to break this.

Tam shifted slightly, the way he did when he wanted to reach for his bangs but was stopping himself. A frown pulled at his lips. “And if today was a normal day, what would we be doing?”

A normal day.

That’s what they’d make today.

And if…if everything was fine, if his traitorous, murderous brother wasn’t dead--

“I need--give me a minute,” he got out, brow furrowing as he squeezed his eyes closed tight. His fingers trembled around Tam’s, head swimming.

Deep breath in, and out.

Again.

With each cycle, he added another brick to the wall in his head, creating a corner of refuge, a shelter against the onslaught of emotional turmoil he couldn’t handle safely right now. Turning away from it until he could, until the wall was high enough and thick enough not even the slightest draft could penetrate it, he let himself be swept up by a comforting darkness, familiar in its cool calm as it settled around him. A reprieve in his corner away from everything else.

Tam’s shadow retreated from across Fitz’s body as he opened his eyes again, and this time he did reach for his bangs.

“I didn’t mean to--I assumed you were doing one of your mind tricks, and that a boost might help.”

Fitz blinked, reorienting himself in his body, pressing the edges of his consciousness against the new quiet, testing its resolve. It held, and it was surprisingly cozy in the dark cushioning.

“Thank you.” He opened his mouth a few more times, but all he could come up with was. “It did. Help, I mean. Thank you.”

Tam nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t seem to want to break the silence. Instead he let Fitz find his own way, decide what he could handle. Where they’d go from here, what now.

Fitz could feel Tam’s finger near his collarbone, plucking gently at the chain of his necklace as he waited, reminding him he’d been asked a question.

What would they do, who would they be, if today was normal?

Instead of letting his mind wander out of the safe room, he let his eyes wander over the grounds visible through the window where they might’ve been walking or resting, enjoying the foliage as Fitz pointed out the pretty new blossoms and Tam rolled his eyes at him. But listened fondly anyway. Over the chaise sofas, plush pillows and decorative blankets set beside the window, where they might be pressed close, reading, talking, sleeping their cares away.

A shape in the corner of his vision caught his eye, and he turned his head to peer over his shoulder, remembering what he’d been doing before he was interrupted. Two pans lined with crust, the bowls of marinating fruits, the creams still needing to be whipped, measuring instruments scattered across the counter in his haste to distract himself.

Tam noticed his gaze lingering, following it. “What were you making?”

“I…” he started, biting at his lip in thought. It hadn’t been an active choice, he’d just been going through the familiar, memorized motions--what had he been making? “Tzica tarts.”

Tam glanced at him with furrowed brows, but said nothing.

Tzica tarts were one of his favorite treats that Fitz made.

It took a moment and a few more breaths before he could continue, the steady pressure of Tam’s hand against his chest reassuring as his mouth shaped the words. “If today was normal…I’d be baking for you, and you’d be complaining about something stupid someone did even after you told them better--because you’re always so smart and we never listen to you. And we’d be impatiently waiting for updates from our friends about whatever projects they’ve been working on, while also wishing they’d never hail so we’d never have to leave. And...and you’d keep getting annoyed with me because I’d keep interrupting you with kisses, because you’re cute when you’re annoyed, but you wouldn’t really care. You’d let me, and…” he trailed off, flushing despite the circumstances.

Tam’s familiar eye roll and scowl were absent when Fitz worked up the courage to peer at him, instead caution lacing his features as he listened, finger still tracing over Fitz’s necklace.

“That sounds…nice,” he finally answered, his usual teasing also noticeably absent. It left Fitz adrift, lost at sea, no clue where to look to find land. He could no longer anticipate his responses, the directions of his thoughts, what he’d do next.

What next?

Almost as though he’d voiced the words, Tam continued, his eyes searching Fitz’s tear stained face like one watched a cornered animal. “Okay.”

It was all he said; Fitz blinked.

“Okay? Okay what?” His voice barely a whisper, he almost doubted Tam would hear him.

“Okay, we can try to pretend today is normal--” he shot Fitz a look he couldn’t quite interpret, squinting, brow raised, lips pursed-- “but only if it helps. If it starts to go badly, like a lot of things do when it comes to your stupid brother, I won’t pretend with you. Got it?”

Fitz winced, fingers digging in. “Do you have to be so crass about it?”

“Making sure you know what you’re up against,” Tam shrugged, though there was at least a glimmer of remorse in the motion.

“Up against? Are we against each other?”

Mouth dropping open for a moment in surprise, Tam shook his head softly, bangs falling over his eyes.

“Never.”

Relief swept through him, washing away a tension he hadn’t realized had grown so burdensome atop weary bones.

“First good news I’ve heard all day,” he mumbled, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Tam’s; cold metal strands pressed into his skin, comforting, familiar. And with it, he found the strength to try and pretend.

Tam snorted. “You can’t have heard much, you holed yourself up in a kitchen without even opening a window--it’s hot in here, you realize?”

“You’re welcome.”

He could practically hear the eye roll as Tam huffed. “Not the kind of hot I meant, Wonderboy.”

Fitz latched onto the distraction. “You don’t think I’m hot?”

“Wow, you actually look upset.”

“I’ve decided you actually don’t get any of these lovely tarts.”

“You haven’t even made them, there’s nothing to have.”

Hard as he tried to suppress it, the corners of Tam’s mouth twitched with a smile, the first sign that perhaps, just maybe, they’d get through the day okay. That it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

The conversation fell silent as he mused, chest easing, eyes wandering over Tam’s face--lips, cheeks, tip of his nose, forehead. Some of his favorite places to press soft kisses when it was just the two of them--Tam didn’t like to be physical when other people were around.

He did so now, leaning forward and using the slight height advantage he had to press his lips to Tam’s forehead, squeezing his hand.

Moving back, he gestured with his chin off to the side, towards the chaises and decor. “Why don’t you sit down while I finish up? You could open a window so you don’t have anything to complain about.”

Tam scowled for a moment, face scrunching with unsaid retorts, but he was being uncharacteristically reserved with them; Fitz supposed he couldn’t completely abandon his caution, despite the pretend.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help you in the kitchen?”

“I…um…” Fitz blanked. Was there anything Tam could do? What was he making again? Did he know how to bake? Where was he? Who was he, again? What day was it?

Wait, no, he shouldn’t ask that, not with…

Tam nodded as though he’d spoken more than gibberish. “Point taken. But I’m not about to go lounge all by myself on the opposite side of this huge ass room. I’m staying over here.” He screwed up his face in disgust at the thought of the Vackers’ interior decorating.

Fitz’s spaced-out musings had brought him swaying dangerously close to the walls he’d put up, flashes of unwanted memories and thoughts jabbing fog through his calm.

Tearing himself away, he heard himself say, “Well at least bring a chair over.”

The crystalline floor of the kitchen was entirely clear, aside from a kitchen island in the middle of the space, all seating reserved for the areas near the giant window wall, which was a few steps lower.

Tam made a noise half-way between a laugh and a snort, tipping his head back. “Those huge things? Yeah, no. Besides, they’re way too overstuffed to be worth the effort. I swear one of these days I’ll sit down and it’ll swallow me whole.”

As he spoke, he drew his hand from Fitz’s, stepping back a few paces before pushing aside a few decorative glasses on the island and hoisting himself up, one leg crossed over the other as he perched on its edge. “I prefer this.”

Some exasperated, teasing remark tickled the back of Fitz’s mind, but he hesitated a moment too long, unsure if he should, and the window of opportunity passed.

He shook his head, stuffing the last of the seeping fog firmly behind that wall, hoping Tam wouldn’t see the cover it was, would take it in stride as part of the conversation.

“You have to be stubborn, don’t you? Can’t you let your boyfriend do something nice for you?” He offered what he thought was his most dazzling smile, hoping to charm him.

A faint tinge of color stained Tam’s cheeks. “For me? You told me to get the chair myself. You want a thanks for that?”

Fitz blinked. “Ah. Right. I can get it for you--would you want--”

Rolling his eyes so far back Fitz worried they’d fall right out as he toppled off the counter, too, Tam groaned. “Just finish your baking, Wonderboy. I said I’m good.”

“I just want to make sure you’re comfortable--”

“I am.”

Fitz huffed, hands on his hips, eyeing Tam’s relaxed form. His foot tapped languid against the side of the island, elbow braced on his knee as he rested his head in his hand. He knew without a doubt there was nothing he could say to get Tam to change his mind, and that any attempt would make him dig his heels in further just because he could, even though it was Fitz asking.

So willful.

Incredibly uncooperative.

Fitz loved him more than he knew he was capable of loving.

With that thought, his scowl softened into a smile as he shook his head. He turned around to face the counter where he’d abandoned his work, trying to recall where he’d left off; he’d been operating on auto-pilot, hands moving and mixing of their own accord with the memory of dozens of prior experiences, his mind entirely elsewhere.

Was the oven on because he needed to blind bake the crust, or because he hadn’t turned it off after taking it out? Had he already added the tzica juice or just the nectar?

Letting out a low breath, he took a step back, scanning his surroundings, ignoring the prickle of Tam’s eyes on his back; they’d done this a million times before, he’d stopped feeling self conscious a long time ago.

But the thrill of Tam’s presence never faded.

Under his gaze, Fitz found where he’d left off, moving methodically, clearing away used utensils he’d been too angry to bother with not long before. He confirmed he had, in fact, already blind baked one of the pastry shells--but not the other, which he wasn’t sure how he’d managed.

It was simple work, and it should’ve gone smoothly from there, but the haphazard layout of everything threw him off. Bowls where they shouldn’t be, citrus juice beside the sugar instead of next to the tart pans.

He liked everything to be in order, the proper procession of one step to the next, ready to be used and stored away as he went; it kept the space clear and his mind at ease.

In his…fit, he’d neglected to properly prepare, and now finding what he was looking for when he was looking for it became a ceaselessly infuriating challenge.

The second time what he was looking for turned out to be right in front of him, he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Can you talk?” he asked, quiet. He faced away from Tam, couldn’t see the way he shifted, the crease in his brow. “About anything, really. What you’ve been doing today, something you’ve been thinking about. Just…keep me company?”

Silence for a moment, then the warmth of Tam’s voice. “I haven’t been up to or thinking of pleasant things recently.”

“Me either. Please?”

A noise, then, “Okay. If you think it’ll help. I told you I was held up by an argument…it was Linh and Rayni, again. I wish they’d get over it. They keep dragging me into their drama, and they never have any new points to make. Same thing over and over--though usually Linh’s yelling loud enough Rayni can’t get enough words in to make her point. If Linh would actually listen sometimes it might help, but she’s digging her heels in.”

Fitz started to move again, the steady, low cadence of his boyfriend’s words wrapping themselves around him, grounding as he reorganized, staying silent through the stream of consciousness so few were privy to. Tam never softened the blow of his thoughts, but most only saw their swift hits, not the melodic current behind them.

“If only I could lock them in a room together until they figure out a truce of some kind--but I think they’d blow up the house in the process, and Tiergan and Prentice would be pissed.”

“It’s a miracle they’ve even agreed to live under the same roof, honestly.”

“It’s asking for disaster. One day Linh’s gonna drown Rayni in her sleep with one of her water people when she has a nightmare or something--they’re seriously freaky.”

Fitz shuddered. “I do not want to meet one of those--especially not in the middle of the night. But maybe the vulnerability would help between them.”

He could practically hear Tam roll his eyes as he snorted. “Yeah, they’ll go stargazing together and have a nice heart to heart.”

Fiddling with the arrangement of some particularly frustrating fruit slices, Fitz decided not to prod much further, and simply shrugged. “It could happen.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

He had nothing to say to that, wiping juice off his fingers on a nearby towel before grabbing the bowl of nectar-tinged syrup, pouring the semi-clear liquid over the arranged slices, feeling Tam’s eyes on his back as he carefully placed the two tarts in the fridge to set the glaze.

“Thirty minutes?” Tam confirmed, and Fitz nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll just…put everything away and then--” a sharp thud rang out as Tam landed, having pushed off the counter and moved to his side, eyes scanning the mess.

Without preamble, he started collecting various dry ingredients, putting lids back on and placing them back in the pantry.

“Wha--hey--”

“Shut up and let me help you.”

Fitz shut up and let Tam help him.

Tam took charge of putting everything back in its place--which, of course, he knew from the numerous times he’d watched Fitz do the very same. He could navigate the place in the dark at this point--and not because he was a shade.

Fitz, watching from the corner of his eye, washed the dishes; the warmth of the water soothed as he placed each piece to dry before drying his own hands.

Tam was done long before him, leaning against the counter and toying with the charm of his necklace as he watched each methodic motion of his hands.

He said nothing as Fitz finished, leaving a poignant breath of a pause between them, one he wasn’t sure how to break, if he even should.

Silver-blue eyes swept him from head to toe, lingering on his chest for a moment, before coming to rest on his face.

Before Fitz could decide what to say, Tam broke the silence for him. “C’mon, you look dead on your feet.”

He jerked his head towards the sitting area, reaching out to slip their palms together, pulling him towards one of the overstuffed chaises he loved to complain about and guiding him into one.

It wasn’t until his back hit the cushions that he realized how worn he was, body and mind. An exhaustion perforated the coating of his bones and leeched the marrow out in steady streams, sinking into his viscera and draining everything he was.

Almost unconsciously, he reached for his chest, rubbing where his echo should’ve been, but wasn’t. Where the pain should’ve reverberated as a constant reminder screaming at him in retribution, but wasn’t.

He wished it was still there, that it still hurt, that there was something that wasn’t this bone weary ache. Something alive, something piercing.

Something present, unlike his brother.

“Your echo’s gone,” Tam says, and Fitz can’t remember when he closed his eyes, when Tam got so close.

He can’t think through the heat of Tam’s body beside his, and perhaps it’s better that way; perhaps it would be better to never think again and follow this boy anywhere he might go.

“Fitz,” he says again, concerned, “there’s nothing there anymore.”

“I know,” he responds, but the words are faint, like they fall from someone else’s lips, and his eyes fall to Tam’s.

There’s a tightness to them, which means he’s thinking hard about something. And Fitz both hopes and knows and loves and hates that it’s him.

Tam’s hand reaches towards his still pressed to his chest, and he’s saying something Fitz can’t hear, tongue poised between his teeth.

“Can I kiss you?” he hears himself ask, breathless, desperate, longing.

Tam stills, blinking, and in the brief moment Fitz tears his eyes from his lips he sees Tam’s fall to his own.

“Please?”

Tam says nothing; he gives his answer in rough lips against his and fingertips pressed harsh on his chest as he leans over him.

Fitz gives every and anything he has, muscles relaxing into the overstuffed chair as Tam steadies himself with an arm braced by Fitz’s head.

Tam doesn’t kiss softly. His lips are chapped from how much he bites them, and press against his own so insistently all sensation narrows to that point of contact as he pulls back only to press closer, practically straddling Fitz to get close enough.

Fitz’s eyes close and darkness greets him, slipping past his barriers and into the safe corner he’s built to wrap him in a refreshing chill, blocking out even the idea of the foggy maelstrom beyond.

As he presses back, one hand over Tam’s on his heart and the other reaching around the back of his neck to hold him tight, his mind goes blissfully blank. There’s nothing but this boy in his lap and his tongue against his lips, his breath in his mouth and his pulse racing his.

They play pretend together, shadows meeting his mind so dark he can’t see what he was running from when he’s sinking in their depths.

And then he can taste the salt on his cheeks and Tam pulls back, inhaling like he was drowning, and he still doesn’t say a word.

Neither does Fitz.

His head thumped back against the plush chaise and he gasped like he was drowning, too, because he might’ve been.

Tam’s fingers caught on his necklace as he pulled himself back, watching and watching and watching.

Because Fitz was a boy of storms and madness, and he was losing himself to the pull.

Rain thundered down his cheeks as cracks crept through the wall, and he couldn’t stop the deluge once it started.

His sobs echoed through hollow bones, hollow chests, hollow aches, and there was no trace of the spark that’d made him desperate to smash what few lovely things he had left. Only salt in his mouth and a grief so all-consuming he couldn’t see past it.

Air rushes over his teeth and dries them cold, but there’s not enough of it. And he’s shuddering. He’s shuddering and shaking and the world blurs as the weight in his lap disappears and all he can think is, Finally.

Finally, I was too much.

He presses a hand to his chest and another to his mouth and imagines it’s viscous orange begging to slip past his lips and choke him dead. He imagines it eroding away muscle and flesh until all he is is bone, and then he’s not even that.

Was that what it was like?

For him?

For Alvar.

The name rocks through his mind like a lightning strike, the startling rawness of allowing himself to think it strong enough he can’t help repeating it. Alvar, Alvar, Alvar, like running a tongue over the space left empty by a lost tooth.

A lost brother.

His brother.

His dead brother.

Dead after he locked him in that cubby and left him to choke as the muck poured down, fast and all-consuming as the tears in his mouth.

My fault.

And then there’s a hand on his arm squeezing tight, and Tam presses something into his palm as something else clinks on the side table.

Its softness is so starting against his fingertips his breath hitches, and he looks down in spite of himself.

It takes a few blinks to see through the pooled tears; his hand is clenched around an impossibly soft handkerchief, and Tam is at his side again. Wary. Watching.

He looks to the side; a glass of water sits on the nearby table, ice still faintly crackling.

“You don’t--you don’t have to do this.” His voice is thick and wobbling with the orange mire inside.

“Yes,” Tam said, angles of his face softening. “I do.”

Silently, Fitz reached to wipe the tears from his own face with the handkerchief, burning under Tam’s gaze; it held no judgment, only absolute focus.

More salt poured down his cheeks, but now silent.

“Have some water,” Tam instructed, and Fitz obeyed.

The cold helped wash the thickness from his throat, grounding him to the moment. To the feel of the overstuffed cushion beneath them, the sunlight streaming through now-open windows, the heat of the boy beside him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and Tam snorted.

“Don’t even start. You had a complicated relationship and a fuck load of repressed feelings about him; I’m just surprised it took you this long.” Tam rested his chin on his palm, tilting his head as he looked Fitz over.

He didn’t even flush as he looked away and admitted, “I already had a…fit, this morning. Broke a few things.”

“Did it make you feel better?”

“No.”

Silence hung heavy after the confession, and Fitz swiped at his eyes again, hating the dried sticky texture of his skin.

Slowly, Tam reached for his hand; he let him.

Tam wrapped his hand in both of his, letting it rest where their knees touched as he scooted closer.

Somehow this felt more intimate, more raw than when he’d been kissing him in his lap.

Tam pressed his brows together, but he didn’t say anything for a long while, and neither did Fitz.

There was no hurricane to tear him apart anymore; it’d exploded and scattered itself to the winds of his thoughts, decimating the order he’d so carefully built over the last few years. And now all that was left was lingering wisps of fog, salt in his mouth, and an exhaustion so bone deep he didn’t know how he’d ever escape it.

“What if I told you I was glad?” He swallowed, and wondered if Tam had even heard the whispered question.

“What?”

“What if I told you, when I found out, I was just glad it was over.”

Tam’s fingers twitched against his, like he wanted to reach for his bangs but stopped himself. Fitz pressed on.

He studied the floor, voice hollow as his heart. “I know he’s my brother. And that everyone thinks maybe we could’ve learned more from him. And people always say death is so tragic. But now…it’s over. He can’t--he can’t do anything anymore. He can’t hurt anyone. And when they told me, I was glad.”

“Was?” Tam repeated, and Fitz didn’t need to look to know he was scrutinizing him. He always saw more than Fitz said, but instead of feeling pleased like usual, his mind shriveled from the thought of what he’d find. “What about now? Are you still glad?”

“Is it bad that I don’t know?”

Tam shifted, shrugging. “How would I know? He was your brother.”

Fitz made a non-committal noise, and his free hand reached towards his chest.

This time, instead of pressing against his heart, he clutched at his half of their necklace.

He shifts, eyes finding Tam’s and searching his face for any solace, a drop of water in the desert.

Tam’s cheeks are dusted pink, his eyes hard and bright, and there’s a crease between his brows that Fitz put there. Warm light falls over his cheekbones, and he’s close enough to see the shadows his short lashes cast.

His cheek twitches underneath Fitz’s attention in a slight curl of his lips, bringing his eyes, for the second time that day, to their shape. The sharp peaks framing his cupid’s bow, the tense corners, the patches of missing skin freshly bitten.

And he wants so badly to feel.

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks, and feels Tam still again.

He looks suspicious, and Fitz can’t blame him.

He keeps talking. “I’m--I’m not okay, but…I’m not going to fall apart on you again. I’m…it’s gone quiet in my head. You can say no, it’s okay.”

Fitz turns away, hollow, so he’s surprised when a hand presses against his face and turns him back.

The edges of his silvered bangs brush Fitz’s skin as Tam pulls him in and their lips meet in a gentle reprieve.

It’s only moments before Tam’s pulling away again, but his hand is laced through Fitz’s and that’s all he needs for a piddling, weak spark to stir in the echoes of his heart.

Tam’s eyes lingered on his face a moment longer, then shifted somewhere beyond him, and something flickered through his expression. Surprise? Realization?

With a faint smile, Tam pulled him to his feet; torn between wanting to stay there until he melded into the chair and the need to stretch his stiff body, he followed without resistance.

“Where are we going?” he asked, and the spark brightened in the ease of Tam’s movements through his secret kitchen.

Tam looked back. “Today’s sucked--a lot. Don’t even try to downplay it--you’ve spent the last hour crying uncontrollably. You should treat yourself; that’s what Linh always says.”

And with that Fitz understood.

“The tarts.”

“It’s definitely been longer than half an hour.” He dropped Fitz’s hand, leaving him standing awkwardly as he yanked the fridge door open. Bottles and glass clinked with the harsh movement, but Tam didn’t seem to notice as he grabbed a pan and pushed it onto the counter; he kicked the door shut as he spun, determined, for plates.

Fitz simply watched.

After a minute, Tam reached for him again to hand him a plate; he was already biting into his own, leaning back against the counter.

Fitz was all too aware of how he was being watched.

But he still picked up the fork and placed a bite in his mouth, the sweet chill comforting; it’d never been his favorite, the tzica more tart than the richness he’d grown accustomed to.

But he couldn’t help loving it, remembering the quiet delight on Tam’s face the first time he’d tried it.

He’d been in a baking rut, tired of all the ripplefluffs and butterblasts and desperate for something new.

One of the gnomes who lived at Everglen had passed by, and upon hearing his complaints, suggested working with the fruit. They’d said something about thinking it underappreciated, and thought it would be novel enough to get him out of his funk.

He hadn’t heard of it before, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him; nothing was satisfying the itch anymore.

Looking through their recipe books, he hadn’t been able to find anything; his mother had confirmed it when he’d sought her out. They didn’t have tzica as an ingredient in any of their recipes--she’d never even heard of it before.

It turned out to be a smooth, oblong green fruit with a firm yellow flesh and sharp taste.

He’d ended up adapting a different tart recipe, substituting the nectar, juice, and flesh for the original sillberry.

And he’d dragged Tam, who’d recently said yes and accepted the necklace Fitz had offered with shaking, smitten hands, to help him test the results.

He’d been making a face, ready to pronounce it a complete failure and go back to the drawing board, when he’d seen how wide Tam’s eyes had gone.

What did you say this was?

…a tzica tart? Why?

He’d stared at his plate like it contained the universe. I’ve had this before.

How? I made this recipe up yesterday.

No--not your recipe, he’d waved away the words impatiently, scrunching his nose in a way that made Fitz want to kiss it. But he wasn’t sure he was allowed to. Tzica. When we were banished, the gnomes near us shared what they could. I never knew its name, but I’d know the taste anywhere.

It’d still taken a few tweaks, but with the guidance of Tam’s tongue, he’d hammered out the recipe that’d become so familiar he could follow it without thinking. As he had today.

And even after all this time, Fitz could still see traces of the nostalgia, the comfort in the sharp flavor on Tam’s face. It was subtler now, but he knew what to look for. He always did.

Fitz set his plate, half-eaten, on the island behind him; he reached for his necklace, fingering the charm as he watched Tam set his own empty plate in the sink.

Acidic tzica on his tongue, he watched Tam turn back towards him, and the spark fluttered in his chest as their eyes met.

The few feet between them was both a chasm and nothing at all the way his breath caught watching Tam’s tongue brush over his lip.

All he can think is how much he loves this boy.

And then he’s moving and Tam lets out a soft noise of surprise as Fitz’s arms wrap tight around him. His breath brushes Fitz’s neck as he presses his face against Tam’s shoulder, eyes closed tight as his fingers dig in.

Tam’s hand falls on his shoulder blades, and he feels the confusion in his stiffness.

It relaxes as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Tam doesn’t seem to know what to say, only shifts his hands lower and breaths slowly. Waiting. Watching.

When Fitz pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against Tam’s again.

He notices as he does that their necklaces have clicked together, suspended between them.

“Better?” Tam asks, and the word holds a million meanings.

Fitz takes a moment to answer, prodding his mind for hurricanes and fog and orange; he finds aches and bruises and exhaustion, fury and dread and relief.

But he also finds memories and thoughts dragging themselves slowly back towards their rightful places, comfort and peace and possibilities blossoming in the cracks of the morning.

He’s not okay, but he will be.

And in the meantime, there’s a beautiful boy, alive and watching, right in front of him with nectar on his lips.

“Better,” he agrees, and kisses him again.

a few people who expressed interest in this (hope you don't mind): @let-them-sing-of-others @an-absolute-travesty @amandayetagain @camelspit @arson-anarchy-death

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #quil's quill #quil's queries #nonsie #kotlc titz #you: baking fic? me:...baking fic...about death?#i genuinely loved writing this very much though so I hope you enjoy it too :)#i keep double checking everything it's been a while since I posted a fic. i feel like I'm gonna forget something #but anyway! here it is!

17 notes · View notes