Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tears. There were tears. A lot of tears.

They stained his cheeks, his stubble. Some drops had trickled into his ear somehow, and the pillow, of course, you couldn't discount the pillow, it was drenched.

Maybe it was sweat? No, it couldn't be. You didn't sweat at five on a December morning at Allahbad, and certainly not in a cold, dark, tiny, west-facing room in a corner of Tripathi Niwaas.

Kartik opened his tear blotched eyes, and took in his surroundings; as much as his blurred vision would allow, anyway. It wasn't so bad. It was enough for him to make out the outline of an old table with metal legs, a wooden cupboard, with one broken handle and the other hanging loosely, with a dent at its corner caused by a twelve year old Aman having stabbed it with his geometrical instruments (his memory supplied to him that detail). His eyes then searched for the man in question. He ought to be lying next to him, in foetal position, facing away from him, clutching at his toy panda. He hoped to seek some comfort from snaking his arm around the man. But what he saw instead, was an empty, cold bed.

It took his weary brain cells a minute, at best, to recollect what had happened the night before.

Papa bro had proposed to Aman, a running race. He would do anything, it seemed, to prove to his son that he was healthier and fitter than him even at the age of fifty five.

Aman (and Kartik) had agreed to the proposal. For who says you can't self-invite yourself to a race?

(No Aman hadn't agreed. Kartik had agreed on behalf of him. But shh don't tell anybody).

Evidently, Aman would now be on the streets of Allahbad, in his abdidasš pants, with a disgruntled face, thanks to his husband.

His head hurt. It throbbed. He had had his share of grotesque nightmares, but this wasn't one of them. In fact, it was a dream, sweet. blissful. calm. serene.

It was one of the most beautiful dreams he had had in years. It ought not hurt then, right?

But it hurt. It hurt so much he could feel it in his bones. He didn't have an explanation for it. For why his heart was rapidly clenching, why his lungs felt like they would collapse any minute, why his stomach was sinking, mind spiralling, why he had to struggle so much to draw breath.

Kartik only had a vague memory of his mother. He had been, what- of six? When he last saw her? The woman in his mind did not have a face, nor did the woman in his dream have one. It was rather the sensation of her presence he remembered her by, her warmth. He did not even know her first name.

Maa. He called her maa.

The arms that held a much younger, innocent, vulnerable Kartik in their embrace reassuringly, the soft hands that held his face. The gentle fingers that ruffled his hair. The sound of her bangles. anklets. That was what he remembered her by.

They had inside jokes too, he remembered. He didn't know what they were, but he remembered smiling, laughing, chortling even. He remembered being happy. There were smiles, reflecting on one another's faces. Smiles, giggles, happiness.

The soft, sweet lullabies that she cooed into his ears every night. The rare occasions when she scolded him, but it fell upon his ears like music nevertheless. The free end of her dupatta, that would be brought to his wet eyes and cheeks, at not a moment's notice.

The way her beautiful, dark eyes moistened whenever she saw him cry, and she'd have to use the other end of her dupatta for herself, trying, in vain, to look away and hide her tears. But Kartik saw them anyway, he always did. Tears. Tears that were shed for him, because of him, by his mother, when she saw him in pain. He would turn her face towards himself and do it for her, the same way she did for him.

They took care of each other.

There was love. Love, that somehow, he never experienced for the next nine years of his life, after she left him. She took it with him, a young Kartik believed- a piece of his heart.

Didn't all mothers own a piece of their children's hearts? That's what she used to tell him. He believed it, with all he had. He believed his heart was irreparably broken after maa left him, she suddenly vanished, one day, out of nowhere. Papa didn't tell him where she went. He had waited, that night, for the familiar sound of anklets, the familiar soft, warm voice, the familiar caress, the kiss on his forehead, the mandatory lori. It never came. He waited, and he waited. He had then gone up to papa, who seemed to be engaged in a serious discussion with five scary-looking  police officers. He pulled at his sleeve, only to receive a scolding in return.

He had cried himself to sleep that night, and the successive seven nights.

He missed maa. Of course he did. But he dared not tell papa, he dared not ask him where she was, after receiving a scolding for the fourth time. He waited. He waited for so many days. Every tiny rustle that he heard outside the door, made him leap up, and watch expectantly, hoping for the familiar figure to run towards him and wrap him in her embrace. But she never returned.

He waited. He did. It was hardly fair. She had never said goodbye. He hadn't expected her to disappear. She had promised to stay by him, to love him with all she had, even in his inferior moments, when he did something wrong, she would scold him yes, but never, not even in that moment, would she stop loving him, she had told him. She was not keeping her promise. How was it fair?

It was difficult, very difficult, to fall asleep without having his head placed comfortably in her warm lap. He didn't know whom to go to after having returned from a fight. He didn't know whose dupatta to use to wipe his tears. He didn't know whom to run to for comfort when he had a hellish nightmare. He didn't know how to talk to papa. She hadn't taught him that. She'd always protected him, hid him in her bosom, stroked his back, wiped his tears for him. How was he to function now, without her? She'd also told him, on multiple occasions, to be a strong boy, a good boy, he had tried, he did.

Somehow, it was a little(much) too damn difficult, to function, to form peace with the fact that she would never return, that he was waiting in vain, that every night when his hopes drowned after having waited at the door, they would drown the next day again, and again, and again. She would, in fact, not return. He would have to learn to live without her.

He missed her. He missed her so much. He missed her with every inch of the broken piece of his little heart. He missed her presence. He missed the sweet smell of sandalwood that her presence brought with it, and also the warm, familiar feeling of home, which he had somehow never felt ever since, until Aman, of course. Aman, and the Tripathis.

God, Aman was home, Aman was his world, stars, and galaxies put together. Aman had given him so much, so much unadulterated love and affection, so much more than he could fathom, so much more than he thought he could ever have a shot at receiving.

He had given him a family, he had given him a taste of the kind of love he thought he could never, never feel again, a sense of belonging, a sense of being wanted, and not merely being a human entity whose presence has to be put up with.

He could never thank Aman enough. Sometimes, he wasn't even sure if he deserved him, if he deserved them.

A choked sob escaped his mouth. He was biting on to his lip in order to prevent emanating sound, similar to how he did as a child. He tried to wipe away the tears. They wouldn't stop. It didn't seem like he had much control over himself anymore. His nails dug into the skin of his thigh. With his other hand, he clutched on to the sheets as if his life depended on it. He was trying, so hard, to breathe, but he could only feel his chest tightening, his rib cage constricting his lungs, making it impossible to draw in air. He closed his eyes. The tears flowed once more.

There was a knock. The door creaked open. Kartik turned away just in time.

Chapter Text

Kartik squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face into the pillow. He couldn't let anyone see him like this. Broken. Hurt. Wrecked. A mess.

He had woken up in tears, his eyes were red, his breath hitched every now and then from all the crying. His air passageways were choked he could hardly breathe. He couldn't let- he wouldn't-

Unless-  unless it was Aman?

A stifled sob escaped his mouth despite his efforts to hide it. He knew so because he heard footsteps approach closer, the sound of bangles, and a soft voice that whispered, "beta?"

Beta. The word, the sound of it, and the way it was uttered, the voice reflecting concern and warmth, did not do anything to help Kartik's not-very-well-fairing heart. He was teetering on the edge of a complete breakdown and the voice only further triggered him. He shuddered under the blanket.

Please. Please don't look. Please make her not look.

A hand gently brushed through his hair.

"Kartik what happened? Look here."

He did not deserve this comfort, no. He was an obligation to them as it were, he was in no place to throw around tantrums. He had caused enough problems already, had got Aman almost married to Suman (Sunita?), had caused a rift between Aman and his family. It had ended well alright, he'd forced his way into the family somehow but this, he could not-

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Sunaina's heart ached at the words, uttered with the fragility of shattered glass, as if from the mouth of a scared child in anticipation of a mother's slap.

"Sorry for what beta?"

"I'm- sorry. just. sorry. please."

'He often gets nightmares' she remembered Aman's words.

Could it be one of those?

Sunaina recalled how a much younger Aman would run into her arms, clutch at her waist tightly and she would then sing him to sleep. It was one of the very few times he allowed himself to be comforted.

Her eyes darted back to the curled up figure of Kartik again.

Suddenly, a realisation struck.

He probably didn't have that. Nobody to seek comfort from.

A surge of affection rose in her heart. In the past one year that she had known the boy, she knew him to be a ball of sunshine, spreading smiles wherever he went.

They hadn't welcomed him with warmth- what warmth-  her husband had beaten him relentlessly into unconsciousness, and he had taken it, every blow, willingly, for her son, his husband, Aman, for them.

Having been subjected to that, he had only done his best to bring the family closer together.

They now laughed more often than they fought. Aman hadn't visited Allahabad as many times in the first five years of his stay at Delhi, as he and Kartik had in the past year.

It felt like he had belonged here. He was like her son. He was her son. She would be kidding herself if she tried to tell herself otherwise. The boy had shown her more affection than Aman ever had in all his life, this isn't to signify that she held anything against Aman, they were different kinds of people, both her sons. However, sometimes she would admit she loved Kartik more. Although she'd met the boy not more than two years ago, it hardly seemed like it. He had woven his place into their lives intricately, gently, and it felt like he had been one of them since forever.

Kartik let out a soft whimper, that was hard not to miss, had Sunaina seated herself any further away. She carded her fingers through his hair.

"What happened? Had a dream?"

Kartik only sniffled in response. Sunaina gently caressed the knuckles of his hand that clutched at the sheets as if his life depended on it. Slowly, she was able to ease his hold on it.

Although she liked to believe she was good with words, in the moment she did not think words could do much. She lifted his head gently to place it comfortably in her lap. She hummed a soft tune, all the while continuing to card her fingers through his hair. It reminded her of a time when all the three Tripathi siblings would take turns being sung to sleep.

"Mummy"

"Hm?"

"Don't leave. Please." Kartik clutched at her knee tighter than he already was.

Sunaina felt a single tear roll down her cheek.

It almost seemed as if her son was begging of her for the comfort that he lost out on in the several years of separation. It sounded almost as if he were a child, pleading for parental love, too scared, too hurt, to say too long a string of words at one go.

"I will not.

I will not leave.

Do you want to listen to a story?"

Chapter Text

Aman was mad. very mad. He was fuming. Kartik had got him into all of this and left him alone to be embarrassed before the whole neighbourhood. He himself had gotten away very easily by simply refusing to wake up. And being the 'maa ka laadla' that he is, Sunaina had advocated for her son's rights to having a fulfilling sleep.

"Khabardaar jo mere bachhe ki neend kharab ki." she had said.

Aman, on the other hand, had to get out on the road when it was fucking freezing, only to engage in a stupid race, wherein Shankar refused to let him claim his well deserved victory any which way.

He entered his room to see Kartik asleep, his head placed comfortably in Sunaina's lap. The Gods know what it took for him to refrain from throwing a shoe at the sleeping man.

"Asshat get up. You jus-"

"shh. He's sleeping stay quiet." Sunaina cut him off.

Aman felt almost betrayed. It was funny, to be honest, to think that just a little over a year ago, the very family that was ready to do anything in their power to push Kartik away from Aman, had come to love him so much. They'd pamper him more than they ever did Aman, and until now Aman hadn't known more were even possible.

Goggle and Keshav had found in Kartik a partner in clownery. Every other day you would find the three of them either hatching an evil plot that involved Chaman chacha and pigeons or some other stupid prank. Even when they were away at Delhi, the trio would somehow work out a way to annoy a family member. Exasperating as it may seem, it made Aman's heart smile. They had found themselves another brother. One that took infinite times more interest in Keshav's enthusiastic monologues about his iPad or Goggle's outfit designs than himself.

Chaman and Champa would go to Kartik with their problems, and to Aman's surprise, Kartik would offer them solutions- useful solutions.

Shankar, who had beaten Kartik black and blue the first time he was here, had sworn to send the illness away with the boy, had, slowly but surely, come to love him, and had grown very protective of him.

Sunaina had found in him another son to pamper. The love that Aman had found suffocating, that he had been running away from, Kartik appreciated , revelled in it.

At first, Aman didn't understand. He didn't understand how Kartik didn't find it annoying when Sunaina playfully pulled at his cheeks, or forcefully placed an extra sweet onto his plate. Instead, Kartik smiled at any of those gestures, sometimes he teared up a little. He had seen it in his eyes for the first time when mummy had told Kartik to fetch a packet of curd from the market.

The sense of belonging. Sheer contentment shining in his eyes. It seemed as though if he were given a chance to be anywhere else in the world, he would choose to be here, right here, watching as each of the Tripathis laughed boisterously at a stupid joke he made. He was now part of a family, that thought of him as one of their own.

He felt at home. He made Aman feel more at home too, so much more than he ever had before. Their love didn't suffocate Aman anymore. It seemed more genuine than before.

Kartik had brought the family closer.

Aman's train of thought broke when he looked closely at Kartik's form. He was shaking. Although his face was turned away, Aman knew there would be tear tracks if he looked.

Realisation struck. He had had another nightmare. No no no, not now, not here.

He knew how bad the nightmares could get sometimes. They would leave Kartik restless and gasping for breath. They'd hold on to each other for at least thirty minutes, sometimes for hours, until Kartik calmed enough to fall back asleep. Sometimes he simply couldn't go back to sleep.  It was particularly difficult when he woke up from a dream in the morning. In the absence of the comforting, tranquil darkness of the night, it took longer for Kartik to calm down.

All Aman could do was hold on to him as he cried.

It hurt. It always hurt so much to see him like that. However the frequency of nightmares had reduced over time. He only got them on days when he was particularly bothered or anxious. Today must have been an exception, he had been so happy the previous day.

"Mummy... what happened to him-"

"I don't know." Sunaina ran her fingers through Kartik's hair,  "He was crying."

Aman's heart squeezed at that. He wasn't here. Once again, he wasn't here when Kartik needed him. He always did this. That's what he had been all his life. a coward. who ran.

ran from his problems, from his family, from life, from love, from. the love of his life.

But he would get better he promised himself. If Kartik had taught him one thing it was to face his troubles instead of living in denial. And slowly but surely, he was learning.

"Mummy, aap jao. I'll. I'll take care of it."

Sunaina nodded in agreement. Aman knew better. He would take better care of him.

Hesitantly, she gently lifted Kartik's head off her lap. It was all the more difficult because Kartik refused to let go. He clung on to her saree for dear life, making some incoherent growling noises.

"Kartik. Beta look Aman is here." Sunanina cooed.

But it didn't seem like he was going to have any of it.

"No maa please. please. don't go please. don't leave."  Kartik whimpered with half closed eyes.

It felt like someone had put a saw through Aman's heart and twisted it an infinite times over.

Kartik didn't need Aman.

Was that why it hurt? Wasn't he supposed to be happy that Kartik was deriving comfort from his mother, their mother?

Was he- jealous? Of his own mother? How could he?

After a few seconds of thought, he figured otherwise. He was hurting for Kartik. He was hurting because he, having known how dearly Kartik missed his mom, missed having familial love, had denied him the chance at having a family for the longest time. He had denied Kartik a chance at. this.

He could see, and physically feel Kartik's longing for a family. But he'd not even let him meet them, because of his own selfish inhibitions. Only because he was scared of his father, and for what.

You were scared for him. A voice in his head said.

You almost snatched this away from him. Another screamed.

He had almost given up on them, on their love, on himself. He couldn't believe at one point he'd agreed to marry Kusum. Whatever must have possessed him to do that. He would be destroying all their lives. If only Kusum hadn't run away, Kartik would have left, he would've left from his life forever.

Although a sucky one, Aman at least had a family, that had his back. It might be conditional, but there was love. At any given point, he could come crying in his mother's lap and she would take him in. But Kartik; all he had for a support system was Aman. Yes, you'd think a flamboyant clown boy like Kartik would have a lot of friends, and he did. But he hadn't allowed any of them in, the way he had Aman. If even that one man had pushed him away-

No. He did not want to think about it.

But think he did nevertheless.

He knew Kartik well. Kartik wouldn't take a second chance at love, and how could one expect him to- after being repeatedly subjected to pain and betrayal. The man had offered love and nothing but love, willingly made a gash in his heart and openly given love to the world. Only to be repeatedly rejected, by every single person, to be pushed away, to be almost given up on.

He would retreat into his shell. He would be broken irreparably, and honestly so would Aman. How would he live through his days, knowing he had permanently pushed away the love of his life from himself. That his ever smiling idiot boyfriend, was somewhere, away from him, hiding an insane amount of pain in his heart. How would-

"Arey guddu! Ab tu kyu ro raha hai?" Sunaina blinked at him questioningly.

Aman sucked in a deep breath. His throat was heavy. A few sniffles, and a few stares back-and-forth later, he broke down. and cried at her knees.

"Mummy, i've"; he spoke between sobs, "i'm not"

"i cannot. i have." his voice broke.

"I'm a bad son, a bad boyfriend. A very bad one, i've been so inconsiderate and selfish always."

he forced out the sentence at last.

"Aman..." Sunaina extricated her hands from Kartik's hair momentarily to cup Aman's face with them.

"You're not beta. You're perfect. You're the perfect husband. You're perfect for him. He's the happiest with you, and you're the happiest with him. I saw the love in your eyes the very first day guddu. And it was the first time i had seen that kind of an emotion in your eyes. Teri aankhon se sab pata chal jaata hai."

Kartik says that too.

"And i'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you since the beginning. You know na, no one had ever said a word against your father in this house. It was an alien concept. But you were brave enough to take that step, your love" she paused to pass a loving glance at Kartik, "was strong enough. It gave me strength. To see what you two share, it was empowering in a weird way. The way you fought and protested that day, the love between you, I could not consciously let that be snatched away.

Can I tell you a secret beta?"

Aman only sniffled. Sunaina took that as a go-ahead.

"I asked Kusum to run away."

That was a lot for Aman to process all at once. His mom had-

He tried to form words, but they were stuck at his throat.

In the next few seconds he found himself plunging forward to engulf Sunaina in a hug.

No words he'd say would be enough. So he only cried.

"Arey mera pagal bachha" she patted his cheek, "ro mat."

Chapter Text

Aman could not even begin to process the complexity of the emotions that were coursing through his mind, faster than tachyonic particles, one stream of thought after the other. He could not even begin to fathom the intensity of gratitude that he was feeling, and frame it into words, coherent words.

Sunaina had left the room, leaving Aman and a snoring Kartik behind. Aman was waiting for Kartik to wake up, to tell him, he didn't know how he would, but he knew he had to somehow.

He was feeling regret, gratitude, love, relief, disgust, everything all at once, too many things, too intensely, directed at different people.

He hadn't been able to say anything to his mother. It would take a while to even start processing the piece of information.

'I asked Kusum to run away.'

She had said it so simply, as if, it were just another casual statement, as if it hadn't toppled Aman's life completely over, as if it hadn't prevented his wreckage, Kartik's, all of theirs, if one really thought about it; as if it weren't the purest form of acceptance Aman had ever experienced, or even expected to experience in his entire life. He had never before been made to feel so comfortable in his own skin. Never before had he felt so much at ease, with his feelings, his identity, with himself.

Gratitude. He felt grateful.

He'd spent his entire life running away from difficult situations, avoiding them altogether; running from love, from his family, from his own feelings. As a child he'd really never understood how boys his age had crushes on girls, how they were able to gush over how pretty girls looked or how they'd talk about getting butterflies in their stomach when a girl they liked walked past them. He could admit they looked pretty, but he just didn't feel what everyone described, he couldn't place a finger on it. He'd not given it much thought until after sometime he began to experience those exact feelings his friends had described, only, it had been for other boys, it had been for his best friend, Dev.

He didn't know what to make of that. He had no idea what to do with himself. It left him confused. There were a countless sleepless nights, a countless others where his overactive mind made him to cry himself to sleep, a countless stolen glances, tinted with shame.

One day he mustered enough courage to tell Dev about his feelings. He hadn't thought he'd ever have been able to say it out loud, but he had somehow.

There was chaos in the classroom that day. Dev and he were seated in a corner of the last row. He remembered feeling he could trust Dev, he felt safe with him.

Before he knew it he was whispering something in Dev's ear.

" I wanna tell you something. Remember those feelings you were talking about ?" His heart beat faster than it ever had.

"Yes?"

"I- I think I feel them.."

"oh my god. for who!"

"but-" Aman's voice began to break, "for you." he blurted out.

Dev blinked at him once, twice.

Out of all the things that Aman had anticipated, he hadn't expected this, for Dev to flinch, to look at him as if he had committed a crime, as if there was something so gravely wrong with him, as if, he were disgusted by Aman.

In the next two seconds, Aman's vision was blinded by tears. He felt betrayed. He felt shame. He felt disgust. at himself. Then, for being different, and now, for not having accepted himself, for allowing the boy as much power over him as he had, for feeling the way that he did about himself.

He'd run after that. He grabbed his bag and ran as fast as possible, avoiding all and any eye-contact. He didn't know how he would ever come back to school. He ran straight to home. All he wished for, was to lock himself in his room and cry his guts out, but Sunaina stopped him on the way, and oh, how grateful he was for that. Her embrace felt safe, truly safe, he felt love, he felt her love seep through her arms in the way that she held him, and stroked his back.

In the same way that he now felt love for the goofy idiot lying on his lap. And as he looked, he felt an immeasurable amount of relief flood in, like an overflowing dam.

Relief, because he was done going through all of that. All the  pain, shame, guilt, self doubt, and regrets(the gods knew he had many) he'd put behind him, and he had his Kartik with him today, he had his mother, he had his family. He heaved a sigh loud enough to wake Kartik up, and that man is no light sleeper.

"Sleep well?" Aman ran his fingers through his hair.

"Wow you're being uncharacteristically nice what's wro-" Kartik spoke through a yawn, or at least tried to speak, before he was rudely cut off by Aman smacking a pillow on his face.

"Shut up. I'm always nice to you."

"Stop lying through your teeth."

"I will hit you."

"Do it I'm not scared of you. Mai-"

"Lohar ka beta hoon. I know."

Kartik stuck out his tongue.

There was a long pause.

"Kartik."

"Hmm."

"Mummy was here when I came in."

"I know." Kartik smiled.

"I want to tell you s"

"Merry Christmas!" It was Kartik who rudely cut him off this time. He had elevated himself just enough so that he was now in a semi-sitting position, back resting against Aman's chest.

Aman's breath caught in his throat. A surge of affection rose in his chest.

"Kartik. I love you."

Kartik felt Aman shudder. He tilted his head to look at him. Aman looked away.

"What's wrong?"

"What."

"Tu jab udaas hota hai tab senti hota hai."

"Nahi shut up." He hated that the man knew him so well.

"You've been thinking about something." Kartik said it more like a statement rather than a question.

"No."

Chapter Text

"Tell me."

"If there was something to tell you I would've." his voice quivered a little.

He bit his lip.

Kartik sat up to face him. He held Aman's face in his large hands, thumbing his jaw.

Aman's eyes were glassy. He looked down, tearing his gaze away.

The gestures of comfort only made it more difficult for him to keep his emotions at bay, to keep from letting go. He shifted slightly, slowly, moving up to lean against the wall, next to Kartik, and rested his head on his shoulder. This way at least he wouldn't have to look Kartik in the eye.

It was unusual, Aman leaning on Kartik. At any given time you were more likely to find Kartik lying on Aman's lap, Kartik leaning on Aman's shoulder, Kartik slipping his hand into Aman's, it was just how they were. Aman wasn't the kind of person who felt the need for physical shows of affection often, but at the times that he did, he didn't shy away from asking for comfort, from leaning into it, from sinking into it, especially since this is Kartik we're talking about.

Kartik would never hurt him, even if he allowed, what everybody calls, too much of himself, to show before Kartik. Kartik would never judge him, though he'd laugh his ass off at some stupid thing Aman did. Kartik would keep him safe. Kartik would offer him comfort, without pity. He could always fall back on Kartik, with zero inhibitions. Kartik was home, that he could come back to, whenever he wanted, whenever he needed.

Kartik ran his fingers through Aman's hair.

Aman would never admit to him how much he liked that, and how he wished he'd do that more often.
He'd tell him one day, he thought.

"I've always been so selfish." Aman said, breaking a stretch of silence.

"No you've not."

"I never loved mom enough."

"Aman. If pestering your mother every night over a phone call about taking her medicines isn't love I don't know what is. I would never have realised what I was missing out on if I hadn't seen you and what you share with the family."

Kartik's own eyes were moist by now.

Aman clung even closer to him.

"I was a stupid kid."

" I think you were a great kid."

"Kartik."

Kartik reassuringly brushed his hair.

There was something so delicate about the few seconds of silence that followed. It was as if there was this vulnerable, delicate bubble, that would burst at the brush of a finger, yet it was pristine, pure, it needed to be protected. Aman felt safe inside it.

"I will tell you something. I haven't told anyone before. I don't know why I haven't but I've-  I know I tell you everything it just never cam up I'm sor-."

Kartik planted a kiss on his temple. "Shush."

Aman spoke.

He told him about Dev, everything about him, about all the feelings associated with him. He had always been too scared to talk to anyone, about how he felt, to ask for help, to ask for comfort. He did need it, god he needed it so much, but it felt like something was physically holding him back from admitting his fears to another human person, to dare to bother them with his stupid thoughts, to let someone in, to allow them the power to judge him, to hurt him, to break him, more than he already was. It was always difficult, but with Kartik it was infinitely easier.

He didn't think telling someone would be necessary, but he found it to be true, talking, to the right person, made everything so much better, even after so many years, it felt like a boulder was lifted out of his chest, exposing an old, gaping wound, albeit small, and allowing it the room to heal.

Aman's heart rate had shot up at the thought of Dev. He hated it. He hated that so much. He didn't know why he was reacting the way he was.

"Aman you know na it's not your fault that he reacted the way he did."

Aman laughed. "No. It's not his fault. You know what's more disturbing?

The fact that my reaction to my own feelings was not much different from his.

I was so-  God it felt like there was something wrong with me and-" Aman traced circles on Kartik's knee.

Kartik understood much too well what Aman was talking about. The internal demons were always the scariest. Living in that hell hole of a home had taught him enough about self-loathing and self-doubt, and how destructive it could be.

"You can't blame yourself entirely Aman. We can't help that we're raised in an environment that's so conditioned, that makes it so difficult to interpret anything that's slightly different from the non-existent norm that they talk about. You were confused as it were, and then to receive reactions like that from the people you trust, to seemingly live in a world where your way of being is alien to everybody, to reside amongst people who will rebuke and ridicule you just because you're not built to feel things in the same way as them? It would break anybody. People think there's this default setting and anything which is different in the slightest is not normal. It fucking doesn't work like that. And it's not easy to function normally when everybody and everything around you presents to you such a twisted definition of normalcy."

Aman snuggled closer to Kartik.

"I did nothing to deserve you." he whispered.

"You have no idea." Kartik found himself smiling. God Aman deserved so much, Aman deserved the world and more, Aman had given him so much, he'd been his pillar, even when it didn't seem like it. Aman's presence, his form, his person, had meant so much to Kartik. He had quietly let Kartik know how appreciated he was, made him feel worthy of love, helped him in the healing process, healing from age old, deep, festering wounds. He had given him a mother, a father, a family.

He had so much to say in response to the one sentence, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything at all, and he figured he didn't need to, not right now, Aman would know. He'd let Aman know, and he didn't necessarily have to speak to let him know.

He knew Aman wasn't done yet, there were many words yet unsaid. All the feelings he'd kept hidden away within him for so long now, they had to be let out.

"Aman, baat kar." Kartik brushed his chin with a finger.

"Tell me what's on your mind. Even if you think it's irrelevant, small, old, just say it."

Aman smiled. "There's nothing really."

"We can still talk." Kartik raised an eyebrow.

"You know, i'd get these, i still do sometimes; these ugly, irrational feelings. And I," he sucked in a sharp breath, "I hate myself for feeling that way, it's not, it's-  weird. it's wrong."

A few seconds passed in silence. Kartik thought there would be more, there wasn't apparently, so he spoke.

"Aman, did you choose to feel those things?"

Aman nodded a no.

"Exactly. How can you hate yourself for something you didn't consciously do?

Aman we can't control what we feel. But we can try to minimise the hurt we cause to ourselves and others because of it. And that can be worked on."

Aman leaned further in, he was almost in a lying position, resting his head on Kartik's chest. It was cold, the proximity helped. The warmth from his body felt so comfortable against his skin. He could sink into it, stay there forever, and talk, or say nothing at all. If someone asked him which were the happiest moments in his life, where he didn't care for the world, and relished in the moment, when any problem he'd ever encountered seemed small, insignificant, before the grand moment, he'd say one of them was this, right now. It was so peaceful, serene, comfortable, he didn't want it to be intruded, by anything, anyone.

As if on cue, he heard footsteps.

They were slow, but steady and heavy. When you live in an Indian joint family, memorising every single member's footsteps is number one on the list of your survivor skills. He recognised the footsteps to be his father's.

Aman had anticipated the uninformed swoosh of the door, but Kartik had been too preoccupied staring at his husband's (admittedly very interesting) hair to realise. He'd been caught off-guard.

Shankar Tripathi entered with a smile on his face.

Aman straightened up a little, but behind him he felt Kartik startle.

He turned to look behind, and the sight made his heart clench, it was- surprising- if one were to put it that way. Kartik had turned away, curled into a ball, and raised his arm so that his elbow covered his face. It was, Aman realised, out of habit, old habit.

Aman looked, once at Kartik and then his father, almost pleading with his eyes, an undertone of accusation in his glance, as if begging the world to stop hurting the love of his life, again and again, kicking him in the gut just as he's about starting to heal from old wounds, renewing them, again and again, recklessly, ruthlessly, opening up all his old scars, just as he was about to embrace them. Forcing him to act tough, act like he was okay; forcing him to be a pillar when he in fact needed one.

Shankar looked a little confused. He bowed his head down in shame the second time Aman looked at him. He didn't look at him angrily, his expression was stony, but something about it made Shankar feel guilty.

He'd never seen Kartik like this before. The boy had only always been laughing, or mocking. He'd stood tall, taut and proud, even when he'd been beaten black and blue, he never looked truly beaten. But now, he looked vulnerable. He'd never seen him flinch.

His scars sure did run deep, Shankar thought. And he'd given him reason enough. Reason enough but not enough amendments had been made. He'd been horrible to the boy, ruthless, for no reason at all. He needed to make amends, if it were even possible.

Aman snaked his arm around Kartik's waist, rubbed soothing circles on his back. A whispered 'Kartik' seemingly made him step out of his trance. He realised his mind had subconsciously made him react in a way he didn't have to. But in his defence, the situation had been eerily similar to an old one.

He cleared his throat, and mumbled some words awkwardly.

"Papa.. hum neeche hi aa rahe the. "

Aman's heart ached at the words. All he wanted, was for Kartik's pain to wash away, for him to receive the comfort he deserves. But he knew Kartik, he'd hardly ever let his vulnerabilities show, and now was not the time he would.

Shankar stepped forward and ran his hands through Kartik's hair, but Kartik understood it to be an unspoken apology.

It's not your fault, Kartik wanted to say.

As soon as Shankar walked away, Kartik let go of the show. One look at his husband's soft eyes, one look was all it took, before he collapsed into his inviting arms, before he let go of every single emotion he'd been holding on too and letting it cascade in the form of tears. It felt, nice, to just let go and not care, and to have the secure feeling of being cared for surround him.

As a child, Rajni Tripathi had always been fascinated by Christmas. When she was eleven, she had thrown a tantrum right outside a shop that sold Christmas trees and decorations. She'd sat right there, and wouldn't budge, until Chaman had given in and bought her a tree about double her height. She'd picked out the decorations herself, and intricately arranged everything on the branches. The Tripathi's had been celebrating Christmas every year, ever since. It was the one day that made Goggle feel special, because she was the centre of attraction, and Goggle Tripathi loves herself some attention.  She felt in control of everything. Everybody would always ask Goggle about the arrangements, take her permission before doing anything at all. It was an unspoken rule that had formed over the years. A pissed off Goggle on Christmas eve was the last thing any Tripathi would want to witness, in close competition with Shankar Tripathi trying to hang himself with a saree.

In the last two years however, Christmas had been extra special for Goggle. Kartik made sure to personalise the experience as much as possible. She felt more appreciated, more loved than ever.

Aman Tripathi sat and watched his cheerful mess of a family from the sidelines. He'd not seen them this happy in a long, long time, apart from the day of Kartik and his pseudo wedding. Their smiles seemed so genuine, reaching their eyes, making the skin around them fold and crinkle. Kartik looked the happiest, the most at ease. Aman's heart warmed at the sight. He'd been running away from his family for so long now, but today, he found himself wanting to stay, wanting to watch, wanting to be loved.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed Kusum. Kusum would often frequent their place nowadays.

Kusum.

'I asked Kusum to run away.'

He'd never really seen Kusum, not truly, for who she was. He never saw her as anything but a random woman who wanted to force him into a fake marriage, but today he did. He noticed her, and the way she smiled. The way she complimented Champa Chachi, the way she'd kind of become one of them, in her own quirky way. He noticed the way she looked at Goggle, and the way Goggle stared back, and he saw, what was unmistakably a blush on Goggle's face, he couldn't have missed it.

He questioned if he'd ever truly observed his sister, his family. Then a thought rose in his mind.

He'd not told Kartik yet.

He turned to look in the direction of his husband, who was now helping Sunaina lay out the table. He seemed so much like he belonged there. They looked like they'd known each other forever.

Did he really need to tell Kartik? From the way Kartik looked at Sunaina, it felt like he knew. He knew his mother, their mother, their family, much better than he did.

Kartik knew.