Chapter Text
I’m a complete and utter idiot.
It’s the only thought festering in Gorgug’s mind as he trudges through the woods, lost in the haze of his own turbulent thoughts. The night is dark, with only the twinkling lights of the constellations to guide his way, and if Gorgug didn’t have darkvision, he’s pretty sure he’d be lost by now.
Not that he minds the thought of getting lost, if he’s being completely honest. The alternative to getting lost is being found, and being found comes with a whole flurry of scattered emotions that tighten his chest and set his skin alight with shame. Being found means someone coming for him, finding him, and Gorgug—
He’s gonna be completely honest: he doesn’t think he can stomach the thought of seeing anyone right now. Not after I fucked it up so badly, Gorgug thinks glumly, scuffing the soles of his shoes against the ground. His hands rest in the pockets of his jeans. More than anything, Gorgug really wants to tuck his hands into the pocket of his hoodie right now, but he doesn’t have his hoodie with him. He only has a lame button-down that Kristen and Adaine and Riz helped him pick out, except the four of them don’t really have a lick of fashion sense between them — at least not in comparison to Fig and Fabian.
Fabian. His stomach twists itself into knots as that name crosses his mind. All of a sudden, Gorgug thinks he’s going to be sick.
Inhale.
Exhale.
When he doesn’t feel like he’s about to drop to his knees and puke from the— from the stress of it all, the anxiety and embarrassment and regret currently churning in his gut, Gorgug moves on.
He doesn’t know where he’s going. The only thing he does know is that in the heat of his blow up, of accidentally flying into a rage — and that’s his fault, really, because he should have better control over himself by now, and in hindsight, everything he’s been doing has been really fucking suspicious — he needed to get out, leave the party and go somewhere else. So now, Gorgug’s out here trudging through the woods with too many thoughts in his head and none of the stability to process any of them.
It’s just—
He really fucked it up this time. And it’s kind of crazy to think about that, that his carefully constructed plan has crashed into a brick wall and blown up into smithereens, but— well, that’s what happened! He’d gotten so caught up in trying to perfect everything about today — the party, his clothes, his dancing, his confession — that he foolishly, stupidly, idiotically neglected the most important part of it all — Fabian himself.
Shame burns hot under Gorgug’s skin, creeping up his neck and engulfing his face until the burning heat is the only thing he can feel. Legs finally exhausted, Gorgug slumps down on the nearest spot he can find — a fallen log, wet with patches of moss — and hangs his head in misery.
He knows when it started — midway through spring break on a Wednesday afternoon. Gorgug was going to drive up to Bastion City to pick up a bunch of spare parts he needed for his senior year project — not that he needed to do one ever since Principal Aguefort finally let them use their track record of saving the world for extra credit, but it kept him busy — and Fabian decided to join, because why not? So Gorgug pulled up at Seacaster Manor in the Hangvan, fired a text off to Fabian letting him know he was here, and drummed his fingers along the wheel as he waited for Fabian to get down here and join him.
Finally, after what felt like way too long of sitting there and listening to Zaphriel’s chill tunes on the radio, the passenger door finally opened. “Sorry,” Fabian blurted out as he entered, slamming the door shut behind him. “Got caught up in something.”
“That’s alright.” It really was. It was spring break, and they didn’t really have any assignments they had to complete, given they— well, had all the criterias for graduation fulfilled since the end of their junior year. So they had free time — or at least, Gorgug did. He wasn’t sure about Fabian.
He tilted his head to the side, giving his friend a curious look. “What was it?” he asked when Fabian still looked mildly out of it, just the slightest bit. Not enough for Gorgug to get genuinely concerned, but enough that he decided to poke him about it. “Did the Hangman get annoyed that you’re taking the Hangvan, or something?” It wasn’t a bad guess, if Gorgug said so himself. He knew that Fabian’s motorcycle kept clinging on to a weird, one-sided beef with his van, even if said beef had largely cooled down over time.
Fabian blinked at him. “What? No, the Hangman’s fine, I left him some of that really premium motor oil so he wouldn’t chase the Hangvan down today. It’s just—”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Gorgug asked, before he caught himself and hastily added, “We don’t— like, have to if you don’t—”
“Mazey and I broke up.”
He blinked.
“Huh?”
“We broke up,” Fabian repeated, with a shrug. And if Gorgug didn’t know him any better, he would have mistaken Fabian’s composure for something impassive, uncaring. But he did know Fabian, had known him for years, and so he caught the hollow timbre to Fabian’s voice and the brief glint of hurt in his one grey eye.
The thing was — and Gorgug knew this would probably make him a bad friend, or just a bad person overall — when Fabian said those words, that simple Mazey and I broke up, the first emotion that flooded Gorgug was relief.
“Oh,” he said weakly.
He didn’t vocalise the heady relief that overtook him — couldn’t ever vocalise it, if he was being entirely honest. The mere thought of letting that emotion slip, the strange happiness that formed within him at the knowledge that Fabian and his girlfriend weren’t together anymore, made him feel like an awful person. Instead, he kept quiet as Fabian slumped back against his seat and let out a bone-deep sigh. “Yeah, so I guess I’m single now,” Fabian remarked with a shrug. He glanced at Gorgug, lips quirking at the corner. “Like you.”
“Like me,” Gorgug echoed, still staring. He had a summer fling with Mary Ann that went horribly awry about two months in, but that was nothing in comparison to Fabian’s— what was it, almost a year with Mazey? “It’s not really… the same thing though,” he pointed out, the hand he rested on the steering wheel gripping tight. “Like, Mary Ann and I were barely together.”
“I still can’t believe she broke up with you over Quokki Pets.”
It felt kinda nice to have Fabian defend his honour, even though Gorgug knew what actually happened was that he fucked up, somehow lost the data to Mary Ann’s Quokki Pets account, got promptly pummelled to the point where Kristen had to Revivify him, and then proceeded to spend a week trying to retrieve said data and eventually succeeding. He kind of deserved that one, if he was being honest — but that wasn’t the point right now.
Right now, he should be focusing on Fabian, not on himself, or on his past relationships, or on the traitorous relief he still felt, like a cool balm coating the inside of his chest. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he offered, trying to plaster on a smile.
“What’s there to talk about?” Fabian sighed, looking mildly defeated. “She’s off at college, and sure she comes back to Elmville often enough that I figured hey, maybe we could try long distance and see if it works? But it didn’t work out. I just—” He raked a hand through his hair and Gorgug watched, eyes fixated on the way those nimble fingers, slender yet calloused, entangled through silver locs. “I don’t know, Gorgug,” Fabian eventually admitted, sounding more frustrated than anything else. “I don’t know what I want, but—”
“But…?”
“I…” He twisted his lip, brows scrunching downwards. “I don’t think it was her, whatever it is. I mean, Mazey’s cool,” Fabian added hastily, “don’t get me wrong. We broke it off on good terms ‘cause she noticed that my heart really wasn’t in any of it, and she’s kind of right, but I just—”
“You don’t like her that way,” Gorgug said. It was a statement awaiting confirmation, and soon enough, Fabian nodded.
“I thought I did,” he admitted. “But I guess not.” There was a brief pause, a moment of silence, before Fabian bit out a deep sigh. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore,” he said, grey eye shifting to peek at Gorgug. “We’re heading to Bastion City, yeah? Let’s go.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to shovel dirt over that stupid relief he still felt and bury it six feet under. “You sure?” Gorgug asked. It— it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Fabian, but breakups were always a weird thing, and he didn’t really want his best friend to push himself to go out and hang with Gorgug for his sake. It’d make him feel worse, actually. “I mean, I can go myself if it’s—”
“Don’t you dare,” Fabian cut in, narrowing his eye. He snorted. “What am I gonna do at home, Gorgug, rot in bed till Mama comes knocking for me to spar with her? She’d obliterate me today. I’m not exactly doing great over here.” But then he paused, and something in his gaze softened slightly. “I could use the distraction,” Fabian confessed, and it was the vulnerability in said confession that made Gorgug’s grip on the wheel tighten, knuckles lightening. “So, y’know… if you’re still down to have me around…”
“Of course I am, dude.” He smiled at Fabian and it wasn’t even forced. It was genuine, and something in him fluttered at the thankful look in Fabian’s eye, the way he settled in for them to head on out.
Gorgug hadn’t really managed to pinpoint what the emotion was until later. Not too long later, thankfully, but a bit later than he’d have liked. It wasn’t until the last day of spring break, when all of them were over at Mordred Manor for an impromptu barbecue, that Gorgug finally managed to put a name to it, that weird, tingly sensation that’s been prickling his insides ever since the Wednesday when Fabian told him he broke up with Mazey.
He still remembers it well, weeks and months later. The darkening skies were still streaked with light from the dying sun as the stars slowly emerged from the shadows. The scent of smoke seemed to haunt the air no matter where he went, mixed in with the much more tantalising smell of grilled meat and other delicacies, courtesy of Lydia. Gorgug had found a spot for himself out on the porch with Riz, the two of them contently eating their third portions of the night, but where Riz was chomping through his food with a single-minded focus, Gorgug was leaning forward, arms resting on the fence of the patio, the plate in his hands forgotten as he watched his friends off in the distance.
“C’mon!” he heard Adaine yell, grabbing Fabian’s hand and trying to pull him towards her where they stood on the grassy lawn. “Jus’ dance with me for a bit, Fabiiiiian!” Her face was flushed, cheeks ruddy; she probably had too much of the alcohol Fabian bought, the one everyone dug into with relish. Adaine wasn’t usually one for grabbing people and trying to dance with them, but drunk Adaine was a whole other playful beast.
“Okay, okay!” Fabian yelped, successfully yanking his hand away as Adaine let out a cheer. Nearby, Kristen walked over to the radio sitting near Jawbone and Sandra Lynn, picked it up, and brought it back over, all the while stifling a grin. “Just— hands off me, Adaine, alright?”
A childish whine. “But how else am I gonna dance with you?”
He watched them dance together — Fabian and Adaine, with Kristen sitting cross-legged nearby and flicking through radio stations until Fabian stopped to yell at her for constantly ruining their flow. Adaine’s steps were clumsy, awkward, and it was really only Fabian’s grip on her that kept her upright. She dragged him down with her at least once, the two of them tumbling into an undignified pile of limbs as she let out a sharp shriek, punctuated by a cackling laugh from Kristen.
But Fabian?
He’d seen Fabian dance so many times before. All of this shouldn’t have been anything new. And yet, as Gorgug watched Fabian dance with Adaine, watched him whip his battle sheet around while still smoothly maneuvering a drunk Adaine, something in his chest stirred. It felt like a fire slowly sparking to life, growing and growing from a small flame into something bigger — it engulfed his chest until his breathing grew shallow, made his ribs feel like they were constricting tight around his heart and soul. His heart thumped hard against his sternum, echoing in his ears, and as he watched them whirl round and round to the beat of one, two, a dozen songs, Gorgug could not tear his gaze away from his best friend.
In hindsight, he felt this emotion before. But in all those instances, it had been smaller, subtler, a heartbeat quickening as butterflies flitted about his stomach.
Watching Fabian dance in the dying light of the summer sun, spinning around as music weaved through the air, as Fabian finally released his inhibitions and joined in on Adaine’s constant giggling with his own laughter, as they pranced around until they finally collapsed, exhausted and sweaty but happy?
“Riz,” Gorgug said, his own voice sounding distant to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his friend’s ears prick up, followed by the familiar sensation of eyes staring at him. Gorgug swallowed, trying to ease the lump in his throat. “What does it mean if I feel really weird and fluttery and breathless when I look at someone?”
Riz made what Gorgug could only call a Riz noise. “Uh,” he said, uncertainty marking his words, “that’s— anxiety, I think?”
Hm.
“I don’t think that’s quite right,” Gorgug eventually replied, watching as Fabian finally glanced over at the two of them and waved, flashing them a brilliant, bright smile.
His ass aches and his legs have fallen asleep. Still, Gorgug doesn’t move. All he does is sit on the fallen log, elbows dipped into his thighs as he rests his hands against his cheeks, staring at the darkened ground with disinterest. He’s not looking at any of it, really. He’s just— thinking.
It’s all he can do right now. Think over everything that just happened, everything that went wrong. Gorgug doesn’t know how long he’s been out here, only that he’s been mulling nonstop over how badly he fucked up the entire party for everyone. Because even if Kristen planned it for the purpose of him asking Fabian out, made it so there’d be a good reason for everyone to dance under the crackling firelight of the roaring bonfire, it’s not just for him. It’s a party for everyone, one big bash to celebrate the end of the school year. It was meant to be fun.
And he ruined it.
Embarrassment runs hot through his veins as he recalls it — wrangling his sudden burst of fury under control, dragging himself out of a rage the best he could only to freeze at the feeling of dozens— no hundreds of eyes upon him, stares piercing daggers through the vulnerable flesh of his skin. He shudders, gooseflesh prickling along the bareness of his arms, and not for the first time tonight, Gorgug really wishes he brought his hoodie.
“You should at least wear something different,” Adaine had pointed out to him a week ago when they were thick in the last of the preparation for what was effectively his attempt to confess to Fabian and ask him out. She crossed her arms, blue eyes narrowing slightly as she looked him over. “Or are you just going to wear that hoodie again?”
“Why not?” Gorgug had replied. “It’s comfy. And I don’t really… wanna make it, like, not casual, I guess?”
“I hardly think wearing a nice shirt is going to make things not casual,” Adaine remarked, and Gorgug sighed, knowing she was right. She softened, resting her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to,” she said. “It’s just— well, you know Fabian. He might appreciate it.”
Gorgug doesn’t know if Fabian ended up appreciating the shirt or not. It’s not a bad shirt, by any means; it’s a nice button-down with a pattern of gears on it that his friends helped him pick out. He hopes Fabian appreciated it, but all Gorgug can think of when he thinks of Fabian is the acidic vitriol in his words, practically spitting poison at Gorgug as he finally confronted him about his ghosting.
Which—
It was ghosting. In hindsight, it was absolutely ghosting, and Gorgug just curls into himself, shoulders hunching as an aching hole breaks open in his chest with the realisation. He hadn’t thought about how his actions would impact Fabian at all, and he hates himself for it. He just—
He’d been so caught up in the flurry of planning everything. After spring break, after that last night out at Mordred Manor with the barbecue, when Gorgug watched Fabian dance under the dying light of the setting sun with Adaine giggling and Kristen laughing, after he’d felt that breathless, searing feeling that fluttered about his chest and stole all the thoughts from his mind, Gorgug had woken up the next morning and realised that he had a crush on Fabian. He’d laid in his bed and stared up at the ceiling, heart thumping and thumping at the realisation that he wanted to dance with his best friend, kiss him under the stars, and he’d panicked.
So he called an emergency meeting for after school — for Riz and Adaine and Kristen, because Fig was still out of town, travelling across Spyre with Ayda, and Fabian for obvious reasons pertaining to the fact that he was the reason why Gorgug was freaking out so much. He’d sat his three friends down in his room, stared at all of them, and said:
“I have a crush on Fabian.”
There’d been silence for a moment before Riz spoke up. “Congrats?” he said in a confused voice, brows scrunching together. “Wait, is this the reason why you asked me that question yesterday?”
“Yeah,” Gorgug confirmed, sitting back down on his bed. He toyed with the strings of his hoodie, suddenly bashful. “I like Fabian. I mean, I just figured that out this morning, but like—” He took a deep breath to steady the uneven beating of his heart, the tightness coiling around his chest. His palms were clammy and he wiped them down on his jeans as he said, nervously, “I need help.”
“To confess to him?” Kristen leaned in, green eyes wide and glinting, and Gorgug knew she caught on immediately. Probably because she was the only one out of his trio of friends with actual dating experience. “And so, you come to us. The experts.”
“Hardly,” Riz muttered, ears twitching, tail lashing from side to side. “But… I-I mean… I guess if there’s anything I can do—”
“I wanna confess to him with a dance.”
Another short pause.
“I’ve got bad news for you then, buddy,” Kristen finally said, barking out a laugh. “None of us are good at that.”
“We don’t have to be.” Three heads snapped in Adaine’s direction — Adaine, who’d been quiet thus far as Gorgug and Kristen and Riz spoke. The look on her face was thoughtful, eyes slightly narrowed in concentration, and as Gorgug blinked at her, he swore he saw her eyes glow — luminescent and shining like liquid moonlight.
And then it was gone, and she smiled at him. “We just have to set the scene, right? Figure out a way to bring this together so you can confess?”
He blinked. “If… if it’s not too much trouble, yeah.”
Somehow, Adaine’s smile grew wider. “I’ve got this handled.”
And she did. Adaine handled a lot of things in the entire process of cobbling this haphazard confession plan together, which admittedly surprised Gorgug. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect Adaine to care at all, but much like Riz, Adaine never seemed interested in matters of the heart. The exception, as he had learnt, and as he had realised when looking back upon everything in the past, were matters pertaining to her friends. Gorgug remembers the way she rooted for him to get with Zelda, with Mary Ann; remembers her glee when she figured out Fig and Ayda were dating; remembers the way her eyes shone when Fabian talked about finally getting together with Mazey.
So Adaine took charge and Gorgug followed her lead. She and Kristen took charge, mostly, getting swept up in planning it all out for him. Cassandra and Ankarna had gotten involved, and Gorgug remembers that because he had a dream one night where he stood on a crag caught between a twilight forest of mist and moss and a rocky outcrop of lava and basalt, being stared down at by two towering goddesses. “I give you my blessing to pursue Fabian Aramais Seacaster,” Ankarna had said, Cassandra smiling along, and Gorgug had felt too paralysed with fear to ask them why they had stakes in the matters of his crush and confession, only managing to stammer out a thank you before he woke up.
But for as much planning as they did — working out when it would happen, using the end of school party as a location, trying to figure out what he’d say to Fabian — there was still one problem.
None of them could dance.
It had been Riz who showed up at Gorgug’s house one day, tail twitching as he shoved a number into Gorgug’s hands. “Mazey’s number,” he explained when Gorgug read it, face scrunching up in confusion. “She can dance, right? You could ask her to teach you.”
“She’s Fabian’s ex though,” Gorgug pointed out, after a moment of deliberation. “And… not that I don’t appreciate it, but you could’ve texted this. It would’ve saved you the trouble of coming here.”
“Eh.” A shrug. “I live near enough. And also,” Riz added, one ear flicking as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “didn’t they end on good terms? You might as well just— call her and ask. Worst she can say is no.”
He really hadn’t wanted to do it. Riz might not have gotten it, but Gorgug knew it was going to be painfully awkward to call up Fabian’s ex, fresh off the breakup, and ask, hey, sorry you broke up with Fabian but can you teach me to dance so I can woo him? But he didn’t really have any better options at this point; he couldn’t go and ask any of the bard students at school for help because all the dancers were part of Fabian’s class and word might leak out to Fabian himself that Gorgug was learning how to dance. Knowing Fabian, he just might attempt to teach Gorgug himself.
That, and any attempts he was making at learning on his own, searching up videos online, was turning out to be a spectacular failure. Gorgug Thistlespring, as it turned out, had two left feet.
“...Alright,” he eventually said, causing Riz to let out a sigh of relief. “And Riz?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
It was awkward. Gorgug put off calling or texting or even reaching out to Mazey for a solid week until Adaine and Kristen started asking him about his progress on the monumental task of learning how to dance. Riz had stared at him, eyes narrowed, as Gorgug fumbled trying to explain his lack of proper progress, and as soon as that particular meeting was over, he had used the leftover adrenaline from being grilled by his friends to punch Mazey’s number in his crystal and call her.
The call rang once, twice. But on the third ring, right as Gorgug was debating if it would be easier to just hang up and pretend like nothing had happened, the call went through.
(“Hello?”
“Mazey? This is, uh, Gorgug. I kinda need some help. Of the dancing variety.”)
Mazey was an absolute saint. She agreed to help him when he explained his predicament, stumbling over his words and constantly interrupting himself to say that she didn’t have to do this, he understood if it would be way too awkward. But she had agreed, had stopped by his place the next weekend, making the trip over from Bastion City where she was attending college. “Right then,” she had said to him, grinning as she tied the laces on her dancing shoes, “show me what you know.”
He kind of gets it now, why Fabian fell for her last year. The more time Gorgug spent with Mazey, as she painstakingly taught him enough tricks to dancing that his two left feet became something a little closer to one left, one right, and a bit of a twisted ankle from time to time, the more he realised how kind she was. She was eager to help, enthusiastic about it, even, which Gorgug frankly hadn’t expected given the recency of the breakup.
“You’d be good for him,” she told him once, as night fell over Elmville outside. She was packing things up, stuffing her items in her bag on the floor of his room, and as she spoke, Gorgug stiffened, suddenly unsure. Sitting back on her haunches, she smiled at him. “I mean that, by the way,” she added, as though sensing his uncertainty. “You guys… well, he talked about you a lot, y’know?”
Which made it all the more painful that somewhere in the crossfire of planning all this, something went wrong. Who told you that? he asked earlier, completely blindsided by Fabian’s accusation, the insinuation festering under his words like a rotting wound. Gorgug wasn’t stupid; he caught on easily enough to Fabian’s scathing implication that Gorgug was dating Mazey.
Fig, Fabian had replied with a shrug, acting like he didn’t care even though Gorgug knew he did, because Fabian cared way too much about too many things, even if he didn’t act like it, and it was one of the many things Gorgug loved about him. Gorgug followed the direction Fabian jerked his head in, caught sight of the archdevil standing off in the distance, watching him with Ayda next to her. She’s here too, y’know? Told me you told her at some point you were hanging with Mazey.
“Stupid,” Gorgug hisses under his breath, another wave of shame washing over him. He’d forgotten about Fig. He hadn’t roped her in, hadn’t wanted to involve her in the plan he’d been cobbling together to confess to Fabian because Fig was off travelling, busy exploring the world with her girlfriend by her side. But clearly, Gorgug must have let slip something at some point, must have mentioned Mazey in a conversation with Fig, probably assuming that, because it wasn’t Fabian he was talking to, he’d be fine.
Except word got back to Fabian, somehow — probably just earlier, Gorgug thinks, the realisation like a hammer to his psyche — and Fabian jumped straight to assuming the worst. Fabian thought Gorgug was interested in Mazey, that he swooped in to scoop her up right after Fabian broke things off. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.
His chest hurts.
Gorgug forces himself to choke down a deep breath, the air filling his aching lungs. He exhales, tries to count the number needed for a deep breath, but he loses track, his mind a swimming mess of far too many thoughts. The only thing he can do now is sit here in the woods and think about the what ifs, turning every single one over in his hand. What if he hadn’t sought help from Mazey? What if he made this a private affair, rather than letting Kristen talk him into doing a confession at a fucking party? What if he hadn’t ghosted Fabian?
The last one, Gorgug thinks about a lot. It’s the main one he’s been agonising over ever since he stormed off into the woods because the only thing he can remember is the bitterness in Fabian’s words as he looked Gorgug right in the eye and said “I’m definitely not feeling like a friend over here, what’s with all the times you’ve ghosted me.” He hadn’t even been able to deny it, as much as his first instinct was to say no, I haven’t been ghosting you, I haven’t, I swear, because when Gorgug took one brief second to think about it, the reality was he had been ghosting Fabian, neglecting him, struggling to reply to his messages and calls as everything built towards this one fateful night.
If he’d made more time for Fabian, hadn’t acted so weird and shifty around him… would things have turned out better? Yes, he thinks immediately, before his brows press together. Maybe, he corrects, before he gives up the pondering altogether. Gorgug— he doesn’t know if things would have been better. In theory, maybe it would have been, but theories don’t account for things like emotions. The ghosting hadn’t been intentional. It had ramped up as the weeks went on because Gorgug got more and more nervous as this hopeful plan of his took root in the soil and bloomed into reality. He’d avoided Fabian, tried to spend less time with him, because Gorgug had been terrified that Fabian would smile at him or say something kind and he’d blurt out “I’m in love with you,” right then and there.
In hindsight, maybe an abrupt confession like that would have been better than whatever happened earlier.
Everything just collapsed straight into catastrophe. Gorgug hadn’t even been able to say the words he’d been repeating in his head, the ones he’s been struggling to prepare. He hadn’t been able to get much further than saying “It’s nice to see you; I’m glad you could make it,” before Fabian’s lips twisted into a frown, causing Gorgug’s heart to plummet straight down. He hadn’t been able to ask him “Do you wanna go dance?” in a voice that didn’t waver or get caught in his throat. He hadn’t been able to hold his hand out and help Fabian up and then lead him into the throng of dancing students and show him what he’d learnt. He hadn’t been able to do anything.
All he got for his time and efforts was a deluge of scathing insults that, quite frankly, he deserved. This, Gorgug knows down to the bottom of his soul — Fabian’s anger at him was not undeserved, and Gorgug has royally fucked everything up.
So here he is, sitting out in the woods. Where all he can do is stew in a sludge of self-loathing and embarrassment and regret, trying to keep his rage from bubbling up again and causing him to punch the nearest tree. Not because he’s mad at Fabian; Gorgug could never be mad at him, and especially not now when it was Gorgug who fucked it all up so badly. More because he’s just… pissed.
Pissed at himself.
If he turns his head to the side and stares hard enough, Gorgug thinks he can see the barest hint of the bonfire — a beacon of warm light that paints the night sky in the distance, like a light to guide him home should he follow it.
He presses a hand into his cheek and closes his eyes, lets the remorse aching in his chest expand until it feels like he’s drowning alive.
A gentle shake of his shoulder. A familiar voice calling his name.
“Gorgug?”
He stirs.
Blinking blearily, it takes a second for him to come back to himself. All around him is darkness, the forest barely visible in the dim vision of his eyes, and as he collects himself, as his senses sink back in and the numbness in his legs makes itself known, Gorgug realises—
Ah, he thinks, as he reaches up to rub the crust out of his eyes. I fell asleep.
There’s a crick in his neck. Reaching up, he winces as he rests a hand on the back of his neck, trying to rotate it to relieve the tension. There’s a loud crack, followed by relief, and as Gorgug lets out a sigh, he turns his attention to the shadowy figure standing by his side. “Sorry about that,” he begins, already in apology mode. “But thank you for—”
The words catch in his throat.
Standing there, staring down at him in the darkness, is Fabian. In the dimness of his darkvision, all Gorgug can see are shades of grey, but he watches as Fabian murmurs a spell under his breath, and in the blink of an eye, a soft violet glow fills everything around them like light pooling from a light source, only there are no light sources, only fallen logs and trees and stumps that take on that glow.
He hears a soft sigh. “That’s better,” Fabian says, and as Gorgug turns back to look at him, his heart leaps a little bit at the sight. Fabian’s features are limned in that lovely shade of purple, casting his dark skin and light locs in a soft violet hue. He looks ethereal, Gorgug thinks. It makes him think a little bit of Cassandra, the last time she met him in his dreams, her body and hair sparkling constellations of amethyst and lavender.
For a moment, Gorgug only stares at Fabian. A thousand words get snagged in his throat, none of them making it out. But gradually, the wonder and adoration he feels slowly crumbles, giving way to that familiar abyss of shame and regret and self-directed fury, of fucking things up so badly for them and their friendship.
But before he can say any of that, can apologise—
“I’m sorry.”
He blinks.
“What?”
“I said, I’m sorry,” Fabian repeats. He shifts slightly, and in the dim, purple light, Gorgug watches his face crease with an emotion he’s come to know all too well: regret. He presses on, the words spilling out as Gorgug gapes at him. “I fucked up, I— I shouldn’t have just assumed all of that, I shouldn’t have acted like a complete asshole to you, I—”
“Fabian, what are you talking about?” At that, Fabian’s mouth snaps shut. “You—” Gorgug sucks in a shaky breath. “You have nothing to apologise for,” Gorgug says, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. “I should be the one saying sorry, I— I ghosted you!”
At that, Fabian’s face falls, and Gorgug’s heart aches. “Yeah,” Fabian breathes. “And it— it really fucking sucked.”
A pause.
“But I-I get why you did it—”
He cuts in, voice sharp. “That doesn’t make it okay,” Gorgug stresses, and his chest hurts even further as Fabian’s face crumples, his carefully constructed exterior of being fine finally cracking under Gorgug’s words, like a hammer smacking a geode and breaking it open to reveal everything within. “And I’m sorry,” he blurts out, the words coming fast, desperate. He leans forward, fists clenched. “I never meant to ghost you, you— I— you’re my best friend. I never wanted to hurt you like that, except I guess I did, and I wish I could just take it back.” He swallows, throat suddenly scratchy, eyes suddenly wet. “I wish I never did any of that.”
A beat of silence. Gorgug blinks desperately, trying to bury the wetness that threatens to spill over and trail down his cheeks.
Wordlessly, Fabian moves over, drops down beside him. In the violet light, Gorgug studies the shadows underneath Fabian’s eye, the line etched between his furrowed brows.
“...Did you mean what you said earlier?”
“Huh?”
“When you said you liked me.” Fabian swallows; Gorgug can see the lump in his throat bob. Their eyes meet, the air suddenly electric. “Did you mean it, Gorgug?” Fabian repeats raspily, grey eye fixated on Gorgug with a startling intensity. “Do you like me?”
…There’s really no point denying it anymore, is there? It’s not like Gorgug can jump back in time and swallow up those words, keep them within his chest under lock and key before rage can seize his soul and force them out in a heated fury.
“...Yeah.” His voice comes out quiet, barely audible, but Gorgug knows Fabian hears it from the way his eye widens, lips parting the slightest bit. He exhales. “Yeah, I do.”
For a moment, neither of them speak. There is only the sound of their breathing, twin lungs working, and the occasional hoot of a distant owl, the wing flaps of a bird.
“Since when?” Fabian’s voice lacks any harshness, sharpness, wariness; there is only a gentle curiosity there that tenderly unfurls the knot wrapped around Gorgug’s chest, loosening it enough that everything he wants to say threatens to come spilling free.
“I dunno,” Gorgug admits, staring down at the lilac-limned grass underneath his sneakers. “I mean, I realised it at the end of spring break, but… I think it’s been longer than that.” Memories drift to mind — hangouts and parties viewed in hindsight, of feeling warmth bloom within his chest as Fabian slings his arm around Gorgug, as Fabian calls his name joyously, as Fabian waves at him from across a room or a lawn to get his attention. “I think I just didn’t realise till then.”
A laugh, so familiar, one that causes his heart to flutter, seized by a sudden giddiness. “That’s still earlier than me,” Fabian tells him, and it’s the affection in his voice that gets Gorgug to turn his head and look at him. Fabian smiles at him, and Gorgug wants to take his tools and sculpt this out of metal, immortalise every scar and wrinkle in copper alloy. “I think… I only realised it today. I… I mean, I thought I just felt weird ‘cause you didn’t tell me you and Mazey were a thing — and I know you’re not now,” Fabian adds hastily, “it’s just what I thought earlier. But in hindsight… I guess I was just really jealous. And not of you.”
The unspoken is obvious. I was jealous of Mazey. I thought she was dating you.
“Oh,” Gorgug says weakly, suddenly feeling faint.
His hands reach for the log underneath him, palms and nails scraping against moss and bark as he scrabbles at a surface to ground him, keep himself from toppling backwards in a swoon. But Fabian’s smile only deepens, quirks into a knowing grin, the one Gorgug’s long since memorised and etched into his brain. “I hope it’s not too late.”
It’s not. It’s not at all. He tries to say that, but opening his mouth results in nothing more than a rough croak, the words failing to push their way out. But Fabian knows, maybe because Gorgug’s hot all over and his skin has to be thoroughly flushed with that muddy brown, red blood rising to the underside of his green skin, or maybe because Gorgug’s never really been the best with his words compared to some of his friends, preferring to act than speak, to use his hands rather than his tongue.
Or maybe, Gorgug realises, as Fabian reaches out to grasp his hand, gently peeling it off the log to entwine their fingers together, it’s just because he knows me.
The tension has long since dissipated from the air. The silence that cloaks them is comfortable, soft against Gorgug’s skin like a blanket of feathery down.
He squeezes Fabian’s hand, relishes in the warmth of his touch, the callouses dotting his palm.
When Fabian breaks the silence, his voice is thoughtful, curious. “Did you really learn to dance for me?”
“Yeah. That’s why I was hanging out with Mazey. She was teaching me.” A wry smile. “I couldn’t just ask anyone, y’know? You’re the most popular guy in school. You’re Maximum Legend. If I asked someone to help me out, word would’ve gotten around and you’d probably find out.” He shifts slightly, gaze drifting away briefly as his cheeks heat. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“You learned to dance for me.” He knows Fabian’s voice well enough to catch how touched he sounds, and when Gorgug’s eyes flick back up, he’s rewarded with a soft smile on Fabian’s face, one of the rare ones where he’s not really forcing anything, when it slips onto his face without him knowing. But then there’s a beat of silence, and Fabian’s expression grows sullen, and his grip on Gorgug’s hand tightens. “And then I just went and fucked it up for you.”
“You didn’t,” Gorgug stresses, insistent. Indignance flares within him — not for himself but for Fabian, because why is he blaming himself so much when this entire clusterfuck is Gorgug’s fault? “I fucked it up,” he starts before he bites his lower lip, steadying himself. He can feel the telltale heat of a rage bristling along his limbs, searing fire that dances alight inside him, and he forces himself to slow down, to take a long, deep breath.
The air spills out through his teeth.
“I don’t wanna get into another argument about who’s fault it is again,” Gorgug says, with what he hopes is enough of an air of finality that Fabian won’t protest. His thumb shifts, stroking the skin of Fabian’s hand tenderly, and Gorgug sinks into his thoughts as they drift off into a tentative silence. He thinks, and he thinks hard, something coming together in his mind, and—
“We could still dance.”
It takes Gorgug a moment to realise that those are his words hanging in the air, his voice that spoke out loud. Next to him, Fabian blinks at him, eye wide, stilling where he sits. “If you want,” Gorgug adds hastily, suddenly unsure. They might have fixed things now, kind of, or at least got to a point where Fabian wasn’t mad at him and Gorgug didn’t feel as mad at himself, but… was it too soon to ask? Maybe it was too soon, given everything, because even if they’ve wrapped it all up and kinda resolved it, Fabian’s anger earlier had been genuine, heated and hurt.
He swallows nervously as the silence ticks on, beginning to fidget. “We don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Fabian interjects, with a swiftness that startles Gorgug into silence. His throat bobs. “Dance, that is. If… if you want to.”
He wants to. God, he wants to so bad. This is what he’s been practising for all these weeks and months, the plan that he painstakingly cobbled together with his friends. He wanted to learn to dance even though he wasn’t good at it, his rhythm with the drums not translating to a rhythm with footwork, because dancing was Fabian’s thing, him in his element. Gorgug could have just made a bouquet of tin flowers and given it to Fabian — and that was his backup plan, if this dancing thing didn’t work out — but that was Gorgug’s specialty. It wouldn’t be as special as if he surprised Fabian, spun him around, told him through his steps that I love you and I want you, and I want to dance with you like this a thousand times if only you’ll have me.
He releases Fabian’s hand, fingers slipping free. Rising to his feet, Gorgug stretches a hand out to Fabian in the dim violet light. He smiles at him, feels all the love rising through him, all the twisted knots and the tightness that feels too much like anxiety but in a good way, and the heat and the fluttering and all of it. “May I have this dance?”
Fabian grins, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He reaches out, accepts Gorgug’s hand, and lets him pull Fabian to his feet. “You don’t even have to ask.”
It doesn’t matter how much Gorgug’s practised, or how much he practises; he won’t ever be able to match Fabian in anything related to the art of dance. And that’s fine, he thinks, as Fabian sweeps in and takes charge, pulls Gorgug off into a dance. Mazey taught him a lot of different moves, and they come to him on instinct now, clumsy as he may be as he follows Fabian’s lead in moving around.
There’s no music playing through the air, not like Gorgug originally imagined — a song playing through the speakers Kristen rented, something fitting for their first dance. Maybe it would have been something more upbeat, or maybe it would have been something more slow; whatever it is, he doesn’t know. Right now, the only backdrop to their steps — forwards, backwards, spin and twirl — is the crunching of the grass under the soles of their shoes, the rustling of the wind against his ears, and the occasional burst of laughter that trails from Fabian’s lips whenever Gorgug nearly trips over himself, stumbles and gets caught by Fabian’s steadying hands.
“You’re not bad,” Fabian remarks as he pulls back briefly. Their hands are still interlocked, and as Fabian leans back on his heels, Gorgug’s smile widens at the sudden realisation that he’s the one holding Fabian upright right now, preventing him from tumbling down. Trust, that’s what it is — a two-partner dance is built on the basis of trust, and Gorgug remembers this well because Mazey told him that when he kept hesitating one too many times, scared of slipping and forgetting the next step and screwing up the dance altogether.
He trusts Fabian, and Fabian trusts him.
Fabian flashes his teeth, eye crinkling with his smile, and as he twirls forward with a flourish, presses up against Gorgug’s chest close enough that he flushes hard, Fabian tilts his head, locs swaying over his shoulder. “I wanna see more,” he admits, a yearning confession and a challenge all wrapped up in one. His smile turns impish, and as he pulls back, he crows, “Show me what you’ve got, Gorgug!”
And he does— god, he does. He doesn’t remember half of what they do in the clearing, the memories melting together into a haze of pure happiness and bliss, of Fabian’s hands and arms tangled in his, of the heat of his body as they step, step, twirl, moving around each other — Fabian’s movements fluid, Gorgug’s clumsy. All Gorgug knows is that in this moment, tucked away in the darkness of the forest with only the light of a spell for company, he’s happy, truly happy.
He wouldn’t trade anything for this, not even the world.
He trips, at one point, and doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t catch his balance like all the other times his clumsy feet have stepped wrong. Their hands are tangled, and with a yelp and a shriek, the two of them go crashing down, and Gorgug’s back hits the grassy ground with a harsh thud. Pain blooms across his back, an ache that seeps into his muscles and throbs lightly, but as he opens his eyes, gazes above him—
Fabian stares down at him, crouched over him. His hands rest on both sides of Gorgug’s body, palms pressed against the shoe-stomped grass, arms caging him on both sides. And it’s all Gorgug can do to stare up at Fabian, to take in the breathtaking sight of his face backdropped against the universe, the glittering constellations of the stars above him. He can’t recall any of them but he doesn’t have to, because the prettiest one is hovering right over him — silver locs swaying with gravity and framing the sides of his face; grey eye widening as their eyes meet, as bright as the many stars hanging in the sky.
Gorgug can’t resist, his resolve finally cracking after days, weeks, months. He reaches up with his hands, pulls Fabian down, and kisses him.
The first thing he tastes is the bitter pungence of cheap beer on Fabian’s lips, accompanied by the smell of it as Fabian parts his mouth to gasp slightly, as their tongues meet and everything grows electric sharp, heady and heated. He doesn’t care, though; Gorgug simply pushes through, presses deeper, the urge to just take seizing him like some primal instinct he hadn’t realised was there, buried deep down in the trenches of his soul.
His arms tangle around Fabian’s back as he drags him down against him, relishes in the warm flush of his body as he presses against Gorgug, the proximity between them finally conquered. Gorgug’s eyes flutter slightly as Fabian’s hands move to cup his cheeks, instinctively leaning into the caress of calloused yet slender fingers as they pull him closer, lift his head from the ground to press deeper, push harder, taking and taking everything he’s got.
Gorgug kisses Fabian under the starlight, under the moonlight, under the violet hues that limn the both of them, pressed up against the ground as they are. Time liquifies, slips through the cracks between his fingers like water; Gorgug does not know how long they lie here, making out until his lungs ache, screaming desperately for oxygen; until his back cramps from being pinned against the uncomfortable hardness of the forest floor for far too long. The only thing he does know is that no matter how long they spend here, it isn’t long enough.
But they have to part eventually. He mourns it when they do, when Fabian finally yanks himself back with a shuddering gasp, chest heaving. He misses it already, the sensation of lips pressing against his own, pushing and pushing like a fervent battle for dominance. Fabian sits up, rests his hands against Gorgug’s chest, and the smile he gives him is filled with a mushy, unabashed affection that looks so tender on him. It’s yet another expression Gorgug wants to carve and immortalise; it fills him with heat and desire as much as it does with that gentle, loving affection, colliding messily within his heart.
He wonders, as Fabian’s fingers trace the buttons of his shirt absentmindedly, whether Fabian can feel the beating of his heart. Does he know that Gorgug’s heart, thumping wildly, bursting against his chest, beats only for him? Does he know that he’s the only one who can reduce Gorgug to this, yearning and longing for everything Fabian can give him?
“I love you,” he blurts out, head spinning, throat parched. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ghosted you, I—”
“Shut up.”
His mouth snaps shut. There’s no heat behind the words though, only a sly affection. “We’ve been over this already,” Fabian says with an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Weren’t you the one who said we should stop arguing about it, anyway?” He pauses, before a glint sparks in his eye, and Gorgug swallows, recognising the desire ignited in his gaze. “But if you really wanna make it up to me…”
Leaning back down, Gorgug shudders at the thumb brushing against his cheek, at the warm breath against his lips. “You could kiss me again,” Fabian suggests, like he doesn’t already know Gorgug’s answer to that. “Get some kisses in for me. Enough that I’ll forget about all of it.”
He can do that. He can.
He ropes his arms around Fabian again, pulls him down and locks their lips together, slips back into that dizzying haze of hungry passion, taking and offering as much as he can take and give in equal spades. Fabian kisses back, presses in, hands reaching down to grip the collar of Gorgug’s shirt, and all Gorgug can think is I love you, I love you, god I fucking love you.
They stay there like that, pressed against the ground, for a long time.
They stumble back to the party hours later — two, three, maybe? Gorgug doesn’t know. The light of the bonfire pierces the sky, the fire still crackling, and something in Gorgug is soothed at the sight of people dancing and mingling, the party still going strong as loud voices pierce the air in sudden, drunken sing-a-longs.
It’s proof that, for however badly he fucked up, he didn’t ruin everything. The knowledge eases his heart, quells the sliver of anxiety that has festered there ever since he and Fabian picked themselves up from the forest ground, limbs aching far too much, and began to trudge back together.
“Finally!” he hears someone yell, pinpoints the voice as Fig just a second later. His friend flies into view, grinning like a maniac as she studies the two of them closely. “Took you guys long enough!”
“You two look to be in better spirits,” he hears someone else say. Ayda strides up to them, and Gorgug watches her take Fig’s hand in hers, watches Fig lean slightly against Ayda as she peers at the two of them closely. Her smile is genuine as she asks, “I take it all went well?”
“Well enough,” Fabian offers with a shrug. Gorgug squeezes his hand slightly, and Fabian squeezes back. “We made up.”
“And made out, by the looks of things,” Kristen says, grinning slyly as she strides up to join them, Riz and Adaine following behind. Gorgug flusters as he feels her eyes roam over him. He knows exactly where Kristen’s eyes have gravitated to, and he instinctively reaches up to pop the collar of his shirt, to try and hide the marks a little better. “Ankarna and Cassandra are gonna be excited about this, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Why are there goddesses who are so involved in my love life?” Gorgug hears Fabian mutter. He kinda agrees with that. He still thinks about the times the two goddesses have invaded his dreams to deliver one cryptic piece of advice or another. It’s not that he’s got anything against them at all, but it’s still terrifying to be stared down by two giant deities no matter how many times they appear.
“In any case,” Adaine says, coming to a stop before them, “I’m glad things worked out in the end.” The relief is palpable in her voice, tinged with regret, and Gorgug mentally winces, remembering just how involved Adaine was in making all this happen.
A snort. “I’m still kinda mad at you guys, y’know?” Fabian points out hotly, and immediately, Riz and Adaine are tensing again, though Kristen only grins. He huffs, rakes his free hand through his hair. “Though I guess you could make up for it if you just spent some time with me—”
“We will,” Riz interrupts, a frenetic edge to his words. “Just…” His tail lashes from side to side. “Sorry,” Riz says weakly, Adaine murmuring along. “We didn’t realise—”
“Forgiven,” Fabian says flatly with a wave of his hand; Gorgug bites back a smile at the startled looks on Adaine and Riz’s faces. “Listen,” Fabian sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not here to, like— keep arguing about this, or apologise endlessly to each other. Just don’t do that again, yeah?”
“Not planning on it,” Adaine murmurs, but Gorgug can see the way her shoulders relax, like a burden has finally been lifted.
They weave their way back into the party — the seven of them, tangled together. Gorgug doesn’t let go of Fabian’s hand at all, not as he grabs a beer and chokes it down just for the hell of it, and not as the Hangman, back in his motorcycle form, runs over to Fabian, ignoring the shriek of some poor guy as he runs over their foot. The Hangman rumbles enthusiastically, and Gorgug doesn’t know what he says, can’t hear his private conversation with Fabian, but he feels Fabian’s grip tighten, watches him stammer and trip over his words, and he thinks he has an idea of what’s going on right now, bringing a grin to his face.
As the party begins to wind down, though, the flames of the bonfire slowly dwindling as dawn begins to peek over the horizon…
The music shifts, changes to something upbeat and fast. Gorgug watches the crowd roar, people dancing with each other without a care in the world. He feels a tug on his wrist, turns to see Fabian already on his feet, grinning down at him. “One last dance?” he asks, with a gentle squeeze of Gorgug’s hand.
“Yeah,” Gorgug breathes, letting Fabian pull him to his feet. His legs ache, and his back hurts, but as Fabian pulls him into the crowd, as Gorgug lets the music sweep him up and the rhythm catch him in its arms, he feels all his pains fade away.
Here, under the light of the bonfire, as music pulses through the air, the only thing Gorgug cares about is Fabian’s hand in his, his body dipping around him, the fluid movements of his dance. He watches Fabian grin wide, bursting with a happiness so genuine it makes Gorgug’s heart explode, and if he dips in to press their lips together at the crescendo of the song?
Well, it’s not like either of them are complaining.