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Avery has been housing Derek, a supposedly dead man, for three months. His reintroduction to society has been pushed back a few times as He’s simply… not normal. So he’s always in the house. Its not a bad thing actually, Derek, the formerly dead man, does his fair share of household chores to help around. Not to say that Avery doesn’t pull his weight in the apartment, he does! But Derek insists on doing it for him.
Enter now, Avery walks past the laundry room, yawning loudly and slouching as he walks. The cardigan he’d worn from the night before slipping down his shoulders, it’s a bit stretched out from the neck but the material is super soft so he hasn’t got the heart to get rid of it.
Thunk, thud, pomf. Sounds come from the laundry room as Avery goes past. Peeking through the opened door, Derek is crouched on the tiled floor with his head in his hands and a whole lot of spilled clothes on the floor. Panic floods through Avery at the sight.
“Derek! Are you okay?” Avery fumbles the door fully open to crouch down next to Derek. Hands float around Derek’s shoulders but not quite touching.
Derek huffs out a pained breath. “M’fine.” The words slur, further worrying Avery. “Leave please…”
“No,” Avery shakes his head. Settling down on the tiled floor beside Derek, Avery starts putting the clothes within arms reach into a spare basket. A quick scan reveals that Derek fell in a weird manner, he must’ve tried to keep standing for a while before ultimately falling on his bum. Derek must’ve been starting on this weeks laundry.
In search of something to fidget with, Derek’s hand comes to wrap around his wrist. Circling and squeezing it in a rhythm that Avery cannot catch before resting the back of Avery’s hand on his palm. Two hands come to squeeze now. This is normal.
Two fingers move to feel his pulse. Avery hopes the skip he can feel isn’t too obvious for Derek, or at least not too telling. Avery fiddles with the edge of his cardigan with his free hand. The mess around the both of them itch at Avery but Derek needs him right now.
Looking to Derek’s face —yellow eyes, not steel blue or void black—stare intently into the tan skin of his palms and wrist. Avery tries not to tense too much with the change. This is fine. It’s still within safety.
“Are you scared?” Scratchy voice, one that definitely doesn’t belong to Derek, comes flat from his mouth. Avery doesn’t break his stare, hiding away the rest of the fear somewhere in the back of his mind. So long as he’s not showing fear it’s fine.
“Nope,” Avery’s fingers flex on his palm. “Why would I be scared of you?”
“Should be.”
Humming, Avery pulls up the cardigan from where it fell on his shoulders. “You’re a friend, silly. I wouldn’t be scared of a friend,” He huffs out. Hopefully, his nervousness isn’t audible in his voice.
A grin splits Yellow’s face, eyes—now speckled with black— tracking the bead of sweat rolling down Avery’s temple to his jaw. “Friend.” He says, the word seemingly heavy on its tongue. The grip on Avery’s wrist still hasn’t let up. The pressure starts to increase and Avery thinks that his circulation has been cut off, pins starting to stab his fingers. He doesn't look down.
“Yes,” Attempting to pull away Avery’s hands from his palm is a fruitless endeavor, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “And friends don’t hurt each other. So can you… like stop squeezing my wrist, please?”
Yellow hums, but the grip around Avery’s wrist does stop. A mumbled something falls from his lips.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Comes his quick reply.
The yellow of his eyes have chased away the black when he looks at the forming bruise on Avery’s wrist. Avery thinks it’s been a little past five minutes now and a quick snoop at the clock on the wall confirms it. Looks like this guy is staying for a while. Might as well get the chores done for the day, not like Avery can go out when Yellow is like this.
“Can you start on the laundry, Yellow?” Stretching his back until something pops, Avery casts a glance to the silent god (?) (He still doesn’t get the whole merge thing, but he’s trying his best to) beside him. He stares back, gaze locked to where his wrist blooms red and purple. “I’ll start on breakfast.”
“It’s eleven o’clock.” He says matter-of-factly, gaze narrowing at Avery.
“Brunch then, whattya want?”
He doesn’t answer Avery, but a quick brush of lips against his knuckles as he stands up is an answer enough. Yellow starts gathering the rest of the clothes on the floor before both of them. A free hand comes up to snag the cardigan around his shoulders. Avery doesn’t look back when he walks to the kitchen but he does grumble.
He should make something easy for the stomach today, something warm but light. Maybe some soup? There should still be some ingredients for it around. Some bagels sound good too. Mentally ticking off what he would need, Avery begins his search in the kitchen.
It isn’t until he picks up the pot in the cupboards that Avery notices his hands shake. Its fine. Just nerves. It’s been a while since He was out. The last time was…
The pot lands on Avery’s foot. He yelps. When had he even let go of the thing?
Amidst Avery’s silent cursing, fast padding of socks against carpet run down the length of the hallway. Wide yellow eyes scan the immediate area around Avery’s flailing self before lowering into normal and walking back to his task. Avery doesn’t notice this, too preoccupied with cursing out a metal pot.
Aside from that mess, the rest of kitchen prep goes off without a hitch. Avery moves fast and precise in the kitchen, totally in his element as he mixes and chops up ingredients into the boiling pot. Yellow doesn’t find a point in distracting Avery by loudly announcing his presence so he settles into the seat by the kitchen island, making sure that he’s within Avery’s peripheral.
Avery glances at him, a smile wobbling on his face. Before focusing back on the bagels he was sliding into the oven. There’s a sudden stillness in his movement that wasn’t there before, one that Avery hopes that Yellow doesn’t notice. Yellow is being good right now and he even made sure to make his presence noticeable so he doesn’t scare him. He’s being thoughtful.
Avery might not know much about him, but he does know when someone is guilty.
Unwavering yellow eyes burn into his nape, Avery doesn’t cover it with a palm. Yellow couldn’t reach over the kitchen island if he tried anyway.
“It’s okay, you know,” Avery doesn’t know why he says that but he does. A scratch is heard from the table. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. See?”
Avery holds out his wrist for Yellow’s gaze, lightly swaying his hand as he goes. He flinches a little at the pain when Yellows long fingers move to feel at his pulse again.
Yellow hums again, his touch light against tan skin. “You lie.”
Ah right. Avery forgot about that. “Well, feeling hurt is an entirely subjective experience and I’m telling you that it doesn’t.” He smiles. Yellow doesn’t look amused. “So technically, it doesn’t hurt.”
Hiss, the pot on the stove calls for Avery with bubbles threatening to lift the lid. Inwardly grateful for the excuse, Avery slowly takes his wrist back from Yellow. The tall lanky guy stands with him, arms reaching for the bowls and cups just above Avery’s head. Since Yellow has no sense of personal space (or just doesn’t care) he reaches for them from behind Avery.
Avery freezes. A stubby chin scratches the crown of his head and his neck feels like its burning. The soup he’d been cooking looks good now, just a little bit of salt should fix it. A palm wraps around the column of Avery’s neck, his pulse skips against the rough texture of it. Mix mix mix, he needs to mix it well so the soup isn’t too bland. Breathing feels a little hard. Squeeze.
Yellow lets up, moving to set the bowls by the pot. Breathing comes easier now that there isn’t a hand on his neck. Carefully reaching for one of the bowls, Avery pours a generous amount in both, less in his though as he plans on putting some rice in.
“You are infuriating.” Avery doesn’t get the chance to ask him what he means by that, Yellow is already settling down into a crouch near the oven. Gaze captured by the bagels getting baked. “You are insufferable.”
“What did I do…?” Avery nervously laughs as he scoops out a sizable amount of rice for his bowl. There is only silence for his reply.
“Figure it out. Annoying.”
“I’m sorry?” Setting down the bowls on the kitchen island, Avery turns back to look at the kneeling man. It’s a funny sight when he thinks about it. Look at this outer god (?) kneeling before baked bread. He doesn’t say anything about it for now, lest the annoyance for him grow.
“You should go sit now, the bagels will take a minute,” The kitchen island digs into his hips from the way he’s leaned on it. Yellow stares at him, seemingly discussing something within his mind.
“You push yourself.” Yellow says, but still makes his way to Avery. He doesn’t miss the way Yellow’s fingers tremble, nor the way his thumb turns rigid. But he makes no mention of either.
“I do not push myself.”
“You do. You are scared of me yet you let me come close.”
“I guess so,” Avery smiles. Yellow scans his face, locking into the shaky corner of his lopsided grin. “But you are still my friend so I can’t let you be alone.”
A hand shoots up to Avery’s neck, cold fingers wrapping easily around it. “Even if I do this?” His hold squeezes, but unlike last time it doesn’t linger until Avery has to choke. The hand on his neck lays there like a lazy necklace. Fingers noticeably digs into his carotid artery, no doubt feeling the skip of his pulse.
Despite the scratching of his brain at him to punch Yellow away from him, he stays still, not giving the reaction that he’s certainly looking for. “Yeah.” Avery’s free hand comes to hold the wrist on the hand on his neck. Never breaking eye contact with yellow speckled black, he says “Even if you’re scary sometimes.”
The pressure grows lax, thick eyebrows furrow with visible restraint and something else. Yellow sighs, eyes closing as if the lights cause him a headache. Avery silently breathes out a breath of relief that Yellow definitely felt.
“You are difficult.”
“I prefer determined.” Sneakily, Avery crawls his free hand onto the hand that Yellow has placed on the countertop and laces them together.
The hand on his neck slides down to the small of his back, drawing him closer. Yellow drops his head onto Avery’s shoulder, burying his head into the crook as if it will hide him. Something soft is pressed onto his collarbone, Avery would have called it a kiss if he were insane. “Unfortunate.”
Avery feels terribly cramped and cornered on the kitchen island. Perhaps if it were Derek he would’ve felt something else, but now is not the time to linger about thoughts like that.
“You are aware that restraint isn’t effortless, yes?” A deep, even voice, like he’s just woken up, comes from his lips.
“Hi Derek,” Avery squeezes his hands. Thankful, at the very least, that his chances of dying have lowered substantially. “Welcome back.”
“I’m back.”
“Yellow was nice today,” He whispers against Derek’s hair. A soft pressure falls to his bruising wrist. Avery can feel Derek’s raised eyebrow. “…Nicer than before? He’s not that bad.”
“I would still rather not have to worry about him in the first place.”
“Well we kind of have to now,” Avery presses a finger to Derek’s temple. “He’s in here now twenty-four-seven, so we have no choice in the matter.”
Derek buries himself further into Avery, mumbling words Avery can’t make out, frustration evident in how he holds Avery closer. “I know you don’t like it—”
“I do not.”
“But we have to live with this now—”
“Stop talking, Avery.”
And Avery relents, melting against Derek. They’ve had this conversation before and Derek always does this. It’s fine. They have more time.
(He understands, of course. Derek is worried for his safety and he cannot bring himself to trust Yellow for that. But that doesn't mean they should stop trying on the guy!)
They stay like that, pushed up into the countertop, careful of the still-warm soup laid on it. Derek takes his time coming to, his head resting comfortably on the soft slope of Avery’s shoulder. Their arms have moved to wrap around each other now.
Ding! The oven calls for them, promising yummy bagels to pair with their chunky savory soup.
“Sorry,” Derek says, pulling away from their embrace. He turns towards the oven with an oven mitt on both hands and fetches a core part of their brunch.
“Bone apple teeth.” Avery turns towards Derek with a dish in hand for the bagels to be deposited to. He’s placed the cream cheese just by the side of it. There’s a goofy smile playing on his face.
“That’s not how it goes, silly.” But Derek still laughs with him. Blue eyes upturned at his antics. He takes the offered butter knife to spread cream cheese on his bagel.
Avery pretends to think for a moment before shaking his head. Turning to take a bite from Derek’s bagel instead.