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Lo-Fi Study Night is fun except for the times that it isn’t. Fabian doesn’t do a lot of studying on his own then, not at all. He’s playing goalkeeper, host, emcee. He’s schmoozing and campaigning, he’s tacking badges onto backpacks and herding people away from his room, from the dank despair that he barely manages to wrangle back behind his door every evening before company arrives.
None of his classes really need studying, so it’s perfect. He saves the studying for when his friends are over, trying not to kill themselves over their books.
Tonight, it’s just Gorgug. Gorgug is a steady staple at Lo-Fi Study Nights, especially after the festival. Things aren’t bad with his parents, he says, and Fabian believes him. Gorgug doesn’t believe himself though. He’s not used to being mad. It discomforts him, especially when it’s persisting.
So he spends time at Fabian’s and avoids going home. Fabian tries not to be too happy about it. Tries not to be too sad at the end of the night when Gorgug inevitably leaves.
Okay, so maybe Fabian doesn’t study at all. He brings his books over to Gorgug’s table and writes one sentence of his essay for every two equations that Gorgug grinds out. He talks a little, idle and pointless, voice even smaller than the sound leaking through Gorgug’s headphones. He doesn’t want to talk loud and disturb the other students, but he doesn’t want to stay quiet.
It just– it seems lonely, sometimes. Fabian’s gotten very familiar with being lonely. He’s getting very good at recognizing it in other people. Sometimes he swings by Basrar’s and Adaine looks very small behind the counter. Sometimes Kristen sits like she’s going to meditate and just looks into the distance, eyes unfocused. Riz plays with his watch, and Fig does the same with the feather around her neck.
Gorgug… okay, well, maybe Gorgug isn’t as lonely as that. Not as clearly. But there’s just, like, this vibe. Fabian does his rounds and makes his small talk and his eyes keep flitting to the massive hunched form at the table in the corner. He wanders over and sees Gorgug’s head bobbing along to a song that’s playing way too loud, loud enough that the people at the next table over are getting kind of annoyed about it.
He doesn’t notice their exaggerated huffs of pointed irritation. He doesn’t notice Fabian’s approach either. He registers the company, eyes darting over and a brief smile stretching past his tusks, but then he goes back to his equations and that wall goes up again. An impenetrable defense. Tungsten walls, shining steel that’s been reinforced.
So Fabian talks. And eventually, when the walls come down, Gorgug is happy to listen.
They’re not quite at the listening stage yet. Gorgug’s got his headphones around his neck and his music off, but he’s mouthing things to himself as he goes through flashcards with different equations on them. He’s holding them with one hand, his Tinker’s Tools in the other. He’s playing with them idly, and it’s almost a game for Fabian now, to weave a rhythm in between the smack of metal as it hits Gorgug’s hand. They’re making music like this, in a way. It’s a thought that makes Fabian’s words stumble. He loses the beat.
Gorgug’s steady enough, though, that it’s easy to get back into it. Gorgug is a rhythmic person now. Always has been, really, he started drumming two years ago, but now more than ever. There’s a pulse to him, a steady undercurrent, even with the grandiose tricks that he’s performing with his Tinker’s Tools; flipping, spinning, twisting, almost juggling the implements.
It’s the kind of thing that Fabian uses his body to do in battle, in dance. Flipping, spinning, and twisting. Metal becomes liquid in Gorgug’s calloused hands. He twirls a spanner between his knuckles like it’s a drumstick, like he’s about to slam headfirst into one of Fig’s more metal songs.
Fabian wonders if Gorgug could break the spanner the way he’s broken so many drumsticks.
Fabian wonders if the spanner is jealous of all the drumsticks that Gorgug’s snapped in the past.
Fabian wonders if Gorgug will spend the night, or if he’ll take all the warmth with him when he goes back to his parents and his house filled with warmth.
Fabian wonders if his spine would last longer than the spanner, than the drumsticks, in Gorgug’s calloused hands.
Oh dear, Fabian thinks, a mild and discontented thought. Oh this isn’t the time for that at all.
“Hey,” Gorgug says abruptly. He looks up, bangs falling into his eyes. Fabian only sees half of his expression when he asks, “Mind if I stay the night?”
The half that he saw was a nervous twist to the lower lip. Fabian’s seen it a thousand time. “Sure,” he says back, before he can think about it. Before he can think about that, he hears himself double down. “Make yourself at home.”
Gorgug smiles a little. Fabian’s chest loses the rhythm again.
His mother is tall but slender and his late father was broad but short. Fabian also doesn’t have any clean clothes of his own to offer Gorgug—not that they’d fit, but that might be- no, don’t, c’mon Fabian—so in the end he holds out two shirts that will not fit Gorgug for completely different reasons. “Pick your poison,” Fabian offers, careful not to mention that it will in fact be Fabian who will be the victim of said poison.
Gorgug wrinkles his nose at both but picks the broader clothing. Fabian nods and resigns himself to Gorgug’s midriff for the rest of the night. “I’m also gonna shower,” he says, and then he goes to his room without waiting for an answer and locks his door behind him and gets completely naked before pulling out his phone.
Then he hesitates. It’s junior year. They’re all so fucking busy, even with the brief reprieve that they’ve managed to find. Adaine no longer works night shifts but it does mean that she’s spending more time with her sister. Riz no longer has to be as worried about Fig but that just means he can put his whole focus on destroying himself in his curriculars.
They don’t need a last-minute and half-baked romantic crisis. Which might not even be a crisis.
Because here’s the thing; Gorgug has stuck around.
He quit the team, but he’s coming by more. He sits on Fabian’s side of the table at lunch. He sends stupid instagram reels that Fabian only really understands a third of the time. Gorgug listened when Fabian said I’m scared of losing you, and then tried to brush off the entire sentiment with a hasty joke about the towel whipping. And Gorgug played along—played along too well, really, fuck that towel whip hurt— but he listened.
Gorgug has always listened. And he has always tried to show it. Fixing the Hangman, giving an orange. Fabian kind of feels stupid, now, for how he felt during that conversation before. For that sharp stab of betrayal, sadness, frustration, guilt. For the part that heard Gorgug talk about quitting the team, and immediately connected it to the piles of takeout boxes waiting for him at home.
Even that, Gorgug is helping with. He’s here. He’s staying the night.
He has been broken before, Fabian realizes. He’s already been the drumstick, the spanner. Gorgug has already taken him in his hands and snapped him in half. He was first, actually. If anything, both spanner and drumstick would be jealous of him.
Because Gorgug has broken him, and then taken all those broken parts, and laid them down, and poured gold between the cracks. Like what they do to pottery. Gorgug is not proficient in ceramics, but he could do this. Fabian is sure of it. Gorgug is brilliant, beautiful, wonderful. Gorgug hugged him in the Forest of the Nightmare King. Gorgug gave him a tin flower on the first day of school. Maybe that’s what he used to piece Fabian back together again.
Not gold. Tin.
It’s not something you sell. It won’t fetch you much, and that’s fine, his father once told him when they were stopped in a port. Years before he ever stepped foot on Solace. Years before he ever knew Gorgug’s name. But it’s flexible, durable, and it’s made to last. You keep tin for building, for mending, for reinforcing. You don’t sell your tin. You use it when you want to make something strong.
Fabian throws his phone on his bed and squats, face settling into his hands. His entire body feels hot.
He goes to take a shower and hopes that the cold water strips the goosebumps off his flesh.
The bare strip of Gorgug’s midriff is too much, and Gorgug isn’t trying to hide it at all. He’s splayed out on Fabian’s bed like a cat, half his face pressed into a pillow, eyes closed to slits and orcish purrs rumbling through his chest. They’re dull, not as loud as Fabian’s heard them get. But they rumble through the mattress and send shivers up Fabian’s spine.
He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling and just talks.
“Back then, I was small enough to climb my Papa’s shoulder,” he says, twisting and un-twisting his eyepatch in his hands. He’s almost doing a Cat’s Cradle, except Fabian doesn’t really know how to do a Cat’s Cradle. It’s closer to a Cat’s Cot, really. “I supposed I could do so now as well, because he’s fucking huge in Hell, but it wouldn’t be the same, you know?”
“Mmn.” Thud. Fabian jolts, exhaling a hitched breath out through his teeth.
Gorgug’s Tinker’s Tools lie between them, occasionally being smacked against the sheets. There’s a rhythm to this too, somehow, as sporadic and random as it may seem. Or maybe that’s just Fabian, finding too much meaning in places devoid of it. Maybe Fabian’s just too practiced in finding a beat and groove in the mundane, now.
“So I would start all our fights from up there. It was a masterful gambit, if I do say so myself. No one wants to hurt the young, innocent lad sat atop his father’s shoulder, so they would hesitate, and my father would get a better chance to attack. Or, if they did come for me, I had the high ground and I–”
Thud. Fabian jolts. He looks at Gorgug just enough to glare, and not enough to see Gorgug’s stomach. Unfortunately, it’s still enough to see Gorgug grin back.
Maybe he needs to stop flinching out of his skin whenever Gorgug dully thuds his tools against the sheets. Maybe Gorgug needs to stop finding it so funny. Maybe Gorgug should stop smiling at him like that—tusks gleaming, the black of his eyes sparkling, the set of his face so soft and loose and so much gentler than it is in the day.
Fabian rolls over completely. “I’m done talking, seeing as you’re just bullying me.”
Gorgug laughs. Shit. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re startling me.”
“I’m doing something and you’re just getting startled on your own.”
“It’s targeted.”
“You’re the most popular kid in school!” The bed creaks. Fabian holds his breath, and then sighs, disappointed, when he feels Gorgug’s weight shift off the mattress. “How could you let yourself be bullied by some techie nerd? That’s your fault.”
Fabian grumbles, “Porter turned you into a fucking asshole.” Gorgug laughs again, except this time it’s closer. It’s worse than him crawling closer—he’s come around the bed to Fabian’s side. He’s kneeling on the ground. Elbow propped on the mattress, chin propped in his palm. His face is so close to Fabian’s face. With his lack of depth perception, Fabian might be convinced that Gorgug is leaning in.
He snaps the band of his eyepatch against his own knuckles to exorcise the delusional demons from his head. Gorgug looks at Fabian’s hands for just a moment, and then back to his face. He raises an eyebrow, expectant. “Well?”
Fabian raises an eyebrow back, wary. “Well what?”
“Keep talking.” He’s always made it sound so simple. “You were saying you had the high ground?”
Fabian’s eyebrows raise higher. “You were listening?”
Gorgug’s nose wrinkles, offended. “Of course I was. I always listen.”
“Even while doing your homework? With your headphones on and blaring music?” He needs to stop talking. He sounds like a child.
“Maybe not to your words, but I was listening to your voice.” Gorgug talks to Fabian and it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to a child. It’s not indulgent or placating. Again, it’s simple. It’s Gorgug. It could never be anything else. “Now I’m listening to your words though. This was a good story. I like it when you tell me about your dad.”
He uses his chin to gesture behind Fabian. “I left my tools there. No more interruptions.” He smiles, mischievous and bright. “Master Seacaster is not to be distracted. My apologies, sir.”
Fabian rolls over again, now flat on his stomach, crumpling his eyepatch in his hand. “I hate you.”
Gorgug just laughs. “Yeah?”
“Did you do this shit with Zelda too?”
Gorgug laughs again, much more hesitant, much more awkward. “Uh. What?”
“This shit,” Fabian grumbles, face burning, rolling back over onto his side. “The kneeling, the leaning, the looking, the sweet talking.” He glares at Gorgug with his one eye, raises his hands, and snaps the strap of his eyepatch against Gorgug’s forehead like it’s a rubber band. Gorgug reels back with a yelp.
“I’m sorry?” It’s a protest, a question, and an apology all at once. Remarkably efficient.
Fabian takes a breath. His socket throbs—he takes a moment to sit up, to put his father’s eyepatch back on. Gorgug watches him, looking up from where he is, kneeling at the side of Fabian’s bed. His hand falls, almost instinctively, to Fabian’s knee. It is crushing, burning, and comforting all at once.
No matter. Fabian was not born unbreakable, but he has been reinforced. He has been made to last, and he has lasted.
Fabian looks at Gorgug. “When you do this, it makes me want to kiss you,” he says, and his voice shakes on every single word.
Gorgug goes very, very still.
It’s scary. Fabian isn’t afraid, but he is scared. He isn’t bracing or flinching because he knows that there won’t be a blow. It’s Gorgug. No matter how much Gorgug hates it, he will never hate Fabian. That is something that Fabian knows. Not because Fabian is Fabian. But Gorgug is just Gorgug.
He’s still scared. Selfishly, he puts his hand on Gorgug’s, the one that’s on his knee, and squeezes, just once.
Gorgug’s eyes flit down to the contact, then back up to Fabian’s face, and then out to the window. And then back again. Fabian smiles shakily. “Did you do this with Zelda too?”
“A little,” Gorgug laughs, just as breathy and nervous. “I’m not– I wasn’t trying to flirt with you. Or her, I guess, at least not by doing this.”
“That almost makes it worse, I think.”
Gorgug squeezes his knee. “Do you like… like me?” He asks, very small.
Fabian swallows. “I want to kiss you right now.” He hopes that explains enough. Mazey didn’t really get it when he tried to explain that he might want to kiss later. He still sort of wants to kiss her a lot, actually.
But Gorgug is here, and his hand is on Fabian's knee.
Even quieter, Fabian adds, “Or hug me. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”
Whatever lets me feel your breath. Whatever reminds me that we're both real. This house is so empty, and you've somehow always found me when I was cold and shaking and alone. A kiss is hotter than a hug. A hug is tighter than a kiss. Spring break, I believe in you. You went to the friendship section of the library for me. Hoot growl. We are not the same boys who met each other. I hope I get to see every version of you from tomorrow until the end of the world. I want to dance with you. Thank you for staying. You fixed my bike. I'm sorry I slapped the last tin flower out of your hands, could I maybe get another shot at that?
Fabian's voice is barely a breath when he concludes, "A high five would sting, but I'd get it."
Gorgug nods slowly, maybe understanding. He says, “A high five is weird. I'm always down for a hug. And I could kiss you now.” Then he pauses and corrects himself. “I want to kiss you now. But then we’d kinda. Have to. Put a pin in it?”
“That’s fine.” It doesn’t sound that desperate, or insecure, or heartbroken. He doesn’t feel that desperate either. A little insecure, maybe, but not heartbroken. They can put a pin in it.
Fabian did not lose Gorgug when he quit the Bloodrush Team. He will not lose Gorgug with a kiss.
He leans down. Gorgug catches his face in two massive hands and pushes them back. “Not like this,” he says, and then pushes Fabian flat on the bed.
Fabian’s head lands right next to the Tinkers’ Tools. He barely notices them, holding his breath as Gorgug crawls up onto the bed and over Fabian’s body. He is so big and broad and even this shirt is kind of tight around the shoulders. His hair hangs loose around his head. His dark orcish eyes are so bright in the dark.
“Oh, we’re making out,” Fabian realizes, quickly adding before Gorgug can second-guess himself, “Which is good. I was gonna settle for like, a peck, but this is great. I’ve been meaning to get my kisses in.”
Gorgug smiles and leans in without another word.
He’s a very kind kisser. Very gentle, but not hesitant. Tentative, yes, but Fabian’s fingers tangle in Gorgug’s hair and it all melts away. Fabian is melting too, kind of. The gold in his neck and the tin in his bones all superheated, a metallic slurry spilling out of his ears along with his brain as he presses up as best as he can, chasing Gorgug’s mouth.
Gorgug pulls away, and whispers roughly, “Wow, you’re kind of bad at this.”
Fabian bristles, hissing, “I’ve never kissed anyone with tusks before!” He’s got another complaint brewing but then Gorgug kisses him again, hand sliding up and under Fabian’s shirt to splay against his ribs, and Fabian decides that there’s nothing that he has to say that’s more important than this.
He hums into Gorgug’s mouth and puts a hand on that bare midriff, right on the small of Gorgug’s waist. Gorgug sighs back, and bares down.
The house is empty, and it might not even exist. Nothing else exists outside the nudge of Gorgug’s tusk against Fabian’s lower lip.
In the morning, Fabian tosses Gorgug a helmet. “Got your backpack?”
“Yeah. Hey, I can’t–” his voice breaks. Gorgug blinks quickly, three times, and then shakes it off. “I can’t always come to Lo-Fi Study Night. A lot of my work, it like– it needs a lab. And equipment.”
Fabian blinks at him, just once. “Yeah, I know.”
“But I’ll come for other assignments,” he says, much too fierce all of a sudden. “And I… I might ask to spend the night.”
“Ah,” Fabian realizes, and then smiles. “Always, Gorgug, you can always–”
“And if you want me to sleep over,” Gorgug continues, insisting, taking a step forwards. Fabian doesn’t take a step back. “Then ask. Whenever. Whenever you want.”
He pauses, and then he adds, “I won’t ask to stay over if Mazey is there. And it’s totally cool if she is.”
Fabian’s face is so warm. “Gorgug,” he says, and it sounds the exact same way that his mother says darling. “Get on my fucking bike already.”
A lifetime’s worth of tension escapes Gorgug’s body. He smiles at Fabian. It’s small under the weight of relief, but it feels fucking blinding. “Thanks for the ride, man.”
“Yeah, no problem.” They peel out of the garage and onto the road. The wind whips through Fabian’s hair. Gorgug’s hair is protected by the helmet. Neither of them are thinking about the way that Gorgug’s holding onto Fabian’s waist a little tighter than usual. Nope. Not at all.
Sire, the Hangman growls into Fabian’s head. Spectacular choice. With the greatest wizard of your age as your paramour–
“Shut up, Hangman,” Fabian sighs. Gorgug snickers into his neck, and Fabian has to bite back a smile.