Work Text:
4/17
Too much stress. Paper to write. Slept for two hours.
4/18
slept too much because K. swapped my coffee with decaf; it was supposed to be thoughtful but as a result I'm a cocktail of stress and anxiety. Thanks, K., ILY.
4/20
Handed in the paper. It was alright. Of course it was alright, it always is alright in the end. Had a row with K. though – I didn't ask for the coffee replacement, he has no sense of respecting boundaries.
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I called him, said I was sorry. I'm weak.
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Can't sleep, it's 2:08 a.m. and I'm hungry. It's the worst – trying to fall asleep on an empty stomach. I don't have any reason to be restless, no assignment or anything. And I apologized. What the fuck is one supposed to do for a good night's sleep.
4/21
Guess it was the coffee. Had a cup at 7 p.m., not the decaf. The irony is not lost on me.
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I wonder who has the gall to accept monetary reward for the defective services commonly referred to as the public transport.
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Seeing K. was worth the ride. He gave me a box of chocolates. "I got these but I don't like them, so you can have them," he said. Very romantic. Sarcasm aside, I didn't really mind playing the trash compactor for unwanted pralines.
4/22
Switched to tea, hopefully for longer than three days.
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"I've tolerated many of your whims, but that senator kid affair is way past the line." Thanks, Dad. You always know what to say.
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Can we fast-forward?
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sleeping pills.
4/24
Started another paper (distraction).
4/25
K. was here. Overnight. I suspect P. told him I was cranky and to do something about it. We cooked some pasta – or more like K. did since I can't cook for shit. It was good. I told him about Father. For some reason K. was fine with it. Then he told me about his Dad taking him on strenuous and agonizingly boring trips, and how K. spent entirety of the one to the mountains in cold misery and when he tried to warm himself he burnt his tongue on scalding hot tea. It was the first thing I laughed about in two days. I fell asleep listening to his voice – it has this deep, resonating quality when all else is silent. It's very soothing. Come morning, he woke me up with kisses, like every time he's awake before I am. I like this habit a lot. It's nothing "hot" or suggestive, just these little pecks across my face, my arms, on my flanks. I feel like never getting up afterwards.
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The Memoirs of Hadrian isn't an historical source, nor a scientific publication, however tantalizing of a read that books is.
4/26
Tea still flows strong, paper almost done (CHECK SOURCES)
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P. needs to chill; no, we haven't tried [insert exotic lube name], thanks for respecting our privacy. Luckily K. wasn't around, wouldn't want to make him feel awkward.
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Got home to 16 messages from Father, threatening to disown me if I don't "start behaving responsibly". Well. Even though we're not exactly close, it's still not something fun to deal with. Hah. As if it's my fault Hux Sr. is bitter and considers Senator Organa enemy of the state because she made the likes of him pay taxes corresponding to their income. Not to mention the fact I'm close to being 30, live on my own and can do whatever I damn well please with my life.
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It's just this feeling of not being welcome somewhere where one is supposed to be welcome no matter what.
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fixed the sources. Can't sleep.
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K.'s coming over tomorrow.
4/27
Made coffee + sugar + cream because I felt like I deserved it.
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Father keeps calling but I. Don't. Fucking. Care.
4/28
I can't really remember what it was like before. The New Year I mean; which sounds awfully selfish and dismissive of all those years we've known each other, but it just isn't the same. Sure, we slept in one bed before, but always tucked in our respectable halves and never crossing the invisible line in the middle. I was so stoned yesterday I blacked out as soon as my head settled on K.'s shoulder – don't even remember what we were watching. I didn't want to sleep through having him here though, and I came to at 6 a.m., so K. didn't really have anything from the visit. At least I could – still can – watch him sleep. He has this- ability (for lack of a better word) to worm into the sheets and pillows that only his face (sometimes barely) is visible. It's oddly endearing, considering his girth. Oftentimes he mistakes me for a blanket and tries to burrow himself into me, making it for me extremely difficult to extricate myself from his embrace in the morning. Also it's often too hot and I tend to not sleep well when he does it, but I do not have the heart to tell him. It's still more on the sweet side than inconvenient. However, I hope I can rouse him enough to tell him I have couple errands to run and will return around noon and that I entrust him with my keys.
Kylo startled as he heard the buzzer, knocked over a pencil holder, cursed, then remembered he has the keys and precious time before Hux ascends five sets of stairs. He righted the pencil holder, shoved the spilled contents back in, then the bell rang again – longer this time – and he dashed over to the device. "Hey."
"Woke you up, didn't I," came Hux's distorted voice.
"I, yeah, uhm." He pressed the front door lock before he could slip. And he didn't even come face to face with Hux yet. Fuck.
Back at the table he managed to rearrange the stupid pencils – why does Hux have so many of them in the age of keyboards – into how they probably looked like before his intervention, then looked at the little notepad with a pang of guilt because he wasn't meant to read that in a million years. Shit. He turned it so it faced the chair and closed it before darting to the door.
"Oh dear, I really did," says Hux as he takes in Kylo's wrinkled sleeping tee and tousled hair. "It's almost 12."
Kylo huffs. "Why didn't you take the keys?"
"Thought you might want to get breakfast somewhere," Hux says as he brushes past Kylo, drops the messenger bag by the desk and Kylo flexes his fist in a nervous tick. "Guess I overestimated you," he jokes.
Kylo returns the smile, then ducks into the bathroom before he missteps from the tension. He takes a piss, brushes his teeth.
This won't do. Fuck.
I'm gonna tell him, he decides as he washes his face. I'll confess and beg and try to make him forgive me. I can do this.
As it often was when Kylo set a course of action for himself, circumstances underwent a dramatic change so the designated approach wouldn't work anymore.
"Kylo," Hux chides from the far corner of the room. From the desk. Tone crisp. "Did you read this?" He gestures to the notepad.
"Hux-"
"Don't bullshit me now, did you read it or not?"
"I- please don't be mad-"
"Oh God, you really did."
"Hux, I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you, Hux-" he tries, but Hux just turns his back on him and determinedly stares out of the window, perched on the desk. "I didn't mean to, it just sort of- happened." Kylo makes his way to him but stops several feet away, unsure if that would only make it worse, and then a wave of anger rises within him and his throat constricts with regret. "I know I shouldn't have but... Hux, you never told me you go through half of the things you wrote about."
"Well, that's sort of the bloody point of dumping it all on paper, for one it won't judge you," Hux all but shouts, turning to Kylo in a whirl of ginger hair, cheeks flushed and looking actually quite terrifying. He lets out a breathy laugh – the kind Hux usually reserves for when he talks about his immediate family – and turns to the window again, shoulders hunched.
Kylo isn't good with words. Not like Hux. He thinks about leaving, but then if he learned something today then it was Hux keeping everything to himself because he had been terribly lonely for the most of his life; Kylo can almost see a lanky, willowy thin boy scribbling into a notebook and dismissing anyone who might ask about it with "it's just homework". He wonders how many pages written in the neat, crisp cursive there are in the world, knowing all too well there shouldn't have been any in the first place.
So he takes a chance; he crosses the remaining distance and puts his hand on Hux's upper arm, moves his thumb in an attempt at reassurance when Hux doesn't jerk away. "What you wrote about me," Kylo begins, already feeling it's clumsy but certain he can't do it better anyway, "I never thought I could be that to anyone. Well, beside a not-so-great bedfellow." He can hear a huff of breath – laugh – so he continues: "You are one of a kind. There will never be anyone like you. And I'm, I'm glad I can have this with you." He presses a kiss to the back of Hux's head. "I'm really sorry."
They stay like that, silent, Kylo rubbing circles into Hux's back; his hand looks so alien there, like some wild animal trampling through a rose garden, and he can't help thinking that Hux is so small – not fragile or delicate, but not exactly solid either. He bends down to kiss again, this time the patch of skin above Hux's collar, squeezes Hux's arm before retreating, but Hux's hand stops him.
That's a good sign. Kylo smiles.
"You really have no sense of respecting boundaries." Plain statement.
"I won't do it again. Promise."
Hux turns to him then, most of the angry flush gone from his face, "I feel sort of better that you know. You'd ask sooner or later anyway. It's," Hux says, licking his lower lip, "nice to know you're not intimidated by my... insecurities. Or are you?" He says it with chin held up high, as if to dare Kylo to pity or mock him, things are like this and it's not perfect but I'm doing the best I can kind of defiance.
Kylo finds himself shaking his head, not knowing what to say to that. He bumps their foreheads together – it's a thing they do when either of them is distressed, just press their brows against each other as if their minds combined could solve any problem hurled their way. "No offense but your father is an asshole and you deserve so much better."
"I didn't want to tell you about that part with your Mother."
"It's OK I disagree with her a lot too. What," he says as Hux rolls his eyes.
"But he doesn't even know her, he's just salty about the bloody tax. As if she – or you, he doesn't see any difference – broke into his vault and stole his grandmother's jewellery. Don't laugh, it's not funny!"
"Yeah, sorry," Kylo apologizes again. He's always been apologizing a lot, around Hux. He kisses the corner of Hux's mouth. "I know this might be a lot to ask, but would you consider telling me more of what goes on in here," he taps Hux's temple.
Hux rests his head on Kylo's chest, pensive. Not knowing what to do with his hands, Kylo wraps them around him. "I'll try," Hux says at last. "But I won't stop writing. Don't take it the wrong way."
Kylo drops another kiss to Hux's hair. "I understand."