Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Druig’s nervous. He can’t deny it, as much as he wants to, but he thinks it’s perfectly reasonable to be nervous for your first party at university. Maybe it’s a bit sad, that it’s early November and this is Druig’s first university party, but in his defence, he deliberately picked the same university as Ajak and Phastos so he wouldn’t have to strike out and attempt to make friends on his own.

And he’s been content with Ajak and Phastos, has always been content with Ajak and Phastos, but since Ajak first started hanging out with her roommate Sersi and her friends at the start of the year, introducing them to Druig and Phastos has been her pet project.

It all comes to a head here, Druig thinks, at Ajak’s birthday party. That’s the part that gets him het-up, stressing about not being chatty enough or funny enough or smiley enough, but he owes it to Ajak to deal with it, he thinks, because after all it is her birthday and after all it is Ajak, but Druig still wants to bolt when she knocks on the door.

Beside him, Phastos grits his teeth in sympathy, his eyes on his phone as he presumably texts the guy he’d recently started dating, Ben.

Druig steels himself as they hear footsteps on the other side of the door, someone’s shadow growing closer through the frosted glass. He feels… wrong. Even though he’s got his binder on, having gone without it all day because Ajak has a sixth sense for when he binds unsafely and would absolutely have called him out on it, Druig’s suddenly too aware of it all. The slight bump of his chest. The way the curve of his hips is visible through his t-shirt when the wind blows his jacket aside.

The door opens, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered young man around Druig’s age. He fills the doorframe so completely that the door seems to cringe away from him into submission, yet the illusion is sort of ruined by the tray of pizzas balanced precariously on one large hand and the purple and yellow flowery apron stretched over his muscled chest.

Druig’s mind thankfully supplies the boy’s name immediately, the several frantic questions he’d asked Ajak as they walked over finally bearing fruit. The boy’s name is Gilgamesh, Druig’s pretty sure. He studies catering.

“Birthday girl!” Gilgamesh beams, moving forward to hug Ajak and then belatedly realising he has his arms full of pizza. He kisses her cheek instead, before turning to Druig and Phastos, hovering awkwardly behind Ajak. “Druig and Phastos, right?”

“Right!” says Druig, and to his ears he sounds too much, too chirpy, but Gilgamesh doesn’t seem to notice. “And you’re Gilgamesh, right?”

“That’s me!”

“I hear your cooking is excellent,” Phastos grins. It seems to break the ice, because Gilgamesh starts loading them up with slices of pizza, describing the flavours and the other food awaiting them in the kitchen.

Druig starts to relax a little, because Gilgamesh seems perfectly nice and anyway, he’s not convinced anyone could feel anxious when they’re eating pizza this good, with such a crisp, crunchy crust and topped with seemingly every topping Druig likes. He wonders if Ajak tipped Gilgamesh off and told him that Druig likes ham and pineapple and Phastos likes mushrooms and peppers and extra cheese, and the thought warms his heart.

Later, though, Druig’s feeling anything but at ease, even after successfully navigating the treacherous waters of introducing himself to all of Ajak’s friends. They’ve sung Ajak happy birthday and she’s opened all her presents and the pizza and cake have all been demolished, so Druig isn’t too worried about missing out on anything key as he slips outside for a breather.

It’s not that Druig dislikes parties, it’s just that after a while they get a little bit unbearable. Well. More than a little bit. He’d tried to make his excuses a while ago, when Kingo turned up the music and started pulling people up to dance, but when Sersi’s friend Dane arrived with a gang of his fellow English Literature students in tow, Druig decided he really had had enough for a while.

Phastos is nowhere in sight, probably texting Ben party updates somewhere less offensively loud, so Druig snags another beer from the fridge and sneaks outside. The cool air stings his too-hot face in the best kind of way and when Druig sighs he feels the tension building up inside him start to dissolve. He checks his phone, finding a text from Ajak letting him know she’d save him a couple of shots if he wanted them. Druig replies, letting her know that he’s gone outside for a bit, and then leans against the wide, bumpy trunk of a sturdy oak tree, drawing idle patterns in the soil with the toe of his boot.

The person comes from nowhere, dropping from the branches above Druig in a red and gold whirl and landing on the ground with a bump. If he’s ever asked, Druig will deny the fact that he yelped with surprise, hopping away from the tree as fast as his legs can carry him.

He looks up at the person, managing to put a name to the face. Makkari, one of Ajak’s friends whom he’d met earlier. In his nerves, he’d barely registered how pretty she was, but he certainly notices now, taking in the long dark hair pulled back in several braids, her dimpled grin and the red dress studded with tiny gold flowers.

Makkari coughs, shuffling her feet, and because his life has apparently decided to take its cues from the cheesy rom-coms Phastos likes to watch, Druig blinks as he realises he’s probably been staring for far too long.

He opens his mouth to explain himself, and then shuts it hastily as he remembers the sign language Makkari used when they’d been introduced. He signs instead, the movements still coming surprisingly easy, even though Druig’s been slacking a bit on his ASL practice since he left for university back in September.

“Sorry,” he signs. “You startled me. It’s not every day that people drop out of trees in front of me.” Makkari smiles knowingly, tilting her head up to look Druig squarely in the face.

“I was hiding out. I like taking a break from parties every now and again. But you came out of the house and you looked like a kicked puppy, so I figured maybe I could say hi.”

“A kicked puppy? I resent that.”

“I’m sure you’d make a very cute puppy,” Makkari replies, snickering a little at the look of exaggerated offence Druig sends her way. “I’m just saying! You didn’t look like you were having much fun. Not a party person?”

“I am a party person… just only in small doses. And Sersi’s friend showed up with all of his friends, and I’ve already done more than enough introductions for today, so I came up here.”

“Very relatable. Want to see my secret party break zone? Come on!” Without waiting for an answer, Makkari steps away, climbing nimbly up into the tree. Within seconds she’s vanished, swallowed up by the glossy green leaves.

In theory, Druig could walk away. He could go back to the party or go hunting for his coat - he’s almost certain the girl Ajak introduced as Thena stuck their coats in a bedroom somewhere - and be back in his dorm room in ten minutes. For half a moment, standing there while the distant boom of Kingo’s music splits the night in half and the leaves of the oak tree swish gently in the breeze, the idea is so appealing that Druig almost heads back towards the house.

But he doesn’t. He follows Makkari, climbing up the tree until his fingers reach a platform. Druig hauls himself up, observing the space: a wooden floored platform scattered with cushions and nestled into the hollow at the centre of the tree. It just about qualifies as a tree house.

“Ultimate break room. Kingo’s parties are no joke. They’re draining,” Makkari signs, settling back against a bright pink cushion and stretching like a content cat. There’s one of those Pinterest-y solar lights in the corner, a frog with a round, lit-up belly, and the dim silver light casts Makkarin in an almost ethereal glow.

“I can tell.” Right on cue, a particularly loud song starts up inside the house, the sound snaking out of the window Druig left open. He mirrors Makkari, leaning back against a pile of pillows. Their arms knock together at the elbows and he is hyper aware of it, of every nerve ending igniting as his arm brushes against Makkari’s.

It’s so painfully cliche, but Druig can feel the early beginnings of a crush unfolding in his stomach anyway. He tries to choke it down, because that’s the last thing he wants right now. Especially since crushing on someone goes hand-in-hand with telling them he’s asexual. And since the awful week spent sleeping at Ajak’s house at the end of the summer, Druig’s avoided coming out until he absolutely has to.

“I’m sorry. He’s a drama student and he likes to let everybody know. You’re philosophy, right? That’s so cool.”

“You’re anthropology, right?” Druig replies.

“Yeah. Does Ajak make you answer exams about us, or something?”

“Only because I ask her to,” Druig signs, deadpan. Makkari giggles, and it’s a beautiful thing. “I like being prepared.”

“That takes away all of the small talk! At least if you don’t know, you can ask someone’s degree when you get stuck in a conversation.”

“Don’t even bring up small talk. I hate it so much that Phastos and I make Ajak do it for us.”

“I don’t know what to say now!” Makkari rolls over to face Druig and grin easily, rolling her eyes. “I was going to mention that I run in my spare time, but I guess you already knew that.”

“I did not. Ajak’s exams are sadly limited to degrees only.”

“I think I should remedy your lack of knowledge,” Makkari teases, and she’s off, describing the running team she's part of and the training she’s doing right now, for some marathon at the start of spring.

“Does that mean you go for a run so you don’t feel bad about procrastinating? Because if I ran more often, I would do that and then pat myself on the back for being really productive after doing nothing else.”

“No!” Makkari protests, eager to prove her innocence. Druig raises his eyebrows at her, looking dubious. “... Maybe? Only when I have a big project due and I don’t want to start it!”

“I can relate. Got this book I’m supposed to be reading for class and I’m about ten pages in.”

“That’s not too bad. It can’t be that long, right?”

“It’s over nine hundred pages!”

Makkari shakes her head in despair and flops back against her pillows. “Well then. Good luck?”

Druig laughs again, rolling over again and sprawling on his back. They lie there in silence for a while, glimpses of a star-splattered sky visible through the tree leaves every now and again like the pieces of a shattered puzzle.

The back door opens with a creak and a few notes of music escape, dancing up into the black sky. Somebody - Ajak - is calling Druig’s name.

“Dru! We’re heading back, are you coming?”

“I’ve got to go,” Druig signs, tapping Makkari on the shoulder to get her attention. He gets to his feet and stands awkwardly at the edge of the platform, unsure why he’s suddenly feeling like an inexperienced teen at the end of a first date. “Thanks for showing me up here. It’s cool. Maybe see you around?”

Makkari tilts her face up at him, a cheeky smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Anytime. See you around!”

Druig’s cheeks flood with heat, even at a simple goodbye, and he clambers down the tree quickly to hide his blush from Makkari, hands over feet over hands, until the breeze cools their cheeks and blows the leaves in just the right direction to hide Makkari’s face.

“I see you’ve found the Domo,” Ajak slurs, and she’s sloppy-drunk, poking her fingers affectionately into Druig’s cheeks and linking their arms together as they feel around in the dark for the gate that leads to the front of the house.

“Um. The what?”

“The Domo!” Ajak trills, offended. “Only the best treehouse ever! Sprite made it, but they hardly ever go up there. It’s Makkari’s place. Hey -“ her eyes light up with a sudden realisation, and they’re like small suns in the dull light of the street lamps as the two of them wait by the front door for Phastos “- were you with Makkari? Now that I think about it, you were both noticeably absent from the dancing. And you’ve been flirting!”

“What? I haven’t been flirting!”

“Don’t lie to me. You look like a tomato,” says Ajak cheerfully, patting Druig’s arm. “So, Makkari’s cute, right? You guys would be the definition of the nerd and the jock trope. You’d be the ultimate couple!”

“Aj,” Druig huffs. “I wasn’t flirting with Makkari.” The front door opens, bringing with it a gust of music, and Phastos appears, heading down the front steps towards them. “Or with anyone,” he adds warningly. Ajak just nods knowingly, turning to Phastos and asking him if he fancies going on a hunt for some kebabs.

The matter seems to drop after that, and Druig is more than happy not to bring it up as the three of them pile onto a park bench half an hour later, a giant bag of kebabs leaking grease onto Ajak’s lap.

Until, that is, the next day.

“Sooo…?” Ajak asks, with all the force and subtlety of a detective desperate to get to the bottom of a case. The two of them are in Celestial, the campus coffee shop where they both work, late morning sunshine filtering in through the high windows and staining the plasticky, diner-style tables an especially eye-aching shade of neon red. Druig is nursing a fierce headache, because Phastos’ jokes about how much of a lightweight he is only land because they’re true. He’s pretty sure he looks like death warmed over.

Ajak, on the other hand, looks bright and fresh despite the fact that she was on her fourth drink when Druig ducked out of the party last night. Typical.

“So?” Druig mimics, just to mess with her.

“You and Makkari!” Ajak whines, leaning across the counter. “Did you talk? Did you like her? Will you see her again?”

"Maybe if you order a drink, like you're supposed to do, I'll tell you," Druig says. He ignores Ajak’s spluttering, slowly scrubbing a stubborn pink lipstick stain from the rim of a mug. He puts the now clean mug on the drying rack and picks up another, biding his time. Sure enough, after a moment Ajak groans and shuffles off to order from Arishem at the counter.

“A herbal tea for… Ajak?” Druig calls out when Arishem passes the drink to him. “Can’t think who that might be for -” he hands it to Ajak and she gives him a fondly exasperated look “- never met anyone called Ajak in my life.”

“I hate you! No, I love you. Will you tell me now?” Ajak snags a table next to Druig’s counter and makes puppy eyes at him. Druig checks his watch and unties his apron.

“End of my shift, sorry.” He pulls a face at her. “Get your apron on.” Druig slides into the seat next to Ajak, tugging his bag out of her hands and pulling out his work. Ajak’s still looking at him like a child on Christmas morning, her eyes bright with anticipation. “There’s nothing much to tell. She’s pretty. We chatted. I went home.” Ajak, tugging on her apron and downing her tea, looks at him disbelievingly. “Aj. It’s true. I forgot to even get her number.”

“I can remedy that!”

“Because me texting her out of the blue isn’t creepy at all.”

The café’s bell twangs as the door swings open, announcing the arrival of a customer, and Tiamut shouts for Ajak to get to work and serve them. Ajak huffs at Druig before ducking behind the counter and Druig turns his attention to his barely-started essay with a sigh.

He writes down the essay’s title and draws a few arrows spiralling away from it, the barest bones of a brainstorm, answers a few texts from Phastos, who has a date with Ben at the end of the week and is already stressing about which of his many cardigans he should wear, and flicks through the pages of his book, killing time.

It’s not that the essay question isn’t interesting - Does free will exist? - it’s just that the longer Druig procrastinates it, the more it feels like a particularly immovable roadblock.

He’s still flicking through his notes reluctantly, in search of the right page, when someone sits down in the seat opposite him, a mug of coffee in hand. Druig glances up, ready to snap at whoever it is to go and find their own seat, but the words die on his lips when he’s suddenly face-to-face with Makkari, standing in front of him in an oversized red jumper, resplendent in the sunlight.

“Well,” he signs instead. “If it isn’t the beautiful Makkari. What can I do for you?”

“I just came in to get my coffee and Ajak said you were here so… I thought maybe I could come keep you company?”

Druig turns in his seat to look at Ajak, lurking by the counter and watching him like an overeager parent. She gives him an exaggerated thumbs up and Druig flips her off. Jemiah, ringing up someone’s order, exchanges a raised eyebrow with Ajak that tells Druig the pair of them are going to be dissecting Druig’s every move in the kitchen later. Jemiah’s not nicknamed ‘Jemiah the Analyser’ for nothing, after all.

“It would have been incredibly awkward if you’d sat next to the wrong person,” Druig signs.

“I think you’re the only person in this entire city with a bowl cut, so… Pretty safe bet.”

“I make it work!” Druig protests.

“You do.” Makkari pulls Druig’s essay towards her, skimming over his sad excuse of a brainstorm with curiosity written all over her face. “This sounds interesting! But I think I’d just have constant existential crises if I took philosophy.”

“It adds to the appeal!” Druig shifts his chair over so they can both peer at his notebook. Makkari’s so close that Druig can count every freckle on her nose and it makes the breath catch in his lungs. “Got any input for this?”

Makkari takes a contemplative sip of her coffee, the sugary-sweet scent of it hitting Druig like a truck.

“What is that?” he signs, pointing to the coffee mug that she sets back on the table. “Pure sugar? It certainly smells that way.”

“It’s got caramel in it!” Makkari protests.

“Maybe that should be an argument for my essay.” Druig taps his pen against his chin in a pantomime of thoughtfulness. “Free will does not exist because there’s no way someone would willingly get the most sugary drink on the menu.”

“I bet you take your coffee black, right? Because you’re so dark and brooding like that.” Makkari rolls her eyes, attempting to snatch the pen from Druig’s hand when he writes down his point about the coffee. “Bitch. I guess we can’t be friends. Your coffee tastes are too edgy and emo for me.” She turns away as if she's going to leave and pulls a notebook of her own out of her bag instead.

“Pushover,” Druig grins. “I’m too irresistible for you to leave, I see.”

“You must have some form of mind control,” Makkari quips, setting her essay on the table with a look of resigned horror. “I thought I would procrastinate less at university, since I could actually pick my subject, but apparently not.”

“So true,” Druig signs, and they clink mugs, laughing. “When's yours due?”

“Tomorrow.” Makkari shuffles around in the depths of her bag with a huff, rescuing a pen from a tangle of headphones. “So feel free to kick me if you see me procrastinating. I’ve got to get this done.”

“Mine is also due tomorrow, so… Right back at you.”

Makkari kicks him five minutes in, just to annoy him if the mischievous smile slowly spreading across her face is anything to go by. Druig flicks her pen across the page of her notepad, signing, “That’s counterproductive.”

“Fun though. And I give you full permission to kick me for no reason now, just so we’re even.”

Druig waits until she’s lost in thought, halfway through a paragraph, before he nudges her lightly with his foot.

“That hardly counts as a kick, coward,” Makkari signs.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

“No! No. We’re even, we’re even!” Druig nudges her again anyway, and she jerks her feet out of his reach, shaking her head in a way that seems almost fond. It sets a small curl of warmth alight in Druig’s chest, the feeling steadily growing as they settle down to work on their essays at last, feet touching occasionally when they shift in their seats.

When they’re done, the shadows of the café are starting to lengthen with the promise of evening and Ajak’s shift has ended. She’d left wearing the grin of someone watching their favourite couple on a TV show finally get together and not two seconds after she left the café, a text had pinged on Druig’s phone, informing him that he should spill everything later on.

Druig sets his pen down with a feeling of satisfaction, rolling his shoulders.

“Done?” Makkari asks.

“Fucking finally. You?” Druig replies. She nods, and together they collect the assortment of mugs and plates that they’ve collected over the course of the day, delivering them to Eson, who is wiping down the counter, wearing the exhausted, tortured expression of someone about to ride into battle.

“It’s about time. You two have been here all day,” they huff. “Cover my shift next week and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal, I suppose,” Druig sighs, resisting the urge to groan. He likes working at Celestial well enough, but not enough that he’s jumping at the chance to spend more time at the place than he has to. “See you tomorrow, then,” he says as he starts to weave in between the tables, Makkari at his heels. Eson grunts in response.

“I had fun!” Makkari signs, all smiles. “Maybe we could do this again?”

“I’d like that,” Druig agrees, anticipation already buzzing through his blood at the prospect. “Could I maybe get your number then? I’ll text you.”

Makkari pulls out her phone enthusiastically, copying her number into Druig’s phone and taking a selfie, sticking out her tongue, to set as the profile picture.

“Thanks. I’ll text you?”

Makkari nods, pulling Druig in for a surprising, brief hug before she heads out of the café, waving.

The café door swings in her wake, and Druig feels flushed all over, preoccupied with the memory of Makkari’s hands on his chest, warm through his t-shirt, as he starts walking home, his legs propelling him in the direction of his dorm on autopilot.

He’s about halfway towards his dorm when a darker thought makes itself known. Druig stops beneath a tree, biting his lip, suddenly hoping against hope that Makkari couldn’t feel the binder under his clothes. That’s a whole can of worms Druig isn’t ready to open.

Chapter Text

Getting home after a shift is defined in a series of habits. Knock at the door, because Phastos had been so embarrassed the last time Druig walked in on him kissing Ben that he always knocks these days. When Phastos gives him the all-clear, Druig heads inside, slipping part of his share of the shift’s tips into the jar on his bookshelf, top surgery fund painted lovingly across its middle in Ajak’s slanting scrawl.

“Hey,” Phastos greets him, attention fixed unwaveringly on his engineering textbook. “Where have you been all day?”

“At Celestial. I stayed after my shift to finish my homework.” Druig kicks off his boots and sprawls on his bed with a groan. “Have you had dinner? I can go grab us something from the canteen if you want.” It’s a lie. He absolutely can’t grab something from the canteen. He won’t be moving for the next hour.

“It’s okay. Ajak said she’d bring stuff,” says Phastos, his reply slightly muffled as he chews rather anxiously on his pen. Right on cue, Ajak bursts into the dorm like a small whirlwind, flinging the door open with the exaggerated force of an actor about to take to the stage. She dumps a handful of takeaway bags on the floor and flings her backpack onto Druig’s bed, narrowly missing his head. The bed protests, creaking ominously.

“You’re going to destroy my bed frame,” Druig complains, shoving Ajak’s bag off his bed. “What do you have in there? Bricks?”

“My medicine textbook!” Ajak hops up onto Phastos’ bed, poking him until he moves over, shedding sheets of engineering homework in his wake. “How are you guys feeling? Hungover?” Phastos shrugs, still intently focused on his textbook. “Dru?”

“I refuse to confirm or deny.”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re still feeling like death warmed over.”

“I hate you,” Druig whines.

“You’re my favourite lightweight.”

“It’s a shame you lead such a wild party lifestyle. Doesn’t really go with not being able to hold your drink,” says Phastos solemnly, flicking to the next page of his textbook and running a thoughtful finger along a line of numbers.

“Speaking of the party…” Ajak wiggles her eyebrows at Druig over Phastos’ head, a shit-eating grin plastered across her face. “Druig. Spill! You and Makkari!”

“There’s nothing to say, Aj. Exactly the same as the last time you asked. We did homework together. I’ve found a fellow procrastinator in her.”

“Come on. You guys were giggling at each other for my whole shift! Tiamut noticed too! Did you at least get her number this time?”

Druig nods, a smile working its way across his face despite himself. Ajak grins, clapping.

“Dru and Makkari?” Phastos asks, his attention drawn from his homework at last.

“She's Druig’s ideal date! They hung out at the party last night. Oh! And speaking of -”

“I’m not going to another party, Ajak. I think I might actually explode if you try to drag me to another one in the next month. I don’t know how you do it,” Druig groans, stomach already churning at the thought.

“It’s not another party! Kingo’s planning a Back to the Future marathon tomorrow afternoon and he said I should ask you guys along. Ben included, of course. What do you guys think?”

Druig bites his lip, considering. He supposes that a movie marathon wouldn’t be too spectacularly awful. No normal person starts up a conversation during a movie, after all.

“Just think about it, Dru, okay? No pressure at all if you don’t feel comfortable,” Ajak murmurs, giving him a reassuring prod. Druig shrugs, still on the fence about the idea, and Ajak flings a reassuring arm around his shoulders. “I love you. Now let’s eat before this food goes cold.”

While Ajak and Phastos are shuffling around looking for plates - because Phastos the only person Druig has ever met who eats takeout on plates - Druig pulls his phone out of the pocket of his jeans, pulling up Makkari’s contact in his phone.

Druig: Hi, it’s Druig. Are you going to Kingo’s for movies tomorrow?

Makkari: I am now that I’ve finished all my homework! No thanks to SOMEBODY kicking me >:(

Makkari: Kingo told me he invited you and some of Ajak’s other friends. Phastos and Ben? I think I met Phastos last night

Druig: That’s them

Makkari: Are you coming? Kingo always forgets stuff before he puts a movie on and has to pause it about 20 times. I might need you for moral support.

Makkari: I bet you don’t do that

Druig: I guarantee you Phastos would have unfriended me by now if I did

Druig: And yes, I’ll come

Makkari: See you later :D Gilgamesh is baking!!

Druig: Well now I’m 100% coming. Gilgamesh’s pizza last night was an out-of-body experience

“Hey, Ajak?” Druig says as Phastos busily empties the boxes of Chinese takeout onto the plates. Druig snatches a box of fried rice right out of his hands, smirking as Phastos gives him a glare, pointing passive aggressively at the stack of plates beside him.

“Yeah?” Ajak replies, already inhaling her order of wonton soup as though she hasn’t eaten in days.

“I think I’ll come to Kingo’s thing tomorrow. If the invitation still stands.”

Ajak grins in response, and Druig thinks that familiar smile could easily outdo the sun.

In the daylight, the house that Kingo shares with Gilgamesh, Thena and Sprite is large and looming and far past its prime, marked out as a student house by the peeling paint and gang of life-sized Harry Potter cutouts crowded around an upstairs window.

“I love them,” says Ben, gazing up at the Remus Lupin and Sirius Black cutouts. “Ajak, you have good taste in friends.”

“Remind me how we missed those?” Druig mutters, bemused. Phastos snorts softly, squeezing Ben’s hand as Ajak tugs them up the front steps.

Druig swallows as the door towers in front of them, his friends surrounding him like a protective wall. He’s wearing a hoodie, baggy enough that it conceals the fact that he’s not wearing his binder, but Druig thinks his discomfort still shows on his face.

Ajak raps smartly on the door. After a moment, the door opens, revealing a dim hallway and a short person with a shock of red hair whom Druig recognises as Sprite. Their face splits into a wide grin at the sight of them.

“Aj! You came!” Sprite squeals, darting forwards to envelop Ajak in an enthusiastic hug. “And you brought your friends! It’s so good to see you guys again. Oh - you must be Ben. Hi!” Sprite steps backwards into the hallway to allow them in, tripping over a stray pair of slippers and a precarious tower of textbooks. “Come in. Do you guys want drinks?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Druig replies, cringing at the mere thought.

“He’s a bit of a lightweight. Still suffering from the other night,” Phastos adds with a conspiratorial laugh. Sprite snickers in response as they hop off towards the kitchen, beckoning for everyone to follow.

“The others’ll be here in a minute, you’re early. Anyone else besides lightweight over there want a drink?” Sprite leads the four of them into a small, cluttered living room overflowing with purple sofas arranged around a television. The round wooden coffee table overflows with homework, pens, and plates left over from lunch, and the far wall is covered with neon yellow sticky notes covered in intricate, annotated drawings. “Sorry about the mess. Ignore the sofas by the way, we have Kingo to thank for them.”

“And the sticky notes?” Ben asks, eyeing them with interest.

“Mine! They’re for a project. I’m studying art.”

“Cool! They’re so detailed, I could never.”

Sprite flushes pink with delight, twisting their hands together. “Thank you! Did you guys want drinks, or -?”

“Oh, yeah! I’ll go grab some stuff from the kitchen.” Ajak scoops up the plates on the coffee table and carts them off into the kitchen, Phastos and Ben ambling in her wake in search of drinks, their hands linked.

Sprite drops to their knees, sorting the sheets of paper scattered across the table into piles and Druig joins them, scooping up the collection of pens in a single, clattering handful.

“You too, huh?” Sprite asks, their attention firmly focused on the coffee table as they gather all of the papers with the name Gilgamesh scribbled across the top into a pile and securing them with a blue rubber band.

“What?”

Sprite’s ears have gone red. “Oh, I just thought… the dysphoria hoodie?”

“Oh!” Druig’s got that feeling again: that heart in his mouth, burning behind his eyes feeling that goes hand in hand with coming out, even though almost every time Druig’s come out to anyone it’s turned out perfectly fine.

Even though it’s only gone badly once. But once is enough for him, thank you very much.

There’s just that what if feeling, lodged glass-sharp in Druig’s throat and almost stopping him from speaking.

“You don’t have to say anything, if you are,” says Sprite, their ears almost as red as their hair at this point. “I just thought… I could give you recommendations for where to buy a binder or something, anything… Sorry if I overstepped.”

“Oh, no, I am trans,” Druig replies hurriedly. “Sorry. You didn’t overstep, I just don’t like coming out, you know? Even if I think it’s going to be fine.”

“I get you. I nearly threw up coming out as non-binary to Kingo, even though he’s literally pansexual so, like, probably the least likely be bitchy about it, right? But he was so chill. All my friends were so chill.”

“Mine were the same,” Druig replies, the tension in his muscles bleeding away. “Phastos is gay and Ajak’s always been so good about stuff like that. But I was scared anyway. There’s just always that chance, you know?”

Sprite bumps their shoulder against Druig’s in an affectionate, we’re-in-this-together kind of way as the others come back in, beer cans clanking and three other people that Druig recognises as Kingo, Gilgamesh and Thena in tow.

“We brought drinks! Got juice for you, Dru,” Ajak declares, handing assorted cans and glasses around the group. Druig hugs the proffered glass of juice to his chest, relishing in the cool, condensation dampness of it against his still panic-hot hands. “And Gil’s been baking.”

“So I’ve heard,” says Druig. Gilgamesh sets a tray of assorted cookies onto the now-clear coffee table, beaming.

“From who? Sprite?” asks Kingo, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. “Has Sprite actually been chatty with someone they don’t know? It’s a miracle.”

“Let me guess,” Ajak whispers in Druig’s ear. “Makkari?”

“Yep.”

“You guys have been texting? Cute,” she giggles. Druig glares at her and she hastily amends herself. “Cute as friends. A new friend who I’m so proud of you for making all by yourself.”

“That’s more like it.”

“What are you whispering about?” Kingo asks, flopping down next to Druig and leaning over to steal Ajak’s beer. “The wonderful Makkari?”

“What? No!”

“Okay, that was a wild guess, but after that reaction I think I guessed right.”

Druig glares at Ajak again. “Have you been trying to matchmake again?”

“Oh, it wasn’t Ajak,” Kingo interrupts. “It was Makkari. She’s all over you. She’s been texting the group chat about you non-stop. She really likes you. And that reminds me! I should add you guys. You’re officially part of the gang now -”

“I’m so sorry,” Sprite teases, jumping into the conversation, seemingly oblivious to Druig’s bright red cheeks.

“Don’t be sorry, this friendship group is the best on campus! Maybe the best in the city! You’re stuck with us for eternity now. What’s your number?” Kingo continues, giving Sprite a shove that sends them toppling into Thena’s lap, laughing.

Druig recites it, along with Phastos’ and Ben’s numbers, and receives a notification from his phone informing him that he’s been added to a group chat called Friends For Eternity.

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting the low buzz of chatter and scrabbling for snacks that had been filling the living room.

“I’ll get it! It’s probably the others,” Ajak says, getting up and practically skipping to the front door.

“Grab some cookies, everyone, quickly, before Sprite eats them all!” Gilgamesh shouts cheerfully, looking up and spotting Ajak shepherding three more people into the room. Druig recognises the dark haired girl in a green dress and the tall boy with his arm around her waist as Sersi and Ikaris, and of course there’s Makkari.

Makkari, who makes a beeline for Druig the moment she sees him, her face vibrant, pausing only to scoop a few cookies from the tray on the table.

Kingo gives an exaggerated wolf whistle, hopping up from his seat next to Druig and offering it to Makkari. It’s possibly the least subtle move Druig’s ever had the misfortune of witnessing.

Makkari waves at him, settling down in Kingo’s now-empty seat and gently placing a couple of cookies in Druig’s lap.

“You came!” she signs, delight wrinkling the laugh lines around her eyes. “You’ve got to try these cookies. Chocolate and cherry. They're the best. Trust me!”

“My expectations are high.” Druig takes a cookie from his lap, breaking it in half and taking a cautious bite. He thinks Makkari might be right: the cookie is chocolate-rich and sour-sweet when he gets a piece of cherry in a bite, soft in the middle yet still crunchy on the outside. “Okay, you might be right.”

“I know I’m right! They’re so good. Next time Gil bakes a cake I’m inviting you over to try it. I think he can do magic. It’s the only explanation. I don’t think he’s ever made something that doesn’t taste perfect.”

“I think that might be true,” Druig agrees seriously

“Okay, people!” Kingo yells, hopping dramatically onto the table, signing and speaking at the same time. “Welcome to the infamous Kingo movie nights, newcomers -” he bows in the direction of Druig, Phastos and Ben “- I hope you’re ready to take part in the most epic movie marathon you have ever experienced.”

“Can we start the movie now? Please make sure you have everything you want, Kingo. I’m not pausing it once it starts,” Thena calls, tapping one impatient, perfectly manicured fingernail on the remote control and pointing it accusingly at Kingo.

“Of course, of course, Thena. I have everything,” says Kingo reassuringly, flopping down on a pile of cushions in front of the sofa and resting his head against Ajak’s lap. She instantly starts to plait his hair. Thena raises one doubtful eyebrow, but presses play on the remote anyway.

Sure enough, after about five minutes, Kingo tentatively whispers, “T, can you pause it? I need to pee.”

“No!” Thena whispers back. “I told you, I’m not pausing it. You better be quick.”

Kingo jumps out of his seat, running out of the room to muted laughter and promising that he’d be back in five minutes.

“What did I tell you?” Makkari signs. “Hopeless.”

As the movie continues to play and Kingo sidles quietly back into the room, Makkari tucks herself into Druig’s side, fidgeting until her hand comes to rest lightly on his knee.

It’s a good thing Druig’s seen Back to the Future more times than he can count, because he doesn’t remember a single thing about the movie other than Makkari’s hand and the way she poked him occasionally, trying to get him to laugh and invoke Thena’s wrath.

When they spill out of the house to a chorus of yelled goodbyes from Sprite, Kingo, Gilgamesh and Thena, the day is caught in that in-between moment where evening has started to fall but the street lights haven’t yet been switched on. Everything around them is slightly shadowy and magical, tinged with the last hurrahs of sunset.

“Want to walk me home?” Makkari asks, looking up at Druig with round, hopeful eyes.

“Sure,” Druig replies, and is rewarded with a smile just for him, lost on the others as they laugh and discuss the movie and pull up Back to the Future bloopers on YouTube.

Makkari sticks close to him as the group head away from the house, their hands brushing every now and again. It’s all Druig can focus on: Makkari’s warm fingertips ghosting across his, the scrape of the ring on her thumb against his wrist, the way she smiles with her whole face, eyebrows and eyes and even her nose lifted up in joy.

She doesn’t initiate any conversation as they near the dorms, bound first for Sersi and Ajak’s room in the nearest block, and for that Druig is grateful, because all the ASL he knows has been swept away, all his focus on Makkari and the way her hair lifts slightly in the breeze and the dimple in her left cheek that he glimpses whenever they pass under a street light.

They bid goodbye to Ajak and Sersi at the door to their second-floor dorm, Ikaris stalking off for his own room the second the door shuts behind them, with a stiff nod of goodbye aimed in the direction of Druig and the others.

“Ignore him,” Makkari signs, her face soft and fond. “He might be the most awkward person I’ve ever met.”

Druig translates Makkari’s words, and Phastos laughs. “Well, I can relate to that. I’m going to walk Ben home, Dru. Unless you want me to come straight back with you?”

“No, I’m okay,” Druig says. “I’m going to walk Makkari back.”

“Bye!” Phastos and Ben call after them, waving madly.

“I like Phastos. You have good taste in friends. Or did you only meet because you share the dorm?” she asks.

“No, we’ve been friends since we were kids. Ajak, too. We only got matched as roommates because we asked to be, thankfully. Not sure I could deal with living with someone I’ve never met.” Druig's not sure if he could deal with someone who isn't Phastos, the boy he knows better than the back of his hand, the boy whose mannerisms are as familiar to Druig as his own.

“You get used to it! My roommate’s really nice. Plus, her boyfriend is deaf, so she knows ASL. That’s probably why I got put with her, to be honest. But I don’t mind. We’re both on the track team, so at least we never run out of stuff to talk about. Hey -” Makkari’s eyes light up with mischief “- You should come for a run with us sometime!”

“No!” Druig protests immediately. “I think seeing me run would make you never want to talk to me again. I’m not very fast. And I don’t know much about running but I think my form would probably make you cringe.”

“Are you sure? At least come and watch me run. I’ll send you the address of the gym we go to for practice.”

Druig nods, and Makkari pulls out her phone at once, tapping out a text that pops up on Druig’s phone after a moment, the bright blue light of his phone screens throwing the shadowy, poorly-lit dorm hallway into sharp relief. Makkari starts peering up at the numbers on the doors.

“This is me,” Makkari signs, leaning against her door with an uncharacteristic, almost shy expression. “Want to come in? Natasha doesn’t mind if I borrow her kettle, so we could have coffee.”

Druig makes a show of checking the time on his phone, his cheeks once again burning. Inviting someone into your room has always seemed like such an intimate thing to him, showing someone the posters on his walls and the stuffed toy Druig made on a dimly-remembered day in town with Ajak and Phastos and the small, everyday messes that Druig never quite notices until someone else is looking at them too.

Makkari doesn’t seem to feel that way, though: she’s bouncing enthusiastically on the balls of her feet, ever a fount of eternal energy, the door opening a crack so Druig can see a slice of the room.

“Is that an asexual pride flag?” he asks. Makkari nods, looking suddenly uncertain.

“It’s mine,” she replies, chin tilted slightly towards him, a defiant set to her features that Druig’s never seen before.

“I’m asexual, too,” Druig admits. “And I’m trans,” he adds hastily, because he might as well surf the crest of that coming-out, adrenaline-fuelled wave while it's still there. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

“I didn't. Thank you for telling me,” Makkari signs, expression tinged with sincerity, and Druig is weak-kneed with relief because her face hasn’t changed; she stays looking at him in that way of hers that’s become so familiar in just a few short days, the uptick of her mouth and her kind eyes and the way she steps forward to hug him tightly to her.

“Thank you for telling me, too,” replies Druig. “Or… showing me, I think?” Makkari giggles, sticking her head into her dorm.

“Okay,” she signs when she turns to face him again. “Going to have to take back my offer of coffee and a room tour. Natasha’s asleep and she’s a light sleeper, so we’d probably wake her up. Some other time?”

“Some other time,” Druig confirms. “I actually had fun tonight. Even though you were right. Kingo might be the worst person to watch movies with.”

“Right? The one flaw in one of my otherwise favourite people.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect. Although I’d like to think I come pretty close,” signs Druig. Makkari giggles again, her hand shoved over her mouth to muffle it, and Druig thinks he would be content to let that sound wash over him again and again.

“I’ve got to go in before we actually wake Natasha up. She gets so mad when she doesn’t get her full eight hours.”

“See you soon?”

“Yeah,” Makkari replies, starting to back away into her room. “See you soon, cute Druig.”

Druig replays the memory of her hands spelling out cute Druig over and over.

Chapter Text

Makkari. Honestly. Druig thinks she might be both his kryptonite and his lifeline.

He’s at her gym, having claimed a spot in the stands rising high over the running track to watch her running practice, the last before the university breaks up for Christmas. Somebody has draped the stands in fake holly and ivy for the occasion. Druig thinks the plasticky feel of the decorations, even through his socks, is going to drive him insane.

He nudges the offending bundle of holly out of his way as best he can and checks his text thread with Makkari for the fifth time since he arrived, his throat dry with nerves. The text definitely says that he should come and watch her practice, but Druig’s mistaken sarcasm for seriousness one too many times and he doesn’t want her to think he’s weird, showing up like this -

Druig’s phone pings, and he clicks hurriedly on the text, heart pounding. Sure enough, it’s from Makkari, a cheery string of emojis and a few words informing him that she’ll be out on the track soon and she better see him watching.

Druig’s lips twitch into an involuntary grin and, yeah. He officially hates having a crush, because he’s certain that’s what the butterflies in his stomach and tight-chested feeling he gets around Makkari is. He really hates it when Ajak tells him he’ll like someone and she ends up being right about it.

Makkari’s Christmas present, carefully wrapped and placed into his bag last night so he wouldn’t forget it, draws Druig’s gaze over and over. He can see the slight bulge of it against the bag’s fabric.

He should not be getting this stressed over a present. He just hopes against hope that Makkari likes it, that she’ll treat Druig to one of her smiles, the ones where her whole body turns towards him like a sunflower turning to the sun.

There’s movement around the doors at the far end of the room, presumably ones that lead to the changing rooms, and Druig looks up as the running team starts filing out. His eyes find Makkari immediately, dressed in the same white-and-red striped vest and red shorts as the rest of the team, yet standing out like someone’s flung a spotlight over her. She’s squashed in the middle of two girls, one willowy and blonde, the other shorter and sporting a mane of curly red hair. They're walking close together, their hips bumping, Makkari laughing at something the redhead signed, and she looks so happy that Druig’s heart flutters, his chest growing warm.

Makkari spots Druig and her grin gets even wider as she extracts her arm from around the blonde girl’s shoulders and gives him an enthusiastic wave. Her two companions start waving too - the redhead grinning almost bashfully at a blond boy with purple hearing aids a few seats away and the blonde waving at a brunette boy right next to Druig. He waves back, cheering her loudly and attracting several irritated looks.

Druig quickly waves back at Makkari, feeling woefully inadequate next to the brown-haired boy and his energetic support.

“Hey, you’re here for Makkari!” the boy says, noticing Druig’s wave. He eyes Druig critically, eyes full of curiosity. “Are you her boyfriend?”

“What? No, no, we’re just friends…” Druig replies reluctantly, muffling a groan and suppressing the urge to sink through the floor as the boy regards him with interest. “Besides, she doesn’t like me like that!”

“Okay, sure,” the boy shrugs, not sounding convinced. “I’m Hunter, by the way.” He thrusts his hand into Druig’s face. “And this is Clint!” Hunter flings out an arm, dragging the blond boy into the conversation. “My girlfriend’s Bobbi. You know, the blonde next to Makkari? And Natasha’s the redhead.”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Clint adds. “So, you’re Makkari’s… friend? Boyfriend?”

“Friend, definitely,“ Druig mutters. “And I’m Druig.”

“Oh, they’re starting!” says Hunter gleefully. He fishes around in his bag. “Hold on, I did bring snacks… Ah!” He pulls the biggest bag of pretzels Druig’s ever seen from the depths of his bag, offering them first to Clint, and then to Druig. “Want some? Just make sure you save some for Bob, since she asked me to bring them today. She always fancies different foods after practice.”

Druig takes a couple obediently, not wanting to seem rude, and turns his attention to the track, where Makkari is crouching down in preparation to run, her face full of a fiercely focused determination Druig’s never seen on her before. She wears it well, he thinks, watching as she adjusts her form in preparation, the two girls he now knows to be Bobbi and Natasha on either side of her.

The starting pistol goes off, and Makkari takes off immediately, edging out into the lead despite being closely followed by Natasha, Bobbi and a black haired girl Druig doesn’t know.

And - wow. Makkari is beautiful when she runs, fading into a white and red blur as she sprints down the track, her carefully braided hair flying out behind her.

Beside them, Druig hears Clint mutter “Just friends, my ass.” to Hunter, but he’s surprised to find he doesn’t really mind, too focused on applauding as Makkari finishes the race in first place.

When Makkari’s practice ends, Druig is slightly out of breath, as though he’s been running himself. He leaves the stands firmly ensnared by Hunter and Clint, who chatter to him as though they’re old friends as the three of them wait in the lobby for Makkari and the others to emerge from the changing rooms. Hunter and Clint talk easily, neither seeming to mind when Druig’s contributions aren’t as plentiful as theirs, and Druig finds himself thinking fondly of Ajak’s reaction when she finds out Druig’s been off making friends without her input.

The doors to the changing room burst open, the runners skipping out to meet their respective friends and partners. Makkari comes up beside him, tapping him lightly on the arm to get his attention.

“Druig!” she signs, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You came! I wasn’t sure if you would. It’s not most people’s idea of a great Saturday afternoon to go watch a running practice.”

“I couldn’t miss seeing the beautiful Makkari now, could I?” Druig responds, already feeling his cheeks flushing at the easy way the complement slipped out. “You were amazing out there.” He offers her his arm tentatively, and Makkari takes it and loops it over her shoulders happily, folding herself against him. Druig’s pretty sure his heart has forced itself up his throat, effectively stopping him from saying anything vaguely intelligent. Luckily, Hunter and Clint seem distracted with their respective girlfriends, Hunter laughing and offering Bobbi the reserved pretzels with a neat, comical bow and Clint and Natasha taking a selfie.

“Do you want to get some food?” asks Makkari. “My treat. It’s my ploy to get you to try a Christmas themed coffee.”

“It’s never going to work. I am committed to only drinking black coffee,” Druig teases. “No Santa Claus flavoured, peppermint, gingerbread themed anything for me, please. There’s a reason peppermint and gingerbread are foods and not drinks.”

“I’ll convert you someday. Shall we?”

Druig smiles. “We shall.” He turns to the others. "Hey, we’re going! It was fun talking with you guys.”

“Wait, I’ve gotta get your number, Druig!” Hunter lunges forward with his phone, logging into his contacts and looking at Druig expectantly. Druig reels off his number obediently, Bobbi sighing and shaking her head at her boyfriend’s antics.

“Back away now, before it’s too late. He’ll start dragging you everywhere with him,” she laughs. “You must be Druig!”

“Oh, I already get dragged everywhere by my friend Ajak, so I’m used to it. She’ll be so surprised I actually carried a conversation without her input. And yeah, I am,” says Druig, surprised that Bobbi already knows his name.

“Your fame precedes you. Or rather, Hunter won’t shut up about making a new best friend in the stands. I think Clint has some competition.”

“Okay, you now have Clint and I at your beck and call,” Hunter interrupts, brandishing his phone. “Where are you guys headed?” He tucks his phone into his pocket so he can sign for Makkari’s benefit.

“Off to convince Druig that Christmas-themed drinks are the only things he should be drinking in December. See you back at the dorm, Natasha.” Makkari waves at the others, reaching up to cradle Druig’s hand where it rests on her shoulder. “So,” she continues, as they exit the gym through the automatic doors, greeted by a whoosh of ice-cold air and a street lit in flashes of red and green, thanks to the Christmas lights hanging from the buildings and street lights. Makkari’s light touch on his hand warms Druig more thoroughly than any hot drink could. “Any plans for Christmas?”

Druig grimaces, tilting his face to the star-splattered sky to hide his decidedly non-festive expression. “Just going home. I'll eat too much Christmas dinner and watch all the Christmas specials on the TV. Even if I never normally watch those shows. Nothing very exciting. You?”

“Same. I’m excited to see my parents, though. And my siblings? Do you have any siblings? I can’t believe we’ve been friends for over a month now and I’ve never asked about your siblings!”

“No biological ones. I’ve got Ajak and Phastos, though. They’re pretty much my siblings at this point. Ajak’s parents have basically adopted me. What about your siblings?”

“You’re going to regret asking me this. I have way too many siblings!” Makkari exclaims, and then she’s off, halfway through an anecdote about two of her younger brothers before Druig can blink, her hands moving so fast that Druig has to concentrate to make out the words, his attention is finally dragged away from how perfect she feels next to him, her hips nudging against Druig’s, her shoulder knocking gently against his.

He leans into her almost unconsciously as they walk, bound for the local Starbucks, enamoured with Makkari’s reminiscent grin as she starts to talk about her parents.

“What are your parents like?” she signs as they enter Starbucks and are immediately enveloped in sugar-scented warmth.

Druig dithers, the coffee-filled tang of the shop’s air curdling in his mouth, the pastries and cakes painstakingly lined up in their display cases suddenly unappetising. Luckily, Makkari is momentarily distracted as she debates whether she should get a gingerbread latte or a caramel hot chocolate, a toffee cupcake or a slab of shortbread.

Druig orders his own black coffee and, after being faced with Makkari’s world-ending puppy dog eyes, a brownie in the shape of a Christmas tree.

“So?” she signs expectantly, once they’ve collected their orders - Makkari eventually settled on a gingerbread latte and a toffee cupcake - and managed to find a table, narrowly beating an angry-looking man in a suit to claim it after a gang of giggling university students vacated it. She hesitates when she notices how tense and strained Druig’s smile has become. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” says Druig hastily, partly to steer the conversation out of such dangerous waters and partly to wipe that anxious, downturned look from Makkari's face. “We’re just not really that close. But I do have an embarrassing Ajak story straight from Ajak’s dad himself.”

Makkari relaxes again, her leg lazily brushing against Druig’s under the table. She unwraps her cupcake adoringly, taking a bite and sighing in delight. “This is so good, Druig, you should get this next time we come here.”

“Can’t I steal a bite?” Druig signs, his heart growing madly fluttering bird’s wings in his chest as Makkari breaks off a piece of the cake, dipping it in the buttercream until the piece has a tiny cap of white icing before she offers it to Druig, pressing it teasingly against his mouth so his chin ends up smeared with icing and star-shaped sprinkles.

He snatches the cake from her and sticks it into his, playfully making his chewing passive-aggressive and eliciting that beautiful, golden laugh from Makkari lips.

“You have a little…” She trails off, gesturing at his chin. “I can't take you anywhere! Come here.” She leans across the table towards him, close enough that Druig can count every individual eyelash fanning over brown cheeks, every soft line of her face as she smiles, the light constellation of freckles dotting her nose.

Makkari scrubs at his chin, fingers tracing the line of Druig’s jaw as she pulls back, cheeks red, and buries her face in her latte instead of making eye contact.

“How is it? As tooth-rottingly delicious as it was last year?” Druig asks, watching as Makkari chugs back her drink, seemingly determined to drain it in one gulp.

“I’m of the opinion that if a drink doesn’t give you a sugar rush, you’re not drinking the right thing,” she replies when she finally surfaces, her mug almost empty. “Are you going to tell me this story about Ajak?”

“Only if you tell it to the others so we can tease her about it forever.”

“Deal.” Makkari shifts in her seat with anticipation, devouring the last of her cupcake so she can turn her full attention on Druig. He swallows, suddenly faced with that intent, brown-eyed gaze.

“Okay, I hope you’re ready,” he signs. The words come slightly stilted at first, held back by the anxiety that haunts Druig whenever he attempts to tell a funny story, then spilling out almost faster than he can sign as he becomes more confident in the story, lured on by Makkari’s summer’s-day laugh.

“So, I kind of have a Christmas present for you,” signs Druig as they leave Starbucks and its warmth, their breath crystallising into swirling clouds as they exhale.

“Oh my god, you reminded me! I have one for you too.” Makkari tugs Druig off the partygoer-clogged path and onto the grass bank beside it with a light touch on his elbow. She starts shuffling around in her bag, chucking a pair of headphones, her running kit, a textbook thicker than Druig’s neck and an empty bottle of water onto the grass before she finally locates a rectangular package wrapped in Rudolph patterned wrapping paper.

She gazes at him hopefully as Druig tugs at the corner of the wrapping paper, attempting to break through several layers of Sellotape. Eventually, he achieves it, pulling off the wrapping-paper shell to reveal a book he’s wanted to read for months but hasn’t been able to afford, every spare penny going into his top surgery fund jar. He opens the book, gently fanning through the pages to discover they’re filled with annotations in the cramped, rounded hand he’s come to recognise as Makkari’s.

“How did you know I’ve been wanting to read this book for ages?” Druig asks, his hands trembling - from cold, he thinks firmly, no other reason - as he holds the book. “And that I love annotated books?”

“I asked Ajak! She is a Druig encyclopaedia.” Makkari peers at him, uncertainty clouding her features. “Do you like it?”

“Makkari… I love it! Thank you so much.” Druig squashes her into a fierce hug before he can think twice, her slight, surprised gasp setting his pulse fluttering. They pull apart and she’s flushed and her face seems almost sunlit despite the fact it’s night, the sky above them sprinkled with stars like some giant child has spilled salt across the heavens. “Do you want yours?”

She nods eagerly, her face lit with childlike wonder as Druig hands over the present. She unwraps it carefully, slowly uncovering a mug patterned with cats and a handful of caramel and vanilla flavoured coffee syrups.

“Now there’ll be no escape from me trying to convert you to caramel in coffee. Somehow I don’t think you thought of that or you wouldn’t have got me this,” Makkari jokes. “Seriously though, I love them. Thank you so much!”

They hug again, and this time when they break apart, Makkari places a gentle kiss on Druig’s cheek.

He thinks about it all the way home, the warm press of her lips, the heady floral scent of her perfume, the way her hands curled around his forearms.

“Fuck,” Druig groans, slamming the door to his dorm and making a beeline for his bed, heedless of Ajak already perched on it. She moves up without needing to be asked, draping an arm around Druig’s shoulders and squashing their cheeks together.

“Makkari?”

“Makkari,” Druig confirms. “I don’t know how you stand having a new crush every week, Aj. Every time I have a crush I forget how unbearable it is.”

“Ah, the mortifying ordeal of being known,” Phastos quips, methodically folding clothes and placing them into his suitcase, ready for their journey home tomorrow.

“Like… sitting with you like this is fine -” Druig indicates Ajak’s arm flung unconcernedly over his chest, her cheek pressed against his “- but if Makkari did this… I would combust. I would actually combust.”

“So true,” Ajak hums. “And I, for one, would love to see it.”

Chapter Text

Druig wakes up in Ajak’s house, the bed creaking as he shifts. Sunlight filters through the space-themed curtains Ajak never had the heart to replace, and Druig can see Ajak curled up in the bed at the other end of the room, Phastos splayed out on an air mattress on the floor between the two beds, spending the night at Ajak’s before he goes across the road to his parents. It reminds Druig of the sleepovers the three of them had when they were kids, trying to squash up together in Ajak’s childhood bed and failing miserably.

He is in his hometown. He is unarmed in a pit of snarling wolves.

The bed is unfamiliar against his body as Druig rolls over, fingers scrabbling over the bedside table for his phone. Ajak’s parents had insisted on buying him the bed when they took him in, even though Druig knew he wouldn’t be using it often. But he likes the promise of it even so, the knowledge that there’s a home for him here, whatever happens.

He finds his phone and logs onto his texts, reading through a stream of texts from the Friends for Eternity group chat about New Year’s Eve party plans. Druig scrolls further up to confirm that Makkari, Ajak, Phastos and Ben are going before he adds his name to the list, chipping in only to veto some of Ikaris’ horrific additions to the party playlist before he clicks out of the chat and onto his new thread with Hunter and Clint.

Druig reads a few new messages from them, mostly requests to hang out after Christmas and an invite to a New Year’s Eve party being hosted by a friend of Natasha’s, before he taps into his thread with Makkari to find that she’s sent him a cute selfie of her posing with her new mug, filled to the brim with steaming coffee.

He grins, tapping out a message to her.

Druig: You look beautiful! I hope you’re enjoying the coffee

Makkari: What’s that hashtag people use when they post selfies like this?

Makkari: #WokeUpLikeThis?

Makkari: As in, I woke up, put on all my makeup and then got my coffee

Makkari: Which might actually be the best coffee ever, by the way. Celestial’s got competition. Don’t tell your coworkers

Druig: Your secret is safe with me

Makkari: I know :)

Makkari: I love the syrups, by the way

Makkari: If you couldn’t tell

Druig: I’m glad. Just don’t try putting them all into one mug

Makkari: That’s such a good idea. I’m going to try that later

Druig: Please don’t

Makkari: Have a good day, Dru :)

Druig: Have a good day, beautiful Makkari. And please don't put all the syrups in one coffee

Ajak launches her pillow through the air with deadly accuracy, hitting Druig squarely in the side of the head. “Just ask her out already,” she mumbles sleepily. “Don’t pull a Phastos and pine for weeks because you’re too nervous.”

“Can confirm that skipping the pining stage would be much better for your mental health,” Phastos adds.

“I think she’d say yes,” says Ajak matter-of-factly, rolling over and shutting her eyes again as though she hadn’t dropped a bombshell.

“We’re just friends,” Druig mumbles, more in an attempt to convince himself than anyone else.

Ajak and Phastos snort almost perfectly in sync.

Druig’s hovering outside the supermarket, a shopping bag stuffed full of the pigs in blankets that Ajak’s dad requested, waiting for Ajak to finish dithering over the reduced-price Christmas DVDs and meet him outside, when he hears the name.

The name he thought he’d escaped. The name he thought he’d never hear again.

The combination of hearing that name called by that voice tethers him to the spot, his heart beating a painful tattoo against his ribs as he hears his mother’s footsteps coming ever closer.

“I see you’re still living this… lie,” she spits, looking Druig up and down and clearly hating what she sees. “Why you would choose this, I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t a choice,” Druig whispers, the words dread-heavy on his tongue. He feels like that kid again, that boy who reared back from his reflection in the mirror, hating his body and not knowing why.

“Keep telling yourself that,” his mother snaps. “You’re staying with that girl, aren’t you?”

“None of your business,” replies Druig, voice sullen. He keeps his eyes on the paving slabs, on his shiny black boots and his mother’s no-nonsense lace-ups.

“I always said she was a bad influence,” she sniffs, not bothering to hide the distaste on her face.

“Who’s a bad influence?” Ajak, right on cue, bears down on Druig like a guardian angel, looping a protective arm through his. “Me? I’d rather be considered a bad influence than be like you.” She smiles, sickly sweet with a hint of venom bubbling under the surface, and drags Druig away.

“I hope you’ll come back to us when you realise you’re living a lie!” his mother yells. Druig’s breath catches in his throat, and it’s all he can do to copy Ajak when she turns around to flip off his mother.

“Oh, Dru, I am so sorry I didn’t get there sooner. She’s such a bitch,” Ajak snarls, pure hatred lacing her tone. She unhooks her arm from around Druig’s to envelop him in a fierce, motherly hug, right there in the middle of the street.

The normally solid paving slabs feel unsteady under Druig’s feet, the irritated mutterings of the last-minute Christmas shoppers as they walk around the two of them sounding oddly distant. “It’s alright, Aj. You weren’t to know she would be there, or that she would be so…”

“Bigoted? Awful?” Ajak suggests.

Druig shrugs in vague agreement. “Besides -” he holds up the plastic bag, hanging from his wrist, trying for humour “- at least I got the pigs in blankets, huh? They solve all problems.”

“I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind if we ate a box today. You got loads,” says Ajak, lifting the folds of the bag to peek inside. “You deserve it, especially today. Hey -” her eyes, still hard from their encounter with Druig’s mother, light up “- would it make you feel better if we had a Druig day?”

Druig can’t help but smile at that, at the reminder that their friendship is as strong as ever despite his fear that they would drift apart at university. Druig days are a fondly remembered once-monthly event from their childhood, where they would spend the day at Druig’s beck and call, where he would get to pick their movies and their meals and their activities, normally resulting in too much anime and sweet-and-salty popcorn for Ajak’s and Phastos’ tastes.

They would get their own back on their Ajak and Phastos days, too, with Ajak making them eat too much chocolate cake and Phastos getting them to watch seemingly every nature documentary in existence.

“I’d actually really love a Druig day,” says Druig, and god, he loves Ajak so much right now.

“Oh, yay!” Ajak squeals. “I hope it makes you feel a bit better, Dru. Those people don’t deserve you. What movies are you going to pick?”

“I’m guessing by that tone you already bought a DVD.”

“Okay, well, in my defence, it was half price. And your favourite.” Ajak digs around in her bag, pulling out a The Nightmare Before Christmas DVD. “I think this is more of a Halloween movie than a Christmas movie, but it is a Druig day.”

“You realise it’s free on streaming, right?”

“What can I say, I love a bargain. Next time we have an Ajak day I’m taking you and Phastos bargain hunting with me. Oh, speaking of - I need to ring Phastos and let him know we’re having a Druig day. Want me to tell him what happened?”

“Go for it.”

So Phastos comes over, and they beg two of the boxes of pigs in blankets off Ajak’s mum and eat them in front of the television, The Nightmare Before Christmas blaring, the three of them crammed together under the extra-large blanket Ajak knitted Druig for his eighteenth birthday.

But Druig can’t stop thinking about her, about the disgust written so plainly across her face and the way she’s probably ranting to Druig’s father at this very moment, just a scant few streets away.

They feel so close, and yet at the same time they feel a world away from Ajak’s cosy living room, lit only by the television screen and the lights on the tree, one corner dominated by a Christmas tree drowning in presents.

That night, Druig can’t sleep. He lies there while Ajak snuffles and rolls over in her sleep, the clock on the wall ticking ever closer to midnight, the floor unbearably empty now that Phastos and his air mattress have gone home.

It’s Christmas Eve, tomorrow. Druig should probably feel more excited, but any Christmas spirit has been effectively crushed by his encounter with his mother. Druig wonders if she, too, is lying awake tonight, haunted by thoughts of him.

He grabs his phone from the bedside table, tapping into his texts with Makkari.

Druig: Want to video chat? I can’t sleep.

Makkari: Your timing is so perfect, can you read minds or something?

Makkari: I can’t sleep either

Druig: Just let me get my laptop and get downstairs and then I’m all yours

Quietly, Druig stuffs his phone into the pocket of his pyjama trousers, pulling his laptop from the top of his suitcase and his oversized hoodie from the back of Ajak’s desk chair.

The hoodie, normally such a safety blanket, helps so little that Druig may as well not have bothered with it. He gets out of bed, and it feels like his skin doesn’t fit right. He’s achingly conscious of every curve and dip of his body as he creeps down the stairs, the way it all screams feminine, feminine, feminine.

Druig tries to focus on the solid, cold stairs under his feet, on following the route made familiar by trips to the kitchen for childhood midnight feasts, sticking to the edges of the steps until he reaches the bottom of the staircase undetected. He slips into the living room, content to light it using the Christmas tree lights alone.

Enveloped in the warm yellow light of the fairy lights, Druig lies down on the big sofa in front of the television, sprawling on his stomach and logging onto his laptop. He pulls up Makkari’s contact details, his breath catching in anticipation.

She picks up immediately, sitting in what Druig assumes is her childhood bedroom. He can see a kid’s archaeology set lying on the desk in the background, can see a hint of what seem to be dinosaur-patterned sheets as Makkari pulls her duvet more securely around her.

“Hi!” she signs, her bright smile dimming as she takes in Druig’s expression. He can see his face in a small box at the bottom of the screen, and he doesn’t blame her for looking at him so anxiously. He looks miserable. “What’s up? Now I’m starting to assume you’re not awake because you’re too excited for Christmas.”

“I bet that’s why you’re not asleep,” Druig replies, not-so-subtly dodging the question. “I always had you down as the kid who got way too excited for Christmas. Glad to see I was right.”

“It’s the best holiday, okay? I always used to try and stay up all night waiting for Santa. Probably drove my parents crazy. Seriously, though -” Makkari looks at Druig intently through the screen, her gaze concerned and searching “- What’s up? If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. We can just chat.”

“No, it’s okay.” Druig takes a deep breath, steeling himself. He shifts on the sofa, trying to get comfortable. “So, I think I mentioned that I’m not super close with my parents, right?” He waits for Makkari’s agreeing nod before he continues. “But I don’t think I ever mentioned why.”

“And you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” signs Makkari firmly.

“Makkari, I want to tell you.” Druig gives her a reassuring smile, letting her know he’s serious, and he sees her cheeks go bright pink on his computer screen. “Basically, I tried to tell them I was trans this summer, a couple of weeks before we left for uni. It… didn’t go well. They told me I had twenty minutes to get out.”

“That’s horrible!” Makkari looks furious. “Where did you go?”

“To Ajak’s. I was lucky, her parents have always liked me and they agreed to take me in, bought me a bed and everything. And they’ve been so great, they always say I should visit when Ajak comes home, they’ve said they’ll have me at Christmas, in the summer, whenever I want or need them. It’s just… I saw my mother today and she spouted all the typical bigoted stuff you’d expect and it just brought everything back.”

“You have no idea how much I want to give you a hug right now.”

“I’m a bit hugged-out, to be honest. Ajak and her parents and Phastos have given me so many hugs today.”

“Are you feeling better about it?”

“I mean, a little? Ajak and Phastos said that we’d make today a Druig day and it helped a bit, but I can’t stop thinking about them. The way my mum looked at me… it felt like she hated me. I think she does hate me a bit. She wants her precious daughter back and that’s just not me. I’m not even the right gender for her. I needed to take my mind off it, and I thought of you.”

“I’ve got your back,” Makkari signs, determination painted across every inch of her slightly pixelated face, small and far away on Druig’s laptop screen. “You can start by telling me what a Druig day is. I’m curious!”

“It’s basically a day where I get to dictate everything we do for a day. Ajak invented them, so she gets an Ajak day too. Phastos gets a Phastos day. When we were little, we used to do them every month, but when we got to high school we had to scale it back a little and only do them in the school holidays. So today, since it was Druig day, we watched The Nightmare Before Christmas and ate way too many pigs in blankets.”

“Good taste. Pigs in blankets are one of my favourite Christmas foods. They’re second only to Quality Street chocolates in terms of deliciousness.”

“Well, now you have to tell me your favourite Quality Street. I need to decide if we can continue being friends.”

Makkari rests her chin on her hand, clearly putting a lot of thought into the question. “The toffee pennies and coconut eclairs, obviously. Although my siblings also love toffee pennies, so it’s every man for themselves in my house.”

“The coconut eclairs are your favourite? No wonder you and Ajak are friends. You both have awful taste in chocolate. Luckily for you, you also like the toffee pennies, so I guess we can stay friends.”

“You’re still friends with Ajak and she likes the coconut eclairs!” Makkari protests.

“It was too late in our friendship for me to back out when I discovered that information. Besides, if I keep her around, I don’t have to open the Quality Street tin, all excited to have a toffee penny, and only find the coconut ones. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship,” Druig says, and he finds himself giggling despite everything. He thinks Makkari might be magic, able to sweep the sour memories of his parents from his head by talking about something as mundane as chocolate.

He wouldn’t change her for the world, Druig thinks, as he props his chin on his elbow, watching the screen almost dreamily as Makkari begins to passionately argue in defence of the coconut eclair.

Druig’s never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wants to kiss her in this moment.

Chapter Text

For once in his life, Druig’s actually looking forward to the new people he’s going to meet tonight as he gets ready for Kingo’s New Year’s Eve party. Normally, there would be a screwed-up ball of anxiety in his stomach, but tonight he’s filled with the urge to have a good time, to forget his mother’s words. It’s been over a week since Druig ran into her, but her words still stick in his head, making all of their ugly, painful parts known at the worst possible moments. Living a lie. That girl. Why you would choose this, I don’t know. Come back to us when you realise you’re living a lie.

Or, more accurately: come back to us, but only if you act like you’re a girl. Come back to us and be at the mercy of your dysphoria for the rest of your life.

Druig snorts to himself, doing up the button of his high-necked, dark grey vest and pulling a leather jacket over the top. Outfit complete, he surveys himself in the mirror, braced for the feeling of not-quite-rightness that’s been his constant friend since his encounter with his mother. Instead, he’s surprised to find that he finally likes how he looks after days of avoiding mirrors, worrying about what he’ll see. Dring’s binder finally seems to be helping again: he looks in the mirror and he likes what he sees.

“Dru?” Ajak knocks on the bathroom door. “You ready?”

“Yeah, coming,” Druig calls back, giving a final, satisfied once-over to his reflection and practically skipping out of the bathroom.

“You look good,” Ajak says approvingly. “Very handsome.”

“I actually feel it,” replies Druig, self-consciously smoothing his hands over his chest.

“You deserve it.” Ajak loops their arms together and bears him out of the dorm and into the hallway, where Phastos and Ben are waiting. “Let’s go, guys!”

The party is in full swing when they arrive, the hallway flooded with assorted bags and coats. Druig adds his backpack to the top of the pile that seems the least precarious, wincing and snatching it back off when the stack of bags sways drunkenly. He sticks it on the first step of the staircase instead.

They venture into the living room, where Kingo’s perched on the sofa and holding court, playing some kind of drinking game involving Jenga with Ikaris, Sersi, Makkari, Thena, Gilgamesh and another boy Druig doesn’t recognise.

Makkari notices Druig when he’s only halfway across the room, following in Ajak’s wake as she mercifully cuts a path through the partygoers. She waves brightly, abandoning the game - Kingo groans - to weave her way through the crowd towards them.

“Druig!” she signs, expression slightly flushed and worried. “How are you?” She pulls him into a hug, looking him up and down like an anxious mother.

“I’m okay, Makkari,” Druig replies, hugging her back. She shoots him a disbelieving look. “Really, I am. What are you playing?” He nods towards the sofas, where the others are sitting. Kingo taps his foot impatiently. “Jenga?”

“Yep! Want to play? Ajak, Phastos, Ben?” Makkari asks. Ajak nods enthusiastically, but Phastos and Ben excuse themselves, peeling off to get drinks and chat to Dane and Sprite, who are sitting on the kitchen counters, locked in the sort of passionate, philosophical debate that often seems to happen when people get drunk.

“About time you got back,” Kingo huffs when Makkari sits back down on the sofa, shifting up so Druig and Ajak can fit. “Are you two playing in the next round? This is Karun, by the way!” Kingo points at the boy Druig didn’t recognise, who gives them an enthusiastic wave.

“We should just start a new round now,” Thena suggests. “I think we all know Sersi’s going to topple the tower on her next go anyway.” Before anyone can protest, she reaches out and knocks over the teetering Jenga tower, raising a challenging eyebrow at Kingo and downing her drink.

Druig hasn’t played Jenga in a while, and he soon discovers that he’s just as horrific at it as he remembers. After a few rounds, he’s at that stage of tipsy where everything seems ten times more warm and bright and beautiful, and he leans gladly against the back of the sofa. At some point, his hand had become firmly entwined with Makkari’s and Druig thinks that this is exactly why he came to the party. He feels alive, instead of stranded in the particularly torturous kind of purgatory he’s been experiencing since Christmas.

The prospect of a new year feels filled with promise. Druig’s first full year of being out. His first full year away from his parents. His first full year in the company of Makkari.

Makkari, who looks rather like she’d like to bow out of the game. Druig taps her on the arm and reluctantly extracts his hand from hers to sign, “Wanna get out of here? We can go to the treehouse.”

Makkari nods, and at the end of the round - Druig lost again - they hop up. “We’re going to head outside and get a breather,” Druig announces, quailing slightly as everyone’s eyes turn to him. Kingo raises a suggestive eyebrow that both Druig and Ajak counter with fierce glares, but he lets them go free.

Makkari’s hand firmly back in Druig’s, they worm their way around clumps of people and head through the kitchen, first passing Phastos, Ben, Dane and Sprite, still engaged in their ferocious argument - “But if there are aliens, why haven’t they contacted us yet? Tell me that!” Dane says triumphantly - and then passing the food table. It’s half-picked over, but Makkari salvages a few stray, untouched sandwiches for them.

Like when you don’t realise how parched you are until you drink water, Druig didn’t quite realise how furnace-hot it was inside until he opens the sliding doors and the two of them tumble out into the back garden, the cold December air stinging their skin. Makkari heaves a sigh of relief.

“Kingo’s parties really are no joke, huh?” Druig signs

“I did say that before. First night we met,” Makkari grins, offering Druig one of the sandwiches. He peels back the bread, deciding that the filling is probably cucumber, squashed out of recognition after a night of being passed over in favour of other fillings.

“Want to go up to the… what’s that treehouse called? The Domo?”

“The Domo,” Makkari confirms. “And yes, I do want to. I really think you can read my mind. Do you actually have secret mind control powers?”

“Of course not!”

“Sounds like something someone who had secret mind control powers would say,” Makkari replies cheekily, skipping off in the direction of the sturdy oak tree that houses the Domo.

“It was so hot in there,” Druig complains, when he’s hoisted himself up and onto the platform. “It’s much nicer up here. Is that why you wanted a break?”

“Maybe I just wanted you to myself.”

“Crafty.” Druig rolls over to face her, half-startled to find Makkari already lying on her side, propped up on her elbow and watching him thoughtfully. They’re barely a hair’s breadth apart. Druig could move just a little bit forward, and they’d be kissing. The thought is equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

“Your mum hasn’t contacted you, has she?” Makkari asks, her eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“No. Don’t worry, Makkari.”

“If you tell me not to worry my pretty little head about it, I will push you out of this tree,” Makkari warns, pouting.

“You are, though. Pretty,” Druig signs, and he knows it’s his lightweight tendencies and the drinks he’s had talking, but still. It’s the truest thing he’s ever said in his life. “Some might say beautiful.”

Makkari’s cheeks flood with colour, and Druig mirrors her movements as she moves closer.

And then his lips are on hers, and they’re kissing. It’s a quiet, tiny, perfect thing, but to Druig’s eternal shame, his nose bumps against Makkari’s and she laughs against his mouth. Her hands ghost over the back of his neck like Druig is something precious as they pull apart, pressing their foreheads together, their noises touching when Makkari leans into him.

“That was…” Druig signs, and it’s a good thing he’s using sign language right now because he’s so breathless he doesn’t think he could speak if he wanted to.

“Yes. It was,” Makkari replies. She looks so radiant as she kisses him lightly on the lips once again.

Druig wakes up with a groan, his head pounding.

“I feel like shit,” he announces to the room at large.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Phastos replies, unfairly cheerful for the morning after a party. He bustles about making coffee for a moment, the coffee machine whirring, before he turns around, handing Druig a mug of black coffee as he sits up in bed, grabbing his phone.

“You’re welcome?” Phastos says, after a moment has passed and Druig hasn’t taken the coffee.

“Oh - what? Sorry.” Druig grabs the coffee with a quick thank you and immediately returns to typing. “I’ve got to text Makkari!”

“What’s so important?”

“We kind of kissed last night.”

Phastos’ eyes go almost comically wide. “Kind of? You either kissed or you didn’t, Dru.”

“Okay, yeah. We kissed. Happy?”

“Very! That’s so exciting for you. I know you’ve wanted this for a while,” Phastos gives him a bright grin and one-armed hug.

“Well, yeah, but… I was drunk. And she was drunk. So we’ve got to talk about it. I’m texting her now.”

“Druig, willingly talking about his feelings? Wonders will never cease.” Phastos gives Druig’s arm a quick, supportive squeeze and wanders off to grab his coat. “I’m heading out to get brunch with Ben and Ajak. I’m assuming you won’t be coming?”

“I really can’t.”

“I’ll let them know. Good luck, Dru. But personally I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Phastos says as he leaves. The door slams behind him, and Druig is alone, watching the notification that tells him Makkari’s typing, his heart in his mouth.

Druig: Hey

Druig: So we need to talk. About last night

Druig: Do you want to get breakfast?

Druig: As a date, if you want. Only if you want

Makkari: Breakfast sounds great!

Makkari: Especially if it’s a date

Makkari: I’m just at practice, we’re about to start

Makkari: Meet me after?

Druig: Sure. See you then

“Hi!” Hunter whisper-shouts as Druig slides into a seat at the stands, out of breath and flushed from his impromptu sprint to the gym. “You look like you’re about to throw up. Or pass out. Or maybe both?”

“Wow. Thanks,” mutters Druig, fanning himself in a failed attempt to calm his flushed cheeks.

“Okay, that came out wrong,” says Hunter sheepishly.

“A little bit,” Clint adds, his attention mostly focused on Natasha’s curly red hair as she runs along the track. “What’s up?”

“I’m just a bit nervous. Have to talk to Makkari. We kind of kissed at a New Year’s Eve party last night.”

“Really? Hunter thought you guys were together already.”

“We’re not even together yet!” says Druig. Below, the runners cluster together for a break, chattering. Makkari spots him and gives him a small, cautious wave.

“Can’t believe I was wrong! I’m sure it’ll go well. You guys were practically attached at the hip already, from what I saw,” Hunter replies reassuringly. “Want some jelly babies?” He waves a giant bag of jelly babies under Druig’s nose. Just the sugary smell of them makes his stomach turn.

“Makkari and I are getting food after the practice, so. I’m good. Why do you always have food?”

“Bobbi. She gets hungry after practice.” Hunter nods sagely and tucks the sweets back into his bag when Clint also declines, looking as worse for wear as Druig’s sure he must look.

“Even today? Just the thought of sweets makes me feel ill,” Clint moans. “Natasha’s friend Tony hosted a New Year’s party last night,” he adds, for Druig’s benefit. “And I’m really awful at drinking games.”

“Touché,” Druig mumbles, turning his attention to the practice as the runners get back into position.

Afterwards, he stands with Hunter and Clint at the entrance to the changing rooms, feeling like he might actually throw up from pure nerves. Especially when Makkari comes bounding out, her hair pulled into a bun secured with a dark red headband and wearing an oversized red and beige hoodie.

“Hi,” she signs, and it’s the first time Druig’s ever seen her look so nervous. “Want to go? We could go get greasy diner breakfast. Best thing for hangovers.”

He nods, and they leave the gym with a quick wave to the others, walking in silence as Makkari leads the way towards her favourite diner. Druig aches to touch her, to hold her hand or drape his arm around her as casually as he did before. In the end, Makkari rolls her eyes at him, grabbing his arm and pulling it tight around her shoulders.

“You’re stressing,” she tells him seriously. “We’re fine.”

They get to the diner, sitting on opposite sides of the table. It stretches between them like some impassable wall. The waitress comes over and they order - Druig gets a full English breakfast and Makkari gets blueberry pancakes - and when she nods and leaves, Druig sucks in a deep breath.

“Makkari,” he starts to sign. “I know I was drunk last night -”

“We both were,” she interrupts. “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“I know we were both drunk last night,” Druig corrects himself, swallowing. “But I think I would have kissed you even if I wasn’t drunk. I’ve wanted to for a while.”

“Really?” Makkari’s eyes are bright with what looks like hope. The waitress returns with their orders, but neither Druig nor Makkari makes a move towards the food.

“Yes, really. And I’d do it again. Hopefully not drunk this time.”

“I’d kiss you again too,” Makkari admits, ducking her head almost shyly.

“Oh?” Druig reaches across the table, the steam wafting from Makkari’s pancakes hot and damp against his chin. He lifts her jaw, gently, and presses his lips to hers, and it feels like fireworks are going off inside his chest. Makkari’s hands tremble with barely-concealed happiness.

“Great way to kick off the new year,” she jokes, moving to take hold of Druig’s hand. She idly traces the whorls of his fingerprint, her fingers gentle and tickling his skin.

“I’m not sure if this is something that needs saying now, but… I’d like to be more than friends.”

“Really? I’d never noticed.” Makkari’s smiling now, joyous and bright. It’s like the long-awaited spring sun peeking through winter clouds, and Druig leans over to kiss that grin again, to press his forehead against Makkari’s and smile along with her.

“I’d like to be more than friends too,” she signs, pulling away from him for a moment. “Just in case you weren’t sure.” Makkari hops up and joins him on the other side of the table, dragging her plate of half-cooled pancakes with her.

She tucks herself back underneath his arm, and she fits as perfectly as ever. Druig kisses her lightly on the temple and he is wholly, completely happy.

As far as years go, this one is off to a great start.