Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Charles Payne-Rowland would consider himself a pretty patient man.

He works at a nursery for fucks sake, he has all the time in the world for the kids.

The parents however?

That’s a different story entirely.

Normally they wait a couple of months to let their kid settle down before they started completely disrespecting Charles and the nursery rules, but Cassie Finch has only been here for two weeks and already her dad is acting like this?

It pisses Charles off to no end.

He’s tried to call him about 10 times already, both from the nursery landline and his own mobile. Nothing. He settled down Cassie for a nap once half an hour had passed, because he loves the girl but he really doesn’t want to be solo entertaining a two year old while trying to find her dad, especially not if this drags on into the afternoon.

The nursery policy states that an hour late warrants a call to the police to take the child into protective custody as they cannot be responsible for them all night, although Charles does disagree with that. Central London traffic can be horrific and sometimes people are late for reasons out of their control, but normally they’re good at ringing him up and just letting him know.

He is a little surprised by it though, because although he hadn’t really met Cassie’s dad yet, the man had always been on time or even early for things, always kissed and hugged his little girl goodbye and told her how much he loved her, and even responded to all of Charles’s parent emails immediately. It’s that track record alone that stops Charles calling the police the second an hour ticks by, because he cannot actually rule out that something might have happened.

He glances at the clock and grits his teeth, before ringing his mobile again.

No answer.

He will grant Mr Finch half an hour, no more.

It turns out he doesn’t need to though, because barely five minutes have passed before:

“I’m sorry I’m late, I’m so so sorry!”

A man comes through the door of the nursery, utterly soaked through from the rain outside.

His long black hair is plastered to his face and neck, dripping onto the white button up shirt he’s wearing. He’s not wearing a coat or jumper or anything to protect him from the weather and the thin white fabric has gone see through from how wet it is, clinging to his thin frame. Charles recognises him instantly as Cassie’s dad, as the man who has made the past hour an irritating waste of time for him. His forename escapes him, but he’s undoubtedly Mr Finch, just very wet, and no doubt very cold.

“My phone died and my car broke down and I-“ he sounds almost on the verge of tears as he crosses the room, pushing back his wet hair from his face. “I had to walk across town because I couldn’t call an Uber. I’m so sorry.” He stops before Charles, and as eyes meet, Charles can see that there are tears welling in his big brown eyes, hot and frustrated at the circumstances.

And Charles suddenly finds that his anger is gone. He’d been planning on chewing him out for his carelessness like he normally did with lazy, disrespectful parents, on giving him a verbal warning about Cassie losing her place at the nursery if he kept this behaviour up but… this clearly wasn’t a case of neglectfulness like Charles tended to see. There had been a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that something serious might have happened, that the guy could have been in an accident or had a medical emergency or had some other significant reason for being late, but this is an expensive daycare and it has never been something serious in all the years that Charles has worked here. Typically it’s because mummy and daddy are just too rich to care enough about their little shits and they treat Charles as free childcare after the nursing day is done. So many times has he tried to argue over the phone and explain that no he cannot just watch them for an extra thirty minutes, there are safeguarding protocols in place and he has stuff to do of his own thank you very much.

“Mate, you’re okay.” Charles is quick to comfort him, placing a reassuring hand on his wet shoulder and god he is freezing , cold and wet and any lingering frustration at his lateness is completely gone. In fact, he’s worried.

“You’re all right, Cassie’s absolutely fine. She’s been good as gold waiting for you, fell asleep pretty quick. Come in and dry off a bit, you’re going to catch a cold.”

“Thank you but I can’t, I need to get Cassie home and I need to call the RAC to sort my car and I-“ He’s clearly spiralling, and Charles isn’t an idiot, so he takes him by the shoulders, forcing him to look up at him as he says.

“Just breathe mate. Come on, with me.”

He doesn’t even know this guy’s name, just knows he’s Cassie’s dad and he’s clearly had a terrible day, and the last thing he needs is to have a panic attack in a nursery.

The guy opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it and takes a deep breath in through his nose, copying Charles.

It seems to help pretty quickly but Charles doesn’t let up, doesn’t let him go as they just stand there and breathe.

After a few moments however, he awkwardly pulls himself away, avoiding eye contact with Charles as he turns to where Cassie is lying.

She’s such a sweet kid, quiet and a little shy but truly one of the most kind and compassionate children that Charles has ever met. She’s only been here two weeks, and he already loves her. He loves all the kids he teaches, but there are always some who he finds he loves as if they were his own, and Cassie is truly one of those. He would do anything for her.

A sentiment he doesn’t doubt this guy - her father - shares.

“She’s perfectly fine to sleep a little bit longer mate, stay for a minute and dry off… I can call you a taxi or something to get you home.”

The guy turns back to Charles and for a moment he looks vulnerable, he looks afraid.

And then he nods.

Charles leaves him with his daughter for a minute or two before he returns with a thick fluffy towel and a hoodie, he always keeps changes of clothes at work because on far too many occasions he’s been covered in bodily fluids of various kinds (the joys of working with kids) and it’s never not come in handy.

“Here mate, get that shirt off and put this on, you’ll be a lot warmer if you do.” Charles says, handing both items to him. He’s started to shiver now, dripping rainwater onto the carpet.

“I can get you some joggers too if you want, I can’t guarantee they’ll fit but you should be able to tie them tight enough to stop them falling -“

He looks up at the man and he stops abruptly, because the tears which were welling in those big brown eyes are now leaking, fat and wet down his cheeks and he looks so pathetic that Charles has to fight the urge to sweep him into his arms and hold him until he stops crying.

“ oh … are you all right?”

The man nods, then shakes his head, then hides his face in his elbow as he wipes his eyes with his wet sleeve, before a weak sob escapes him.

“I don’t know.”

     “I’ve had - the worst fucking day and you’re being so nice to me after I’ve shown up so late and I- I’m such a terrible dad and-“ and he breaks.

He sobs again and this time Charles doesn’t hold back. He drops the hoodie and the towel and steps forwards, his arms wrapping around narrow shoulders as he pulls him close to his chest. He’s soaking wet and freezing and the rain immediately starts to seep through Charles’s shirt but he doesn’t care.

“Shh, come here, you’re okay. Things are going to be okay. You’re not a bad dad, not at all. You walked all the way across town in the rain to get Cassie, that’s a sign that you’re a great dad because you care. You - uh… forgive me mate, I don’t know your first name, but you’re okay. Trust me.”

The man in his arms is stiff at first, but the second Charles starts to speak he relaxes against him, tucking his face into Charles’s shoulder. He doesn’t hug him back, just stands there in his embrace as he cries.

“It’s - It’s Monty.” He mumbles into the fabric of Charles’s shirt, “I’m Monty.”

Of course. Monty Finch, Cassiopeia Finch’s remarkably young dad, brand new to London from somewhere in the United States. They’d met briefly the day that Cassie had started but Charles had forgotten his name almost immediately. He hadn’t forgotten how pretty he was though.

That was one thing Charles had thought about Monty since the minute he’d met him. He was a beautiful man, long dark hair, the biggest, most expressive brown eyes Charles had ever seen, and such pretty plush pink lips. Cassie had the same doe-eyes and they were so persuasive, so enticing that she could get anything she wanted and she did, consistently. It was hard to say no to her.

“Monty.” Charles murmurs, rubbing his shoulder. “You’re all right mate, what’s going on? If you need to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

Charles has always sacrificed everything for other people, has always gone out of his way to make sure that everyone is happy but for some reason in this moment it’s all he wants to do. Monty seems truly miserable, soaking wet and freezing cold and so worried about his daughter that Charles’s heart aches for him and he wants to make things better for him, he wants to see him smile.

There’s a long moment as Monty takes a ragged breath in, before his hands come up and hold onto the back of Charles’s shirt, reciprocating the hug.

“I got fired,” he admits, his voice quiet and shaky. He’s still crying, tears rolling down his cheeks as Charles holds him to his chest and his shoulders shake with a poorly stifled sob as he continues.

“It was just a shitty temporary gig but I kept being late with drop off for Cassie and they… they let me go.. and then my stupid car broke down as I tried to drive here so I had to walk and then it started raining and I’m supposed to be attending a hearing to get a work visa tomorrow because our 6 week visas expire in a fortnight but I’ve been fired and I-“ he cuts himself off suddenly, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to deal with my shit but… thank you, for listening.” He pulls back, looking up at Charles with his wet eyes, his lashes shining with tears. “And… for the hug… I… I really needed that.”

Charles hands him back the towel and the hoodie then, and fetches the joggers too.

When Monty returns, he’s wearing the joggers and the hoodie, practically drowning in the fabric. They’re both far too big for him, and he looks so much younger suddenly. He already looked young, Charles has no idea how old he actually is but he’s probably at least a year younger than he is and Charles himself is only 23. He wants to ask, to understand, but he can’t. He knows he can’t. He barely knows the guy. Besides, Charles has run from the ghosts of his past and he might not know Monty, but a young single dad of a two year old moving across the world on temporary visas doesn’t exactly scream pre-planned… Charles knows what it’s like to have to escape hell and if Monty is fleeing something then he will not be the one to remind him of it.

He smiles at Charles and there’s still an exhaustion there, stress weighing him down, but he’s stopped crying and he’s no longer freezing and he no longer looks like he’s about to have a panic attack and that’s what matters.

“Let me drive you home.”

“Oh - I can’t ask that of you.” Monty says quickly, “I’ll have to split the taxi fare between card and cash but I can pay for it, there’s no point having you go out of your way to take us home.”

“Absolutely not.” Charles steps over to him, to where Cassie is still sleeping, curled up around a stuffed giraffe she’d commandeered from the toy pile.

“It’s pissing it down outside, I’ve got a car seat we can use which a taxi might not and you’ve had a horrible day. Let me make it slightly easier mate.” Their eyes meet, and it’s clear that Monty wants to protest, but the mention of Cassie stops him and it’s clear his devotion to his daughter outweighs anything else.

“Okay. Thank you, thank you Charles, I really appreciate that.”

Charles smiles at him then and Monty seems to relax a little more, a little of the tension in his shoulders bleeding away as one of his many problems is solved.

If nothing else, he can get himself and Cassie home safe.

Charles loads the car seat into the back of his old shitty Volkswagen Golf, the car he’d had since he could drive - one it was one of the few sources of contention between the two. Edwin firmly believed Charles ought to treat himself to something more modern and easier to drive than a manual with sticky gears, and Charles didn’t believe that upgrading things that worked perfectly fine was necessary. Edwin had offered to buy him one more times than he could count, but he’d always refused. He’d bought this car in cash from someone who was selling it second hand the second he’d turned 18. It had cost him his entire life’s savings and a little more but it had been the first source of freedom he’d had in his entire life. This car had run with him from the monsters he’d escaped and it just didn’t seem fit to abandon it now that freedom was all he knew.

Besides, it was a good car.

“Um… do you know Tragic Mick’s Magic Trick Shop?” Monty asks as he settles down in the passenger seat.

“It’s an antique-y junk shop off of the high street. We live, well, we live there. There’s a studio apartment above the shop that we’re renting.”

Charles looks over at him in surprise, but he nods his head. He’s got so many questions about everything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

“Yeah, not too far.”

They drive back in comfortable silence, Monty leaning against the window as he watches the rain beat against the glass. It’s truly horrible weather and Charles is truly glad he offered to take Monty and Cassiopeia home. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable letting them get a taxi, not with how upset Monty had been.

Cassie’s still asleep when they pull up outside, and Charles carries an umbrella for them to the door, refusing to let them get any wetter than they already house.

“Thank you.” Monty whispers as they reach the door, Cassie clasped to his chest as he looks up at him.

All Charles can think about as he drives home is long black hair sticking to pale skin, the way water ran in rivulets down a slender throat.

—————

The next morning when Monty drops Cassie off, he’s carrying a bouquet of roses. It’s only small, a cheap one from the supermarket, but he’s tied a ribbon around it and there’s a little card attached.

“I just wanted to say thank you, for last night.” He says, holding the roses out towards him as Cassie wraps herself around Charles’s knees. He’s got a plastic bag swinging from his wrist too and Charles can see the clothes he borrowed the previous night neatly folded inside.

“I really appreciate it, you turned a horrific day into a not so shitty one and I… I just wanted to thank you.”

He holds out the bag of clothes and Charles’s heart aches for the man before him.

“Don’t even mention it mate.” He takes the roses and the clothes, and he cannot keep himself from beaming at him, because this is probably the most genuine thanks he’s ever received from a parent. All he did was give him a lift and Monty has bought him flowers . Edwin buys him flowers on occasion, but nowhere near as often as Charles would like and he’s feeling so much at once that he doesn’t know what to say.

So he doesn’t say anything.

And neither does Monty.

It’s uncomfortable, but then Monty smiles shyly at him and Charles’s heart skips a beat in a way he doesn’t quite recognise.

—————

They don’t talk for the next week or so, Monty drops Cassie off and picks her up and they exchange smiles and brief pleasantries but neither of them mention anything.

What is there to say?

It’s a normal Tuesday morning, and as Charles walks in he spots Monty kneeling before his daughter, hugging her close as he says goodbye to her. She’s got her little arms wrapped around his neck, and as he kissed her on the cheek she giggles and wriggles in his arms, squirming away from him.

“Make sure you eat all of your lunch baby girl,” Monty says, catching her again and kissing her on the forehead, “I don’t want you being hungry.”

She tolerates the kiss, then frowns, her chubby face wrinkling as she grabs her dad’s forearm.

“Daddy eat?”

He smiles at her fondly, but there is a pain in his eyes that Charles doesn’t quite understand, it looks like… guilt?

“No, daddy’s not going to eat your lunch baby girl. That’s special for you, okay?”

“No!” She shakes her head, black curls bouncing as she protests.

“Daddy hungry, daddy eat my lunch.”

She catches sigh of Charles then, and her little face lights up, clearly thrilled to see her teacher. All the kids adore him, and he’s had this every day for the past few years and yet he never grows tired of it. There’s something about the way the kids love him so unconditionally, about how they see him as this positive figure they get to hang out with every day… it warms his heart to no end, it makes his job so worthwhile every single time.

“Mr Rowland! Daddy didn’t eat any breakfast.” She says firmly, releasing Monty’s arm in favour of reaching up for him.

Charles cannot avoid this, so he comes over to them, scooping Cassie up into his arms and settling her on his hip as Monty stands too.

“Hi sweetie, you excited to be here?” He asks, and it’s a tactful attempt at redirecting her energy, to distract her from her dad but it doesn’t work, because she ignores him.

“Daddy didn’t eat breakfast.” She says again, pouting at Charles. “Daddy never eats breakfast with me anymore, or dinner.”

Charles glances at Monty then, and he’s expecting some excuse like the fact that no adult man eats dinner as early as a two year old does, or he just eats separately to her but his cheeks have flushed red, and he’s looking at his daughter, ardently avoiding Charles’s gaze.

“Daddy doesn’t need as much food as you do baby girl,” he says tenderly. “You’re growing so you need lots of food! Daddy stopped growing a while ago so he doesn’t need to eat as much.”

He seems… embarrassed, like he’s been caught out doing something wrong and Charles is instantly suspicious. It doesn’t seem like he’s neglecting Cassie, quite the opposite in fact, and Charles can’t help but wonder whether he’s neglecting himself.

He looks perfectly put together, wearing clean clothes, his hair shiny and soft, and he  smells like expensive perfume but… actually… there are bags under his eyes that have been carefully hidden with a touch of concealer, the jumper he’s wearing is fraying at the sleeves, despite how it’s been carefully darned to hide any holes with a thread that only just matches. The soles of his shoes are cracked and while he’s clearly put in the effort to make them spotless, they’re on the verge of falling apart. It’s all subtle, one would only notice when they look closely, and Charles is suddenly worried about him again.

Something distracts Cassie and she wriggles in his arms until he puts her down and lets her run off and it leaves the two of them standing face to face. Monty’s cheeks are still pink which only reinforces Charles’s notion that he’s embarrassed, and as the moment turns awkward they both go to speak.

“Oh I’m not-“

“If you ne-“

Monty shuts his mouth first, waving a hand at Charles to let him speak.

“No no, you go.”

“There’s a breakfast club, for the kids.” Charles says carefully, “it’s a pound a day and you can pay in cash at the door or prepay online, but any of our children are welcome to turn up from 7 onwards and have breakfast provided by the nursery. It also gives parents with earlier work days a little more care if they needed but parents are welcome to stay with their kids.”

Monty’s cheeks have only turned darker and there is a clear conflict of emotions across his face. It’s odd, he’s rather an open book, it’s never hard to tell what he’s thinking and yet Charles knows so little about him.

“Oh I’m not- you- I can feed Cassie.” He says, and there’s a discomfort to his words, he’s hiding something and it breaks Charles’s heart.

“Okay, well, one of the parents actually paid it off for the next few months, so if you’re worried about money it’s free at the moment.” It’s not true, no one’s ever even offered to fund it even though some of these people are more disgustingly rich than should ever be allowed, but Charles can see that something is holding Monty back and if he has to pay a single pound out of pocket to make sure both father and daughter are eating… he’ll do it without hesitation.

That catches Monty’s attention and his gaze flickers over to where Cassie is playing with a little boy, her big eyes sparkling with innocence and unrestrained joy and he nods.

“Okay… you said it starts at 7, right?”

—————

That evening as Charles returns home, he’s greeted by the sound and sight of his husband cooking dinner, loose and comfortable as he dances around the kitchen. Their house is warm and comfortable and theirs and yet… there is something bitter twisting in his stomach, something that stops him from enjoying the slice of heaven that he and Edwin have built themselves.

He drops his bag onto the floor, kicks his shoes off next to it and collapses into his husband’s embrace because there is nothing else in this world that matters more than Edwin, and his touch soothes all ailments, his kiss reminds Charles that he is loved, that he is whole.

But today it doesn’t. Not at first.

Edwin picks up on his mood instantly, an arm wrapping around Charles’s waist as the other comes up to smooth brown curls away from the nape of his neck as Charles sinks into the security of Edwin’s arms.

“Charles,” he coos, his voice gentle as his lips brush against the whorl of his ear. “My love, my light, what’s wrong?”

Edwin has always been able to read Charles like a book, it’s one of the reason he loves him so much. They’ve been married for two years, together for 6, and there is no one else that Charles trusts as deeply and intimately as his husband. In some ways, he thinks Edwin knows him better than he knows himself, and it’s moments like these that prove it to be true.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wraps himself tighter around his husband, burying his face in the crook of his neck as Edwin’s familiar scent surrounds him. It’s instantly reassuring, and he finds his words as he hides there.

“You remember that parent at work? Cassie’s dad?” He asks softly, and he feels Edwin nod against him.

“I… I think he’s struggling but I… I don’t know how to help.”

Edwin makes a noise, low and deep and it rumbles in his chest. “In what way do you mean struggling?”

“Financially, and maybe even more. I don’t… I don’t know. I think he’s been skipping meals to feed his daughter, and his car broke down that other night, so he’s been getting the bus because I don’t think he can afford to get it fixed.” Charles sighs, then pulls back, leaning his forehead against Edwin’s as his eyes flutter closed.

“I told him about the breakfast club and… I told him a parent had paid it off for the next few months because I think he was worried about the money. I’ll just pay it off whenever he comes.”

Edwin draws back for a moment, his hands coming up to cup Charles’s face and he tilts his head back, forcing him to make eye contact.

“Charles Payne-Rowland, you are the best person I have ever met.” He starts, his voice soft and tender as he searches brown eyes with his own green.

“You sacrifice far too much for these children, and their parents too. I am proud of you, more than I can ever express.”

“You’re not angry?”

It comes out weaker and more vulnerable than he intended, scarcely more than a whisper and Edwin smiles, his thumbs brushing over Charles’s cheekbones.

“I could never be angry at you, not for anything. Especially not for this. You are doing a good thing, if this man needs help then you should offer it. I’m more than happy to make a charitable donation to the nursery if he needs it.”

As much as it frustrated Edwin when Charles stretched himself too thin and did things for people who didn’t deserve it, he could never be angry at him for it. He knew how deep down Charles’s desire to please went, he knew how much his husband needed to help other people and he loved him fiercely for it. Edwin was rich, he always had been and he’d made money of his own, but he still had inheritance and family fortune and as much as he hated it… well… it did make life more comfortable. He liked to do charitable things when he could, and Charles always inspired him to do more for the community so things like this… well of course he’d offer. He knew how passionately his husband cared for the kids he looked after and if some struggling single dad had caught his eye, then Edwin would offer to help.

He knew how much Charles wanted to help, but he also knew how deeply insecure his husband was and he knew why he was the way he was, knew how deep the trauma ran. He knew that Paul had broken something inside of his son, something Edwin was slowly mending, but he’d never be whole again. There would always be that part of him that was a scared little boy and it broke Edwin’s heart every time he was reminded of what his husband had been through. Which is why he’d never be angry at him. Charles was his world, the light of his life, and there was nothing he could do that would make Edwin love him less.

“I love you, I am in love with you, that’ll never change.” He murmurs, still holding Charles’s gaze.

A little of the tension eases from Charles’s shoulders and he smiles at Edwin, the vulnerability fading away as he grips him a little tighter.

“I love you too, always.”

He stretched forwards, or maybe Edwin leaned down, and their mouths met, soft and tender and perfect.

Edwin could never grow tired of kissing Charles, there was something so addictive about the soft chapped lips of his husband, about the way he kissed - 0-100 in an instant, just like everything he did - that Edwin couldn’t get enough of. It was like coming home in that beautiful aching familiarity of the way Charles’s mouth parted so perfectly for him. It was all Edwin could ever want and he could never believe that he had Charles Payne-Rowland all to himself.

When they broke apart, Charles was smiling and Edwin was smiling too, still cradling his husband’s face as they stared at each other.

“You’re still not happy,” he murmured, “this guy’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he love?”

Charles nods, turning to nuzzle into the palm of his hands as he sighs. Edwin’s right, something about this guy and his daughter has really gotten under his skin in a way he can’t explain, in a way he’s completely unfamiliar with. It’s not the first time he’s gotten attached to one of his kids from difficult homes but there’s something about the situation, something about Monty that feels different.

“We’ll sort this. Put it away for now love, have some dinner, okay?”

Charles nodded again, then took a deep breath, pushing the whole ordeal to the side. They’d come back to it. For now, he could let himself enjoy dinner with his husband.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Charles.”

—————

Over the next few week, Monty starts bringing Cassie in for the breakfast club every day. He never stays, but he makes sure she’s got a full plate of food before he goes. It’s probably more than she needs, but he always takes full advantage of the fresh fruit and the yogurt and the wide selection available.

Sometimes Charles catches Monty’s gaze lingering over the toast and the cereal and every time he’s about to urge him to have some, he’s dragged himself away to say goodbye to Cassie. It only reinforces Charles’s belief that Monty’s been skipping meals to make sure his daughter is fed and he has no idea what to do to help.

He’s decided he’s going to approach Monty about it the next time he sees him, make an off handed remark about how the food is there for parents too.

He doesn’t get the chance.

“Oh Charles-“

The receptionist stops him as he walks into the building, Maren something or other (he feels terrible that he can’t remember her last name).

“I’ve just sent you an email, one of your students is leaving us. Her dad just popped by on his way to drop her off and explained that circumstances have changed so she’s not able to attend any longer. Shame, she’s a sweet kid… the dad’s well fit too-“

Charles has stopped listening, his heart sinking into his stomach.

“Maren, was it Cassie Finch and her dad? Long black hair, brown eyes?”

She nods, “yeah, the dad - Monty - literally just stopped by. Said today’s her last day. They’ve gone to the breakfast club, I’m sure he’ll still be with her if you want to catch him before he leaves.”

He’s gone before she finishes her sentence, striding down the hall.

As he opens the door to the dining hall, he comes face to face with the very man he’d been coming to find, both of them jerking back before they collided.

“Monty -“

“Charles?”

“You can’t leave.” Charles says suddenly, and he’s surprised by how desperate he sounds.

“Whatever the problem is, we can sort it out, don’t take Cassie away. She’s just settled down.”

Monty looks genuinely surprised, those big brown eyes wide as he stares at Charles, faltering before him.

“Um? I… I’m really sorry but I can’t afford it anymore, after I got laid off I thought maybe I’d be able to find something that would pay but with rent and my car… I can’t afford to keep her here.” He says quietly, his gaze fixing on the linoleum between their feet.

“I’d love to keep her here but I’ve actually got a tour and an interview of one of the cheaper places as soon as I leave. If I don’t get it though I’ll just have to figure out how to work around her, because I don’t have any money for nursery. Not anymore.”

Charles doesn’t know what to say, so he blurts out the first thing he can think of instead.

“Will you go for coffee with me?”

He pauses, then immediately backtracks, his brain catching up with his mouth.

“Not - not in a weird way, but we can discuss how to keep Cassie here. There’s bursaries and things available…” he can see Monty isn’t convinced though, so he reaches out and takes his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Please. Let me help you Monty.”

Chapter Text

Life has always been hell for Monty Finch.

Back in Port Townsend, Esther Finch was the Queen of the Underworld. She ruled the drug trade of Washington and she had a power over people that matched no other.

More importantly, she had power over Monty.

He dropped out of school at 16 because she needed him to run drugs full time.

He abandoned any semblance of a normal teenage social life to attend every event with her. He handed over his innocence to play the prostitute, to seduce anyone she pointed at and collect the collateral.

It was as she always said: he existed to serve her, and if he was going to be pretty then he might as well use it… she was his mother after all, surely he wanted to help his mother?

He learnt how to spot the richest person in the room and how to bat his eyes and sink to his knees and prostate himself before them before he’d even learnt to drive. He learnt how to distinguish between good quality drugs and cheap imitations before he could even legally drink. He learnt how to blackmail and extort and manipulate before he even knew how to make friends.

He had been Esther’s puppet, and she his master.

He had been jerked around following her whim and command with no idea of what it meant to think for himself.

And then she had arrived, and everything in Monty’s life had gone to utter shit.

He had certainly been a prisoner before, but this…

This was worse.

She’d coaxed Monty in with the promise of freedom, of being able to finally escape the talons of Esther Finch. She’d promised him money and drugs and a chance to be a normal teenage boy.

And he’d fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

She’d taken care of him, had loved him like a mother should.

And then she’d used him.

And everything had fallen to pieces.

Monty had been broken time and time again but he’d always glued himself back together, he had always found a way to buff out the scuffs and bruises and hide any imperfections. With drugs and empty promises he refreshed his polish, made himself shiny and perfect and pretty.

But not this time.

She had cut his strings and cast him aside, had shattered him into shards of painted porcelain and let the pieces scatter in the wind, and he couldn’t put himself together.

Not this time.

He had tried to scoop up the bits, to cobble together some semblance of a functioning boy. But they cut him, left him aching and bleeding with hands stained scarlet, and he couldn’t wash it off.

Esther had been furious with him. She’d locked him away and hid him from the world while she dealt with his mess, and eventually she’d returned with the baby.

She’d threatened to kill her, to dispose of the evidence of Monty’s mistakes but he’d refused. How could he not? He’d taken one look at at her big steely grey eyes and fallen utterly in love.

Esther Finch was a monster, but Monty refused to let her stoop that low.

So he’d taken her in, worked overtime for his mother and spent every penny he earned on formula and diapers and he’d named her. It had been a winter night and she hadn’t been able to sleep, crying her little heart out so he’d taken her for a walk, bouncing her up and down the streets in her carrier and he’d seen it. It wasn’t a constellation he normally focused on, but it had been so bright and beautiful, sparkling above him in the sky and…

Well…

He couldn’t resist.

He’d looked down at her, and she’d stared up at him with her big eyes and the stars had reflected back at him in then and… god it fit, didn’t it?

     “Hi baby,”

              he’d whispered, reaching a finger up to stroke her chubby little cheek,

      “what do you think of the name Cassiopeia?”

Things had been different from then on, and things would always be different.

Monty refused to remember those days, refused to think about anything from that time. There was Before he escaped and After he had escaped and the after was all he allowed himself to focus on.

—————

Charles had invited Monty out for coffee to discuss Cassie and… well… there was something about the smile that felt like sunlight and curly brown hair that Monty truly could not say no to.

He knew it was ridiculous, because he knew that Charles was married for Christ’s sake, and yet there was a way that his stomach twisted itself into knots and his heart sped up when he looked at him that made Monty a little weak in the knees.

They’d agreed that he should keep Cassie in the nursery for the rest of the week, and met on Friday morning. Charles had the day booked off already, but he’d assured Monty that he would happily spare him the time.

There was a café near the school that Charles had recommended, and it was ridiculous because it was just coffee with his daughter’s teacher and yet… he was nervous. He was nervous for a plethora of reasons, but it had manifested in him fretting over his appearance. He’d gone through every outfit, styled and restyled his hair, changed his outfit again and then changed his hair too and he’d ultimately almost been late dropping Cassie at the breakfast club.

He’d settled on a pair of worn blue denim flares and a multicoloured stripey jumper, along with a matching blue denim jacket. It wasn’t the most elegant of outfits, wasn’t the most attractive but Cassie had liked it. He always consulted her on what he wore, and today she’d said he looked pretty like a Princess, which Monty would gladly take.

He hadn’t been putting as much appearance as he used to into his appearance recently and it felt nice to look nice. He’d spent so many years needing to be perfect and pretty that he’d forgotten how to look nice for himself… and sure, he might only have dressed up for Charles, but it still gave him that little bit of confidence he’d been lacking.

Cassie had given him an extra big hug as he’d said goodbye, pressing a wet little kiss to his cheek ‘for good luck’.

It was only a short walk from the café, but every step seemed to drag further and further on as Monty’s nerves built up inside of him. He knew that realistically all they were there to do was discuss the scholarships and bursaries available for keeping Cassie at the nursery and the school attached… but. There was a part of him that was scared, scared of Charles realising how much he was struggling, scared he’d realise what a completely incapable father and human being Monty was. He was already a month behind on rent and he’d only lived in the apartment for two. He couldn’t afford new clothes for Cassie, so he’d been raiding charity shops for anything that might fit her, and tailoring it to the right size with the little sewing kit he’d bought. His own clothes were falling to pieces, his boots almost having disinterested but he couldn’t afford anything more, because he had nothing .

The money that wasn’t going to rent went to Cassie, to the fees of the ridiculously overpriced nursery and to making sure she was fed. That was all Monty cared about. He’d been skipping meals since they’d arrived here just to make sure there was always enough for her. She was only little, but they had less. He was used to sleeping hungry, used to ignoring the ache of starvation and the way it settled deep into his bones. For years, Monty had had to be pretty, and pretty hurt. It was a discomfort that he knew how to live with, one that he knew he could ignore.

A discomfort he swore that Cassie would never experience.

The breakfast club had been a blessing at the right time, but with his car out of action, suddenly life had gotten a whole lot more expensive in different ways and it made Monty want to scream and shout and break things.

Esther hadn’t taught him how to live, and he was doing a pretty horrific job at learning as he went.

He was at the door to the café before he knew it, hesitating at the handle as he peered through the glass. Charles was already there, sitting tucked in the corner looking at his phone and for a brief moment all Monty wanted to was run.

But he can’t. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

Charles notices him as he approaches and stands, and his smile makes Monty nervous because it is like looking into the sun and he finds himself shying away from the light. Monty Finch was not designed to be around people as radiant and beautiful as Charles Payne-Rowland.

“Monty, mate, hey!” And he’s so genuinely excited to see him that it makes Monty’s stomach turn, because only Cassie is ever excited to see him, no one else is supposed to care.

“Hi,” he says quietly, offering him a tentative smile in return as they both sit.

“I’m going to order some breakfast, please have something with me the food here is excellent.”

Charles is saying, and the anxiety only twists Monty’s insides more, the ongoing panic that has been money catching in the back of his throat.

“Oh, no thank you, I’m not hungry.”

He’s starving actually, but he knows how to deal with it. He knows how to curb the pain and he’s specially scraped together enough coins to have a coffee with Charles, he cannot afford breakfast too.

But Charles can see straight through him and Monty has never been seen before. No one’s ever seen past the walls and the lies and the pretty face and he suddenly finds that he can’t move, because he doesn’t want to lie to him again but he doesn’t want to tell the truth.

“It’s my treat, get whatever you want.” Charles says it so casually, his gaze flickering back to the menu without challenging him, without trying to push.

Monty opens his mouth to protest, but he is hungry and the food smells so good so instead he shuts up and picks up the menu, scanning it for the cheapest option. His eyes fall on the pancakes and for a moment he stares at them, reading the list of options with a sense of genuine wonder. He hasn’t had pancakes in so long, hasn’t had anything so indulgent but he can’t do that to Charles. So he forces himself to look down, to think of anything other than pancakes lathered in syrup and fresh fruit and melted butter.

Charles orders himself a coffee and pancakes with bacon and syrup and a side of fruit and he smiles at Monty, urging him to order too… but he hesitates.

It’s all the confirmation Charles needs though and he steps back in and orders for him.

Somehow he knows exactly what Monty wants, and he tries to protest but Charles refuses to hear it.

“So you’re married?” Monty asks through a mouthful of pancakes, a hand covering his lips as he speaks.

Charles nods, and that beautiful radiant smile spreads across his face, like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“Two and a half years now. We’ve been together for 6. He’s my everything.” He says, and it’s the softest and most tender Monty has ever seen anyone look. His eyes are misty, shining with complete adoration and there is a reverence in his tone that Monty could only dream of having someone direct towards him.

“And you don’t have any kids of your own?”

Charles shakes his head, smiling as he glances down at his hands.

“No, not yet. Edwin isn’t sure he wants them but I do… but there’s no rush really, I’m only 23, he’s 24. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Monty could only dream of a life when he could live a normal life. He loved Cassie, he really truly did, but god would he love to live a life of freedom on his own. Monty Finch had never been truly free, and now he never would, not with his daughter and work and rent and everything he was responsible for.

“What does he do?” He asks, and there’s part of him that doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to know what this perfect man’s husband does because that part of him is jealous and he’s not sure why.

“He’s a PhD student studying linguistics and he lectures undergrads. He’s… he’s everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re single right? You didn’t put anyone down for an emergency contact,” and Monty nods, tactfully looking down at the plate of food before him instead of up at Charles.

“Yeah uh, somehow never been in a relationship, so still painfully single.” He tries to laugh it off, to pretend that it doesn’t hurt but his jokey tone falls flat.

“And Cassie’s mum?”

Monty freezes then. He knew this would never be a question he could escape, but it didn’t stop the terror that spreads like ice through his veins at the very thought of that woman and the things she’d done.

And he is so infinitely grateful that Charles immediately realises the error of his ways because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to explain.

“Sorry, you don’t have to talk about it. I… I assume she doesn’t have custody?”

Monty shakes his head, slowly, painfully.

“She’s dead.”

Charles’s face falls, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Monty beats him.

“I’m-“

“ Don’t .”

Charles shuts his mouth, then nods, and for a moment Monty’s heart sinks because he’s made him angry and he’s going to lose any support for Cassie and -

             - and then Charles takes his hand in his own. His skin is soft but his palms are rough and calloused and he’s so warm , his fingers curling around Monty’s own icy ones. Their eyes meet and he’s not angry or upset but he’s understanding , he doesn’t expect Monty to elaborate or dig the truth out from where he’s buried it deep in his chest. He just gets it.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” He says, his tone dropping to just a whisper as he squeezes Monty’s hand in his own. “As long as everyone’s safe, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Monty nods, then sighs, dropping his head down and letting his hair fall across his face as he relaxes. The ice melts in his veins, warmed by the touch of the sun and the fear bleeds away. Because he is safe. So is Cassie.

“Thank you.”

There is a moment of silence, but Monty doesn’t feel judged or uncomfortable or awkward, he feels safe, and he finds a little knot inside of him loosening for the first time in… in perhaps years.

They changed the topic then, discussed a band that Monty had worn a tee of that Charles knew well, discussed food and films until they’d both finished eating.

Then the topic turned to Cassie.

“Look mate, to put it simply, I want to keep Cassie at the nursery.”

Charles said, leaning forwards in his chair.

“I know it’s expensive and I know you can’t afford it, but we have a bursary for low income parents which knocks 50% off and…  my husband and I would like to cover the rest.”

Monty’s reaction is immediate and visceral, shaking his head and pulling back away from Charles.

“No - no absolutely not. I can’t let you go that. You’re far too kind and I absolutely cannot accept that kind of charity from you.”

Monty knows that in life, things are not free. In fact nothing is free. There are no acts of charity, nothing is done out of the kindness of people’s hearts. Everything is always selfish.

That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s the way it always will be.

Everything always has a price, and Monty has always been acutely aware of that and as beautiful and as kind as perfect Charles Payne-Rowland is… he doesn’t want to know what will be asked in return.

Charles looks crestfallen and it makes something in Monty’s chest ache as he looks at him, and suddenly he’s biting back guilt at denying him the chance to help. He’s chewing on his lip, and as Monty goes to apologise, he speaks.

“I know it’s a big offer, but - Edwin’s from a well off family and I really care about Cassie and I’d like to keep her here.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at Monty, a beautiful sincerity shining in those brown eyes that he finds he suddenly cannot say no to him.

He wants to, he really wants to but he cannot help but be drawn to the light of Charles Payne-Rowland. Monty feels like a moth to a flame, he knows that the light is too bright to be true, that it’s too hot to be safe and he will inevitably be burned like he always has been, but he can’t stop himself.

“…okay.” It comes out as a whisper, his voice failing him as for the first time in his life, he accepts help.

“I’ll pay you back.” He will. He has to. However Charles will have him, he will do what he can to make it up for him.

He will not have debt hanging over him. Especially not in Cassie’s name.

“Thank you. I know it’s a big ask from us, but please trust me when I say that this is the best thing for Cassie. She’s doing so well here, she’s made such good friends and settled down so quick and the options for her here are just better than anywhere else.”

He’s taking Monty’s hand again, and if he notices the way his breath hitches he doesn’t say anything.

“I know you’re struggling, so let me make this easier for you, yeah?”

Monty takes a deep breath, and curls his fingers around Charles’s in return. He cannot accept this as generosity, so he will offer himself in return. The man might be married, but when had that ever stopped anyone in the past?

He looks up at Charles through his lashes, his eyes big and wide and plush lips parted -  the picture of innocence as he blinks up at him. “However you want me to repay you… I’ll do it.”

He feels sick, because he doesn’t want to do this, he really doesn’t. But Charles doesn’t reciprocate. He doesn’t even seem to notice. He just smiles at him and Monty feels dirty .

Chapter Text

And so things change.

Monty applies for the bursary with Charles’ help and is immediately approved for it, and Charles starts sending him the money.

It’s a weird arrangement, Monty’s not entirely comfortable with the fact that he’s receiving money directly from Cassie’s teacher, but he also couldn’t exactly change the bank details on the direct deposit to one of the nursery’s employees immediately after applying for the low income fund.

Monty had spent every day waiting at first for Charles to mention his payment, making sure he was pretty and done up every time he’d see him - ready to be pushed to his knees or draped over his office desk - in case for some reason he wanted it there and then.

But Charles didn’t mention it.

He smiled at Monty, complimented Cassie on how wonderfully she was developing, and continued to be his perfectly charming and respectable self.

For some reason, they became friends. Charles texted Monty every so often making causal conversation, Monty always hung behind after pickup for a little while to chat to him while he gathered his things and occasionally Charles would give the two a lift home. They met up for coffee a couple of times, taking the opportunity to take Cassie to the park.

And then came the invite.

Charles Payne-Rowland: hi mate! husband and I are hosting a dinner party at ours on the weekend, we’d love to have you! :D

Monty : could I bring cass? I know I could get a babysitter but frankly I do not trust an untrained stranger to look after her just for money

Charles Payne-Rowland: you let me, a barely trained stranger, look after her just for the money

Monty :  ha ha ha ha very funny.

Monty : you are surrounded by other kids and also other trained adults and also you genuinely care about Cassie and all the others. You are not some teenager from Facebook

Charles Payne-Rowland : still not seeing a difference… I can recommend you some babysitters if you want??  Also don’t get your babysitters off of Facebook

Charles Payne-Rowland: actually idk what I’m talking about you’re more than welcome to bring Cassie I love her <33 I can set her up some space in a spare room so you can put her to bed and enjoy yourself

Monty: you are such a fucking Taurus

Monty : I would love to come then. it’ll be nice to finally actually meet your husband too… he better be as handsome as you say

Charles Payne-Rowland: mate he is so fit

Charles Payne-Rowland: I really think the two of you will get along so well together

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

Monty had managed to pick up a job at a local bookshop, as well as assisting Mick downstairs in the magic trick shop to make up for the rent he’s been struggling to pay and so he throws himself into working as hard as he can during the day time while Cassie’s in nursery. The truth was that he doesn’t have anything appropriate to wear for the weekend, so he needed the money to treat himself.

By the time Saturday rolled around, he had a little money tucked away to pick something nice out with, and so he and  Cassie set out for the day.

They trailed around every charity shop, Monty consulting his daughter on everything he found, and by the time afternoon rolled around, he had a bag full of clothes.

Unfortunately most of them were baby clothes for Cassie, but he had found a handful of things he liked.

They absolutely didn’t have the money for new things, but there was something about London charity shops that made people seemingly want to donate things that had hardly been worn and Monty was thrilled by that. The best thing he’d found had been a pair of Ed Hardy parachute pants with Chinese dragons embroidered on the calves, and while they certainly weren’t appropriate for dinner with his daughter’s teacher and his husband, for a brief moment they reminded him of what life had been like. Not the drug dealing and the prostitution and the abuse, but the expensive branded clothing, the comfortable life that Esther provided… as much as he hated his mother, life had been good (albeit in parts).

He’d also found a pair of soft grey slacks and a navy cashmere sweater that he could pair with a plain white button up, and so his outfit was sorted.

And he was excited.

He took his time getting both himself and Cassie ready, pulling her hair back into two perfect pigtails with sparkly bobbles fastening them, matching his own dangly silver earrings. They looked good, he reckoned, taking stock of them in the hallway mirror. They didn’t look like a struggling single dad in his 20s with his two year old… they looked put together, like Monty actually had his shit together.

It felt good.

The confidence that he’d managed to cobble together had completely dissipated by the time the taxi reached the gate of the Payne-Rowland home, because as Monty took in the sheer size of the house, and the gated driveway leading up to it, he realised how extremely out of his depth he was.

Monty knew how to pretend, he knew how to fit in with the overtly wealthy, but this… this was so vastly different.

As he paid the cab driver, he genuinely weighed up just turning around and going home but as he glanced at Cassie… he knew he couldn’t do that.

These two ridiculously wealthy, generous men were paying for her nursery for god’s sake, if they weren’t going to demand payment from Monty just yet then the least he could do is make sure he was still appealing to them, letting them see the girl they were spending so mich money on and reminding them that Monty wasn’t completely useless.

As uncomfortable as he was, immediately a little of that discomfort was eased by the way Charles swept Monty into his arms as soon as he opened the door, already chatting away about how handsome Monty looked, how pretty Cassie was and how glad he was that they’d arrived. It made something warm flicker in his chest, something foreign and unfamiliar.

He was shown in, and for some reason Charles’ hand remained on the small of Monty’s back as he guided him through the hallway. He’d also insisted on scooping Cassie up, and she was settled on his hip, playing with the brown curls at the nape of his neck that Monty’s attention definitely wasn’t drawn to.

He was introduced to multiple people whose names he immediately forgot, and several people whose names he didn’t .

First and foremost was the counterpart to the man who’d been making Monty’s life so much brighter the past month.

Edwin Payne-Rowland.

If Charles Payne-Rowland was the sun, Edwin was the moon. There was an ethereal beauty to him in a way Monty couldn’t explain, but he could not look away from.

If there was any doubt that somehow Charles would have settled for less than he deserved, that was completely gone. Because Monty had been deluding himself that maybe love had been the only factor in a marriage he knew nothing about but now… now he was standing in a room with the two hottest men he had ever laid eyes on in his entire life with his daughter clinging to his thigh and he’d completely forgotten how to behave like a normal functioning adult.

Edwin had introduced himself, had shaken Monty’s hand, effortlessly polite and well spoken and it was like someone had turned a switch off in his brain. He found himself stuttering through his words, flustered in a way he wasn’t usually.

Charles pressed a drink into his hand though and slung an arm around his shoulders and the discomfort had eased a little, before dragging him around to meet the next person Monty actually would remember.

Monty sat next to the girl with long white hair as Charles introduced them,

          ”Monty this is Niko Sasaki, Niko this is Monty.”  

before taking Cassie back into the kitchen to get a snack and for the first time that evening there was no child weighing him down.

He felt a bit empty without his daughter, unsure of what to do or how to behave without an arm around her or without his attention half on her. Since he’d become a dad, Monty had sort of forgotten who he was when Cassie wasn’t the focus. He’d spent the past two years dedicating every moment to his daughter, every minute of his free time spent at her side and for so long it had just been the two of them that he’d forgotten who he was when he was around other adults.

Thankfully, that didn’t seem to matter to Niko Sasaki.

“You’re Monty right?” She asked, tilting her head at him as she extended her hand.

“Charles has told me so much about you.”

Her eyes glittered, and as Monty shook her hand, he could tell immediately that he loved her.

Conversation came easily to them and they instinctively avoided the topics that neither of them wanted to discuss. They didn’t mention their pasts, their childhoods, their parents. They talked about Niko’s love of manga and Monty’s obsession with astrology and the stars. Niko let Monty do her star chart, and he dutifully searched some of her favourite free webtoons and online comics with promises to read them. If he noticed that they were all queer and mostly focused around love triangles and threesomes… he doesn’t mention it.

They exchanged phone numbers with promises to get a coffee or lunch or something over the next week before she eventually drifted away to talk to someone else, leaving Monty on the sofa by himself.

Leaving him here.

He wasn’t alone for long, because over came the man he was so carefully trying to avoid, in his perfectly pressed slacks and shirt, with a waistcoat and a bow tie for god’s sake. He had no right to be so handsome.

“Niko’s an incredible girl, but do be careful with her manga recommendations… some can be rather indecent.”

Monty looks at him, his brown eyes wide as he meets gentle green and this time he feels less clumsy, less like someone’s short circuited him.

“I had a look at the ones she sent me and I’m pretty sure half of them are porn… also I’m surprised how many protagonists she managed to find who look like me.”

Edwin smiles too then, and it’s a little bit smug, a contented sort of smile that makes Monty’s heart skip a beat in his chest.

“She does have a knack for that sort of thing, before Charles and I got engaged, she was constantly showing me cartoons of men who looked suspiciously like myself and my husband. She even managed to find one of a marriage that looked like us both which she sent the day we got engaged. I hadn’t even told her that I was proposing,” he shakes his head, his eyes finding Charles across the room. “I asked him privately first, then we had a more public proposal afterwards for our friends.”

Monty had thought that he’d never heard anyone sound more adoring than Charles talking about Edwin, but the way Edwin spoke of his husband, the way his expression softened, his gaze tender and loving at the recollection of his proposal… it made something deep inside of Monty ache, gnawing and tearing as he was reminded that he would never be loved like that.

“That’s really cute… you two make a really beautiful couple.”

Edwin glanced at Monty then, his eyebrows raising just a fraction,

“Thank you Monty. So, Charles tells me you have a particular interest in astrology?”

Monty can’t help but flush, the familiar prickle of shame at his interests rushing through him. He wasn’t sure when it had started, when the things he loved had become something shameful, something he hid instead of indulging himself in. He never used to shut up, would always chatter away to whoever would listen. One person had listened for a long time, had let Monty read his palm and point out constellations and their meanings then kissed him under the stars. That had been a very long time ago. Things had changed after that.

At some point he’d started letting the teasing from people at school get to him, then when he’d dropped out, he’d let Esther’s dismissal and lack of interest in his life get to him too. He’d stopped talking about the stars, hid his books away under his pillow like, and instead of being proud of what he liked, he’d become ashamed. Talking to Niko had been different, because she was shameless. She talked about her explicit mangas and her comics with a sense of unabashed pride and that gave Monty the confidence to open up too but Edwin…?

“Um, yeah, I… I really like astrology. I think there’s something so beautiful about being able to understand life through the stars.”

Edwin nodded, his lips pursing.

“As much as I respect your interests, I’m afraid I do not believe that human interactions are dictated by stars”

Monty stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows raised, before he laughed. “Wow okay, that’s judgemental … Uh, but also charmingly stubborn. Capricorn?”

Edwin had opened his mouth to speak, but at Monty’s remark he snapped it closed again, his head tilting as he blinked. Monty was captivated by his mannerisms immediately, how expressive he was for such a… put together man. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

He grinned at Edwin then, because he was right. He always was.

“2,400 years of patterns can’t be all wrong, right? I can give you a reading if you want.”

Edwin’s refusal was immediate, the way his nostrils flared and his lips turned down at the corner, but he caught himself before he spoke aloud.

“Hard to get, I respect it.”

“No- forgive me Monty, I am… often dismissive of others without intending to be. I - I would be very much interested in a - a reading?”

A delighted sense of childish glee ran through Monty and he beamed at Edwin, unable to keep the excitement down.

“Right now? Cause I have tarot cards at home but I obviously didn’t bring them but I can read your palm if you wanted me too?” He offered, his hands outstretched.

Tentatively, Edwin reaches out, placing a hand in Monty’s and his skin is soft, delicate and cool in Monty’s own icy fingers.

He studies his palm for a moment, holding it on one hand as he trails his fingertips delicately along the creases and folds.

“Well, you’re an Earth sign but you have air hands, which mean that you’re an intellectual, with an innate ability to be analytical and curious about everything. People tend to say that air hands are good communicators but I disagree, I think it’s a sign of being eloquent and able to verbalise things as opposed to being good at communicating…” Monty pauses, glancing up at Edwin as he shrugs.

“Communication is hard, I don’t believe one type naturally excels at it.”

Before Edwin can answer him, his focus is back on his hand.

“Air hands always need something to do, otherwise they get anxious or edgy. They’re in tune with their emotions and intuition but not always in a way that they’re able to self soothe and regulate… air hands tend to get too dependant on solving problems that aren’t their own.”

Monty traced a finger along one of the lines of Edwin’s skin.

“This is your head line, it means a lot of things but most notably the lessons we need to learn in life. Yours is really deep, which means that you have very complex mental pursuits… but we already knew that with the fact you’re doing a PhD .” Monty grinned, “yours is completely straight until this break, and then it’s wavy afterwards… this means that you’re a very traditional person, or at least you were… a break means either mental distress or a breakthrough or epiphany… then it’s wavy, meaning you’ve become more accepting and open minded. A break like that, a person like you… I’d assume either a near death experience or something distressing and an epiphany, maybe realising you were queer?” He glanced up again, quickly following it up with: “you don’t need to tell me. I don’t need to know your private matters, the point of all of this is internal reflection.”

“Your heart line begins below your index finger which means you’re content in you relationships, but there’s also a single break…” Monty faltered for a moment, unsure of whether he should tell Edwin.

“And… that means heartbreak. Well - no, actually, no. Not heartbreak, but multiple lovers. I don’t know, the heart line is kind of stupid.”

He moves quickly on, explaining every single thing until finally, he runs out of things to say.

He glances up as he releases Edwin’s hand, his cheeks flushing pink again. He expects boredom, expects dismissal and distaste or really anything negative, but Edwin is smiling.

More than that, he looks completely soft, his expression tender as he watches Monty. There’s something that Monty doesn’t quite recognise in his eyes and as he withdraws his hand, it only grows.

“Thank you Monty, that was… that was remarkably insightful. I cannot say that I have been converted into belief but… I am… surprised by the accuracy of some things.”

And Monty feels a warmth he has never felt before.

The rest of the night passes, and ends with Charles walking Monty and Cassie out to their taxi. Cassie had fallen asleep in the spare room early into the evening, and was now curled up in Monty’s arms, fast asleep. 

“Thank you for such a nice evening, I really enjoyed myself.” He admits, his eyes shining as he looks up at Charles. Warmed by alcohol and good food and good conversation, Monty thinks in this moment that maybe this is the happiest he’s been for a long time… maybe the happiest he’s felt in his entire life.

And then Charles Payne-Rowland smiles at him, and Monty knows that this is the best day of his life.

As Charles returns to the house, Edwin greets him with a tender kiss, his forehead resting against his husband’s.

“I get it Charles. I really do.”

——————

It had only been a couple of weeks since the dinner party, and Charles had invited Monty out. Apparently it had been Niko’s idea, she’d taken one look at Monty and immediately knew that he needed a night off somewhere with alcohol and gay people and she’d very graciously offered to babysit Cassie…

But only if Monty let her pick his outfit.

How could he say no?

Crystal and Niko took their time dressing Monty up, going through their collections of skirts and tops and accessories until they settled on the perfect outfit.

An ankle length flowy black skirt of Crystals, paired with a skin tight black crop top with skeleton hands over the chest area, along with a soft cropped purple cardigan of Niko’s that she’d carefully draped off of one shoulder.

They’d gone simplistic with the jewellery, a pair of dangly crow skull earrings that Crystal dug out of a forgotten box, a pair of pearls for his seconds and little star studs for his thirds, filling his ears with shiny things. Niko had found a pearl choker for him, as well as a tangle of different silver chains to compliment the ones he already wore.

Then the makeup.

Monty liked to wear a little bit of eyeliner and maybe some eyeshadow and mascara on occasion but he hadn’t worn much in a very very long time.

Esther had used to make sure he was as pretty as he could be, so would sit him down and paint him pretty in front of her vanity until he learnt how to do it himself.

It had been uncomfortable at first, the way Niko and Crystal had held his face, fingers far too close to his throat for comfort, and the way they’d dabbed at him with powder and paint and brushes… but slowly… ever so slowly… he relaxed.

Because they never once pointed out his imperfections. They called him pretty and beautiful and never handsome. They were gentle and kind and Monty realised that he felt safe with them.

Because he was safe.

They fussed over him, taking care to do him up and when he finally opened his eyes to look in the mirror.

It was not Monty Finch who looked back.

He’d been expecting to look in the mirror and see the boy he had been all those years ago, see hauntingly dark eyes peeking out from black waves, lips pouty and red with lipstick oh so perfectly designed to be smeared across his face. His hair had been so much shorter then, barely glancing the top of his shoulders but he’d let it grow, let himself step away from the scared little doll of Esther’s that he’d been.

His hair hung down the middle of his back now, he’d started growing it out when he was 17 and things had gone to shit and… well… he liked it.

It curled a little at the ends, hanging in waves around his shoulders and there was probably some semblance of texture if he actually took any care of it, but that was expensive and frankly he liked the way it looked. He tended to keep it pulled back, either in a claw clip or in a loose bun - a habit he’d picked up when Cassie had been in her grab and yank anything and everything phase. She’d paid particular attention to his hair, much to his dismay and the protest of his scalp, so instead of cutting it he’d started tying it.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he realised for the first time that he was pretty.

He knew he was pretty, he’d always known he was pretty, but this… this was something else.

He wasn’t just good looks thrown together in the body of a boy, he was actually pretty.

There had never been a time in his life when he’d looked at himself and been genuinely content but there was something about the contrast of soft femininity and sharp angles, the dark shades of his hair against the pallor of his skin and the smoke and glitter that the girls had smeared across the lids of his eyes. They’d skipped the lipstick in favour of lipliner and gloss, bringing definition to his full, pouty lips and he just did not look like himself.

He loved it.

He stared at himself in the mirror, unconsciously trailing his hands down his hips, across the hem of the skirt until he was grasping at the fabric. God.

He’d have to ask them to do this again.

He turned to face the two, unable to keep from grinning at the two, a childlike sense of glee at being pretty bubbling up inside of him.

“I love it.”

Niko cheered, clapping her hands together as she leant back against her girlfriend, surveying Monty proudly, like an artist might a painting, or a sculpture.

“You’ll definitely attract a cute guy… or two.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and Monty felt something lurch in his stomach at the implication, but she was smiling and he let himself push it away. She definitely wasn’t talking about… them … was she…?

The doorbell rang then, announcing the arrival of Charles and Edwin and Niko skipped away down the hall, eagerly greeting them.

Leaving Monty with Crystal.

He hadn’t really spent any actual time alone with Crystal yet, but he couldn’t shake the notion that she did not like him, and the way she was looking at him as he turned back to her… well, that didn’t help.

He avoided her gaze in favour of scooping Cassie up from where she’d been sitting watching them do his makeup, letting her snuggle up into him as Crystal cleared her throat.

Fuck.

He wasn’t getting out of this one.

He glanced up at her, biting back the discomfort as their eyes met.

“Edwin and Charles are good guys.”

She said firmly, crossing her arms as she looked down at him.

“They’re putting an awful lot of money and time into you and Cass, so don’t you think for one second that you can get away with taking advantage of their generosity.” She narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze scrutinising.

“They trust you, I don’t yet. So just know that if you do anything to them, take advantage of them in any way … I will be there, and I will ruin your life Monty Finch.”

He stared at her, and she stared at him until he nodded, his grip tightening ever so slightly on Cassie. For a fleeting, horrible second he felt as if he was back with Esther, back being threatened that if he dared mess up he’d be at her mercy, at her feet begging for her to forgive him.

But he wasn’t.

He’d escaped, and Crystal wasn’t Esther.

“I won’t.” He whispered, his voice coming out slightly more forced than he’d intended.

“I swear I- I won’t.”

They were interrupted then by Charles and Edwin entering the room, accompanied by Niko. There was a whistle from Charles and Monty blushed, hiding himself in Cassie as the pair admired his outfit.

“Monty mate you look aces !” Charles said, his tone awed as his gaze raked up and down.

“This was such a good idea, I like… need to see you in more of those skirts.”

Monty felt like he had choked, Charles’ compliment doing absolutely for the flush creeping up his cheekbones and down his neck. He tossed compliments around so easily, and while Monty wasn’t exactly unused to being adored he was not used to being the object of attention from someone like Charles Payne-Rowland. Especially not in front of his husband.

The husband whose gaze seemed to be fixed on the line of Monty’s stomach exposed by the low hem of the skirt and the crop top.

Monty chose not to focus on that.

Monty kissed Cassie goodbye as Charles and Edwin dragged him away, making Crystal and Niko promise they’d call him immediately if anything was wrong, to which they’d both immediately refused and said they’d only interrupt his much deserved evening out unless it was a genuine emergency.

They took a taxi to the couple’s favourite gay bar, a place Monty had yet to visit. It was rather innocuous, aside from the pride flags hanging from the second floor windows, but as they pushed the door open… it was incredible.

It was brightly lit with various colours, pink and blue and purple reflecting off of the disco balls hanging from the ceiling. There was queer art hanging on the walls, as well as massive decals of drag artists and queer iconography. It was beautiful.

Edwin had explained that the building had used to be a bank, hence the high ceilings and the interior architecture and Monty was frankly a little awed.

Charles had taken his hand to help him out of the taxi and for some inexplicable reason hadn’t let go, so Monty’s fingers were still intertwined with his as the two of them followed behind Edwin.

As they approached the bar, Edwin was captive in conversation with someone wearing a fur coat, with sandy hair slicked back in finger waves. They were slightly shorter than Edwin despite their chunky boots and from behind with the skirt that barely touched their knees, Monty couldn’t quite tell what their identity was.

Unfortunately, as Edwin’s attention flickered to where Charles and Monty had come up behind them, they turn.

And Monty’s blood is suddenly ice in his veins.

There is a ringing in his ears as he drops Charles’ hand like it had burnt him, his throat seeming to close up on itself.

He doesn’t know what to do.

          “-Monty, this is Thomas King, Thomas this is Monty-“

“Finch. Oh believe me, I am well aware,”

Thomas was suddenly crowding Monty, a finger reaching out to curl under his chin, sharp acrylic nails digging into the skin as he lifted his face up. He was far too close, his lips twisted in a familiar smirk that made his stomach churn.

“ Hello little bird.”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

Monty’s voice came out as a frantic hiss, but he couldn’t move to pull himself away, couldn’t escape the man before him.

Thomas’s smirk turns into a wicked grin as he gasps dramatically, the hand that wasn’t touching Monty fluttering to his chest, before reaching out and taking a fistful of his cardigan.

“Oh little bird, that’s no way to treat such an old friend.”

Monty can’t see Edwin, but he can see Charles, can see the way his expression has morphed into one of genuine confusion as he looks between the two.

“You guys know each other?”

Monty doesn’t know how to answer as Thomas glances over at Charles, still grinning.

“Don’t you know? Monty and I practically grew up together.”

Edwin speaks up, and Monty’s stomach sinks as he hears his voice, his skin crawling from the situation.

“Excuse me? How… what?”

Thomas drops Monty’s chin then and spins on his heels, clasping his hands together emphatically.

“Well, Monty and I both so happened to grow up in a little seaside town in Washington together, same school and all that. It’s a shame though, I didn’t exactly get along with him half the time, not with his bitch of a mother.”

He turned back to face Monty, his green-gold eyes glittering in the led lighting.

”How is the darling Esther? Still keep in contact with mommy?”

Monty feels like he’s about to throw up, or pass out, or maybe both simultaneously. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, feel his pulse racing under his skin as he fights back a shudder of pure visceral disgust.

“Get off of me.” He manages to choke, his tone suddenly bitter and sharp as he jerks back out of Thomas’s grip, before suddenly his eyes widen with horror.

“What are you doing here? You- you can’t- you can’t tell her, Thomas how did you find me?-“

He’s cut off in his rambling by Thomas trailing a nail over his lips, and it’s infuriating how good he’s always been at getting Monty to shut up, how much power he holds.

“Little bird I’m here for the same reasons as you. Freedom. Port Townsend was a drag, I needed a change of scenery. You however…”

He’s back in Monty’s space again, his gaze flickering up and down with ravishing curiosity as he circles him, taking in all the changes since the last time their paths had crossed.

“Last I heard, the pretty little son of Esther Finch had died .”

Monty’s eyes snapped to Thomas’s, brown meeting green-gold as every emotion flickered through him, before he settled on utter confusion.

“What?”

“Your funeral was rather a… miserable affair, I must say. As I recall you only had a handful of people attend. That woman played quite the grieving mother, all dressed in black… although I must say the red lipstick was a bold choice.”

Thomas grins again, then trails a finger along a dark loc of hair, twisting the ends around his knuckle.

“But you didn’t die. You flew away, escaped over the sea…”

Monty swallowed, his mind racing with questions he didn’t know if he could ask.

“You can’t tell her, Thomas, Tommy please. You can’t tell her I’m here, I can’t go back.”

Thomas shakes his head, dropping his hair in favour of crossing his arms across his chest and regarding Monty through narrowed eyes.

“None of my business little bird, tell her yourself, if she even needs to know. But perhaps I should ask why you’re here? Surely mommy dearest didn’t kick you out? How could she, not when that pretty little mouth works so hard for her? How could she ever get rid of her favourite runner.. Speaking of, if you ever need work… I know your tricks.”

Monty freezes then, his breath hitching in the back of his throat as the ringing rushes back, drowning out everything other than the man before him. His knees suddenly feel weak, the nausea and dizziness hitting him like a truck as he tries to do anything, to say anything to get Thomas to stop .

Apparently he doesn’t need to though, because Thomas’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and poorly contained glee and he’s looking between Edwin and Charles - both whom are standing watching the interaction with genuine confusion, before he looks back at Monty and grins, raising his eyebrows at him.

“They don’t know. Oh birdie… whoops, I guess I’m always saying the quiet bits out loud.”

A hand comes up and catches Monty’s jaw then, tilting his face up to catch the light, before he presses forwards and catches his mouth in a brief, chaste kiss. He’s gone as soon as he was there, releasing his chin again.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten little birdie… how fascinating .”

He looks between the man before him and the two on either side, before he’s gone, and Monty doesn’t know what to do.

His world feels like it’s suddenly come crashing down around him and he can’t breathe because Edwin and Charles are staring at him and Charles is saying something and -

Chapter Text

Monty turns on his heel and runs, because it’s the one thing he knows how to do, But Charles catches up to him immediately.

They’re outside, and the cold air bites at Monty’s cheeks as he sinks into Charles’s embrace.

Charles strokes a hand through Monty’s hair, holding him close. He has no idea what’s going on, he doesn’t understand the interaction he just witnessed but he can tell that Monty is rattled, and whatever the truth of the situation is, Monty needs to calm down.

“You’re alright mate.”

Monty calms down surprisingly quickly, retracting himself from Charles’s arms in favour of wrapping around himself and so Charles offers him a cigarette.

He’s not entirely sure why he does, because he hardly even smokes anymore, more just carries a pack around for the comfort of it, but something about the situation begs for it.

Monty takes the smoke, and Charles lights it for him, then lights his own, and they just stand there in the cold. They don’t speak, just stand next to each other, watching smoke curl up into the night air and something settled between them. They head back inside shortly after, and as they sit back down with Edwin, Charles is the first to speak, his hand gentle on Monty’s shoulder.

“Monty, you don’t have to talk about it right now, yeah? You don’t have to talk about it ever if you don’t want to but… what’s most important is are you safe? Thomas King deals in some shady shit and if you’re caught up in that we can help you.”

Edwin is watching them both, his brow furrowed and lips pursed together in a perfectly straight line. It’s clear that he doesn’t trust the situation, that he doesn’t trust Monty - clearly he knows Thomas better than Charles does - but he also looks worried about him and that is surprising.

“I left… that … behind me.”

Monty starts, his voice shaking as he stares at the floor.

“Thomas and I… we were friends, years ago, but I left Washington for a reason. There have been things in my life that I’m not proud of but… my past is in the past.”

He looks up, gaze flicking between the two.

“I don’t know if I-“ his voice falters and he swallows. “I don’t know if I can talk about it, but I promise there’s nothing to worry about.”

Charles is the first to accept it, nodding and stepping forwards, wrapping his arm around  Monty’s shoulders and pulling him into his chest.

“You don’t have to talk about it, seriously. But as long as you’re safe and everything’s okay, that’s all that matters. Fresh start and all that, yeah? You’re brills Monty, we care about you.”

It’s only then that Edwin nods, a right, curt movement but he too steps forwards, a hand resting on Monty’s bicep.

“What Charles says is correct. Your safety and security is our number one priority and if Thomas King is an unpleasant reminder of what you have left behind then we shall endeavour to avoid his presence.”

And there is something about the way that Edwin says ‘ our ’ priority, how his words are a little awkward and far too fancy for the circumstance but there is meaning behind it that eases Monty’s discomfort. The two really aren’t trying to push him, and it makes that little part inside of Monty that is always looking for a way to escape settle down a little… because maybe he can accept that he is safe with the two.

“Can we get that drink now?”

—————

The night passes in a blur of drinks and dancing and for the first time in a very long time, Monty Finch has let loose.

He lets himself forget the stress of life, at least for a little while, and he lets Charles and Edwin buy him drinks without worrying about paying them back.

He hugs them both as they drop him off at his apartment in their Uber, promising to text them the next morning after he’d picked up Cassie and Edwin and Charles are left alone.
Edwin picks up immediately that something is wrong, because as soon as Monty leaves, Charles is hiding away, his head resting against the class of the car window. He doesn’t mention it though, not until they get home.

They’ve both stripped and changed into their sleep clothes and settled down into bed, it being too late and both of them a little too drunk for any other activities that evening and as normal, Edwin reaches for Charles and -

Charles shies away.

Edwin just stares at his husband for a moment, then he frowns, propping himself up on his elbow.

“Charles.”

He says quietly, his tone firm as he tries to catch his attention.

“Can you look at me please?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Edwin does not want to have to force his husband to listen to him, but Charles rolls over before he has to ask him again and to Edwin’s horror there are tears in his eyes.

Edwin reaches out again, the pads of his fingers resting against Charles’ cheekbone and for a moment it seems as if his husband is going to withdraw from him again… but he doesn’t.

Instead he blinks and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“Charles .”

Edwin whispers, his heart breaking for his husband before him, because he has no idea what’s wrong which means he has no idea how to fix it.

Charles reaches up, his hand wrapping around Edwin’s wrist and he’s clearly uncertain whether he should push him away or pull him closer, so he does neither and just holds him as he tries to find his words.

“Ed… I… I’m such a terrible husband.”

His voice cracks, another tear trickling down his cheek, rolling over his nose at the angle he was lying.

“Charles, I assure you that is utterly untrue, talk to me my love, why do you think that?”

Edwin shifted closer to him, his knee pressing against his husband’s as the two lay there together.

“Because- because I’m supposed to dedicate myself to you and love you and I do but I- I… I’m-“ he made a noise that was half a sob and half frustrated and Edwin sighed, his thumb catching the next tear and swiping it off of his cheek.

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but is this about Monty?”

Charles cracks then, pushing himself up and away from Edwin so he can bury his face in his knees, sitting up against the headboard.

“Yes.” He sobs, and he sounds so utterly miserable.

“I’m so fucking sorry Edwin, I don’t - I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“Hush my love, what happened? Did he do something to you?”

Edwin asks carefully, resting a hand on the small of Charles’ back. He wanted to sweep his husband into his arms and kiss him until he stopped crying, to ease any shred of self doubt or frustration that was there, but he knew that that wasn’t what Charles wanted. He needed to get this out of his system and Edwin would grant him that.

Charles shakes his head, still hiding his face in his arms as he shakily whispers,

“I think I’m in love with him.”

The silence in the room is thick and it only serves to fuel Charles distress, his breath catching as he braces himself for the worst. He expects shouting, excepts anger, expects Edwin to kick him out and instead he gets…

Laughter?

“Oh my love,” Edwin coos, his free hand stroking Charles’ curls as he chuckles.

“I apologise, I do not mean to laugh at you, but this is what you were so worried about? Your feelings are no secret from me, I know you’re interested in Monty, it’s about time you realised.”

Charles looks up, his eyes red and shining with tears and he looks desperate as he searches Edwin’s expression for any hint of sarcasm or mocking. He doesn’t find it, all he sees is love and acceptance, support for Charles’ feelings without any trace of anger or betrayal.

He stares at Edwin, before he surges forwards and wraps his husband in a needy embrace, hiding his face in the crook of his shoulder as he sobs.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense. You have no reason to apologise. Monty is a rather charming individual and it doesn’t take a genius to see that he is utterly besotted with you.”

Edwin’s words clearly strike some chord inside of Charles because he jerks back, his brow furrowing into an expression of disbelief.

“What? Monty doesn’t - Monty’s not interested in me.”

Edwin reaches up to cup Charles’ face again, his expression soft as he smiles down at his husband.

“Of course he is my love. He trusts you completely. He trusts you with himself, but more important he trusts you with Cassiopeia, his daughter, his world . He looks at you as if you are the most beautiful creature on this earth and I know that feeling well because I share the sentiment.” He murmured, brushing a thumb over Charles’ lip.

“Charles Payne-Rowland, you are the most considerate and kind person I have ever had the privilege of knowing. I know you, I know your feelings and I know that you would never do anything to hurt either me or Monty.”

Charles opens his mouth to speak, but Edwin shushes him, gently shaking his head.

“You have such big feelings, and I know that I am not capable of holding all of your love to myself, which is why I want to say that if you wanted to pursue something of a… romantic nature with Monty then I… I do not wish to stop you. In fact, I am in support of it.”

Charles stares at Edwin, and Edwin looks fondly back at his husband. They’re both a little drunk, and it’s late, but Edwin is completely sincere as he holds Charles’ gaze.

It’s Charles who speaks first though, his voice shaky and hesitant as he asks.

“…why?”

And Edwin smiles.

“Because I can see why. Monty is… an interesting individual. He’s pretty, he’s kind, he’s genuine. He is passionate about such little things and… I can see why he is the object of your affections Charles.”

And it’s true. Completely true. Monty is beautiful and passionate, both over his interests and for his daughter. He’s smart, creative and Edwin hasn’t spent the greatest length of time with the man but he has always been captivated by the conversations they’ve had because Monty seems to understand him in a way that Edwin is unfamiliar with. With the exception of Charles, people tend to find Edwin confusing and a little annoying, and are rarely willing to listen to him talk about his PhD but Monty did. Monty listened. And he engaged, he asked questions and paid attention and he made Edwin feel truly heard.

Edwin could completely understand why Charles would fall for him.

Charles takes a shuddering breath, then nods, his grip tightening on his husband.

“Can we talk about this again tomorrow? I - I love you so much, so so much.”

They fall asleep tangled together like they do every night, and the next morning they talk.

A few days pass and they do not see Monty beyond him chatting to Charles at drop off and pick up for Cassie, but things don’t feel weird or awkward.

Things feel good  

—————

Charles’s phone ringing wakes Edwin up before it does Charles and he groans, shaking his husband’s shoulder.

“My love, your phone.”

“Wha-? Oh, fuck off.” Comes the grumbled reply as a hand reaches out from the covers and smacks at the bedside table. He’s still got his face tucked into Edwin’s shoulder, feeling blindly for his phone. He snags it and answers without looking, holding it near enough to his face.

“Hello?”

“Hi- fuck I’m so sorry for calling so late I- fuck .”

Charles is sitting up in an instant, blinking himself awake and Edwin follows, a concerned hand settling on his husband’s thigh.

“Monty? Mate is everything okay? Is Cassie okay?”

“Cassie’s fine, it’s me, I’m - I - I need help, there’s no one else I can call I don’t know anyone and you said to call if I needed anything and I- I really- I need something.”

He sounds frantic, his words stumbling over each other, and it sounds as if he’s been crying.

“What do you need? I can come over? You can come over? Do you need to go to the hospital? Talk to me Monty, how can I help you?” Charles asks quickly, fumbling as he turns on their bedside light.

Edwin’s concern has only grown, the room quiet enough that he can hear every word of the call, despite Charles’s phone not being on speaker.

“I’m not hurt, I’m- I’m - fuck, fuck , I can’t drive, my car still doesn’t work but I- I can’t stay here, please can I come over? I’ll call a taxi or something-“

“No. Absolutely not. I’ll pick you up, are you at home? I’ll come get you, okay? Just try and stay calm, okay?”

“Okay. Please. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Charles is ringing the buzzer only 20 minutes later, and he’s immediately let up. He hasn’t been to Monty’s actual apartment before, but he knows how to find it.

He’s about to knock when he realises the door is unlocked, so he pushes it open instead, calling out.

“Monty? It’s Charles.”

There’s a rustling from the end of the hall, then Monty appears, and he looks wretched.

His face is red and tearstained, cheeks puffy and lashes wet as he sniffs miserably. He’s wrapped in a soft turquoise blanket with fluffy pink socks bunched up around his ankles, his thin shoulders shaking as he looks up at Charles.

“Cassie’s in the bedroom I- I couldn’t be around her like this,” he sniffs, then shudders, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

“I’m sorry.”

He’s shaking and clearly struggling to breathe normally, and it’s immediately obvious that either he’s about to have a panic attack or he currently is having one, and this is something Charles knows how to deal with.

“Don’t apologise. You go sit for a minute and I’ll go check on Cassie yeah?” 

The apartment is tiny now that Charles is inside, just a bedroom, a toilet with a shower and a joint kitchen and living room area. There’s barely enough space for one person, and judging by the way most surfaces are covered in books and kids toys and drying clothes, it’s definitely not enough space for two. He pushes the door of the bedroom open and finds Cassie curled up in the middle of a double bed, clutching a stuffed toy to her chest. As the light from the hallway spills into the room she blinks up at him, hazy and half asleep, but so small and vulnerable and Charles’ heart aches with his care for her.

He crouches by the side of the bed, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear as he smiles at her.

“Hi baby, we’re going to take a little trip.”

She stares at him, then nods, clearly fighting to keep her eyes open as she grabs onto Charles’ hand and wraps her little fingers around his thumb.

“Is daddy okay?” She asks quietly, her voice full of concern. “Daddy gets really sad sometimes and he’s very sad today.”

God this poor darling girl and her poor father.

“Daddy’s fine sweetheart, he’s just needs some support.” He says gently.

“But we’re going to take a trip to my house, okay? You wanna grab anything?”

She shakes her head, so Charles stands and finds a change of clothes for her, as well as the baby bag that Monty normally brings for her. The bedroom is as messy as the rest of the tiny apartment, but it’s very clear that Monty has taken the time to make it his.

There are glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and art in the walls. Some of it is Cassie’s, carefully racked up on display, but there’s a collection of astrological posters and a couple of illustrations that Charles doesn’t recognise, but as he gets closer, he realised that they must have been made by Monty because the edges of the paper are rough from where they’ve been carefully torn from a notebook and the ink is a little smudged in places. There is so much about him that Charles doesn’t know and as he stands and here in the middle of his bedroom with his daughter, he wants - no, he needs - to find out about him. He wants to know everything that makes Monty smile, wants to know his interests, his dislikes, his past, his future. And he wants Monty to know the same about him.

Now is very much not the time though, so with Cassie’s bag slung over his shoulder he wraps her firmly up in a blanket and scoops her up into his arms.

Monty’s waiting for them in the hallway, having discarded his blanket for an actual coat, and he’s gripping his keys so tightly his knuckles are turning white. He’s barely holding it together, but he refuses to let Cassie see him break down. So he doesn’t. Charles manages to get the two back to his house, and as he carries a half asleep Cassie up the driveway, the front door opens.

Monty’s collapsing into Edwin’s arms before he can speak, the two of them falling to their knees with the sudden weight change. He’s hyperventilating, his breath coming in desperate little gasps as he fights to calm down and he doesn’t know what else to do other than clutch at Edwin. He’d started to crack in the car and now he was safe, now Cassie had someone to look after her and keep her distracted, and he could fall apart. He can vaguely hear Charles talking to Cassie and that eases him marginally, but he’s still very much in the depths of a panic attack and he doesn’t know what to do.

Thankfully, Edwin does.

He takes one of Monty’s hands and holds it against his chest, the other propping him up by his shoulders.

“Calm that breathing down Monty, copy me. Deep breaths.”

He takes a slow, deliberate inhale and watches as Monty struggles to copy him, his eyes wild and wide as he tries his hardest to calm down.

It’s a sight that Edwin is so uncomfortably familiar with, and he is horrified by the fact that Monty is affected by his own mind in such a way too.

They sit there and breathe until it no longer feels like there is fire in Monty’s lungs, Edwin’s heart - slow and steady - beneath his fingers giving him a beat to follow.

Once Cassie has been tucked into bed and Charles has made certain she was asleep, he joins the two, still on the floor of the hallway. He snags a blanket from the living room on his way and drapes it across Monty’s shoulders, then takes a seat at his side and pulls him back so his weight is resting against his chest.

“We’ve got you mate, you’re safe here.”

He whispers, and Monty’s trembling form buried into his embrace.

With the two at his side, it doesn’t take long for Monty to calm down, the panic that had gripped him finally bleeding away the warmth and security that was Edwin and Charles. It was Edwin who suggests they move, his hand resting on Monty’s knee. They relocate to the living room and Charles doesn’t let go of Monty once, just adjusts his grip as they settle down on the sofa. There’s a tiny little part of him that is horrified by this, that is screaming at Monty that he needs to get Charles off of him and there is the overwhelming majority of him that needs him to stay there, that will lose it again if he lets go. So Monty says nothing, and allows himself to relax back into the sturdy warmth of his chest.

Edwin offers him some water or tea pr something to eat, all of which Monty refuses and Edwin promptly ignores. He returns a minute later with a glass of water and a plate with a cut up apple neatly arranged in silences, a couple of digestives and some squares of chocolate with little chunks of fruit and nut in it. He sets the plate on the side and hands Monty the water, a little furrow between his eyebrows as he takes his seat.

“Your body needs plenty of calories after a panic attack, please try to eat something Monty.”

It’s so genuinely thoughtful and so kind that Monty is helpless to stop the wet sniffle that escapes him, along with the tears that slip down his cheeks again.

“I’m sorry - thank you, that’s really nice of you, I- I’m just, I’m not upset, I’m just emotional.” He stumbles over his words, but there’s a comforting squeeze of his shoulder and Monty is reminded that he doesn’t need to explain himself to these two. They understand.

“No apologising mate. These things happen. You wanna talk about what happened?”

Monty hesitates, busies himself in taking a drink of water, and then he nods.

Because for the first time he wants to open up. He wants to share.

“Um, you remember the other day when we bumped into Thomas King at that bar? He… um, seeing him really just dredged up a whole bunch of shit I really didn’t want to think about and most of it- most-“ his voice cracks, but neither of the two try and hurry him, they sit in comfortable silence, giving Monty the space and time that he needs.

“My mom is - was -  she-“

Charles’ grip tightens fractionally against him, so slight that Monty would have assumed he’d imagined it were it not for the way Edwin’s gaze instinctively flickers to his husband. He doesn’t question it though, he just takes advantage of the comfort to ease him through the words, to help him admit the truth.

“I guess… I guess abusive is the best way to put it. She did things… she made me do things that I - I’m not proud of, and I… I haven’t been able to stop thinking and I’ve been having flashbacks and nightmares and I woke up and I just couldn’t breathe because I couldn’t get her out of my head.”

He expects Charles to speak first, given his reaction to Monty’s mention of his mom but it’s Edwin who moves. He reaches out, his hand settling back on Monty’s knee and there’s a grim determination in his eyes. It raises questions, makes him wonder what on Earth these two wonderful men have had to suffer through, makes him wonder why they get it so much better than others.

“Trauma is a fickle thing, it gets you when you least expect it and I am sorry you’ve had to suffer Monty,” he says gently, firmly.

“Bad things happen to good people and it’s just not fair when it stops you living. I used to get nightmares much the same as you described and it… it’s hard.”

There is something lodged in Monty’s throat as he tries to breathe, something he doesn’t know how to explain and it aches with the tenderness of Edwin’s words.

“Shitty parents are the worst mate.” Charles whispers then, shifting to wrap Monty in a hug, his chin resting on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’ve escaped her, yeah? You’re free now. You got us and you got Crystal and Niko and you got Cassie.”

They don’t talk about their pasts anymore, because Monty’s suddenly exhausted and he yawns, curling up into himself. He won’t sleep though, because nights like these he’ll just end up having nightmare after nightmare which he doesn’t massively want.

“Cassie’s in the spare room right? I’ll go check on her and sleep with her.”

He goes to push himself up, but neither Charles nor Edwin let him, sharing a look he doesn’t understand over his head.

“No, mate, come on. Stay the night with us. Cassie’s fine, we’ve got space for the three of us.”

Charles is nervous offering despite himself, despite the fact that Edwin has just told him it’s fine, he’s nervous that Monty will refuse or that he’ll be uncomfortable. And for a moment his heart sinks because Monty’s eyes widen and he looks genuinely confused, and then strangely sad.

“But if I have another nightmare I’ll wake you up and I’ve already disturbed you enough-“

“If you have another one then we’ll be here to help you.”

Edwin’s thumb rubs a comforting circle across Monty’s knee.

“I always find that sleeping next to someone helps when I’m… struggling.”

So Monty goes.

He checks on Cassie, then allows himself to be coaxed to bed by the two. The mattress is huge, more than enough space for the three to sleep independently and yet Monty falls asleep sandwiched between the two, with Charles at his back, strong arms wrapped firmly around his chest, holding him securely against him. Monty’s spine pressed flush to his shockingly warm chest, Charles’ face tucked into the back of his neck. He could feel the tickle of his curls and his steady breathing against his own hair, regular and deep and comforting in a way Monty couldn’t explain.

At his front was Edwin, an arm draped across Monty’s waist so his hand rested on his husband’s hip. Monty was tucked into his chest, his forehead resting against his collarbone and Edwin’s shin was pressed against Monty’s socked foot. It was so achingly domestic, so comfortable and safe that it made Monty want to scream and shout and tear at his hair. But he didn’t. Instead he let himself relax in their arms, to embrace the feeling of security the two of them brought him.

He fell asleep faster than he had in a very long time, and he slept deeper than he had in even longer.

The next morning, Monty is awoken to the smell of pancakes and bacon, and to an arm wrapped around his waist.

He turns, and comes face to face with Charles Payne-Rowland’s sleeping husband.

Edwin has an arm slung over him, clearly having drawn Monty into him to fill the space Charles had left - although Monty remembers suddenly that he fell asleep entangled between the two so maybe Edwin just never let go of him, but either way it’s just as perfect as it is painful.

Because this isn’t allowed.

Monty isn’t supposed to be in their bed.

He’s not supposed to be cuddled up to his daughter’s teacher’s husband while said teacher cooks breakfast.

He’s not supposed to have fallen in love with a married man - scratch that.

He’s not supposed to have fallen in love with married men.

He slips out from under Edwin’s embrace, ignoring the way his chest aches a little at the loss of his warmth and shrugs on the first jumper he finds on the floor. He realises immediately that it’s too big to be his, and it smells like Charles, and for a brief second he allows himself to enjoy it as he pads into the kitchen.

The sight he is greeted by makes Monty’s brain white out.

Because Charles Payne-Rowland is standing shirtless in the kitchen, carrying Monty’s daughter effortlessly on his hip as he cooks.

And he’s singing.

And any doubt Monty might have had about his feelings is gone because all he can think is that he is completely, helplessly in love with the sun.

Chapter Text

Charles spots Monty in the doorway and the warmth of the morning sun flooding the kitchen is somehow not the brightest thing in the room as he beams at him.

Cassie spots Monty too and immediately clamours for him, wriggling in Charles’ arms.

“Daddy! Mr Rowland is making pancakes!”

Monty realises then that he’s smiling and steps forwards, scooping his daughter into his arms and kissing the top of her head.

Charles gives his arm a squeeze as he does so, and Monty is infinitely grateful for the hoodie hiding the way his skin immediately breaks into goosebumps.

“Is that so biscuit?” He asks fondly, watching her little face as she snuggles into him contentedly. Since he became a dad, a little part of him that thought only of his daughter was always comforted by seeing her rosy cheeked and happy. And she was. She was warm and clothed and about to be very well fed, she was loved and she was safe and there was nothing else that mattered to Monty as much as his daughter did. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her safe.

“She’s been absolutely brills with me this morning. Helped me set everything up, helped me chop all the fruit too. She’s an aces sous-chef.”

Monty’s heart swells at the thought, at how loved Cassie is by Charles and he buried his face in her hair to hide his smile.

Breakfast is a beautiful affair, full of good food and expensive coffee and the best company. He is blessed by the sight of shirtless Charles in his nothing but his chain and loose check pants slipping an arm around a ruffled Edwin, still hazy with sleep, wrapped in a silk dressing gown over his button up pyjama set. It’s a work of art, one Monty cannot tear his eyes from and he feels woefully insignificant in comparison to the two.

They both quietly check in on him, make sure that he’s coping after his breakdown that previous night and he’s telling the truth when he reassures them that he’s genuinely okay. Because he is.

They talk about random little things and Cassie entertains them all with her beautiful bubbly personality and Monty is content. It must be a coincidence but pancakes have always been his favourite and he knows he told Charles that once, and part of him wants to think that he did this for Monty, wants to be delusional and self indulgent and allow himself to live in a world where he’s loved. And so he does. Just for a little while.

Monty’s devastated when he finally has to leave. He wants nothing more than to stay where he is, to stay in the house of warmth and safety and care for his daughter but he can’t. Because he has to work. Because he has to actually go and slave away at his shitty part time jobs just to afford his shitty apartment and his shitty second hand clothes.

And he cannot allow himself to forget that.

——————

“-Monty?”

The sound of his own name snaps Monty out of his focus and he looks up, pulling his headphones off as he comes face to face with -

“Edwin?”

He’s immediately embarrassed to be seen like this because his cargos are torn and there’s white paint splattered across them from where he repainted the walls of the flat when he and Cassie moved in. His hair is twisted up out of his face in a claw clip and he’s not shaved in a couple of days because he’s been so busy and good god he’s wearing Charles’s hoodie and Edwin looks flawless .

He’s wearing a perfectly pressed button up shirt tucked into a pair of slacks that have been tailored far too well, and he’s wearing an actual sweater vest and bow tie because he’s somehow an 80 year old man in the body of a 24 year old and god does it do something to Monty.

Edwin doesn’t seem put off or disgusted by Monty’s appearance - although Monty has learnt by now that he is not the kind of man to vocally express his distain for such trivial matters, it’s all about the quirk of his eyebrow and the downturn of his lips - and he instead takes a seat across from him.

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

“No - of course not, please sit.”

Monty pulls his piles of books out of Edwin’s way, clearing an ample space for him and he realises his mistake as it exposes the sheet of paper he’s been filling in.

It catches Edwin’s attention immediately and he picks it up before Monty can snatch it away, scanning the lines of text.

“Monty-“ Edwin starts, and Monty cannot face the judgement and the criticism that is to come, he cannot bear to be looked down on by Edwin, the man who is everything Monty is not.

But before Monty can do anything, Edwin reaches across the table and takes his hand. It feels a little odd, he hasn’t shucked his leather gloves yet and the material is smooth and cool against the palm of his hand.

“Monty why haven’t you mentioned this to Charles? Or even myself?”

“Um- I-“ words fail him, his gaze dropping to the piles of paper before him as his cheeks colour pink.

“I… enrolled for some free college classes online. I… I dropped out of school when I was 16 and I haven’t got any kinds of qualifications and any jobs that aren’t shitty part time ones need them so… I’ve been doing them in my free time.” He stammers, unable to meet Edwin’s eyes. He knows he’s academically inferior to the PhD student sitting before him, to the man with two degrees and who lectures undergraduates at university and speaks multiple languages, and he really doesn’t want to see the judgement of Edwin finding out that Monty has no achievements of any kind.

But it never comes.

Instead, Edwin’s fingers curl a little tighter around Monty’s.

“I am… exceptionally proud of you.” Edwin begins, and Monty’s head snaps up in disbelief because he has never heard those words from anyone and he has also never heard such genuine reverence and pride.

“You have your hands full with Cassiopeia and with your work and the fact that you are endeavouring to further your education at the same time? That is truly admirable.”

Monty knows he’s staring at Edwin, knows his disbelief is evident and for some reason Edwin doesn’t stop or laugh at him or give away any sign of joking.

“This is highly respectable Monty, truly.”

He finally finds his words then, because Edwin seems to truly mean this and Monty doesn’t feel judged, or critiqued or afraid.

“Th-thank you?”

They lapse into comfortable silence, Monty turning his attention back to the workbook before him as Edwin unpacks his things. The silence continues for a little while as the two work independently and yet also together, each focusing their attention mostly on their computers and sheets… but also a little bit on each other.

It’s Edwin who breaks it though, clearing his throat as he closes the lid of his computer.

“Monty if you- forgive me for being forward, but if you were interested I would be more than happy to assist you? Or at the very least, we could study together elsewhere? I have my Dissertation to work on and I am often working long hours at the library or in my office at home… you could.. if you were interested perhaps you and Cassie could come to ours sometime and work?”

It’s so beautiful, such a kind suggestion, and shame prickles through Monty at the next secret he’s forced to confess.

“I… don’t have a laptop. I can only do my work here where I can use the library computers.” He admits, breaking the eye contact with Edwin again at he stares at their still linked hands instead.

“But thank you.”

Edwin is quiet for a moment, contemplative.

“I’m sure either Charles or I have one going spare you could use.” He clearly catches Monty’s expression because he backtracks awkwardly, adjusting in his seat.

“Of course it would just be a loan, if would make it easier for you in the short term until you can afford one of your own.”

That eases the knot in Monty’s chest and he doesn’t fight it. Because he doesn’t want to.

He needs a laptop if he’s going to continue getting these classes in because alongside work and Cassie and living, trips to the library are infrequent.

“Okay.”

They work together for a couple of hours before Monty’s alarm goes off and he’s forced to pack up and part with Edwin.

“I have to go pick up Cassie, but… let’s do this again? I enjoyed this.” He asks tentatively, and the warmth of Edwin’s smile is the only answer he needs.

——————

Charles crowds his husband against the wall of the hallway as he walks in, holds him there as he unwinds Edwin’s scarf from around his throat, peels him out of his thick wollen coat and then catches him in a loving kiss. Edwin allows himself to be handled by his husband, and as Charles’ mouth meets his, he settles into him with a contented hum. He’s still wearing his gloves as he reaches up, sliding his hand around the back of his neck and holding him close. He knows how much his husband likes the feeling of leather against his skin, especially Edwin’s gloves.

Early on in their relationship - after the two had escaped school and their families and settled down - Edwin had always caught Charles staring at them, he thought he was slick but there was something about the way his gaze would fix on every little movement and gesticulation of Edwin’s gloved hands. There’d always be something in his eyes, something in his gaze that he recognised exclusively from the bedroom and Edwin had immediately begun to experiment.

He’d started keeping his gloves on a little longer than normal at first, wearing them around the house under the pretext of keeping his fingers warm. Then when Charles had continued to unsubtly stare at Edwin’s hands, he’d begun to touch.

It had been simple at first, holding Charles’ bare hands with his own, then he’d started touching his face, a casual stroke of a thumb across his husband’s cheekbones, across his lips.

And Charles had reacted exactly how Edwin had expected.

It was thrilling.

They’d explored it a little further, although Edwin had drawn the line at using his day to day gloves for anything sexual, so had instead purchased a new pair.

A pair just for them .

They kissed until they were both breathless, and Edwin gently pushed Charles away from him, purely enough to shed the rest of his over clothes and to finally peel off his gloves. He knew Charles liked them, but he had a different idea for what he wanted.

“My love, would you like a cup of tea?” He asked softly, slipping his now bare hand into Charles’.

“Yeah love, that would be great.”

They settle in the kitchen, Charles siting up on the countertop, watching as Edwin bustles around with mugs and teabags and milk.

“What’s on your mind love?”

Edwin pauses, setting the mug in his hand down for a moment as he turns to Charles, and then he smiles.

“Well, you know how I went to the library to work on my dissertation?”

He asks, tilting his head up at Charles before he turns back to the tea, pouring in the milk and handing it to him as Charles nods.

“Well, I ran into someone rather unexpected while I was there.”

Charles happily accepts the tea, placing it down beside him as he reaches out for his husband.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Monty. He - well, I am not sure whether I ought to tell you as he was keeping it secret but I believe it’s pertinent. He’s been taking online college courses to fulfil the school qualifications he didn’t achieve. He doesn’t have a laptop so he’s been using the library computers.”

Edwin presses between Charles’ thighs, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he smiles up at him. It took him a long time to get comfortable with physical contact, especially with Charles, but now after so long he seeks it instinctively. He longs for the familiar warmth of his husband, longs to feel him, so solid and real , at all times.

Charles reaches up to hold onto Edwin, one hand carefully undoing his perfectly coiffed hair, combing through the gel cast to free his curls. The other hand rests on his shoulder, warm and secure through the blue knit of his sweater.

“I offered him a loan of the old one in my office, if you’d be okay with that?”

Charles nods immediately, because how could he not be okay with that? They have far more than they need and if they can help Monty, then he’ll always say yes.

“Of course love.”

Edwin’s smile creases the corners of his eyes and Charles cannot stop himself from bending down to kiss him, and again, and again.

As Charles’ affections move to Edwin’s cheek, then up to his forehead, Edwin relaxes into him, his arms wrapping around his husband’s waist instead of holding him by the hips.

“Charles? I.. I have a confession that I must make.”

That catches Charles’ attention and he stops kissing Edwin’s hairline in favour of pressing their foreheads together.

“You know you can tell me anything, love.”

“I know.” And it’s true . There are no secrets between the two, they are never dishonest with one another because they know that they will always be a team. Any problems are for them to solve together, not separately.

“I… I just wanted to say that I believe I understand your… your feelings for Monty.”

Charles’ breath catches in his throat and he pulls back, cupping Edwin’s face and tilting it up so he can search his expression.

“You’re serious? You mean that?”

Edwin’s nod is a little hesitant, a little shy as his green eyes meet Charles’ brown.

“I do. Monty is- he- I understand Charles, truly I do.”

—————

Charles Payne-Rowland: hey mate, fancy coming over for dinner? Bring Cassie !!

Charles Payne-Rowland: or even let me see if Niko and Crystal are around to babysit for you. You deserve a child free night

Charles Payne-Rowland: not to say that Cassie isn’t aces I love her but you need a chance to sit down and have a glass of wine and be an irresponsible adult

Charles Payne-Rowland: anyway dinner at 7 at ours Crystal and Niko said they’re willing to babysit they can come pick Cassie up from yours or you can drop her off on your way round

Monty blinks himself awake as he feels his phone buzz. It’s inexplicably under his pillow, and almost out of battery as he unlocks it and reads his messages. Cassie is still fast asleep next to him, he’s always tended to wake before her and since they moved to this new apartment, he’s had to learn to be so careful to not jostle the mattress and wake her as he escapes the covers to prepare for their days. Today though, he doesn’t have to move yet, he doesn’t have to go anywhere. He can just relax.

At least for a little.

Monty: dinner at 7 sounds amazing. If the girls could pick Cassie up that would be amazing

Monty: my car still doesn’t work so. Can’t drive even if I wanted to

Charles Payne-Rowland: it’s a date then :)

Monty very deliberately does not allow himself to think about that phrasing.

The evening can’t come fast enough, and as ever Monty takes his time getting ready. Cassie’s all packed and ready for the girls to look after her so he uses her as his personal fashion consult, setting her down on the bed as he models every outfit idea he has.

They eventually settle on one of his old, faded band shirts with black jeans, and while Niko kept the purple cardigan he’d worn to the gay bar, he’d found a blueish-almost indigo one at a charity shop that was so soft, so expensive looking and he’d absolutely fallen in love. He let Cassie choose his jewellery and that was his outfit. He wasn’t making a massive effort, but he still looked nice , and it always felt good to try a little with his appearance. By the time he was ready, Crystal and Niko were almost there to pick Cassie up so he loaded her and her things up and headed downstairs to wait for them.

He had a welcome chat with the two as he loaded his daughter into the child seat and as Crystal drove away, he found himself relieved to have a little time away from his daughter. He loved her more than anything, she was his world, his life, but god did it feel good to get some time to himself.

He trusted Crystal and Niko with his daughter, he really did. Of course he’d never be able to escape the little bit of worry that was always there when he was apart from his daughter but tonight he could let loose. He deserved it.

He stopped on his way to Charles and Edwin’s to pick up a bouquet of flowers, it was far more expensive than he could actually afford, but he didn’t care. They deserved nice things, and he really wanted to make a good impression. Monty loved giving, it was instinctive to find and pass on little trinkets and presents to the people he loved and it was a habit Cassie had definitely picked up from him. His pockets were always full of rocks and sticks and bits of junk that she’d discovered and proudly presented to him and he was really no different.

The bouquet was beautiful, and Monty had been drawn to the strange black and violet flowers within it, they were beautiful and he’d never seen anything like them before with their drooping bells and almost snakeskin pattern. The woman had explained that they were Fritillaries, Snake’s head fritillaries to be exact. They were just the kind of thing that Edwin would find fascinating and the rest of the bouquet was so delicate and colourful that he had to buy it.

He’d walked the rest of the way to their houses, the bouquet tucked under his arm. 

It was received exactly as he’d hoped it would be, Edwin immediately fixating on and explaining the different types of flowers Monty had selected to him as he placed them in a vase of water, and Charles gives Monty the biggest hug he thinks he’s ever had in his entire life as thanks.

It’s perfect.

Dinner is incredible, Charles’ cooking is so rich and flavourful and Monty loses himself in the pleasure of the moment. They talk about so many different things, laugh at shared stories, reminisce and fantasise and it is everything Monty could have ever wanted. He doesn’t think he stopped smiling since he walked in.

Once they’ve eaten as much as they physically can, they agree to relocate and Monty helps Edwin to clear the table, warm from the wine and from good food. There’s music playing, and as Monty sets down the final few plates, an arm snakes around his waist. Charles pulls him back against his chest and Monty goes willingly, because how could he fight such tender closeness?

“Come choose a film with me mate, Eds can do the washing up.” Charles murmurs, and Monty tries to protest, to insist on being polite and making himself helpful, but Edwin is smiling at them and it’s clear he’s in support of his husband.

“Yes, go, I can sort this myself. I fear if Charles is left unsupervised we’ll be forced to watch more of his terrible 80s horror.”

“Hey! You like watching my films!” Charles protests, and Edwin laughs, his expression fond as he regards the two.

“I enjoy them on occasion, but they really are appalling my love, go and let Monty choose something we’ll all enjoy.”

Charles doesn’t react negatively though, he simply laughs and pulls Monty through towards the living room.

He stays pressed against him, so close that it’s hard to walk independently without tripping, and the way they keep crashing into one another has them giggling almost immediately.

Monty stumbles as they enter the living room but Charles grabs onto him even tighter without thinking twice, strong enough to hold Monty’s full weight without blinking.

It’s ridiculously attractive.

His hand is burning a hole through the fabric of Monty’s sweater, the way his fingers are curled around the curve of his waist. It would be overwhelming enough by itself but he’s also got a hand on Monty’s shoulder and there is a strength - a possession - in Charles’ grip that makes him weak in the knees. His own hands are resting against his clavicle, fingertips soft against the seam of his shirt and it would be so easy to grab on and never let go.

Their faces are only inches apart and Monty can see every little detail of Charles’ face. The depth of his brown eyes, the way his dark eyelashes curl against his eyelids, the curve of his lips and the slight shadow forming on his upper lip and cheeks from where he hasn’t shaved since the day before.

He’s beautiful.

And he’s staring at Monty.

He’s still holding on, his gaze fixed on Monty’s face and for the briefest of seconds, his eyes drop to Monty’s mouth. And something glitters in his eyes. It seems like an invitation, and Monty’s brain clearly isn’t quite working because for the first time in his life, he takes what he wants.

He’s still hesitant, but god he wants this, he wants this so much .

Closing the gap between them feels like coming home, and Charles’ lips are soft and warm and a little dry as Monty’s mouth collides with them.

It’s everything he could have dreamed of.

Until it isn’t.

Because Charles doesn’t kiss Monty back. He doesn’t pull him closer, doesn’t reciprocate as Monty’s lips capture his own. 

He freezes .

He’s off of Charles in an instant, stumbling back as he tries to stammer his apologies. His heart has turned to stone and plummeted to the floor, his insides twisting in horror.

“Charles I’m - I’m - I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry .” His words stick in his throat, and Charles is still just standing and staring at him. He takes another shaky step back, pulling out of Charles’ grip and that seems to finally kick him into action, his hands falling to his sides.

“Monty-“

Monty cannot bear to hear it.

So he doesn’t.

He knows what he has to do though so he leaves, he runs and he ignores the shout of his name as he does so. He has to tell Edwin.

He needs to tell Edwin.

He’s still in the kitchen doing the washing up where Monty and Charles left him and as Monty shuts the door he looks up, his forehead furrowing in confusion as he takes note of the frantic nature of Monty’s entry.

“Mon-“

He’s cut off by Monty slumping back against the door, his eyes suddenly shining with tears as his gaze locks with Edwin’s.

“It’s my fault, I swear .”

“What? Monty what’s your fault? What have you - ?”

“ IkissedCharles .” He blurts out, clenching his eyes tight shut. He cannot bear to see Edwin’s reaction, cannot bear to see the heartbreak.

“I kissed him and he didn’t kiss me back I swear , I swear to you. He’s not- I- I made a mistake and I’m sorry I’m so so sorry, please don’t be angry with Charles I- I kissed him without his consent, it meant nothing and he doesn’t- he didn’t- he’s not“

He can’t find the words to explain, to apologise and to beg for Edwin’s forgiveness. If this is the end of their friendship he’ll accept it, if this is the end of the support for Cassie then he’ll have to fucking take it and figure out how to manage but this cannot be the end of Edwin and Charles’ relationship. Because they are soulmates and as much as Monty wants them he can clearly never have them, and they belong with one another. If Monty has broken some level of trust between the two then he can never forgive himself.

“Monty -“

“I’m sorry, fuck I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry Edwin. I’ll just- I’ll just go, okay? Please don’t be angry at Charles, you can be as angry at me as you want I- I get it, I’ll take it because I fucked up.”

He’s breathing just a little too fast, and everything feels wrong. He needs out, he needs to leave before he has to deal with Edwin’s rage, with the betrayal. Because he has betrayed Edwin. He’s kissed his friend’s fucking husband. He knew they were in a committed relationship and he still acted impulsively and did something stupid. He can’t believe himself really, how dare he be so selfish to ruin this for himself?

He’s vaguely aware of Edwin repeating his name again but he cannot be here any longer, he just can’t. He needs to get away and give the two some space.

So he does.

He opens the kitchen door and slips out before Edwin can cross the linoleum between them.

And he collides directly with Charles.

Chapter Text

Charles’ strong arms wrap around Monty instinctively, holding him up and close.

“Monty, fuck, are you okay?”

He asks quickly, and it’s not right because he should be angry, he should be upset and he’s not.

He’s not?

Monty’s eyes meet Charles’ instinctively and as he looks up there is nothing but concern for the man in his arms, Charles isn’t angry at him, he’s worried about him.

Why?

“I’m sorry.” Monty whispers, because it’s the only words he can say, the only words he can think, but Charles is shaking his head immediately.

“No, please don’t say that,” he lets go of Monty, and Monty’s heart breaks even further, and then suddenly-

Suddenly Charles’ hands are gripping Monty’s face, tilting his head back and up so that he’s facing him and oh.

Oh .

Charles Payne-Rowland is kissing him.

It’s Monty’s turn to freeze, but it’s only for a moment before his brain catches up with his mouth and he sinks into it. Charles is kissing him, and there is no part of him willing to let this slip away.

His hands are still hanging lamely at his sides as Charles pulls away, although he chases him instinctively before he drops back, rocking on his heels. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do, because this is not a situation he has ever even imagined himself being in. Never with feelings attached at least.

“I-“

“Sorry,” Charles murmurs, a thumb brushing across Monty’s cheekbone.

“I just- no, gimme a minute, yeah?” He silences Monty as he tries to protest, stops him from apologising again. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want that, I- I’ve been trying so hard to be normal and not rush things but Monty I like you so much. I wanted to kiss you and then you kissed me and I- I just froze and I’m sorry, but I want this, I want you.”

Monty genuinely thinks he might be dreaming, especially as Edwin appears behind them and doesn’t react, doesn’t get angry or upset (which means they’ve talked about this and that only fuels Monty’s disbelief at the situation). He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he wants to say, so he doesn’t.

He kisses Charles instead.

It’s immediately reciprocated this time, and Charles makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds so contented, so pleased, that Monty smiles against his lips. When they break apart, Charles refuses to pull away, his lips brushing against Monty’s as he whispers into his mouth.

“This is aces, you’re aces.”

It’s so silly, everything about the whole circumstance is so silly that the tightness in Monty’s chest finally releases and he laughs, touching his forehead to Charles’. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s feeling, but he does know that it’s mostly overwhelming relief that Charles doesn’t hate him. Whatever the actual reason for Charles kissing him is, it doesn’t matter, because Charles kissed him and that’s what does matter.

Charles drags them back into the living room then and again he refuses to release Monty. He settles down on the sofa, pulling Monty down with him so he settles between his legs. It’s so comfortable and so insanely intimate, they’re so close to one another and Monty cannot stop himself from closing the gap and kissing Charles again. He feels the sofa dip behind him as Edwin sits down and a hand settles on Charles’ shin. It’s so achingly domestic and it only hurts more to know it isn’t real.

By the time the three have settled down to watch a film, it’s already coming up to time for Monty to collect Cassie. He excuses himself from the arms of the two (and he cannot believe he is being granted such intimacy) to call Niko, and despite his nerves she immediately is more than happy to keep Cassie overnight instead of just for the evening. There’s something suspicious in her voice as she wishes Monty a good evening and he’s sure she somehow knows what they’ve been up to although neither of them would dare say it aloud.

He’s welcomed back into their arms and somehow they end up in their bed, with Monty dressed in borrowed clothes and curled up between the two. He cannot really believe it still, that they’re being so gentle about the whole situation. Normally he’d expect to be pushed over the edge of the couch once Charles had decided it was time for Monty’s repayment, or even just pushed to his knees and used but this… this is different.

Charles has kissed Monty with a kindness that is utterly unfamiliar, has held him while they’ve watched a movie and has now dressed him in his own clothes and welcomed him into his bed along with his husband without any actual move to sex.

It’s not long before it does though, because Charles is twisting a strand of dark hair around his finger and shifting to face Monty as he whispers,

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s the first time he’s asked and Monty says yes immediately because that little bit of him that understands the situation is reminding him he cannot say no - but the overwhelming majority of him that wants this anyway is screaming for it.

It’s different this time, not just a collide of lips but Charles’ tongue darts across his lower lip and Monty’s mouth opens instinctively.

He lets him lick and taste, lets him bite and explore because he is doing just the same in return and it’s incredible. Charles Payne-Rowland is incredible.

And then the unexpected happens.

Because just as Monty’s beginning to feel genuinely breathless, Charles pulls away, grinning down at him as he shifts to the side and -

And Edwin’s hand settles on Monty’s shoulder.

His automatic reaction is that this is it. This is the end of their fun because Edwin has realised he’s not comfortable with this any longer.

That is not what happens.

Instead, Edwin smiles at him, his green eyes shining in the light of the lamp.

“May I kiss you?”

Monty’s gaze flickers to Charles, who is sitting there beaming at the two without a single hint of reservation, and that’s enough for him because he nods.

“ Please .”

———

Charles’s hands are all over him, hot, hungry, needing and wanting and grabbing Monty as if he’s afraid to let him go and it’s such a contrast to the cool palm resting on his inner thigh, complimenting the other one trailing up the spaces between his ribs - fingertips a little calloused and a little rough - that it makes Monty want to scream and cry. It’s overwhelming, having so many points of contact, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of them letting go. It made something deep inside of him ache with how he knew who was who from their touch alone. He still didn’t belong in this bed, he was just a temporary object of their affections, a bit of fun that was more for his debt than anything else, nothing serious.

It was like they can read his mind though, because suddenly Edwin’s lips are back on his, and Charles’s mouth is hot and wet against the plane of Monty’s stomach and he absolutely cannot think about anything other than their touch.

They’re all only wearing their pyjamas and Monty’s already been stripped of his shirt, but there’s something about the reverence in which Charles’ thumbs hook in the waistband of his shorts (they’re not even Monty’s, he’s wearing clothing that entirely belongs to the couple surrounding him) that makes him feel as if he is being exposed in a way he has never felt before, and he’s not even naked yet. Edwin is still fully dressed in his stupidly sexy button up two piece set and Charles is just in his boxers and Monty needs to feel their skin against his own, he needs more.

Charles pulls his shorts down off of him then, a little clumsy and ungraceful as he continues to mouth at the sharp angle of Monty’s hip, his teeth scraping against the skin and Monty gasps as the cool air of the room hits flushed skin, but that gasp twists into a whine as suddenly Charles has a hand wrapping around him. He muffles it with Edwin’s mouth, a hand tangling up in the loose brown curls, but Edwin breaks away from him. His eyes are hungry, his lips parted as he catches his breath.

“ Monty ,” and it’s everything he could have wanted, the way his name sounds from those lips.

Charles twists his wrist and it’s so good, but too dry, the friction is almost painful but Monty will not say anything, he can’t risk losing this touch, but again it’s like they know before he does because Edwin stretches across the bed to dig a bottle of lube and some condoms out of the drawer as Charles spits onto Monty and his palm. It’s so lewd, the image before him, it feels like pure sin and he cannot believe that he’s allowed to be a part of this.

Edwin drops his handful of things at Charles’ side, then sits back on his knees as he begins to unbutton his shirt. It’s a wonderful sight but Monty needs to be the one to do it, he’s not sure why but some little part of his brain immediately lights up at the opportunity and he reaches up to knock Edwin’s hands out of the way.

The expanse of pale skin that’s revealed as each button is undone is torturous and as the fabric slips off of Edwin’s shoulders and is discarded on the floor, Monty needs to get his hands on him.

It’s hard, to keep his attention on the man between his thighs and the man above him, so he reaches down and tangled a hand in Charles’ hair as he twists his wrist again, and places the other firmly against Edwin’s chest. He cannot bear to let go of either.

Edwin recaptures Monty’s mouth with his own, swiping his tongue along his lower lip as Monty grants him access. He takes what he wants in a way that makes Monty go weak and as he does so, there is suddenly hot wet heat around him as Charles abandons his hand for his mouth and Monty moans unrestrained into Edwin. Both seem to respond so eagerly to the sound, redoubling their efforts as Edwin slips a hand up to Monty’s throat - and for a brief second Monty’s terrified that his world is about to come crashing down and end this perfect moment - but it settles up on his jaw, tilting and holding his head more firmly where he wants it.

It’s so overwhelming, so devastatingly perfect and Monty can suddenly hardly control himself, his attention slipping from the kiss in favour of keeping his hips still. He’s twitching involuntarily at the heat around him, so deliciously perfect and it should be a crime how Charles works his tongue.

Edwin’s trailing kisses along Monty’s jaw, underneath his ear and down the slope of his neck, biting and sucking and focusing his attention on the sensitive skin and the pleasure coursing through him swells. He instinctively tightens his grip on Charles’ hair, his stomach tensing as he moans again. It sounds like Charles’ name, maybe it is. Monty’s not entirely sure.

He tries to push Charles off as the tension coiled deep inside of his gut finally releases, but he refuses, swallowing hard around him and that’s enough to send Monty over the edge, his hips snapping up as he loses his restraint.

He half expects that to be the end of it, but Charles surges up to kiss Monty again, and his lips are swollen and slick and Monty can taste himself on his tongue. It should be gross but Monty can’t seem to find it anything other than attractive because Charles is so passionate with it, rutting against Monty’s hip. Edwin breaks them apart though, a cool hand slipping under Charles’ chin and pulling him away to kiss him instead and there’s something about the way Charles is immediately - almost unconsciously - obedient when it comes to his husband, the way he moves without any protest, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do what Edwin tells him, and there’s something about the way they kiss one another… Monty cannot look away.

He is completely captivated.

Both of them are kneeling at his side, meeting across his naked body and they’re both clearly hard, straining against loose fabric and Monty wants to help. He needs to touch them both.

But he will wait his turn, and if they forget him in favour of each other… well, he understands. How can he not? They’re both hotter than him, they’re both actually married to the other, and they know what the other likes - no doubt like the back of their hands. Monty is something new, something casual, he’ll certainly never be allowed this chance again and so if they’d rather focus on their actual loved one then he’ll sit pretty and wait.

And of course they don’t. Because they’re the best people that Monty Finch has ever met.

Edwin’s focus turns back to Monty and he slips a hand down to his thigh, gently massaging the muscle as he he reaches for the lube again.

“Forgive us, we haven’t asked you what position you prefer.” He asks softly, “both Charles and I are switches, although our default is for him to bottom. I do believe however he is rather… keen to have you to himself, if that’s okay with you?”

Edwin’s stilted politeness makes what he’s saying borderline obscene, but it’s a good question and it surprises Monty with how genuine the two are being. He’s so used to being pushed face down into a mattress and used, everyone takes one look at him and knows that there isn’t a dominant bone in his body but Edwin has taken the care to ask him. Monty doesn’t think anyone has ever actually asked.

And yet despite it, he can’t bring himself to say it. Of course he prefers to bottom and he has almost no interest in fucking either of them, but he can’t get the actual words out. So he doesn’t.

“That - yeah that sounds good.” He manages to breathe, glancing sideways at Charles who has busied himself with giving Monty a set of matching hickeys on the opposite side of his neck to Edwin’s affections.

“I want that. I-I want him, I want you both.” He mirrors Charles’ turn of phrase from earlier, because if Charles wants him then he wants him in return, but of course Charles can only mean he wants this because this is how he wants Monty to pay his debt… Charles cannot want Monty in the way Monty wants Charles so that is the only option.

“You have us.” Charles mumbles into his neck, then he bites. The pain is white hot and sharp, his skin tingling and it tears a pathetic whine from Monty’s lips, his nails digging into the muscle of Charles’ shoulder.

Edwin’s hand slips under Monty’s hips then, lifting them with a strength that surprises him as he adjusts him to be more comfortable, one leg hooked over his forearm and the other pressed against his side. Monty’s used to this, so he spreads his legs willingly and as he hears the click of the lube open he settles back against the pillow, pulling Charles down with him. The first touch is cold and unpleasant and he fights the urge to shy away, but it’s quickly replaced by the urge to bear down. Edwin’s fingers are long and deft, slender but strong and he moves with a precision utterly unfamiliar to Monty. He’s used to quick and rough, a cursory few seconds to stop the worst of the pain, but Edwin is different. Edwin takes his time, he’s so achingly slow with it, working him until Monty is shaking in Charles’ arms, his head thrown back into the pillow as Charles’ lips steal every gasp and moan from his mouth.

When he withdraws his hand, he kisses the crook of Monty’s knee, and it’s so tender and kind that Monty’s eyes burn with tears that he quickly blinks away.

Charles and Edwin switch places and up close Monty can see how painfully hard Edwin is, but he’s so restrained, so incredibly self controlled. Charles lost his self control a while ago and had been lazily rolling his hips against Monty’s as they’d kissed, but Edwin… Edwin’s whole focus had been on Monty and even though there was a dark wet patch that had formed at the front of his pyjama pants, he hadn’t even moved to do anything about it.

Monty will fix that.

Charles hooks one hand under his knee and lifts his leg up as he settles between Monty’s thighs, letting him wrap it around his waist. He’s clearly a little nervous, a little hesitant, given the way he bends and steals a chaste kiss from the corner of Monty’s mouth before he asks,

“Is this okay?”

Monty can’t make his mouth work with his brain so he nods, but Edwin stops him, smoothing his hair back from his face.

“Use your words Monty.”

It should feel patronising, should be demeaning and it just isn’t, because there is something about Edwin’s voice that makes Monty want to listen. It’s not even that he’s particularly stern, he’s nor particularly loud, nor does he have a specific tone of voice, it’s something he can’t name and yet it’s so incredibly commanding that Monty does what he’s told.

“Yeah, yes, it’s more than okay.”

Charles doesn’t need to be told twice before he’s sinking into him and as he bottoms out, he lets out a groan that makes Monty’s stomach do a flip. It’s like music to his ears and as he finds himself suddenly struggling to catch his breath around how full he feels, he knows he needs to hear more.

Charles doesn’t make it more than a few thrusts before he’s curling down to meet him, unable to keep his hands off of him.

“Fuck- Monty,” he gasps, his cheek pressed into the slightly sweaty black locks above his ear.

“Wanted to do this- since the day I met you, all wet from the rain, you were so pretty. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

It sounds like it’s supposed to be a confession of sorts, but Monty’s heart stops in his chest as realisation dawns on him. This is not him being wanted, this is his debt to the two being paid off. This is Charles finally taking what he is owed for stepping in  and supporting Cassie where Monty couldn’t.

So he needs to make it worth their while.

He finally, finally turns his attention to Edwin, reaching for his waistband. He’s still being so stoic, just watching the two and Monty’s determined to make him feel good too.

Edwin lets himself be stripped out of his clothing and he is finally naked, and Monty’s mouth is watering just a little. Charles is rolling his hips in a way that’s making it very hard for Monty to focus but that doesn’t stop him from wrapping a hand around Edwin, feeling his weight against his palm and this is everything he’s wanted for so long.

They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, like they were made to be together.

The little bitter voice in the back of his head is still whispering to him, but the pleasure and sensation of being between the two is enough to silence it. At least momentarily.

Edwin spills into Monty’s palm and Charles’ thrusts grow sloppy and erratic and Monty is overwhelmed with white hot pleasure.

They collapse into a tangle of limbs and sweat, holding onto one another as they catch their breath.

Monty’s not sure how long they lie there for but eventually Charles shifts and he’s pushing Monty’s hair back out of his face, his touch so tender as he smiles down at him.

Edwin fetches a couple of warm washcloths and the three clean up in between lazy kisses. Monty doesn’t allow himself to hope, he just focuses on the moment but as Edwin and Charles’ attention focuses onto each other instead of him… well, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised but he’d also be lying if he said it didn’t break his heart. Because as much as he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, all of this was because the two truly liked him… it wasn’t. Because it couldn’t be.

Charles wanted to have him as his repayment for everything he’d done for Monty and now he’d gotten what he’d wanted, he’d gone back to his husband.

There is a warm hand resting on his thigh, so it’s not that he’s been entirely forgotten about but as the two exchange a kiss with passion that Monty will never get to experience, it’s clear where he stands.

He pulls away, reaches over the side of the bed and snags the shorts and the t-shirt he’d been wearing before, slipping them both on before he climbs back into bed.

He’s welcomed in by the two breaking away from one another and wrapping around him, and even though he knows now that they’re not interested in him like he is them… he’ll take what he is given.

It’s just like the first time again, he falls asleep tangled with Charles, his face tucked into the warmth of his chest and his legs hooked through strong thighs. Edwin is behind him, although this time the arm slung across the two is a little more possessive than it was before, holding on just a little tighter. He’s somehow put his ridiculous pyjamas back on and it’s not fair how perfect it is. 

If only this would last. 

Chapter Text

The next morning Monty awakes to a level of warmth and comfort and satisfaction that he has never experienced before. He is utterly entangled with the two men, his feet tucked between Charles’ warm muscular calves, Edwin’s hands splayed across the plane of his stomach and the curve of his shoulder, holding him back against his chest. Charles’ arms are wrapped around the two, trapping Monty between them and it’s so perfect that for a moment Monty thinks he’s dreaming.

But he’s not. Because he’s just woken up.

He looks between the two as best he can, and god it’s a fucking marvel. The warm golden glow of morning is creeping in through the cracks in the curtains, bathing the wonders that are Charles and Edwin Payne-Rowland in it’s incandescence and it’s enough to take his breath away.

It’s just a shame none of this is real.

Here in their arms, with both of them asleep, Monty can pretend. He can indulge for the briefest of seconds in the idea of being loved. He can pretend that this tender embrace is not because in their sleep they’ve assumed he’s their respective husbands, but because they want to hold him . He knows he shouldn’t, it’s dangerous to pretend because ultimately his heart will always get broken but god is it hard not to when they look like that and they’re holding him like this . Something bitter rises in the back of his throat as Charles shifts before him and suddenly the extent of the bruises Monty left are exposed, dark against the hollows of his throat and collar and suddenly the warmth of his delusion is gone as he is reminded of the reality of the situation.

They do not want him. They will never want him. All he is is a temporary fascination, a one night stand to repay the debt that he owes and he will be kicked back onto the street.

Of course not literally, these are the best men he has ever met in his entire pitiful life. They’ll remain friends, they’ll continue to pay for Cassie’s nursery and they’ll still invite him over for dinner parties and movie nights but it’ll never be the same. Because they’ll all always know.

They’ll know how disgusting Monty really is.

They’ll know that he’ll use his body if he has to, he’ll sink to his knees and spread his legs  like they want because he’ll do whatever he must to provide for his daughter.

And he will never deserve even a modicum of respect. Because at the end of the day, he has always been a filthy fucking whore. It’s all he’s ever been. He was made to seduce by his own mother , and he’d thought - he’d hoped - that maybe he’d be able to escape that, that he’d finally be able to make his own way.

Of course he couldn’t.

He wasn’t good for anything else.

It wasn’t even that he could be disappointed in himself, he wasn’t owed the grace. He’d known since he agreed to Charles’ support that one day this would come, how could he be so selfish as to be upset that they’d take what Monty owed them? He couldn’t, of course he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to feel anything about it, because fair is fair. He made a deal, he accepted money he knew he’d never be able to pay back, and what else could he offer other than himself? He wasn’t angry at the two, he wasn’t upset or hurt, he just wished - more than anything - that it was under different circumstances, that maybe Monty could have this without debt… that he could have this and allow himself to enjoy it… and maybe have them enjoy it too. They liked him well enough, but they didn’t like him, that was what hurt. It shouldn’t, because again, he was owed nothing… but it didn’t stop the ache, a blade tipped with poison driven deep into his heart, spreading with every beat until it permeated every fibre of his being with the knowledge that he was meaningless, worth nothing to the two who somehow meant the most.

He must have drifted back off because when he opened his eyes again, the golden bliss of the rising sun had been replaced with the white light of day, and Monty Finch is alone.

He is not warm and comfortable and secure. He is cold, and alone, in a bed far too big for him.

He doesn’t belong here.

They’ve made that very clear.

His clothes are folded on top of the chest of drawers in the corner, and someone plugged his phone in for him but those niceties cannot fix the knowledge of where he stands. He knows they’re not doing this to hurt him, they’re too kind for that. This is just a reminder that this is not permanent, that he was welcomed into their bed and now it’s time to leave. He does not need to be told twice.

He needs to pick up Cassie, so he dresses quickly, gathering his belongings from where they’d been strewn across the room and as a final act, he makes the bed. He’s careful to fold the clothes he borrowed, to make everything neat and tidy and perfect because it’s the least he can do to leave a good impression and make himself worth their while. All he can do is hope that he was good enough for them, that they won’t ask for more.

It won’t be too hard to sneak out, to leave under the radar. He’s surprised he was even allowed to stay the night, he certainly never was in the past. He perfected the art of sneaking out unnoticed, leaving with money burning a hole his pocket and the feeling of hands he could never scrub off, just for Esther. It was all always for Esther. It had been easier to convince himself that he didn’t care when he never got to keep the money but she’s gone, and Monty cannot rationalise this to himself.

It isn’t hard. It’s painfully easy to escape down the hallway, to slip out of the front door, the thing that’s difficult is the way his heart breaks. He’s gotten far too attached, he should have known better than to let himself get involved, but he’s known from the start where his place is.

His phone is only a little charged so he switches it off. It’s a shame to walk without music, but he’d rather not have it die as soon as he got to Cassie so he makes do without. It’s a beautiful day, a perfect frosty morning with clear blue skies and a chill that bites at Monty’s cheeks as he walks. There are still leaves crunching underfoot, although as winter takes over autumn they’ve mostly begun to rot away. He’s always loved autumn and winter, and though he knows it won’t happen here in England, he longs for a proper snowy Christmas just like he grew up with in Port Townsend. There’s something about having everything blanketed in white, with lights and decorations adorning every lawn and house, about hot chocolate and scarves and knitted gloves that Monty has always found so helplessly romantic… something he’s always longed to share with someone else. He used to dream of that being romantic, of going on dates and putting their intertwined hands in their coat pockets, stealing frosty kisses under the snowfall, sharing a hot chocolate or a mulled wine or something warm and satisfying to beat the chill. He’s very aware that that could never happen, that he’ll probably never find a love like that, so he locks it away. That fantasy has been shoved down year after year and now? Now it’s gone. He can’t allow himself to daydream of things like that, because it’ll truly never happen. There are plenty of gay men in London, Monty knows that, but he’s 21 with a 2 year old daughter, with no real income, a horrible shitty flat, and now a stupid crush on two men who don’t like him and there is no world in which he is anyone’s type. Not really. No one his age wants to raise a child, especially not someone else’s child . He gets that, he really does. He will be a single dad for life, he’s accepted that now. If he cannot be loved and spoiled for Christmas then he will make sure Cassie is, because really she’s all that matters. It won’t snow, but he can still take her to see all the pretty lights, to the Christmas markets and the ice rinks, he can spoil her with treats and snacks and little presents and he can make sure that she is happy. That’s all he’s ever really done. They have nothing, something Monty is always uncomfortably aware of, but if he can raise Cassie to remember not that there was hardly enough food for them both, or that there were days where Monty hadn’t been able to pay the electricity bill on time and so they’d had to live by candlelight, or that her clothes were always second hand and so were her toys… if he can raise her not to remember that but to remember the fun she had and how much she was loved? That’s what matters.

He’s very grateful for the scarf he wore the previous night as he approaches the front door of Niko and Crystal’s, carefully wrapping it around his throat. As much as he knew Niko had been hoping for this, he couldn’t handle the questions. Not yet. Not today. His heart has been shattered into enough pieces for now.

It’s Crystal who opens the door, and Monty is instantly glad because while she’s still not subtle about the extent of her distain for him, at least there won’t be an immediate interrogation.

“She’s in the kitchen.”

She’s curt and barely looks twice at Monty as he thanks her again for taking Cassie overnight, but that’s how she’s always been with him. She makes no move to conceal the fact she simply does not like him. Normally he wouldn’t care, because she likes Cassie and that’s normally all that would matter to him because he can stand being disliked, but there’s something about her complete disregard and distrust of him that makes him desperate to win her over, to make her see that he’s not trying to hurt her friends - their friends. It doesn’t work though. Partially because he doesn’t try, because from what he knows Crystal Palace is a force to be reckoned with, someone who has been through hell and came out on top and she can read people better than anyone around. She knows what bullshit looks like and she’s not afraid to voice her judgements and critiques and yet she’s also lovely. She’s a kind, passionate friend, she’s fiercely loyal and defensive and Monty can see why everyone loves her… he likes her.

The feeling simply is not mutual.

He follows her through to the kitchen and finds Niko carefully tying Cassie’s hair up into little ponytails while his daughter eats her breakfast and instantly all the discomfort and stress of the day fades away, because Cassie is okay , she’s well fed and she’s happy and ultimately Monty will go through anything to protect her.

Niko beams at him, and Cassie immediately tries to wriggle out of her chair in excitement, throwing her little hands up in the air.

“Daddy daddy!” She cheers, and Monty scoops her up, snuggling into her dad’s embrace, “we went to the playground an’ made cupcakes!”

“Did you now?” He asks fondly, kissing the top of her head.

Niko smiles knowingly at him, and he can tell she’s bursting with questions about how his night was, her eyes glittering as she watches the two.

“Thank you so much again for keeping her overnight, I-“ he’s interrupted by Crystal’s phone ringing, and he awkwardly stops, watching her as she answers.

“Hello?”

Whoever it is speaks and she frowns, turning to face Monty.

“Uh- yeah he’s just come to get Cass, is everything all right?”

There’s a pause while she listens, before her frown deepens and she steps forwards, handing Monty her phone.

“Hello?”

“Monty - what the fuck? Are you okay?” Charles says, and there’s something just on the verge of frantic in his tone.

“…what?”

“You just up and left us! What the hell mate? We’ve been calling and texting and you haven’t answered us, we thought something had happened!”

What?

What ?

Charles was… upset that Monty left. He was worried about him.

———

It was silly really, but there was something about having Monty in his bed that made it a little difficult for Charles to sleep. More than anything really it was the excitement of it all, the thrill of finally having him right where he wanted him… and Edwin not only being okay with it, but being just as into it as Charles was.

When he awoke, there was Monty, tangled in his arms with Edwin behind him and god was it perfect. It was everything he wanted, every fantasy and daydream since the day he’d met Monty had come true and god was he so happy about it.

He lay there for a while, he wasn’t sure exactly how long for, just admiring the two before him. Monty was gorgeous, he was always gorgeous, but there was something about how genuinely peaceful he looked when he slept, how relaxed and happy and soft he was when the walls came down that made something inside of Charles do a backflip. His lashes were so long, resting delicately against his pale cheek, such a contrast of light and dark. Monty as a whole was such a contrast of colours, inky black waves that tumbled over his shoulders and the pillow beneath him, plush pink lips that simply begged to be kissed at every given moment, the deepest brown eyes that Charles could get lost in… and now the myriad of purple and red and blue that decorated the pale skin of his throat, the divot of his collar, it was incredible. Monty was incredible. Then behind him, with a hand on Monty’s chest and another on his shoulder and nuzzled into the back of his neck, lay his husband. The love of his life. Charles knew Edwin’s face like the back of his hand, he knew it more intimately than his own, and yet he’d never get tired of looking at him. Edwin was his , and until Monty, no one else had had the privilege that was sleeping in the arms of Edwin Payne-Rowland and yet Charles didn’t mind. He’d happily share Edwin with Monty if it meant he got to keep them both like this forever.

Eventually his body reminded him that he couldn’t stay in bed admiring the men between his sheets forever, so he reluctantly dragged himself out of it, and after brushing his teeth and going to the toilet, he decided to start on breakfast.

He was mixing batter when Edwin joined him in the kitchen, and he was quick to press into his husband’s arms and kiss him senseless against the countertops. Edwin pushed him away eventually, placing a hand along the length of Charles’ sternum as he smiled at him.

“Goodness my love, you’re in a spectacularly good mood today.” He mused, his expression so fond and tender as he admired his shirtless husband. Charles never wore more than his boxers to sleep, maybe a loose vest but only in the dead of winter. They were such a contrasting pair, and as much as Charles loved to tease his husband for his ridiculous button up pyjamas, he could never get enough of it.

He beamed in response to Edwin’s comment, his hands settling on his hips before he pulled him back in again,

resting their foreheads together.

“I am in an aces mood, thank you very much. I got to wake up to the two most mint men in my bed,” he murmured, unable to keep his smile from growing even wider.

“And basically everything went so well last night, Monty seemed so into it and just-“ he shook his head, letting Edwin’s warmth soothe him. He had a tendency to get a little overexcited sometimes, but Edwin kept him calm, he kept him regulated and god did he love him for it.

“You don’t think I was too much though? I didn’t freak him out?”

Edwin reached up, tenderly running a fingertip along the line of Charles’ jaw, feeling the texture of the stubble, then along to his mouth, along his lower lip, then down his throat, curling over the few bruises left from the previous night before he stopped and smiled, his hand slipping round the back of his neck.

“Charles, my love. May I remind you that Monty was the one who made the first move? And that he subsequently got so nervous about having kissed you without your express permission that he immediately came and told me? I do not believe you were anything other than perfectly respectful. And given the circumstances of last night, I am certain you were not ‘too much’.”

Charles sighed, letting the stress he’d begun to work up bleed away as Edwin reassured him. He was right, of course. Monty had been the one to kiss him , and then he’d been so eager when they’d got him into bed… Edwin was right. Monty had been into it. He was into them . It would be uncomfortable when they discussed it later on, certainly, but Charles would take the discomfort if it meant they could officially establish what their relationship with Monty was. He knew there was a reality in which Monty didn’t want to date them, or maybe only wanted to date one of them, but he and Edwin had discussed things at length … they knew where they stood when it came to the beautiful wonder that was Monty Finch.

With Edwin now awake, Charles had an extra pair of hands in the kitchen, so he set his husband onto cutting the fruit as he continued with the batter.

“Love, could you chuck us the oat flour?”

Edwin carefully set down the knife he was holding, glancing around the countertops before he spotted the bag. As he handed it to Charles, he frowned, his forehead creasing a little.

“Why pancakes? And why oat?” He asked, his green eyes meeting brown. One of the things Charles loved so much about his husband was how inquisitive he was, he never just accepted things. He always questioned everything because he always wanted to know and understand. When Crystal had met Edwin for the first time - back in university when they were still just boyfriends - she’d asked Charles privately later whether he ever got sick of his incessant questioning and Charles had been completely honest when he said no. Because he hadn’t. Nothing about Edwin irritated him, it wasn’t even an option . Everything his husband did was absolutely aces in his book, and the things that frustrated others about him were just the things that Charles adored.

He wiped a smudge of batter off of his cheek as he took the bag of flour from him, carefully weighing out the extra he needed as he answered Edwin’s questions.

“Um, well, when Monty and I went for breakfast that first time I brought up the money stuff to him, we went to the mint cafe by the school - you know the one we met at for coffee sometimes. Uh and I could see him staring at the pancakes on the menu but when we were ordering he said he wasn’t hungry and he didn’t need any food, and I knew that he had been skipping meals to feed Cassie… which I feel we ought to maybe bring up to him? ‘cause like - I reckon he still does it, he was so thin when he was actually naked… he does look like he doesn’t eat enough… whatever, I’ll come back to that. Anyway I said I’d pay for everything and I ordered pancakes and then he did too… then while we were eating the topic came up and he said that pancakes had been his favourite ever since he was a little kid.” He paused, setting the bag back down on the counter before looking over at Edwin.

“And he hadn’t had them in years because he got diagnosed with a gluten allergy - well sensitivity more than actual proper anaphylactic allergy he said - and his mum wouldn’t buy gluten free flour so he was really excited to see gluten free options on the menu.” He shrugged then, turning back to his batter.

“I wanted to make something I knew he loved to wake up to. I don’t want him to wake up and start overthinking stuff, y’know? I want to show him that we’re not just like… after sex or something.”

“You really are the best man I know, Charles Payne-Rowland.”

By the time the pancakes were almost ready, Charles decided it was time to finally wake their sleeping beauty. They’d agreed to let him sleep, because he was a single dad working two jobs and sharing a twin bed with his two year old. He needed all the sleep he could get, especially in a bed as comfortable as theirs.

The bed had actually been a major step in their relationship, one that frankly had led to them getting married when they did. When the two had first moved into their little studio apartment during university, there had been a shitty double bed. It had been appalling, a weird foam mattress that wasn’t particularly comfortable and was just slightly too small for them to sleep comfortably in any position other than tangled together. Edwin had immediately said he was going to buy a new one for them, but Charles had stopped them. They’d been together a year by that point, but this step of moving in together was already bordering on too much for Charles, and the concept of buying a bed together was over the line. It was too intimate. Too official. To Charles, it was a step that he was just not ready for, something with far too much attached. Because a new bed was their bed. It wasn’t a bed that came with the apartment, or a bed they’d grown up in. No, it would be a bed that had only ever been theirs. That wasn’t the kind of thing you could just divide up if they ever broke up, and so Charles said no. Of course, he knew that it was also just a bed, that it would ease their nights of discomfort no matter how long they stayed together for. Edwin tried his very hardest to convince him, “Really Charles, this bed is completely inappropriate for the two of us, for god’s sake let me get us something better.” But Charles said no. It had been silly really, what had ultimately convinced him to change his mind. They’d been cooking dinner, Charles covered in mud from cricket, stripped down to his boxers so as not to get the mud on his uniform all over the floor, and Edwin with shirt sleeves rolled up and his bow tie loose around his shoulders, and as he’d stood and watched his now-husband cook, he’d realised that this was what he wanted. Forever. He wanted Edwin to himself forever, in a way that was utterly selfish. His boyfriend had been rambling on about something when Charles had closed the gap between them and kissed him, had held him close and whispered to him, “let’s get that bed yeah?”.

And so they’d bought the bed.

A queen size with a wooden headboard, with a memory foam topped spring mattress and more than enough pillows for them both to prop themselves up.

It was perfect.

They hadn’t fought as they’d assembled it, because they never fought. Instead they’d kissed and laughed and threw screws at one another until after (frankly far longer than it should have taken), they had a bed. A bed that was just for them, no one else. The bed had come with them as they’d moved into their next apartment, then the next one, then when they’d moved into the house after they’d bought it, it had been reinstalled. This time forever (as they both hoped).

For a long time it had been theirs, but now… now it was theirs and Monty’s. Well, that was perhaps getting ahead of himself a little, it was theirs and Monty was welcome to share it too, and if that looked like him sleeping while the two cooked him breakfast than Charles would take it.

He pushed open the door gently, expecting to find Monty curled up under the covers like they’d left him, but as he stepped into the room… he wasn’t. The bed had been made, the duvet carefully smoothed across the mattress, and all the pillows plumped and stacked up just where they belonged.

Huh.

Okay.

Monty was awake then.

He thought nothing of it as he checked the bathroom, but at Monty’s continued absence, a little prickle of something uncomfortable began to rise in his chest. He checked the guest bathroom, wondering if maybe he’d felt simply uncomfortable using their en-suite but no. Still no Monty. As he checked the living room and found nothing again though, that was when the worry started. Because Monty was not in the house.

He’d gone.

He returned to the kitchen, his good mood replaced entirely by concern and confusion as he found his phone on the sideboard. He dialled Monty’s number quickly, holding his phone up to his ear as Edwin asked,

“What’s wrong?”

It’s still ringing, no sign of Monty picking up as Charles answered.

“Monty’s gone.”

They tried to text him, they tried to call him from Edwin’s phone, but there was nothing. No answer.

It didn’t even go to voicemail, just dropped off and says that his number is unavailable and that’s the most worrying part, because Charles plugged Monty’s phone in for him so he knew it wasn’t  dead.

It’s Edwin of course who suggested the rational, who reminded him that Cassiopeia was still with Crystal and Niko and if Monty were to anywhere it would be there.

So Charles calls Crystal.

———

          “You just up and left us! What the hell mate? We’ve been calling and texting and you haven’t answered us, we thought something had happened!”

Charles snaps, and he’s aware that he’s not doing well at hiding his emotions, but Monty scared him. He had been expecting to provide a wonderful romantic breakfast and spoil him with it, then to maybe kiss Monty a little more, then establish exactly what they were. (Then hopefully kiss a little more again). Instead, he’d had the horror of realising Monty had left, and then trying to find him to make sure that primarily he was all right, but also because they did need to talk about everything. There was too much of a space for miscommunication and Charles knew Monty was sensible and it would all certainly be fine… he didn’t want to risk it.

“I just wanted to get Cassie before it got too late.”

Monty says quietly down the phone, and Charles sighs, because he gets it. Monty doesn’t like to be away from his daughter, he doesn’t like leaving her in the care of anyone else even when he knows she’s safe.

He’s about to say that to him though, when Monty continues.

“Why are you-… was I supposed to stay?”

That makes Charles stop, his heart squeezing in a way he really doesn’t like.

“What? Mate… what ?”

“I- well, I didn’t- I didn’t think you wanted me to stay?” he admits, a little lamely, and Charles has to sit down before he breaks something.

He takes a deep breath before he speaks, but his fist has clenched, his knuckles turning white as he quells the flash of emotion running through him. He doesn’t need to be angry at Monty, he isn’t angry at Monty, he doesn’t need to give that impression.

“Did - did we do something wrong mate? I’m really sorry if I was too much or we made you uncomfortable or-“

“Charles.”

“- or we crossed a boundary or something- “

“ Charles .”

There’s a pause, then Monty sighs down the line.

“You two did nothing wrong. I promise. I’m sorry, I just assumed you wouldn’t expect me to stay… sorry.”

“You stay there, yeah mate? Let me come pick you and Cassie up. We made breakfast for you and we should really chat about last night - not in a negative way! I just… we should talk, yeah?”

———

Monty is back in their house with Cassie within half an hour, and everyting is better. Everything is good. Monty smiled the entire time he eats his pancakes, and Charles feels a deep, almost primal sense of pride at that fact.

They do the washing up together, and there’s still a little bit of awkwardness after the circumstances of the morning, so he flicks bubbles at Monty, and Monty splashes him in return. It turns into a fight, with Charles trying valiantly to wipe bubbles onto Monty’s face, and Monty trying to get him as wet as he can, and god it’s perfect. Monty is perfect.

He cannot help himself.

Charles closes the gap between them suddenly, surging forwards to capture Monty’s mouth with his own. He tastes like syrup and fruit and coffee, and his lips are just as soft as they were last night, and Charles cannot get enough of him as his hands settle on Monty’s waist. There’s no hesitation as he pulls him forwards, their hips meeting flush.

Monty doesn’t know what he wants to do. He’s frozen for a moment, unsure whether he ought to pull away and save himself the heartbreak or let Charles have him yet again. He decides on the latter, because it seems like the easiest - and he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that desperately wants this, a part that doesn’t care about the circumstances just as long as he gets to kiss him.

He stretches up onto his tiptoes, letting Charles support his weight as he licks into his mouth, savouring every moment. It has been a fucking rollercoaster of emotions this past 24 hours and he’s far beyond making sensible decisions to protect himself because there is something about the way Charles Payne-Rowland makes him weak in the knees that he cannot resist. There’s so much at stake, so many things at play but god when he kisses like this he can’t focus on any of them.

There’s a noise at the door and they break apart, and Monty should be just a little embarrassed at the fact he’s already breathless but he isn’t, he can’t be when the hands that grip his waist are holding his weight up so he can stand so effortlessly on his tiptoes, secure and strong and borderline possessive.

It’s only Edwin interrupting them, watching them kiss with an expression Monty simply cannot read. Again though, he’s not angry, he’s not upset or anything he’d have expected… it’s quite the opposite. If anything, he almost looks proud.

“I must confess,” he starts, taking a step towards the two, “I could have never envisioned a circumstance in which seeing Charles kiss another would be anything other than distressing, yet it seems to make all the difference when it is you… I find I rather cannot look away. I think you make a fetching couple.”

Monty rolls his eyes, settling back down into his heels as Edwin speaks. It’s ridiculous, he shouldn’t say things like that, because it feels like Monty’s heart is in a vice.

“I’m not boyfriend material, my body’s the only good thing about me. I’m better as a one night stand or whatever last night was.”

Charles stiffens, his gaze immediately flickering to his husband’s.

Fuck.

Fuck .

Of course wires got crossed. Of course Charles fucked something up along the way and gave Monty the wrong impression. God, he’s tried his damn hardest to show Monty how much he wants him and yet somehow he’s got it wrong. He catches on the self depreciation too, and that only makes him feel worse, because Charles’ whole reason for doing any of this was to show Monty how much he liked and appreciated him.

And he’d fucked it up.

“No, Monty, no.” His grip tightens on his waist, drawing Monty’s attention back to him.

“Is that what you think? Cause - that’s -“ he falters, his mouth drying up as his mind goes to the worst case scenario. “Did… did you not… did you not want that? Did you not want us? Cause - fuck -“ he drops his waist, taking a small step back. “Is that why you left?”

Monty’s expression softens as Charles starts to spiral and he shakes his head quickly.

“It was never a matter of me not wanting you,” he says quietly, his big brown eyes shining with something that Charles can’t read. “But I know what it was meant to be, don’t I? I’m just paying off my debt.”

The room falls silent, both Edwin and Charles not so much as daring to breathe as they process Monty’s words.

It’s Edwin who speaks first, who challenges Monty on his claim.

“What debt?”

“You guys paying for Cassie’s nursery? I owe you for it.”

And the penny drops.

Charles had assumed that maybe Monty would think of this as just a one night stand, that he would have missed the fact that they both genuinely cared about him, more than they could explain.

But no.

It was worse.

It was so much worse.

Because Monty thinks that he’s prostituted himself for the two.

Beautiful, gorgeous, perfect Monty has assumed that they wanted him, not in purely selfish desire and adoration, but as payment. As a transaction.

It makes Charles’ stomach turn.

Edwin’s face is drawn, his lips pursed as he stared at Monty and Charles doesn’t need a mirror to prove that he’s matching his husband’s expression. He feels genuinely unwell, can hear the blood in his ears, can feel the way his heart is racing because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand.

What did they do wrong? How did they give Monty the impression that he owed them anything?

Charles reaches out, putting a hand on his shoulder. It’s partially to reassure himself, because Monty is warm and solid and he needs to hold onto him, he can’t let him go. Not until he explains.

“Monty- how- how the fuck could you think like that? What’s happened to you that you think- you’d think that we… that you… I-“ Charles can’t get his words out, he doesn’t know how to ask because he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get any of this.

Monty suddenly seems so small, shrinking down into himself as he avoids their gazes, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Well that’s how it’s always been.” He says awkwardly, and it’s clear he’s trying to joke about it, but it falls flat, because he cannot hide the clear discomfort in his tone.

And that just makes everything worse.

Edwin steps towards them, and he’s wringing his hands, twisting his fingers together until his knuckles turn white. Normally Charles would interrupt this nervous fidget, would take Edwin’s long fingers between his own, let his husband squeeze his hands and work out his energy but not this time. Charles cannot bear to let go of Monty, he’s scared that if he lets go then Monty might just disappear.

“Monty,” he says, and it’s clear he’s restraining himself as he speaks. “What on Earthy do you mean by this being how it has always been?” His words are clipped, his voice even more posh than normal and Charles can tell he’s holding a lot back. Edwin Payne-Rowland does not get big when he gets angry. He does not shout or swear. He does not throw things or get violent. He gets quiet. He gets cold and stiff and he uses every fibre of his being to hold himself back. It’s clear he’s furious, but not at Monty. Never at Monty. They do not know the story but whatever it is is certainly far from pleasant.

Monty takes a deep breath, and then another, but the words stick in his throat, sharp and angular and choking.

He can’t do it.

But he needs to.

He wants to.

“Perhaps we should sit down?” Edwin offers, and he’s trying to smile, although it’s forced, his forehead furrowed still as he looks at Monty.

They relocate, and Monty sits alone, curled up into himself. They’re staring at him, waiting for him, and for some reason he knows they’re not going to judge him… they just want to know.

And he wants to tell them.

So, for the first time in his life, Monty talks. 

Chapter Text

           Five years earlier:

Monty rolled over to face the boy beside him, a fond smile curling at the corners of his lips as he took in his side profile. The swoop of his nose, the plump curve of his lips, the textured mop of dirty blonde hair that curled so invitingly around the whorl of his ear.

The ground was cold and wet beneath the picnic blanket they’d laid down, and Monty could feel moisture starting to seep through the fabric under his elbow, but he didn’t care.

Because he was here.

Under the stars.

His staring didn’t go unnoticed, and as green-gold eyes met brown he grinned.

“Like what you see birdie?”

Came the familiar rumble of his voice as he reached over, bridging the space between them as fingertips traced over the line of his jaw, then up to his ear, before hooking a loose dark strand behind it.

“You know I do.”

“Of course.”

Maybe Thomas leaned forwards, or maybe Monty did, and their mouths met in the perfect clumsy harmony of a first date, a first relationship… the first indication of something meaningful in their lives.

It wasn’t their first kiss.

Nor was it their second.

But there was something special about this secret date, about how Monty had lied to his mother and Thomas had stolen a little bottle of vodka that they’d mixed with juice and they were here now, just enjoying each other’s company. They weren’t dating, there were far too many things in their way to let them have that security in their relationship but they were something.

They’d always known it could never work out, not long term, but that didn’t stop them relishing in the present. Thomas had a shitty little studio apartment that became their base, their hideout, and together they escaped the world in it. Their lives sucked, and they both knew they’d always suck, but there was something about doing it together that… well… it made it suck a little less.

Nobody knew, especially not Esther. This was something private and secret and for them alone, something they could fall back on.

Things grew, and developed, and slowly over time they became the most important thing to one another.

Thomas was leaning back against the arm of sofa, admiring Monty smoke out of the window with a lazy smile. He watched the way smoke curled from those plush lips, the way the light from the glowing butt shone in those deep brown eyes, the way that despite his focus being on the cigarette dangling from his mouth, his gaze was fixed entirely on Thomas.
As soon as the cigarette had burnt down to the butt, Monty was on him, clambering up onto the cushion and settling himself straddling Thomas’ hips, sitting back on his heels.

“Hi.”

Thomas smiled as Monty climbed onto his lap, one hand instinctively drifting to Monty’s thigh, the other to his hip, gently gripping them to help stabilise him.

“Hi yourself, gorgeous.” He murmured, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Comfortable?” His fingers traced the skin on Monty’s thigh, admiring the exposed skin at the hem of his shorts. It was no secret between the two what Esther made Monty do, Thomas had seen it with his own eyes, he’d seen the bruises and the bite marks and the scratches he wore, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t really.

Monty looked at him for a moment, just holding his gaze. This was everything he wanted, Thomas was everything he wanted. Here, away from his mother and work and every other thing that conspired against them… here was perfection, because here Monty was safe… and he was loved.

They’d never said it, they weren’t even officially dating but right here, right now, it was all Monty could think.

I love you.

For a fleeting moment, he considered telling Thomas, considered letting all the feelings he’d bottled up bleed all over the room just to see where it went.

It was clear as Monty looked down, his gaze so soft and tender, that he was searching for something he couldn’t find.

Thomas knew that feeling well.

But whatever it was, he didn’t find it. He didn’t say it.

He swallowed it back and bent forwards instead, strands of chin length black hair falling over his face and framing them both as he pressed a delicate kiss to the scar above Thomas’ lip, then another to his mouth. He stayed there for a moment before he reluctantly pulled back just a fraction and leant his forehead against Thomas’, staring into his familiar green-gold eyes. He smelt like smoke and amber and something slightly musky and the remnants of Monty’s cigarette lingered in the air between the two. It was so familiar, so uncomfortably homely for two people who weren’t even dating.

Thomas had reached up then, had gently brushed strands of black hair away and cupped Monty's face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. He never knew what was going through Monty’s mind; he never did, but the silence between the two was charged with a tension neither could understand and Thomas wanted to say something.

"Monty..."

Thomas's voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. He was hesitating, holding back but there was good reason for it. Their relationship wasn’t serious, or at least they were both pretending it wasn’t. They couldn’t bear to be boyfriends, to give this a name in case it all fell apart and yet it was serious. Of course it was.

He opened his mouth again, trying to get the words out.

But he couldn’t.

Because Monty’s phone rang.

Monty groaned as he pulled away, fumbling about in his pocket for his flip phone - Esther made everyone who worked for her carry them, made sure all communication was in person or via something untraceable and disposable.

“Hold that thought- what. What do you want?”

And suddenly there was the Monty that Thomas knew gone. They were different around each other, and Thomas was certainly the worst for it, but it was always a bitter sorrow to lose the kind, loving boy that Thomas had grown so intimately used to, to the bitchy snarky son of Esther Finch that he was to everyone else. The moment broke and it felt almost like fate intervening, perhaps it was, the universe itself keeping the feelings away. It was a blessing really, given what came next.

Monty gripped the fabric of Thomas’ shirt without thinking, seemingly seeking comfort or reassurance of some kind as he listened to whoever it was down the line.

There was a pause, then Monty’s expression twisted into one that was genuinely unhappy and as the call cut off he sighed and dropped his phone down onto Thomas’ stomach.

“I have to go.”

This was their routine. They had each other for as long as Esther didn’t need them and then they were back to work, back to slaving away for her. It always ended like this, they never got to just truly be together for long enough, never got the full night or the day because one of them inevitably always had to go.

Monty kissed Thomas for as long as he could before he really did have to leave, pressing him down into the sofa cushions long enough to pretend that nothing else existed, but he couldn’t stay.

He promised he’d be back when she was done with him, that maybe they’d get to fall asleep in each other’s arms and go back to ignoring the world but that would never happen.

Because that would be their last evening together.

———

“Thomas and I- we… we were happy .” Monty whispers, and then he sniffs, and he’s horrified to find that he’s close to tears because he really shouldn’t be upset over a relationship that ended but he is . Because in all this time he’s never allowed himself to think about it. He hasn’t had the chance to process or work through the reality of the situation and suddenly airing it out hurts. Especially because of his run in with Thomas, knowing that things had changed so much between the two that everything they once had was gone.

“I know he’s a bit of a shady guy with the drugs and stuff but please- please don’t think he was ever unkind or a bad person or anything because he wasn’t, I’m sure he still isn’t.” He says weakly, twisting a strand of hair around his finger so tightly the tip begins to go purple.

“He’s- we- fuck, I don’t know. We were… I don’t know what we were. We weren’t officially anything. I guess we were dating but we couldn’t call it that. So we didn’t. I don’t know why he left Port Townsend but I know after my mom kicked him out of-“

He falters suddenly, his gaze flickering almost… guiltily up at the two before he looks away again, staring at the carpet.

“My mom… was- is.. a drug dealer.” There’s a hesitation, a moment where Monty seems to wait for something. But it doesn’t come. So he continues. His hand has slipped from his hair, instead now gripping at his bicep, nails digging into the flesh and leaving little crescents. He’s curled up into himself, trying to make himself smaller before them and it’s heartbreaking to see. He’s so afraid, so genuinely scared that these two men - two men who love him - will get angry at him for what he’s lived through.   

“She runs a… a really huge drug ring in Washington, she’s very much a… a kingpin I guess, and I-“ his voice cracks and he falters again, his nails digging deeper into his arm.

“I… fuck, please don’t- please don’t hate me for this,” he’s hardly even whispering, his voice so quiet the two have to strain to hear him as he admits the truth.

“I worked for her, my whole life. I ran drugs for her, I helped her with partnerships and deals and I… I worked as her- um- she… I was a prostitute, for her. She needed blackmail, needed things to use as leverage so she’d send me out to seduce her enemies and get me to collect proof that they’d slept with me - slept with a child - and… I… I I’m sorry.”

It’s hard to get it out, but Monty finds that now he’s started he can’t really stop, because he needs someone to know. Anyone.

He doesn’t tell them everything, not by a long shot but it’s a start.

“With Thomas it… she forced us to break up, she knew we were seeing each other and she tolerated it so long but she got bored of it eventually, got bored of me being distracted so she made us split. Then she started telling me all these things about him,  saying all this horrible stuff about our relationship and - and about me and I believed her. I’m not proud of it but… I hated him, for a while. I know she got to him too, said all the same stuff to him about me so I’m not surprised he hates me… I’d hate me. It was after that that I met Cassie’s mom and-“

He stops, not because he means to but because his body will not let him. He is in dangerous territory, far too close to spilling something he has never told anyone. He shakes his head, pushes it all away.

There’s nothing more he can say, his chest aches, something deep inside his soul that feels strangely light and heavy at the same time. They're both just staring at him and the silence makes his skin prickle. Their expressions are a mix of shock and horror and something that looks a little like disgust and Monty suddenly isn't sure whether he wants them to say something, anything, or to not acknowledge it at all.

Edwin feels a little bit like he’s been punched in the face. A sensation he is - unfortunately - uncomfortably familiar with. He’d assumed, at first, that Monty’s story was not dissimilar from Charles’, that he’d escaped an abusive parent or partner and that was what he’d run from… but the truth?

The truth is so much worse.

Edwin Payne has lived through horrors, has been through things that he cannot bear to remember but this…? This is beyond imagination and there’s no doubt that it’s true, because why would Monty lie? Every word, every secret, every confession that escaped him seemed to add new weight to Edwin’s heart until it splintered in his chest, bleeding for the man before him.

Beside him, Charles sits just as still as Edwin, gripping his husband’s hand so tightly it hurts. The utter evil that Monty has undergone, from his own mother , it chills Charles to his very bones and a lump settles itself in his throat, choking him as he tries to think of something to respond with.

What the hell do you even say to try and comfort someone after they tell you something so horrible?

He wants to pull him into his arms, to hold Monty close and never ever let go, but he can’t. He shouldn’t. Not until they’ve talked.

All Charles can think to do is silently take Monty’s hand in his. He gives it a light squeeze, tries to put everything he’s feeling into that little gesture as he tries to think of anything to say, anything that could possibly make the situation better. Edwin speaks up before he can find anything though, the gentle tone of his voice breaking the uncomfortable silence that has fallen in the room.

“Thank you for telling us Monty.” His voice is surprisingly shaky, completely thrown off kilter by Monty’s confession and it is obvious he is trying his hardest to be the strong one.

He slowly rises to his feet and crosses the room, crouching down at Monty’s other side.

“Listen to me. You did not do anything wrong.” he says firmly, reaching out to rest a gentle hand on his knee. “You should never have had to go through any of that… but you did. And you survived it, you’re here and Monty… that’s impressive, I’m proud of you.” He didn’t know how Monty had the strength to tell them, how brave he had had to be to dig his trauma up and lay himself bare before them.

Charles feels tears well suddenly at Edwin’s, voice as he spoke -  because he agrees completely, his husband finding the words to reflect of the way Charles is feeling.

Monty hasn’t said anything, but he grips Charles’ hand when it slips into his own, intertwining their fingers. He’s trembling, still hiding his face from them behind his hair.

So for a moment, none of them speak. Charles gently rubs the back of Monty’s hand with his thumb, offering him reassurance that neither of them were going anywhere, that they’d heard him. He just didn’t even think there were words that existed that could even encompass all of his emotions right now.

“I’m sorry.”

Monty whispers again, and this time Charles finally finds his words.

“Don’t say that. Don’t - do not apologise to us mate.” He reaches out, a finger hooking under Monty’s chin and tilting his head up. He wants to see him, wants Monty to understand just how serious they are about this because god this is not his fault. It really isn’t.

“What you’ve been through sucks and I’m so fucking sorry it happened to you because god Monty mate you don’t deserve any of that, so don’t think for a second that you need to apologise for it cause mate- it’s not your fault. ” Monty’s big brown eyes are so wide as he stares at Charles, and he looks genuinely overwhelmed by it all, by the kindness he’s being shown. It’s obvious he blames himself entirely for everything that’s happened to him and Charles knows that because he understands. He gets it. He still sometimes blames himself for his dad’s anger, even after years of therapy and learning to cope because parental abuse is impossible to fully shake. It always lurks there, deep down, clinging to the most vulnerable self and it’s clear that Monty hasn’t been free long enough to understand that he is innocent.

“I’m sorry that we fucked this up mate,I’m sorry we didn’t make it clear how much we like you. You- you’re special, I- we- we care about you so much and I wanted today to be about us asking you to be our boyfriend but I’m sorry that I didn’t make that obvious.”

Monty’s eyes are shining now and he’s staring at Charles in genuine disbelief, and it’s clear how massively Charles has fucked this up because Monty’s surprised by his confession. He’s surprised by the very concept of Charles - and Edwin - wanting to date him.

And that hurts.

That hurts a lot.

Because Charles Payne-Rowland has only ever wanted everyone to be happy. He’s always been a complete people pleaser, desperate for everything to work out and the idea of hurting someone - of being like his father - is nauseating and yet without even realising it he’s hurt Monty. He’s tried to make Monty see how much he cares about him and Cassie and how desperately he wants him and he’s somehow fucked it up so massively that Monty doesn’t realise Charles even likes him.

“Charles is right. Monty I apologise that we haven’t been transparent with our intentions but we do like you. Rather a lot, I must say. You are special, and this is certainly not how I envisioned this conversation happening but… we do want to date you.” Edwin adds, his fingers pressing into Monty’s knee.

“I do believe we should have a more… detailed discussion of this later however. Would either of you like a cup of tea? I think we all need some time to process.”

“Yeah, please love.”

As Edwin leaves, he promises to check on Cassie and Monty can only nod, too overwhelmed to speak. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, doesn’t understand anything that’s just happened. It feels like the rug has been pulled out from under his feet, because he’s confessed his past to them, bared his soul and all they’ve done is be supportive. Without knowing the details they’ve both insisted that none of this was his fault, and then said that even knowing everything they want to date him? It doesn’t make any sense.

Charles finally releases his chin and there’s a moment where they just stare at one another before someone moves - Monty doesn’t know who - and they’re hugging, Charles clutching Monty tight to his chest.

“I’m so sorry Monty, I’m so sorry.” Charles whispers into his hair, and Monty just shakes his head into his chest because Charles has nothing to apologise for. It’s all Monty’s fault, all of this misunderstanding and confusion is his fault.

Charles doesn’t let go of Monty for a long while. He can’t. He physically can’t. They’re curled up together on the sofa, Charles’ arms tight around Monty’s waist and he cannot bear to not touch him right now. Everything Monty said, everything he told them is racing through Charles’ mind and he still feels sick that this is what the beautiful man in his arms has had to live through. It’s not fair. He still can’t believe that Monty assumed he was prostituting himself for them, still can’t accept that he and Edwin didn’t show Monty how much they genuinely care - but they didn’t. Because this happened. Charles has apologised more times than he can count, his face tucked into the crook of Monty’s neck as he whispers against the marks he left last night and every time Monty reassures him that none of this was his fault and of course he’s forgiven… but it doesn’t help. Edwin brings them their tea, then excuses himself to sit with Cassie and they can hear them both chattering away in the kitchen as Edwin makes lunch for them all, and it’s obvious how much calmer Monty is when he knows his daughter is safe. Every so often he glances towards the door, in their general direction but it seems he’s just as content to lie there with Charles.

Charles doesn’t want to let go. He wants to hold Monty close and hold him and kiss him and show him exactly how much he cares about him but he can’t. He needs to take things slowly because everything’s already gone wrong. If he is to do anything now, he wants Monty to know exactly what feelings there are behind it and he wants - he needs - Monty to want it too.

The rest of the day passes a little uncomfortably. They’re all acutely aware of how much they need to talk, but none of them are ready. Not quite yet.

Edwin is insistent that Monty is to stay the night with them again, but Monty refuses. No matter what their conversation yields, he cannot spend another night apart from Cassie. He needs to sit in his own apartment with his daughter and not think about any of this. He can’t allow himself to stay because if he sinks into their bed knowing that they actually seem to want him then he will never leave. Charles steps in and offers that Monty and Cassie stay for dinner, then he’ll take them back to their apartment and that seems to go down agreeably enough.

Lunch is awkward, but by dinner things seem to make a little more sense. It’s Sunday evening and being so very british, Edwin insists on having a roast. It’s ridiculous, far more food than any of them need and yet it’s fun. It’s a tradition Monty doesn’t understand and the two are such incredible cooks that he already knows it’ll be amazing. He doesn’t eat much at home, partially because he’s more focused on Cassie but also partially because he’s so stressed that he’s never hungry but being around the two seems to undo that a little, seems to ease his worries and untie the knot ever present in his stomach because he’s always starving in their house and they always provide. He’s never eaten as much as he has when he’s come over and for some reason he doesn’t feel guilty about it. There’s a certain glimmer of satisfaction Charles gets when he sees people eating his food, something Monty doesn’t quite understand but he doesn’t think Charles understands it either, if he’s even aware of it. It’s something so small, but it takes away any hint of embarrassment or shame that Monty feels because he wants to make Charles happy and it’s obvious that what makes Charles happy is seeing his friends - his loved ones - healthy and content.

Monty helps the two prep, chopping vegetables with Cassie - and feeding her little bites - and there’s music and mirth and things feel easier. It feels less like Monty massively fucked everything up and more like how it did before, like how it felt last night. Edwin and Charles make easy conversation with him, and Edwin interacts with Cassie in a way that is so uncomfortable and yet equally adorable at the same time and Monty feels better. They’re still going to talk, but maybe… just maybe… it won’t be quite as bad as he fears.

Cassie refuses to sit in her own seat while they eat, instead depositing herself in her dad’s lap. It’s a bit of a nightmare to try and feed himself, feed her and also hold conversation but he’s more than used to it by now. Cassie is the sweetest girl alive but she can also be very lazy when she wants attention, and she knows full well how to use her fork but won’t, not when she gets to be fed by her dad like this. A better parent would probably make her feed herself, would probably be better at setting boundaries to keep their meals uninterrupted but Monty is completely weak for her.

They relocate to the living room after they eat and Cassie immediately falls asleep on Monty’s chest and he’s silently glad for it, because it means he can hold onto her while they talk, he can remind himself that no matter what he has his daughter.

It’s a little uncomfortable for a few minutes, but as ever Edwin starts and surprisingly enough, the conversation comes easily enough.

“I am aware that I was rather blunt about the nature of our feelings towards you Monty, and I apologise for coming across as crass or too much-“ the idea of Edwin being anything other than infallibly polite and literate makes Monty smile and he hides it by kissing the top of Cassie’s head. “- but firstly I wanted to reiterate that we are completely serious about this, about you. You are kind, witty, smart and you and Cassie are such a welcome blessing to our lives, regardless of what we decide upon I- we need you to understand that we rather selfishly want to keep you in them. Whether as friends or as more, you and Cassie are important to us, far more than I could ever begin to explain.” He pauses, looking over at Charles who is smiling and nodding, before he smiles himself and it’s a little crooked and a little hesitant and Monty thinks he might be dreaming.

“Yeah, what Eds said, but more than that um- it would be aces if you do want to date us but like- you really don’t have to. We’ve talked about it, whatever you want, we can work around it, yeah? Whether you wanna stay mates, you wanna take things slow, just have sex with us, whatever it is… we want you. However you’ll have us.”

It’s so earnest, so genuinely passionate and keen that Monty cannot handle it. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a tear catches in the corner of his lips, hot and salty and he wipes it away on the sleeve of his jumper. The two look worried, like they’ve done something wrong and he’s quick to reassure them with a shaky smile. It’s just so loving, so sincerely kind and affectionate and no one has ever treated Monty like this before. No one has cared about him as much as the two before him clearly do. But it’s not just Monty they care about it, it’s Cassie too and that’s what pushed him right over the edge. Since the day she came home to him, he had resigned himself to a life of single parenthood. No one wanted a broken boy and his daughter, not as his age, and he’d accepted that pretty quick. Cassie was a product of his own mistakes, and responsibility for her was his to bear alone. 

Except suddenly it didn’t have to be.

Charles clearly adores Cassie, Monty’s known that since she started at the daycare. He’s so gentle with her, so kind and supportive and he’s so willing to look after her and love her. He made that blindingly clear when he insisted on paying for her to stay at the daycare. Edwin is far more reserved about it, but he loves her too. They’ve not spent the most time together, but he’s so good with her. He listens to her chattering, asks her questions and answers her own in turn, and he engages with her like one would an adult and she loves it. She adores the two men, just like Monty does. He just can’t believe it, he’s not worth it, he’s not deserving of such perfect men. Here they are, insisting to Monty that whatever he wants they’ll be happy with and he’s done nothing to earn such adoration.

They’re both looking at him, and he quickly realises amidst his tears that he’s supposed to reply, so he nods.

“Yes- yeah, yes fuck guys, of course I want you both. Want to date you both, that is.” It’s true, he does, he really really does. But he knows he’s not ready for a relationship, not just yet. Normally he’d ignore that though, shove it away and do whatever they wanted to appease them but they’ve had this conversation already goddamnit, and they want Monty to do what he wants.

“But can we take it slow? Go on some dates and stuff first..?”

The smiles he’s answered with are blinding, because of course neither of them would mind, they are the sun and the moon and they are the kindest people Monty knows.

He’s not used to being allowed what he wants, but they way they’re looking at him… he can’t resist. He wants to take, he wants to touch, he wants to understand what they feel for him.

So carefully, he detaches Cassie from his chest and lays her down on the sofa next to him, stroking her cheek as she stirs until she settles back down again and with his hands free he turns to the two.

“Can I kiss you?”

It’s addressed to both of them, and they’re both eagerly nodding, making space for Monty to settle down in between them and he does. He could sit between them, could make them take turns and wait but he doesn’t want that. They’ve told him they want him, that he can have them and he’s not going to have sex with them, not tonight, but he wants something more.

So he climbs onto Charles’ lap, kneels with one leg between his thighs and the other on the cushions so he’s facing him and there’s no second thoughts as he pulls him in.

It’s odd, really, because their first kiss was barely 24 hours ago. All of this, all of this emotion and conversation has only happened since this morning . It’s no wonder Monty’s exhausted, but he doesn’t care because he gets to kiss Charles Payne-Rowland (and he’ll get to kiss Edwin Payne-Rowland too) and he gets to enjoy it.

Charles tastes like honey roasted carrots and gravy and it should be a little gross but Monty cannot get enough of it. He can’t get enough of Charles. There’s a hunger in the way he kisses that makes Monty a little weak and he’s clearly trying very hard to be restrained if the way he’s gripping Monty’s waist is any indication and god is it perfect.

Charles is the sun, and his kiss is as searing hot as the rest of him and this time, this time Monty isn’t scared of getting burned. He knows they haven’t established anything, he knows that inevitably he’ll be cast aside and forgotten because he always is . But he doesn’t care. They said they wanted him and he believed them and he’ll enjoy it.

Edwin is far more refined when Monty eventually breaks away from Charles and drags him in, his hand delicately resting on his thigh, but Monty can tell he wants this just as much in he way his other hand curls around the back of his neck and holds him exactly where Edwin wants him. It’s not tight in a sense that Monty can’t pull away, but it almost is and he’s reminded of the previous night, of how he was pushed back into the mattress by wanting hands, how he was marvelled and adored and he’s starting to regret refusing the offer of their bed for the night.

Unfortunately though, he does need to leave eventually and after sinking into the pillows with the two for a little - and being kissed silly - he’s reluctantly forced to break away from the two.

Charles takes him home as promised, and he kisses Monty on the doorstep as he says goodbye, and Monty feels like a teenager again as he makes his way upstairs. He’s smiling the entire time he tucks Cassie into bed, and when he catches sight of himself in the bedroom mirror, he doesn’t stop.

Because he’s happy.

Genuinely happy.

Whatever comes will come, he has time to tear it all apart and ruin it for himself later, but for now… for now he can enjoy it. He will enjoy it.

Chapter Text

Things change for Monty Finch immediately.

He wakes up to his alarm as normal the next morning, Cassie still fast asleep next to him, and for the first time he has the indulgence of being able to text his boyfriends. Well - they’re not quite boyfriends yet, but Monty made the decision last night that he was going to enjoy himself and that is exactly what this is.

Both of them have texted him after last night and as he reads their messages he realises that Charles has made a groupchat for the three and for some reason that makes it seem so much more serious than it really is.

Unfortunately for Monty though, he’s suddenly immediately far too busy to actually spend as much time with the two as he wants. Suddenly he gets to see Charles at pick up and drop off and he gets to text Edwin and that’s it.

They make lunch plans which Monty almost immediately has to cancel after he’s called into work last minute, and the idea of indulging in more of Charles’ incredible cooking and exchanging lazy kisses on the sofa with them both morphs into a chaste kiss from each on the doorstep as he deposits his daughter on them for the day. They end up babysitting her overnight because his shift overruns and he’ll be home far too late to either pick her up or stay over, so he returns back to his apartment alone when he wakes up the next morning for his next shift, he realises. 

He is now undoubtedly not well.

It starts as a little tickle in the back of his throat, one that no amount of water or tea could soothe. Nothing too out of the ordinary, he’s used to getting the odd cold - especially since moving to England. The constant chill and rain and having a two year old who’s favourite hobby is sneezing directly into his eyeballs is not exactly conducive for a strong immune system, so he often finds himself fighting off a cough or the sniffles.

But unlike normal, this doesn’t seem to clear up on its own.

It was ridiculous, he isn’t even sick really, just burdened by an irritating cough that won’t budge, and now a headache that won’t ease. He’s still more than capable of looking after Cassie, and it’s still such early days in his relationship with Edwin and Charles - they’ve barely begun to go on dates, barely begun to get to know the real versions of each other - so Monty can absolutely not tell the two what’s wrong. It’s embarrassing really, being dragged down by a cold when he has so much to do. So he carries on as normal.

Or at least, he tries to.

It feels like a punishment really, divine retribution for daring to indulge himself in romance.

On the fifth day he finds himself nauseated by the idea of food. He hasn’t had the energy to go shopping since he started feeling miserable so there’s nothing he can force himself to eat, none of the snacks he normally stocks up on that he knows he can rely on when everything else seems too difficult. He’s got more than enough stuff for Cassie, but he’s always been a little bit particular about food and sometimes the texture and flavours of everything is just too much. Back in Washington he had a stock of things he always knew he could eat when he got like this, his favourite cookies, his favourite chips and crackers and instant noddles and for when even the idea of solid food was too much, instant cup soups. He doesn’t let himself think about the fact it had been Thomas who had suggested it to him, who had filled the cupboards of his shitty apartment with food he knew Monty could always eat because at the end of the day if their safe space wasn’t safe if Monty was neglecting himself. He didn’t let himself think about how hard that had become after their breakup, how he couldn’t even look at the things he’d once loved without remembering the relationship he’d never even officially had.

It’s been a little bit too difficult since moving here to find substitutes, and with his financial situation, Cassie very much became his priority. It wasn’t that he deliberately didn’t eat as much as he probably should, it was that he simply could not afford to, especially not while he adjusted to the new tastes and textures that came from popular (and easily accessible) British food. He’d found a few things he liked, but frankly the best he’d had was what Edwin and Charles cooked. There was just something about their food, something about how fresh and high quality and lovingly prepared everything was that Monty found himself able to eat all of it without complaint.

He drops Cassie off at nursery, accepts a private kiss on the cheek from Charles as he says goodbye to the two, then heads off to work. The day passes far too quickly, and Monty finds he’s not entirely sure what he’s done all day as he heads back to the nursery, other than the fact he’s exhausted and nauseous and he’s sweating despite the fact he’s also freezing cold. He needs a shower like nobody’s business but the boiler broke and the idea of dousing himself in cold water is truly off putting beyond words. He hasn’t been able to afford petrol this week so he’s been taking the bus with Cassie and he deeply regrets not telling Edwin and Charles as he sits waiting, the humiliation of his financial state now completely overwhelmed by how truly shit he feels as the bus jolts around.

By the time he reaches the nursery, he’s dizzy and nauseous and half convinced that if he doesn’t sit down immediately then he might fall down, so he takes a minute in the reception to gather himself. He’ll be fine, he’ll be more than fine.

He just needs a minute.

Unfortunately a minute doesn’t help, because he still feels just as awful as he did when he walked in, but he doesn’t have the time to rest. He needs to get Cassie and he needs to get home.

There’s almost no one left by the time he pushes open the nursery door, just a few of the kids who’s parents are always late, and he immediately spots where Cassie is enthusiastically playing dolls with one of the other kids. She looks happy and well and it’s as reassuring as it always is, knowing that she’s okay. Even though he trusts Charles completely, he’s always worried about leaving her alone for the day, just in case. He’s not exactly sure what that case is, but it’s always in the back of his mind.

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he starts, spinning around on his heel, he’s on high alert and he’s not entirely sure why but when he realises who it is he relaxes instantly.

“Hi.”

He’s pulled into a hug immediately and he goes limp against him, burying his face in his shoulder as he sighs. He’s so tired, and Charles is so strong and warm and secure that he doesn’t want to ever pull away.

Seemingly neither does Charles, because he immediately hugs Monty close, his arms winding around him as he presses a kiss into the hair at the top of his head.

“Hi baby,” he coos, and Monty melts. 

He doesn’t have the right to call Charles his boyfriend yet but he is something and god is something better than nothing because it means he get to have this.

“How was work?”

Charles’ voice is a deep rumble against him and he just sighs again, shaking his head.

“Shit.”

Monty feels Charles smile sympathetically against his hair, a warm hand slipping from his shoulders to rub his lower back as they stand there together. It’s just what he needs after a long day, to be held and kissed and he cannot wait until things are serious and he gets to have this more. But that time isn’t now, so he can’t let himself be distracted from what he has at the moment. Charles shifts against him and he realises he’s been asked something and he pulls back, about to apologise and ask him to repeat himself when Charles frowns.

“- Monty?” He reaches up, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. His frown only deepens, expression changing from one of confusion to genuine concern.

“Mate, you’re burning up, are you sick? Why didn’t you say something?”

Charles’ words are only vaguely registering in Monty’s mind as he pulls away, because his ears are suddenly ringing and there’s a tingling in his hands and feet that does not feel quite right. He tries to reply but he can’t make his mouth work and he suddenly feels like he’s far too hot and sweaty, his skin prickling uncomfortably.

It’s then that his knees buckle but Charles is quick to grab onto him, and he’s so strong, supporting Monty’s weight easily as he guides him to a chair.

“-nty? Monty? Monty.”

Monty blinks, and suddenly his vision isn’t quite as grey as it was, and Charles is kneeling in front of him, one hand on his knee and the other keeping him upright, firm against his chest.

“Sorry.” He manages to whisper, his eyes closing again as he leans back in his chair, taking a deep breath as the dizziness starts to fade away.

“ ‘m fine.”

“What? No, you’re absolutely not mate,” Charles says firmly, rubbing his knee. “You just almost fainted, and you look… shit. What’s going on? Talk to me love.”

He’s so worried, Monty can hear it and it just makes him feel guilty, because the last thing he wants is for Charles to stress over him because he absolutely doesn’t deserve it, but god he just feels awful and Charles is being so nice and he can’t help himself from spilling.

“I’m sick, I think,” he says weakly, then shakes his head because it sounds so stupid . Of course he’s sick. Charles can very clearly see that. “I- I don’t know, I just… I’m tired and I’m dizzy and I haven’t been able to eat or sleep much because I just feel so shitty.”

There’s a moment of silence before Charles sighs, and Monty’s eyes snap open because he’s fucked it up, he’s annoyed him and now he’s going to be a burden on him for being sick and-

That doesn’t come.

Because Charles isn’t angry at him. 

Because he cares.

He’s looking up at him so kindly, so tenderly, and there’s no hint of frustration, none of the irritation at Monty daring to be sick that he grew up so painfully used to with Esther.

Because he cares.

“Oh Monty mate… what are we going to do with you?” He asks, then smiles, and it’s so warm and affectionate, “I’ll call Edwin, you’re absolutely not going back to your flat tonight. We’ll take care of Cassie and we can take care of you too, yeah?”

“No - no that’s too-“

“- Mate,” Charles interrupts, and Monty feels a little of the tension bleed away with how genuinely sincere he’s being. “You’re sick, I know you’re used to doing this shit alone but you don’t have to. Not anymore. I know you me and Edwin haven’t had a proper chance to go on dates or whatever but this is serious to me, yeah? You have us now, so don’t be an idiot and come back to ours. Please.”

How could Monty ever say no?

Getting home is a bit of a blur, Charles forces a glass of water into him - despite his protests - while they wait for the rest of the kids to be collected, before bundling both Monty and Cassie into his little old golf and taking them back. He thinks he must have fallen asleep on the drive because he wakes up to Charles very carefully unbuckling his seatbelt for him, and it’s so intimate that it makes him want to burst into tears - although he blames that on the raging fever. He’s beyond exhausted now as Charles helps him to the front door, Cassie toddling before them, and it’s like his body knows that he’s going to be taken care of because suddenly all the fight has drained out of him and he aches. He hasn’t felt this miserable in a very long time and he’s silently beyond grateful Charles noticed that there was something wrong because god he couldn’t not look after Cassie like this, not by himself.

Edwin meets them at the door and after graciously returning Cassie’s eager hug, he takes Monty from Charles, letting him rest his weight against him. It’s surprising, how much bigger Edwin actually is than Charles. Charles is taller - only by an inch although he’s very fond of bragging about it - but despite Charles’ cricket and his gym routine,  Edwin is the strong one. He’s sturdy and surprisingly broad shouldered and the memory of him pinning Monty down into the mattress with one broad hand in the middle of his chest will forever be burned into his memory. He clearly has no issue supporting Monty (who frankly is more dead weight than anything right now) and it would be ridiculously hot if Monty didn’t feel a little bit like he was about to die.

Edwin kisses Charles over Monty, then kisses his forehead. He’d like a proper kiss, but his neck hurts and the idea of exposing Edwin to his germs just for one quick brush of their lips doesn’t quite seem appropriate, so he makes so with this for now.

“Goodness darling, you’re really not well,” he murmurs, and Monty can hear his frown. “Come, let’s get you to bed, Charles can deal with Cassiopeia.”

“I’m fine,” he slurs, and his voice betrays him with how thick with exhaustion it is. “I can get myself to bed.”

Edwin sighs, then the arm holding Monty close slips underneath his shoulders instead and suddenly in one fluid movement he’s scooped him up into his arms, holding him bridal style against his chest.
Monty makes a noise that is utterly undignified as he’s picked up, burying his face immediately into Edwin’s collar as he protests.

“Edwin! Put me down!” There’s humiliatingly little conviction in his words though because as much as he’s horrified by being picked up so effortlessly, he’s also very interested in the fact he’s been picked up so effortlessly. And his fever addled brain has absolutely no idea what to focus on.

“Most certainly not. You’re going to bed and you’re going to allow us to look after you. Charles knows how to look after Cassie and I can manage dinner and things by myself so you can focus on getting some sleep.” He says firmly as he carries him down the corridor to their room and there’s something about the way he sets him down on the bed like he weighs nothing that Monty knows he’s going to be thinking about for a while.

He’s supplied with a soft shirt that definitely belongs to Charles, and a pair of checked pyjama trousers that are definitely Edwin’s given how big they are on him and as soon as he’s changed, Edwin puts him to bed (although only after he’s been supplied with a couple of paracetamol and a glass of water). He carefully smooths the duvet over Monty as he tucks him in, making sure every inch of him is warm and covered, before he settles down next to him. Monty’s already half asleep, he has been ever since  his head hit the pillow, but he fights to wakefulness as Edwin reaches across him to pick up a book.

“Charles always likes it when I read to him when he’s not feeling well, I thought perhaps I could read to you?” He asks, and there’s an unfamiliar hesitancy there, one Monty does not like so he nods, slipping a hand out of the covers to circle around Edwin’s knee. It’s the closest part of his leg that he can reach and he’s not anywhere near enough in his right mind to do anything more so he settles down on his side as Edwin starts to read.

They make it through approximately half a page before Monty is out like a light, lulled to sleep by the melodic tone of Edwin’s voice. He’s curled with his face pressed against Edwin’s thigh, hand still curled around his knee. He looks so young like this, Edwin can’t help but think, far too young and innocent for anything he’s lived through. Edwin can’t resist pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead as he gently detangles himself, pausing to murmur against his skin.

“Sleep well darling.”

When Edwin returns to the kitchen, Charles has Cassie perched on his hip, holding her securely to his side as he prepares a plate of snacks for her. When he spots his husband, he grins, offering out a stick of cucumber towards him.

“How is he?”

“He’s asleep,” Edwin says, then sighs, taking the cucumber from his husband. “But I’m rather worried about him, he really was very warm and he looked pretty awful as I put him to bed. I think he’s more unwell than he’s letting on.”

Charles nods , “Yeah, he almost fainted on me at work when he came by, that was why I insisted he came back here.”

He glances down at Cassie in his arms, smiling fondly at her when she looks up. She might be Monty’s daughter, but frankly Charles would be lying if he said he didn’t love her like his own at this point. She really was the cutest kid around.

“Hey baby girl, how long has daddy been sick for? Did he mention it to you?”

She stares up at him, her brown eyes so wide - just like her father’s - before she shrugs. “I dunno… he’s been coughing for days.”

“Thank you baby, hey, why don’t you go get your pens and then we can do some colouring together? That’d be aces.”

She beams at that, wriggling in his arms until he sets her down. “Okay Mr Rowland!” 

They watch as she runs off, before Charles turns back to his husband.

“He’s been sick a couple of days then, why didn’t he say something? I mean - like - have we not been making ourselves clear again? I thought it was pretty obvious when we all agreed that we wanted to date but like why didn’t he tell us? I’m worried he’s regretting this or something.” He confesses, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like I know he’s been busy but I thought it was all going pretty aces, we’ve been texting all the time but clearly not.”

Edwin closes the gap between them then, gently unwrapping Charles’ arms as he steps in to fill the space.

“My love, I don’t know. The only person who can answer that question is Monty himself. We’ll just have to wait until he’s feeling better, won’t we?”

He’s right, and Charles knows that, but he still sighs as he drops his forehead to Edwin’s shoulder.

“Yeah yeah I know,” he mumbles, “it just sucks, I want things to be official already, I want him to be our boyfriend.”

“I know love, I do too.”

———

Monty awakes to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, and the smell of honey and ginger. It takes him a couple of minutes to wake up, because he just feels so heavy. His joints ache and he’s exhausted and he feels a little like he’s been bashed around the head with how congested he is - both nostrils completely blocked - but he’s also comfortable. He’s warm, and the hand in his hair is so comforting that through his delirium he knows exactly where he is. More importantly, he knows exactly who he’s with.

He can’t quite distinguish who’s hand is in his hair, but there’s another on his hip he realises as he opens his eyes and he knows they’re both there with him. Someone’s saying something above him, but he’s too tired to hear it just yet and it’s clearly not meant for him, so he squeezes his eyes tight shut and lets himself sink back into the covers.

Only a few moments pass before he opens his eyes again, but he feels a little more awake, a little less like his head is full of static.

“How are you feeling?” Asks someone above him, he can’t quite tell which one it is, but he can’t answer yet, his mouth refusing to cooperate with his body as he makes an indeterminable noise. It’s halfway between a sigh and a groan and it makes the two above him chuckle affectionately.

“There’s some tea and some food for you mate, if you feel up to it.” The hand in his hair stills and that’s definitely Charles, which means the hand on his hip must be Edwin, and he’s so overwhelmed suddenly by how close they are, how devoted they are to him.

“Mmh.” He manages, and the hand on his head slips down to his shoulders.

“Do you want some help sitting up?”

As they prop him up, he opens his eyes, the world swimming for a moment or two before he steadies and looks around. Charles is next to him on the bed, wearing no shirt just his red boxers and Edwin is comically fully dressed on his other side and it’s so ridiculous that he smiles, and then sniffs, and there are suddenly hot wet tears leaking down his cheeks. He’s not entirely sure why he’s crying, but his nose is so blocked and his head aches so much that it absolutely does not help the pressure building in his temples. It clearly worries the two though because they’re at attention immediately, Charles reaching in to swipe the tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“Darling? What’s wrong?” Asks Edwin, and Monty makes a pathetic wet sobbing noise in response, because god he doesn’t deserve this. He does not deserve any of this. Not in the slightest. They’re a married couple, two men utterly devoted to one another and there is no reality in which Monty deserves to be a part of that. Not like this. Not when he’s such a fucking mess. He can’t even handle looking after himself with a cold, can’t handle looking after his daughter, and he doesn’t understand why they’re being so kind to him. Well, he does, because they’ve told him that they care about him, that they’ve told him they want him but that’s what he really, really doesn’t understand. He’s been trying to play along, to enjoy what he can get but now, like this, he can’t keep up the act. He can’t pretend they’re happy boyfriends and he deserves this when he’s being so fucking needy. He’s a burden on them like this, taking up space in their bed, taking their attention off of one another and he’s making them look after Cassie and that’s what he can’t forgive himself for. Cassie is his daughter and he swore he’d never be such a terrible father that he’d push her onto someone else, and that he’d been selfish as to let himself indulge in being taken care of and made Edwin and Charles look after her is unforgivable. Monty doesn’t get taken care of, he takes care of other people, and he just can’t bear this. He can’t bear to be coddled in bed when he ought to be looking after his daughter.

He realises he’s babbling half of this outbound when Edwin and Charles look massively more concerned than they did only moments before and a sob catches in his throat as he mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘I’m sorry’ before he’s curling into himself, hiding his face away in his hands. This is even more unforgivable, because he doesn’t get to be emotional. He doesn’t get the right to cry and complain and be upset. He just doesn’t. He doesn’t get the right to focus on himself and his problems because they’re his to deal with, not anyone else’s, especially not the two men who are already devoting far too much attention to him. It’s almost definitely the fever talking, and he’s dimly aware of that, but he just feels so awful that every scrap of common sense and rationality have gone out of the window.

As soon as Monty starts crying, Charles’ heart sinks. He really doesn’t look good at all. He’s paler than normal, face drawn and sharply contrasting to the bags under his eyes. His eyes are glazed over, a little vacant and glassy and it’s clear he’s not with it as he looks between the two. So when he starts sobbing and rambling about not deserving it, his heart breaks for his almost boyfriend, because he’s so clearly not well. When he’d collapsed in his arms that afternoon it had been obvious that something was wrong, but here and now it’s clear that he’s really, genuinely sick. And it makes something bitter and miserable inside of him churn, something that can’t help but feel a little angry that Monty kept this secret from them. After their miscommunication about their relationship Charles really truly thought that he’d been doing things right, that they’d been making Monty feel comfortable and welcome and loved even though they’d all been too busy to spend much time together but no. Evidently not. Because he didn’t think it was worth telling the two people who care about him and will always look after him that he needed caring for and looking after .

Edwin looks at him, and Charles looks back, because neither of them are entirely sure what to do. Monty’s feverish and delirious and it’s definitely the sickness talking, but he obviously believes what he’s saying - although that’s something to bring up later - and Charles does not know what to say. He doesn’t massively think Monty is able to listen right now though, so he does the one thing he knows would always comfort him.

He hugs him.

And Monty winds himself around him immediately in response, warm and a little sweaty. He feels his tears against his shoulder and he hushes him, gently relocating them both so they’re lying back against the mattress.

“Shhh, mate- love , you’re all right, you’re aces, okay? We got you.” He murmurs, letting Monty curl up against his chest. “Go back to sleep, we’re right here.”

It doesn’t take much convincing before Monty’s breathing has settled and he’s gone lax in Charles’ embrace, still pressed so tightly against him. It’s almost uncomfortable with how warm he is, but Charles would sooner die than detangle himself when Monty so clearly needs this.

Edwin is still sitting on the mattress next to them, watching Monty with concern and when it’s clear that he’s asleep, he frowns, steely blue eyes meeting brown.

“I’m worried about him.” He confesses, his brow furrowed, and Charles can see just how much he really feels it, because he has always been able to read his husband like a book. And Edwin is worried. Not just because Monty is… well, whatever he is to them right now and he is sick, but because Edwin loves him. The way he’s looking at him, the tenderness in his gaze… Charles has only ever seen him look at one other person like that before. Himself.

And he feels exactly the same way.

“Yeah.” He replies, rubbing absently at Monty’s back through his thin shirt. “Me too. He just needs to sleep it off I think, give him a day or two and he’ll be aces, yeah?”

Edwin nods, but Charles can tell he’s not reassured, he’s in his head about this, in his head about how Monty could let himself get this bad.

“Put your pyjamas and come to bed love.”

———

When Monty wakes up the next time, it’s daytime, and he’s alone. It’s probably mid morning, given the way white light peeks out from underneath the curtains and he bolts upright, scrabbling around for his phone.

10:41 am.

Shit.

Cassie.

He still feels like his head is full of lead and he’s so congested he can barely breathe but he scrambled out of bed, not registering the little handwritten note tucked underneath his phone. As soon as he stands up he realises his mistake however, because the world swims around him and he feels his legs go weak as his blood pressure dips and he is uncomfortably reminded that first and foremost he is sick. He half lowers himself and half falls back onto the mattress, pressing a hand to his forehead as he waits for the dizziness and the nausea to pass. He’s still so uncomfortable, he can feel himself sweating, but he’s also freezing and the tshirt and pyjama pants he’s wearing both feel like far too much and nowhere near enough at all once.

It takes a good few minutes for the ringing in his ears to fade, and he takes his time as he sits up, waiting for the head rush to fade before he tries to stand. Thankfully, he doesn’t try again because a folded slip of paper with his name on it catches his attention and he picks it up, studying it for a moment before he opens it.

             Monty.

Good morning love, I hope you’re feeling somewhat better. Charles has taken Cassiopeia to work with him so do not fret, she’s made it to nursery safe and on time. She had a delicious breakfast of fruit and yogurt with us before she left (as did Charles), so she’s been fed! Charles took several photos of her which I’m sure he’s messaged you, to say she attacked her blackberries would be an understatement.

I am working in my office today and will be checking up on you regularly so please do not hesitate to ask for whatever you need. There is paracetamol and a glass of water for you, please take them when you wake up.

- Edwin

It takes him several attempts to read, his fever making the words swim off of the page, but the message is clear.

He’s safe.

Cassie is safe.

The adrenaline that has been coursing through him ever since he realised how late he was begins to fade as he props himself up on his elbow, reaching over to bedside table. He shoves the tablets into his mouth, washing them down with the water. The few sips he take ease some of the pain in his throat and he suddenly no longer feels quite as awful as he did moments before. There’s an uncomfortable ache in the pit of his stomach and he really ought to eat something but he really doesn’t want to. It’s been a good day since he ate anything substantial and it definitely isn’t helping how overwhelmingly dizzy he feels, but the idea of finding something to eat is far more effort than he has the energy for.

Except.

He doesn’t have to.

He’s still definitely feverish and delirious, but a good nights sleep has made him feel a little less like he’s on another planet, and more importantly he feels a little less like a burden. But before he can even overthink it, there’s a gentle rap at the door as it opens, and Edwin peeks through.

“Ah - Monty, you’re awake. I made you some soup if you’d like some?”

And yeah, he doesn’t have to do this alone.

Chapter Text

And he doesn’t. 

A few days of enforced bed rest, plenty of nourishing home-cooked meals and a whole lot of love and affection from Edwin and Charles (and Cassie too) has him back on his feet in no time. 

They firmly refuse to let him go either back to work or his apartment until he’s actually better and as much as he argues, he can’t help but accept. It makes him a little giddy, being so fussed over because no one has ever taken such good care of him. Not like this. Not even his own mother. The night Monty was brought back to theirs, Charles drove to Monty’s apartment with his keys and got everything that Cassie might need, as well as some bits and bobs that Monty might want too, namely the handful of medication boxes he’d noticed the first time he’d dropped by that Monty had never mentioned. They didn’t talk about it which Monty was very grateful for.

He’d apparently kicked up a fuss about them not needing to look after Cassie and it being his responsibility. But after being reassured by them both that they didn’t mind and then by Cassie herself that she was excited about it and that she just wanted her daddy to get better, he’d accepted - but only after deliriously insisting on making it up to them. 

He’s a little sniffly still, and still generally a little run down, but he’s no longer feverish and he’s no longer deliriously babbling about god knows what, and he’s no longer shivering and sweating simultaneously which frankly was the worst part.  

He feels okay. He is okay, because Edwin and Charles were there for him. 

Taking care of people evidently does not come as instinctively to Edwin as it does to  Charles, given his stilted forcefulness when it comes to things like food and medication and Monty actually sitting down and relaxing, but it’s possibly the sweetest thing Monty has ever been subjected to because it’s clear that Edwin is trying . He is pushing through his uncertainty and his hesitation because he cares about Monty. It’s hard to be annoyed at the constant fuss when it’s clear nothing is more important to him in those moments than Monty’s well-being. 

He’s currently lying on the sofa wearing clothes that don’t belong to him with hair still wet from his shower. He's swaddled in a blanket that he’s pretty sure Niko knitted as a wedding present and nursing yet another cup of tea forced on him - he’s never drunk so much tea in his entire life as he has since staying at Edwin and Charles’ and he’s quickly growing to genuinely enjoy it which surprises him - when the door creaks open and in peeks Charles. There’s some random Netflix drama playing that Monty is only half watching and he mutes it as Charles pads in. Neither of them speak as he crosses the room, nor as he sits on the sofa by Monty’s knees. He looks worn out, Monty realises, tired in a way he’s never seen on him. There’s something about the slump in his shoulders, the way his smile is half twisted into a frown, and the general weight he seems to be carrying that worries him, and it’s instinctive when he opens his arms. 

Charles wastes absolutely no time in clambering onto him, wrapping himself around Monty as he settles face down against him. He’s half lying on the sofa, half on Monty’s chest, and Monty hugs him back just as firmly. It’s pretty obvious that he needs this, and after how intensely he’s been cared for the past few days, he’s more than happy to reciprocate. 

They lie there for a minute before Charles sighs into his collar, and it feels a little like a release of some kind as he begins to finally relax - tension bleeding out of him. Absently Monty reaches a hand up from his back and places it against brown curls. He’s seen the way Edwin plays with his husband’s hair when they curl up together on the sofa, has seen the way Charles melts into the touch, his head tilting into his palm as he gently runs slender fingers through it, but he’s not sure if that’s something he’s allowed to do. When Charles doesn’t react, he takes that as a positive sign and slowly, timidly, he buries the tips of his fingers in his surprisingly soft curls and scratches at his scalp. 

Charles’ reaction is instantaneous, a soft groan escaping him as he goes lax against Monty finally, and Monty can’t help but smile. 

“You okay?” he whispers, and ever so slowly Charles nods into his shoulder. He’s not necessarily expecting a verbal response, but he’s secretly pleased when he gets one.

“Aces.” he mumbles, his words a little slurred by Monty’s shoulder. “Just real fuckin’ tired.” 

Monty makes a noise, something gentle and reassuring as he continues to rub his scalp. He’s pretty certain there’s something deeper there too, something he’s not telling him, but he’s not going to probe. If Charles just needs to lie here then he’ll more than happily provide. After all, it speaks volumes that he’s trusted enough, that Charles has sought him out over his husband, and it makes something that has still been nervous about all of this ease a little in his chest. They haven’t spoken about what they are - they haven’t really had the chance with Monty being so sick - and he knows they really desperately do need to sit down, but frankly he’s scared. He’s scared that this past week has put them off, that they’ve realised how fucking needy he can be and how much effort (and space) he and Cassie take up. Even just looking around the living room now he can see the impact their being here has made, there are toys piled in every corner, kid’s books open on the sofa cushions, Cassie’s adorably terrible crayon doodles sliding off of the coffee table onto the floor. Sure Charles knows how to look after kids but surely this has been too much. Surely they’ve realised that Monty is far too much of a commitment. He can’t blame them if they have, not really. He’s always been uncomfortably aware that he is too fucking much - a drag, a nuisance, an irritating brat in the words of his mother - and god he’s certainly been all of those these past few days. So it’ll be no surprise when they smile apologetically and hold his hand and tell him they’ve changed their minds. He won’t be upset, he won’t deserve to get upset, he’ll just have to thank them for what they gave him and that’ll be the end of it. That’s why he hasn’t brought it up, because he knows what’s coming, and the longer he puts it off the longer he gets to enjoy things like this. 

Well, enjoy is the wrong word. He’s not pleased by Charles’ vulnerability, but there’s something satisfying about being trusted with it. About how Charles has come to him for comfort. 

They lie there for a while, Monty with his hand in Charles’ hair, and Charles with his face buried in Monty’s shoulder. The show is still playing on the tv, but Monty’s hardly paying any attention at all now beyond reading the occasional subtitle, his focus is on the man in his arms. 

He can’t really see Charles’ face like this, but he can see the nape of his neck, the way soft hair curls against his skin, he can see the curve of his shoulders, the way a faded bruise disappears just beneath the collar of his shirt, and he can see the way the rest of him is curled against Monty, and it’s perfect how well they fit together. Charles is perfect. 

He’s content to just admire him, but eventually the magic breaks. Charles pushes himself up, shifting so he’s settled more comfortably on Monty’s chest and he finally gets to see him. There’s something bothering him, but Monty pushes it aside in favour of returning the shy smile he’s offered. 

“Hi handsome,” The hand in Charles’ curls slips down to stroke over his cheek, thumb delicate as it brushes over his cheekbone. He’s beautiful, really truly beautiful, and it’s enough to make Monty feel a little breathless just looking at him. 

“Hi love,” Charles whispers back, and for a moment, the weight seems to lift from his shoulders as he stares right back at Monty. That nickname never fails to make shivers run down his spine and it’s no exception now, his smile growing a little brighter. Something in Charles’ expression eases and his smile suddenly looks a little less forced before he stretches forwards and closes the gap between them. 

It takes Monty by surprise for some reason, but he’s quick to kiss him back, the hand on Charles’ cheek suddenly holding onto him a little more securely. He’s not entirely sure why he’s surprised by the kiss, because although they’ve been a little more restrained with it since he fell ill, it’s not as if they weren’t kissing and touching like this before. 

It’s over far too soon though and Charles sighs as he breaks away, touching his forehead to Monty’s. It’s so intimate, so genuinely trusting that Monty swallows back his fear, and he asks. 

“Are you okay? Like - genuinely okay?”

Charles pauses, then he pushes himself up off and away from Monty, and for a brief, devastating second, he’s worried he’s done something wrong and that he’s ruined this moment between them, but then Charles simply readjusts so he’s sitting back against the cushions and takes one of Monty’s hands between both of his own. He doesn’t look at him as he opens his mouth to talk, but Monty recognises this from when he opened up about his past, this is simply his way of getting his words together. 

“I… Honestly- no.” He admits, and Monty’s heart sinks. “I… I’ve been so worried about you, and… us… and you said something while you were sick that I can’t really stop thinking about and it’s sort of just not been a brills few days.” His brown eyes meet Monty’s wide ones then, and Monty’s skin turns to ice. He feels a little like he’s going to be sick and simultaneously like he can’t breathe because he has absolutely no idea what Charles is talking about. 

He inhales, and it’s far too sharp and ragged and somehow doesn’t ease any of the tightness that has immediately formed in his chest, and god, fuck this is it. This is the end. He’s fucked things up for himself by saying something he probably didn’t mean to say and he can’t even remember what it was but it obviously wasn’t good. He’s ruined this, just like he ruins everything. 

“Charles…” he breathes, “I- I don’t- I’m not… I’m sorry, whatever I said I-”

Charles cuts him off immediately, his forehead creasing into a frown. “You don’t need to apologise love, god, no, you’ve not done anything wrong.” 

Monty freezes at that, his words dying in his throat because he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t have any idea what Charles is talking about because if he doesn’t need to apologise for it then - 

Oh. 

Oh no.  

Did he talk about… her? 

His expression clearly gives him away because Charles squeezes his hand and looks a little more concerned as he continues. 

“When we put you to bed after I took you home the other day, we brought you some food and you.. Um… you weren’t all with it ‘cause you were really ill, but mate you said all this stuff about how you didn’t deserve having us looking after you and that- do you actually think that?”

Monty feels a little bit like he’s been shaken. On the one hand he’s extremely relieved that it wasn’t what he’d thought, but on the other he’s also more than a little confused by why Charles seems so genuinely upset. He doesn’t want to lie to him, so he doesn’t. He nods, slow and a little hesitant, and Charles looks like he’s about to burst into tears. 

“Baby,” he whispers, and Monty’s heart breaks with how pitiful and small he sounds. Charles Payne-Rowland should never sound like this, should never sound so hurt, not because of Monty. “Why not? What - what did we do wrong?” 

The question takes him aback and he looks up at him in confusion, his fingers curling around Charles’.

“What did you do wrong? Nothing - nothing at all, god you’ve not done anything wrong. Why - how? No, god it’s not like that. You - You’re too good for me. You and Edwin both. You’re both so perfect in like - every single way and I’m me and you’re so kind to me despite that. I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of this kindness you’ve shown me at all.”

He’s not entirely sure why he’s being so honest, it’s surprising hearing himself admit everything he’s kept secret for so long, but something about the look on Charles’ face begs for the truth, begs for Monty to reassure him and fix this. 

“No one has ever been as kind to me as the two of you have, you… you’re everything and I’m so much, I’m such a fucking mess and I’m a responsibility that no one other than me ought to endure but you guys have and its- you don’t- you don't have to but you do and I don’t deserve that.”

He pauses then, because really there’s not much more to say - well, there is so much more, but no one needs to hear that, especially not Charles - and for a moment they just look at one another, Monty uncertain and Charles wide-eyed. He looks almost like Monty’s slapped him or something, just staring at him in genuine disbelief, and Monty’s stomach churns uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry I - I shouldn’t have said that, I - it’s - just ignore me please I - I -”

“Monty…” Charles breathes, interrupting him yet again in his spiral. “You - fuck.” 

He shifts then, almost sitting in Monty’s lap as he drops his hand, then reaches out for his face. He cups his cheeks, holding him in place as he stares down at him, his brown eyes searching his expression. 

“You really think that? You - you think so little of yourself that you think we’re having to be responsible for you?”

All Monty can do is swallow awkwardly, his cheeks burning pink without his consent as the humiliation of what exactly he’d just confessed dawning on him. 

“I-”

“No, mate - love, hold up a tick yeah? You are not a burden, you are not a mess, you’re not a responsibility or something we have to deal with or whatever, okay? You - you’re aces. We’re here ‘cause we want to be, okay? You’re pretty and you’re kind and you’re funny and we really fucking like you, and you deserve to be taken care of just as much as anyone does - especially when you’re ill. Honestly mate you deserve more than most people ‘cause you’ve put up with so much shit for so long. You deserve to be taken care of for once and that’s what me and Edwin are here for because we like you, we like you so much.”

Monty’s emotions have betrayed him and he sniffles as his vision blurs suddenly, and his voice feels thick as he tries to speak, but Charles hushes him again and brushes a thumb under his eye, catching something hot and wet as it leaks down his cheek. 

“We haven’t taken it slow yet and I’m really sorry for that but honestly love, I - I want to call you my boyfriend already. Me and Edwin both do. You matter so much to me - to us , and I can’t bear thinking that you think so little of this and of us that you think you don’t deserve this.” 

He catches another tear, and he’s so soft, so gentle and genuine and kind with it that Monty can’t hold it in any longer. A sob tears from his chest and Charles drops his face in favour of wrapping his arms around him, drawing Monty in close as the dam breaks. He’s not even entirely sure what he’s feeling, because he’s not sad, but he’s also not necessarily happy either. He’s just… something. He believes Charles though, he genuinely believes him, because something about the way he spoke… something about the devout sincerity in his tone… it was just obvious he wasn’t lying. It was obvious he meant every word. 

Monty Finch is not used to being wanted. Not genuinely wanted, with all his flaws and scars and baggage. Thomas wanted him once, and what they had was special, but it was never real because they were kids. They didn’t know who they were and it didn’t matter, not then. But this, now? This is serious, this means something because Monty isn’t just something pretty looking for fun anymore, he’s a father to a daughter and a working man and a tenant of a shitty apartment in London and things matter now. Life matters. 

And Charles knows that.

And he wants him anyway. 

They both do. 

In some ways it feels like a release as he sobs into Charles’ embrace, like he’s finally letting go of something that’s been sitting heavy on his soul for longer than he can even really remember. 

He runs out of tears pretty quickly, overwhelmed with the strange mix of emotions coursing through him, but he doesn’t let go of Charles because he can’t, not yet. Thankfully Charles doesn’t make any effort to let go either though and Monty is more than grateful. It takes him a few moments to find his voice, to push away the swell of emotion and clear his throat, and when he speaks it’s raw with emotion.

“You mean it?”

He knows he does, he really does, but he just needs to hear it again, to hear Charles admit that he wants him. 

“I mean it love, I want to be your boyfriend. I want to look after you, I want to look after Cassie. I want everything that you think makes you a burden.”

Monty drags him down before he’s even finished speaking and they flop ungracefully back against the sofa cushions as their mouths meet.

“I want that too,” he whispers against his lips, so close that they’re breathing the same air. “I want you so much, both of you like - I’m crazy about you.”

Charles shuts him up with a kiss, and he’s smiling against him. Monty is too.

---

Edwin finds them a little while later tangled together on the sofa, so close that it appears almost as if they’ve merged into one. They’re sort of watching the show still, but Charles is also determinedly kissing every inch of exposed skin on Monty’s face and neck and they’re both giggling like schoolchildren about it. Tears have dried, insecurities pushed aside, and Edwin is greeted with smiles as bright as the sun and the stars. He begins to apologise for intruding, but Charles is quick to dismiss it, instead reaching a hand out for his husband which Monty quickly mirrors. 

“Don’t just stand there love,” he says, and there’s that achingly familiar softness shining in his eyes, where it’s clear he’s let down all his guards. In the years they’ve known one another, Edwin has only ever seen it directed at him… it’s clear that’s not the case any longer, and he couldn’t be happier for it. This is the real Charles, the Charles he got to know and fell so deeply in love with back when they were kids, and it is only fitting that Monty gets him too. 

He allows himself to be persuaded over, perching on the edge of the cushion by what he assumes are their knees. There is certainly not enough space for the three of them to cuddle together, but that doesn’t stop Charles from valiantly trying to drag Edwin down to join them. 

“Really my love, there isn’t space. I only came in to tell you both that dinner is almost ready, we can cuddle plenty in bed later if you insist on it.” He huffs, but he’s smiling far too fondly for his protest to be taken seriously. 

Monty takes one of his hands, and Charles takes the other, and Edwin realises suddenly that there’s something he’s not been privy to because something between them has changed, and evidently it’s about to change for him too. 

“Is there something you wish to tell me?” He asks, a little awkwardly because he’s suddenly nervous and he’s not entirely sure why. It doesn’t seem as if whatever they’re about to say to him is a bad thing, but it still sets him on edge because all of this is so unfamiliar. He is completely new to this - they are all completely new to this - and his only real experience has been with Charles. Both Monty and Charles have dated others in the past but all Edwin has ever known is Charles… and now Monty. 

And he is completely out of his depth.

He loves it because he loves them (which is a thought he carefully tucks away for later) but he’s still nervous, because as much as he is desperately following the light of the shining stars which are the two men before him, there is a trepidation that comes with stepping blindly out into the dark and Edwin has never considered himself good at being brave. 

Not like this.

Monty’s smile only grows brighter, and Charles looks between the two with such intense devotion that Edwin realises that there is no point in being afraid. How could he ever doubt them?

“I want to be your boyfriend.” Monty says, and Edwin moves to react, or respond, or something but Charles stops him with a gentle squeeze of his fingers. 

“I want to be your boyfriend properly,” he continues. “I know I said I wanted to take it slow but I know what I want now and I want - I want you. Both of you… if you’ll still have me?”

Edwin sucks in a breath, and then he’s smiling too, and things do feel different, but it’s unequivocally in a good way. 

“Of course, of course I’ll have you.” He answers, lifting their intertwined hands. He’s not entirely sure why he does it, partially because both of his hands are preoccupied and partially because he just wants to get closer to Monty and it’s far too awkward a position to kiss him on the mouth. So he presses his lips delicately to each of his knuckles instead, hiding the way his cheeks have pinked at the situation. He’d been so worried that after everything they’d scare Monty off, that they’d been too much or not enough or just not right, but clearly his worries were in vain. 

And god he couldn’t be happier. 

They agree not to tell Cassie just yet, because there are still things to discuss, things that need to be mutually understood before their relationship can find its footing, but for now… for now they can enjoy it. 

---

They establish things properly two days later over chocolate chip cookies that Cassie and Charles made together and cups of tea while Crystal and Niko take Cassie to the playground, and when they return they break the news. 

Cassie is thrilled by it all, and very proudly settles in Edwin’s lap after proclaiming him ‘Mr Charles boyfriend-husband’. It clearly makes sense to her toddler brain and they all find it so cute that it goes uncorrected. Frankly it’s just nice to see her calling him anything other than ‘Mr Rowland’. 

Niko is equally enthusiastic about it and she drags each of them into a hug, rambling on about how exciting it is that they’ve figured things out and how perfect the three of them are which makes a contented satisfaction settle deep within Monty at her approval. 

Crystal is… less pleased by the announcement, and it’s devastatingly clear that she still doesn’t trust Monty. She smiles politely and congratulates the three, but there is something in the way she looks at him that makes his skin prickle and his stomach sink. She’s less hostile than she was, but he evidently hasn’t won her over yet, and he really doesn’t know how. 

She doesn’t threaten him this time though, which he takes as a win, and Charles reassures him later that she’s always like this, that it isn’t personal. 

He doesn’t really believe him though. 

With the title of boyfriends and their relationship properly defined, things are different. Monty spends most nights tangled between the two with Cassie fast asleep in the cot bought for her in the room next door. It’s just easier for Charles to take her to work with him and save Monty the trip, and it’s actually easier for Monty to get to work from their house too. So it makes sense. 

He goes shopping with them, and slowly a collection of Monty safe snacks appears in the cupboards and the fridge, along with everything Cassie loves (and the things she needs, which she is now old enough to complain about). He goes back to his apartment enough with her that he’s not there taking advantage of their hospitality 24/7, and when he does go back he spends a couple of days, but really it’s performative than anything else. He doesn’t want to go back to his horrible cold flat. He doesn’t have anything there that compares to Edwin and Charles’ place, and it’s clear that they don’t want him to either. They never come over, he doesn’t let them, but god he misses them when they’re not there. 

It’s just short of two months into their relationship when Edwin broaches the question though. They’re on a walk along the river, just Edwin and Monty, their hands intertwined and tucked into the pocket of Edwin’s coat to fight against the cold. 

“It’s almost Christmas,” he begins, glancing over at Monty. “Do you have any plans?”

Monty shakes his head, then smiles. It’s hard to keep the hurt out of it though, because the truth is that Christmas hasn’t been a joyous affair in the Finch household in a very long time, but he can’t tell Edwin that. 

“No, just going to be me and Cassie and dinner in front of the TV I guess.” He’s careful to not to suggest anything, not to overstep. Now that it’s December there’s been absent minded discussion of the holidays, but Monty has always been careful not to involve himself, just in case.

Edwin looks at him again, then frowns, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“You do know you’re welcome to celebrate with us? In fact I- well, I wanted to ask you something actually…” he pauses to take a breath, and his grip tightens around Monty’s fingers. “Would you like to move in? I know it’s rather soon but I - we would happily keep paying the rent for your flat so you still had your own space to escape to, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of that.”

Monty’s grateful for the fact that Edwin stopped walking as he asked his question because he’s honestly not sure he can move, it feels like all the air has been knocked out of his lungs - not from how out of the blue his suggestion is, but at how much thought he’s clearly put into it, and how considerate he’s being. 

He just stares at him for a moment until he can make his words work, his mouth opening and closing until he whispers:

“Seriously? I- no, that’s too much.” 

Edwin’s face falls and Monty shakes his head, squeezing his hand. 

“No - wait, sorry, I don’t mean no I don’t want to move in with you, it’s just that I am in such an appalling financial situation and Cassie takes up so much space and you guys are literally bending over backwards already for me, I just need to think about it for a bit.”

Edwin nods, and he looks a little more settled by that answer.

“Of course my love, take as long as you need.”

Monty stretches up on his tiptoes and kisses him then, dropping his hand in favour of holding onto the lapels of Edwin’s coat. Big hands settle on his waist and he smiles into his mouth, because god this is everything he’s ever wanted. 

-

Monty replays their conversation in his head as they walk home, and it’s as they reach the front door that he realises he’s made up his mind. It’s an easy decision to make really, because of how genuinely considerate Edwin was about preserving his privacy and his space. He knows of course his boyfriends must have discussed it before today, but the more he thinks about it the more he realises that it’s that little detail that has made his mind up for him. It’s such a visceral reminder of how much they care about him, of how important his comfort is, and it’s the most respected he’s ever felt in his entire life. It’s not that the two have ever been anything short of utterly respectful and kind, because they really, really haven’t, they’ve been loving and doting and utterly perfect but this is beyond that. This is them acknowledging him, making him feel seen and supported and he can’t say no. Because he wants to live with them. He doesn’t want to spend a single night apart from them because he feels safe when he’s with them. More than that, he feels safe with Cassie. And that’s what really matters, more than anything else in the world. 

Monty trusts them implicitly with his daughter. 

He catches Edwin’s attention as they hang up their coats, reaching out to take his partner’s forearm. Edwin turns to face him immediately, his eyes creasing as he smiles affectionately down at him. 

“Yes my love?” he asks, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of black hair behind Monty’s ear. 

It makes him smile, the simplicity of the gesture, and he knows that he’s made the right choice.

“I want to move in.”

Chapter Text

Within a week, they’ve packed everything Monty and Cassie own into boxes, and moved it into Charles and Edwin’s house. They agree to keep the apartment lease open for the next two months to give Monty the space to change his mind, but he already knows he isn’t going to. 

Why would he?

In their room, Edwin and Charles have rearranged the space - mostly to fit in the new chest of drawers they'd bought and then have moved around all their clothes to make space for Monty’s. He doesn’t have an awful lot and it seems woefully little compared to the two, but it all fits in so well. They don’t just give him empty drawers to himself, he gets to share their underwear drawer, he gets his own one for shirts and trousers in-between Edwin’s and Charles’, and he’s made so welcome. He obviously moves into Edwin and Charles’ room, but Cassie - for the first time in her very short life - gets her own room. It was the second guest room, but it had mostly been turned into storage so Edwin and Charles have no qualms about having to empty it to re-do it. They’re both grateful for the chance to clear out some stuff. 

She’s consulted on what colour she wants her walls to be, and when she answers lilac, Charles takes it upon himself to provide her the room of her dreams. The four of them paint the room together, and if painting while Cassie takes her nap turns into Monty pinned against the door with Charles and Edwin kissing him senseless and smearing purple  all over their clothes and hair and skin, well… no one needs to know. She sleeps in the guest bed with her father until it's dry because he refuses to leave her alone at first and there absolutely isn’t space in their bed (and he’s so used to sleeping next to her that he struggles at first, his whole body accustomed to being fine-tuned to her every huff and sigh) but before long the walls are suitably lilac and the kids bed Edwin ordered has arrived and Cassie’s space is hers. They put up shelves and chests for her toys, and Monty finds a whole bunch of stuff on gumtree and facebook marketplace and freecycle that Charles refuses to let him pay for. Very quickly, her room becomes everything Monty’s always dreamed of providing for his daughter, somewhere safe and warm and fun and she absolutely loves it. He’s almost proud of himself. 

Almost. 

Because on the one hand, he’s found somewhere safe and secure for his daughter, somewhere they don’t have to worry about where their next meal is coming from, somewhere they’re not cold or damp or uncomfortable but always warm and full and satiated, somewhere where they have people who care about them and Monty cares about them just as much. 

But also… he didn’t do this himself. He owes everything to the generosity of Edwin and Charles. Were it not for Charles insisting on him changing out of his wet clothes the night they properly met, or Edwin agreeing to let Charles pay Cassie’s nursery fees then they’d never have gotten here. They’d still be rotting away in that shitty flat, with nothing. So really he hasn’t done anything for his daughter.

The Payne-Rowlands have. 

But god he kind of doesn’t care. Because he lives here now. He gets to wake up in bed with the two hottest men he’s ever seen, he gets to choose between the upstairs and the downstairs bathrooms, he gets to sink into a bath full of bubbles and epsom salts and forget about the world because downstairs his daughter is being taken good care of.

They buy Cassie a high chair and a new stroller and a whole bunch of kids plates and cups, and slowly everything of hers becomes integrated with the house. As does everything of Monty’s.

He realises it when he comes back from work one day and Edwin and Charles are adding extra decorations to the tree that Cassie had made at nursery. They don’t seem to have even considered the fact that her plastic glitter-filled baubles and salt-dough ornaments might ruin the aesthetic of their beautiful tree and the decorated house, because they want them. They want them on display. It’s the same with the crayon doodle of a cat that is stuck to the fridge with a magnent, and the framed one (this time in felt tip) of the four of them hung up in the hallway, along with Charles’ degree, both of Edwin’s, and the blank frame set up for when Monty finishes his online college courses. It would be embarrassing if their enthusiasm wasn’t so genuine. He’s granted access to Edwin’s office to do his coursework whenever he wants and told he’s welcome to boot Edwin out if he needs it while he’s working on his dissertation, as well as a log in and a profile on the desktop computer in there too. 

In just a matter of days he feels as if he’s been living here his entire life, and before they know it, it’s almost Christmas. 

On Christmas Eve Monty awakes to an empty bed, and the sound of his daughter’s uproarious laughter echoing down the hallway from the kitchen. He’s smiling - he doesn’t remember the last time he woke up so genuinely happy as he has done these past few days - and he takes his time getting out of bed. He’s wearing a pair of Charles’ shorts because they’re so soft and baggy, and one of Edwin’s button-up pyjama tops because he was cold last night - despite the fact that Charles had taken it upon himself to rectify that as if it was a personal offence and had swaddled Monty against his chest so tightly he’d had to wriggle away until he was more comfortably settled between the two. He briefly considers changing, but judging from the absence of clothes folded under the pillows, neither of his partners have bothered to so he doesn’t. He does tug the robe that Edwin bought him over his shoulders though - a deep rich purple and emblazoned with an M, to match Charles’ red one with a C, and Edwin’s navy with an E - and he pads out down the hallway. 

In the kitchen, Cassie is sitting in a high chair at the counter, wadding up balls of pastry as soon as Edwin cuts them and giggling, kicking her feet in glee as he raises his eyebrows in surprise. 

It’s clear this has been going on for a while judging by the smears of flour on Edwin’s clothes and all over Cassie, but Edwin doesn’t seem frustrated or upset as he scolds her, his expression tender with the most devastating fondness for the girl. 

“Cassiopeia! Silly, we need those to put on the pies,” he has his hands on his hips and he’s smiling and Cassie only giggles louder, gripping the pastry in her pudgy little hands. 

Behind them, Charles is carefully cutting assorted vegetables into shapes that look like stars, adding them to a bowl full of fresh vegetables that are clearly the start of the salad. He’s in his white singlet but there’s red smeared across his hands - matching, he notices, the red on Cassie’s palms - and there’s chopped beetroot next to him and Monty doesn’t have to be a genius to put two and two together. The whole kitchen smells of food and coffee and there’s music playing on the little radio next to Edwin’s elbow and it’s so perfect. 

He just stands and watches for a minute, leaning against the door frame before it’s Cassie who notices him, her whole face lighting up. 

“Daddy!” She cheers, and Edwin and Charles look at him as she wriggles out of her chair and runs to him. 

Monty bends and catches her in his arms and she wraps herself around him, immediately chattering away about what Mr Charles and Mr Edwin (Monty’s still not sure exactly why Edwin is Mr now, but Cassie has explained before that it’s because he and Charles are married so it makes sense to her apparently) have been doing with her, and Edwin is at his side, pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek. 

“Good morning my love,” he murmurs, and there’s a hand on the small of his back - this time Charles - and a hand on his neck and he turns his head into a kiss, soft and slow and affectionate. Charles tastes like coffee and cinnamon and he beams at Monty as he pulls away,

“We didn’t want to disturb you so we let you sleep in when Cass woke up,” 

“I love you.” Monty breathes with a smile, and Charles pauses, his eyes widening before his smile somehow brightens, blinding him as he bends in and presses a flurry of kisses to Monty’s cheeks and forehead. 

“I love you too.” He whispers against his skin, and Monty realises that this is the first time they’ve said that to one another... and that it's the first time he's ever said it to someone who wasn't his mother or his daughter. It was so instinctive, so automatic that he didn’t think twice because he does love them.

Monty loves them. 

He glances at Edwin, his smile a little shy as he stretches up onto his toes, but Edwin doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides an arm around Monty’s waist and pulls him in, turning so Cassie isn’t fully sandwiched between them and kisses him. It’s just a gentle peck more than anything, but as Edwin moves to draw back Monty chases him, pausing only to murmur “and I love you” against his lips before he kisses him again. 

When they pull away, Cassie is pouting, and Monty can only laugh as he kisses her forehead, giving her a gentle squeeze. 

“And I love you the most-est biscuit, forever and ever and ever and ever.” 

That makes Cassie smile and she squirms happily as he sets her down, running off to clamber back up into her chair to continue ruining Edwin’s pastry. 

“We’re prepping some stuff for tomorrow,” Charles explains, wrapping his arms around Monty’s waist and tugging him back so the length of his spine presses against his stomach and chest, resting his chin on the top of Monty’s head. “Cassie’s helping Edwin make mince pies, and she was helping me prep some vegetables for a salad but we got a little too messy.”

Monty hums, leaning back into his boyfriend as he speaks, the rumbling of Charles’ chest soothing him. It’s such a domestic scene, his partners and his daughter bonding, the house so lovingly decorated, and everything so Christmassy. It’s been the best holiday season of his life, Monty thinks as he watches Edwin return to Cassie and the mince pies, it’s the first Christmas of his life where he’s not been worried about the cold and about feeding himself and his daughter and whether or not he’ll be able to afford a room for the night - let alone presents… and it’s also the first Christmas where his mother isn’t breathing down his neck, isn’t pushing him go and seduce and blackmail and deal for her, only for him to return to no presents and no dinner and no attention from her because he didn’t do well enough. For the very first time in his life, Monty Finch is happy. 

And safe. 

And utterly, unmistakably loved.

They spend the majority of the day preparing for tomorrow, Cassie enthusiastically helping them - although she eats most of whatever she’s trusted with - and it’s just so happy. There’s laughter and kisses and an abundance of food and drink, and by the time they’ve finished night has fallen. But that doesn’t stop them. 

Edwin takes the four of them to a family-friendly Christingle event at the local Church, and Cassie sits gleefully holding her clove-stuffed orange and candle - and eyeing the toothpicks of sweets sticking out of it until Monty says she can eat them - while Edwin admits that this was always his favourite part of the festivities when he was a boy. He hadn’t been raised in a devoutly religious family, but there was something about the sense of community that came with it that he’d always loved. It would normally be the first day his father was back with the family, the real beginning of Christmas for the family when everyone would be together, and after he’d grown up and moved away to be with Charles, it was the one tradition that mattered the most to him to maintain. It’s all completely, bafflingly new to Monty, but he understands. Sitting in the church, holding their candles, it makes something broad and free blossom in his chest, something he doesn’t really understand but he doesn’t want to lose. It’s beautiful, the whole thing is beautiful, and when they walk out into the dark winter’s afternoon he gets to hold Edwin’s hand and watch Charles push Cassie in her stroller and that’s beautiful too. 

Cassie eats her sweets as they walk back to the house, then insists Charles peels her orange for her so she can gnaw at it. There’s juice dripping onto her coat and the blanket on the stroller but Monty doesn’t even care about the prospective clean up. 

He’s happy. 

When they return home, Charles entertains Cassie by helping her prepare for Santa’s arrival and Edwin and Monty curl up together on the sofa as they watch them. Charle’s patience and enthusiasm knows no bounds for her and he romps around the house cheerfully, laying out paper arrows pointing towards the fireplace and the plate of biscuits and nice cheeses (and the bowl of crisps Cassie insisted on) for Santa, as well as a glass of spiced rum because ‘we don’t have any bourbon but the elves tell me Santa likes rum too!’ which he winks at the two on the sofa about. 

Eventually they successfully tire her out and after her bath which Monty and Charles tackle together, Monty tucks her into bed with tales of Christmas. Charles curls up on Cassie’s other side while they listen to the stories, and Edwin watches on from the doorway. He’s still a little uncomfortable around children, still not entirely used to sharing his space with a toddling menace but he’s getting used to it, slowly but surely. He’s not keen on helping out at bath or bedtime, but he’s perfectly content putting Cassie down for a nap and reading her stories until she falls asleep, and he has the patience of a saint when she’s in a mood to annoy someone until she gets their full attention for the rest of the day and he’s always there, even if he’s not certain about what to do. Monty tried to thank him for it, the first few days after they’d moved in, but Edwin was quick to dismiss it and brush it off. ‘It is only natural’, he had said, that he would learn how to take care of a child for Monty - for Cassie - because he was Monty’s partner and he ‘deserved’ the effort. If Monty had cried about that in the shower later on then none of them mentioned it. 

And here he was now, watching them fondly. When Cassie does fall asleep, the three retreat to the living room together, Charles depositing himself in his boyfriend’s laps as they settle down in front of the TV. It’s another of their Christmas traditions, except this is one of Charles’. Christmas was always an unpleasant affair in the Rowland household, and Charles had grown to resent it. Christmas had been a time where he couldn’t escape his father’s anger, where him and his mother’s culture would be repressed and discriminated against by him, and the three would sit in miserable silence eating his mother’s attempt at recreating his grandmother’s traditional roast (something his father would always then say she had failed at and beat her for it) and so Charles had grown to resent the holiday and everything that came with it. When he’d gotten older he’d been given a laptop, and he learnt how to silently rebel. Every Christmas Eve he would find the least Christmassy film online and stream it, enjoying the complete absence of festive cheer. It was his escape, his reminder that life wouldn’t always be like this. Last year they’d apparently watched Top Gun, and this year their plan had been to browse netflix for whatever looked worst, unless there was anything Monty desperately wanted to watch.

“Um… last year Cassie and I watched Kingsman for Christmas because it was playing on the only channel I could get on the tv at the hostel we were staying in, and I mean Taron Egerton - wow - but… honestly I’m down to  watch something shit.” 

And after a brief discussion about how sexy Taron Egerton is (although Edwin disagrees), they settle on watching an Irish alien film called Grabbers. It’s appallingly terrible, and exactly what they needed, silly and fun and not a single mention of Christmas. 

It’s almost midnight by the time they tumble into bed, although not before they eat all the things left out for Santa and filling up Cassie’s stocking, and they exchange giddy kisses - Edwin and Monty wrapping themselves around Charles - with the promises of a perfect Christmas to come. 

---

They are awoken to an extremely enthusiastic Cassie clambering over the three of them, wriggling in-between Monty and Charles as she whispers their names. Charles is the first to wake and he wraps her in a tight hug, kissing all over her little face as she squeals delightedly. The sound wakes Monty then and he opens his eyes to the sight of his boyfriend and his daughter, and he can’t help but smile.

“Good morning little birdie, I think I heard Santa come last night y’know.” Charles coos, and Cassie grins, eagerly nodding. Her hair is half sticking from sleep and it matches the way half of Charles’ curls are flat from where he slept on them. 

“He did! He ate all the cheese and the whiskey and there are presents!” She enthuses and Charles grins, glancing over at Monty. 

“Shall we go have a look at your stocking baby? I think Santa might have left something for Daddy and Edwin too.”

Monty’s eyes widen a little and he looks between Cassie and Charles, raising a questioning eyebrow. He’s pretty sure they only hung one stocking last night, and he’s also pretty sure that given the way he often has to detangle himself from his octopus of a boyfriend, it would have been quite hard for him to sneak out and put out more gifts. 

But Charles just smiles. 

Edwin wakes to their chatter and the four make their way to the living room, wrapped in their dressing gowns and feet clad in slippers. Cassie deposits herself in Monty’s lap and he notices as he gets comfortable that hanging on either side of the stocking for Cassie, is one with his name on it, one with Edwin, and one with Charles’. They’re all stuffed full of presents, and Monty suddenly feels like a little kid with the excitement that courses through him at the sight. 

 “It looks like Santa did bring something for Daddy.” He says as he hands Monty both his own and Cassie’s stockings, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that makes him drag his boyfriend down for a kiss. 

“I love you.” he whispers, and Charles kisses him again, and again, and again before he repeats it against his lips. 

“I love you too baby.”

The stockings are mostly full of little silly things with a handful of actual presents interspersed throughout, but they’re all so beautifully thoughtful.

Monty gets a pair of earrings with stars on them - silver to match Charles’ gold - and Edwin gets a new set of nibs for his fountain pen. It was clearly Edwin who filled Charles’ stocking and it’s wrapped in decidedly un-Christmassy paper. The thing he seems to favour the most is a pin, not dissimilar to the ones on his coat and bag, and as Monty looks closer he realises what it is. It’s a rainbow, but the stripes are spaghetti, and the clouds at the base are tomatoes. It matches an mlm pride flag one that Edwin is holding. Charles is grinning, and then Edwin gestures for Monty to reach into his own stocking. He does, and buried at the toe he finds a little matching wrapped shape. He’s quick to tear open the paper and he realises, that there’s a matching one in there for him too, this one just a regular rainbow. Cassie grabs at it and he lets her have it. 

“I love this, my darling, thank you.” Charles says happily, bending in to kiss his husband and Edwin hums contentedly, slipping a hand up around the back of his neck and pulling him in, When they break apart, Edwin smiles at Monty, and it’s the softest and most tender he’s ever seen him. It’s like he’s never been more relaxed than in this moment and Monty realises how lucky he is to be around the real Edwin Payne.

“Apologies my love, I didn’t want to assume your sexuality, so I just got you a regular pride flag.”

Again, it’s so considerate and kind that Monty just laughs, something soft, open, and free. 

“I’m gay, but it’s okay, I think it’s cute, and Cassie clearly loves it.”

They open a few actual presents before lunch, and Cassie’s pile is easily the biggest, but Edwin’s is a close second, and while they’re mostly from Charles, there are a good few from Monty (and Cassie), all of which are received with nothing but child-like joy from their partner. 

Charles takes over the dinner preparations, which Monty and Edwin dip in and out of helping with, but mostly they spend their time playing with Cassie while Charles is busy in the kitchen. She’s got so many new toys that it’s almost overwhelming, but they’ve been good about alternating things like clothes and accessories and books with the toys and games. They do a kitten puzzle with Edwin, then Crystal and Niko arrive and they do a different one, this time of a whole gaggle of animals frolicking in a stream. It’s very cute, although not something Monty had ever considered buying for his daughter, but she loves it, eagerly snatching each piece out of everyone’s hands as they pick them up. 

When the time comes to set the table, Niko disappears into the kitchen to make them all ‘fun Christmas cocktails’ which are glittery and surprisingly strong, which she carefully sets at everyone’s places for them. Cassie and Edwin lay out the cutlery together which leaves Monty to go and check on Charles. He’s about to push open the door when Crystal catches his elbow, her purple painted nails sharp around his skin. He jerks out of her grip, taking a step back away from her as he frowns. 

“What do you want?” It’s a little sharper than he intends, but he doesn’t really care. Crystal has made it devastatingly obvious these past few months that she absolutely does not trust or like him, and he’s tired of trying to be her friend. Nothing he does is good enough for her. Nothing he does can make her like him, he’s come to terms with that.

But for once she doesn’t respond in kind, and there’s a sort of resolution in her expression as she holds up her hands. 

“I’m not going to start anything, it’s Christmas, I- I actually wanted to apologise.”

That catches Monty by surprise and he feels his eyes widen, his defensive guard slipping a little as he stares at her.

“What?”

She sighs, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“I said, I want to apologise.” She repeats, “I have… treated you unfairly, since I met you. I had a really terrible ex - this guy David - and he really fucked me up when it comes to trusting people and I judged you harshly. I assumed that you were a chaser or a gold digger or something shitty and I was wrong. You… you’re really nice, and Cassie is beyond perfect, and Edwin and Charles really care about you and I… I realise now how much you do genuinely care about them. I don’t know what went on with you and that Thomas guy but - I know a thing or two about shit relationships and it was wrong for me to judge. So I’m sorry. I’m really sorry Monty.”

There’s a genuine sincerity in her tone, her eyes wide and expressive, for the first time not guarded and bitter and jaded but open… honest… vulnerable. Monty realises that they’re perhaps more uncomfortably similar than he initially thought. 

Crystal extends a hand out to him and after a moment, he takes it. He understands, when he thinks about it. He understands why she wouldn’t trust him. Really he’s not entirely sure he’d trust himself either. 

“Okay.” He says simply, shaking her hand. “For the record, I think you’re a massive bitch… but I respect it.”

Crystal smiles at that, and Monty smiles too, and it’s like a weight he didn’t even know he’d been carrying has been lifted off of his chest.

“Merry Christmas Monty."

“Merry Christmas Crystal.”

Dinner is incredible, easily one of the best meals that Monty has had in his entire life (and with three months of Charles Payne-Rowland’s cooking he finally has something to compare to), and it’s so joyous. Cassie makes everyone laugh with her silly impressions of them all, and over wine and food and crackers, there is such general merriment that it feels like nothing else in the world matters. 

And it doesn’t. 

Because Monty has his boyfriends and his daughter and his friends and there is nothing else that means anything at all. He has no family, not anymore. He has no other friends, no more than those in the room. But he doesn’t really care because he doesn’t need anything else. 

Not right now.

After they eat they migrate to the living room to lie in contented food comas and open a few more presents. Edwin opens a book on linguistics from Monty, and at first it just seems as if it’s yet another generic one to match the hundreds in their shelves, until he turns it so everyone can see. It’s not just another textbook, but a study on the evolution of queer culture and the role linguistics and language has played throughout history within it. It’s so Edwin, and given the way he’s already got his nose buried in the first chapter, he loves it. Monty is of course thanked with plenty of kisses when Edwin eventually manages to drag his attention away from the book and to his boyfriend, but his reaction is thanks enough. 

Crystal opens a gift from Edwin and Charles, and it’s a mug with a crystal ball on and a pair of hands, accompanied by the text ‘my crystal ball says you’re full of shit’. Monty doesn’t get it, but everyone else laughs so he smiles along with it.

Niko gets a whole collection of beanie babies, which she gleefully clutches onto while Crystal takes a photo. They’re all adorable, and she happily gives a whole handful to Cassie as she explains to Monty the extent of their collection.

It’s Monty’s turn then, and he receives a sweater from Charles. It’s big and soft and knitted with stars decorating the fabric and Niko beams as he shrugs it on. “I helped Charles pick it! He wanted to know where I get my clothes and I showed him! It was between this or a cardigan with the sun and moon on it but I thought this was better!”

“It’s beautiful,” Monty says honestly, and it is. It matches the silver star earrings he’d opened earlier in the day and he feels so pretty, covered in stars and space and pretty clothes.

Charles is next, and he opens his present delicately, careful not to tear the wrapping paper too much. Inside is a framed picture, and Charles makes an awed noise as he looks at it. 

“Monty,” he breathes as he glances up, his eyes shining as he looks up at his boyfriend. “This is… beautiful. ” 

Monty blushes at that, looking down and away from him as he tugs at his jumper sleeve bashfully. “It’s not that good.”

“No! No, it is! Seriously baby, it’s incredible, guys look. ”

He passes the frame around, and everyone gives their praise, which only serves to make Monty flush a deeper red. In the frame, is an ink illustration of Charles’ favourite photograph of himself, his husband and their boyfriend. It’s from their first real date as a three, Monty standing in between the two, with Edwin and Charles’ arms wrapped around him. They’re all smiling, all looking so calm and relaxed and happy and it’s beautifully captured there on the page. 

“Monty I had no idea you could draw.” he says, and Monty shrugs, it’s Cassie who speaks. 

“Daddy is such a good drawer! He always helps me with my colouring and um - he draws pretty pictures for me to colour sometimes!”

If Monty thought Edwin had kissed him lovingly, the tenderness with which Charles kisses him leaves him a little dizzy. He definitely will be asking for more, but he’ll wait until the girls have gone and Cassie’s in bed before he asks for that.

Edwin opens another gift and this time it’s from Niko (and Crystal too), and he laughs before he’s even finished unwrapping it.  “Scooby Doo cluedo? Seriously? Niko this is incredible, we must play.” Again, Monty feels a little like he’s missing out because he doesn’t really understand, but he knows he will learn in time, that he’s not being left out, he’s just new. 

By the time they’ve worked through all the presents, they’re all sleepy and full and content, lying on the various sofas and chairs. Cassie has fallen asleep on Monty’s chest, and he’s far too comfortably settled between his boyfriends to bother relocating her for her nap so he doesn’t, just enjoying the security of being wrapped up in his partners. There’s some Christmas film playing but he’s not paying attention because he’s so warm and comfortable and satisfied. 

When he wakes up, Cassie’s been put to bed, and Crystal and Niko are packing their things up, accompanied by Edwin who is clearly trying to force countless tupperwares of leftovers onto them. Charles is snuggled up to Monty, and he hums when he realises he’s awake, pressing a kiss to his crown.

Together, the three say goodbye to the girls, wishing them a Merry Christmas and promising to see them again soon for New Year’s eve. Crystal hugs Monty and it feels right. It feels meaningful. It feels like they might actually be friends. 

He likes that.

He likes that a whole lot.

Chapter Text

Monty’s really not paying attention, far too distracted by Cassie. 

She’s currently perched on his hip, face buried in the collar of his shirt as she sobs, little feet kicking at either side of his stomach and back. His other hand is wrapped around the handle of the pram, with a bag hanging in the crook of his elbow. 

He’s fucking exhausted, honestly, and Cassie’s obviously in the same boat given the way she’s hysterically wailing in his ear. The nursery is closed for the day, but Charles is at work still – a teacher training day or something, honestly Monty had been half asleep when he had explained it to him along with a kiss that morning – and so Monty had decided to take Cassie along to run some errands to keep them both out of Edwin’s hair while he worked. It had turned out not to matter though, because Edwin had been called into the university for the day as soon as Monty had left, but he hadn’t been bothered to turn back when they did technically need stuff from the shops. 

He’s massively regretting that now. 

Honestly he’s not even sure what set Cassie off, beyond the fact that she’s overdue a nap and Monty forgot to bring the plastic – and shockingly realistic – toy dinosaur which she now apparently cannot sleep without. Which doesn’t make any sense, given the fact she has never napped with it ever in her life, but evidently to her little brain everything sucks. 

It’s not even like he can argue with that, because he’s feeling much the same. He’s given up on the idea of finishing off his shopping, even though they’re so close to being done, because at the end of the day his daughter has always been his priority and nothing else matters more than she does… and given that she’s sobbing so hard he can feel the way her tears are soaking through the fabric of his shirt, getting her settled and home really matters. The shopping can wait. He can order stuff online for fuck’s sake. 

So of course it’s as he’s trying to get them both to the bus stop to get them home, that he happens to bump into the last person he wants to see. 

Or not the last. There’s definitely people he wants to see right now (or ever) less, but out of everyone who’s either not dead or currently still residing in Port Townsend (as far as he’s aware), this is definitely towards the bottom of his list. 

And he doesn’t bump into him, not really; it’s the pram that actually collides, and Monty just happens to be at the end of it. 

“Fucking watch where you’re going – Monty?”

Monty’s head snaps up, the hand on the pram instinctively coming up to protect the back of Cassie’s head as he registers the figure before him.

He takes a step back, words catching in his throat as he tries to register the situation. This is really not something he wants, none of this is anything he wants, and he really doesn’t know how to react.

“Hi.” Is all he manages, voice weak and almost drowned out by Cassie’s hysteria. 

“What are you doing here? You babysitting or something? Didn’t know Edwin and Charles had kids.”

He shakes his head, strands of black hair slipping out of the loose bun he’d pulled it up into, falling across his face. 

“No. She’s mine.”

It comes out before he can think about it, too tired, too overwhelmed, far too overstimulated to even consider the impact of his sentiment. 

But the other person does.

He swallows, reaches out a hand to steady the pram that had collided with his shins, his eyes wide as he looks between Monty and the child in his arms. 

“...What?”

“She’s mine. She’s my daughter.”

The silence between them sits heavy, a stalemate, neither sure of what to do next and yet both knowing that this conversation ran far deeper than the words exchanged. 

“... do you wanna go to a cafe or something? Settle her down and maybe we could… talk?”

Monty takes a breath, smoothing Cassie’s dark curls. He needs to get them both home, but he also really just needs to calm her down because no one wants this on the bus, and he knows well enough that a snack and a nap will do the trick. So as much as he wants to say no, as much as he really just want’s to leave, he knows it’s a good idea… a frustratingly stupid idea that’s inevitably going to lead to a conversation that he doesn’t want but he definitely needs… and good god does he also need a snack and probably a coffee before he collapses. 

“Yeah, please.”

They’re somehow in a cafe before Monty knows it, with a plate of pastries and coffees and a cup of orange juice. Cassie’s calmed down, no longer sobbing but instead miserably sniffling into his arms in between bites of croissant. Across from him, sits – of all people – his fucking ex boyfriend. 

Thomas has been watching him calm Cassie down for the past few minutes, quietly sipping his iced latte. He looks worried, honestly, more than anything else. Monty had expected anger or confusion, or really anything other than concern… but it seemed like concern was all he’s got. 

Cassie finishes her pastry after dropping crumbs all over both of them, then drifts off in Monty’s arm, her little cheek smushed up against his forearm. He waits, they both wait, watching her little chest rising and falling as her breathing even out. It’s one of Monty’s favourite things in the entire world, watching her drift off like this. When she was really really small, when he was raising her in the dingy attic of his mother’s house, every time she’d fall asleep he’d be terrified she’d die, waking up every half hour or so just to make sure she was still breathing. Now, when she sleeps it’s because she feels safe, and Monty knows every little twitch of her eyelids, every little huff and sigh, every little unconscious process, like the back of his hand. 

When he’s sure that she’s asleep, he finally lets himself relax, reaching over and taking a long drink of his now lukewarm coffee. 

“So.”

“So… daughter?”

Monty looks up, looks across at the man before him. 

It’s been so long since he and Thomas knew anything about one another, beyond their brief interaction in the bar those few months ago. Their relationship feels like it was so many lifetimes ago, before so much changed. And now here, with Cassie in his arms and Thomas in front of him and the knowledge that Edwin and Charles will be back home waiting for him… it feels like even more than that. It feels as if they’re two different people, different from then, different from that night at the bar, so much more different to the people they are now. Thomas’ eyes are the same ethereal greenish-gold they were when Monty used to curl up at his side and gaze into them as they fantasised about the future. His smile still curls at his mouth and eyes , creasing the skin in the same way that is so tantalising to reach out and smooth with his thumb. His curls still glimmer in the light like fibres of gold. Physically, he’s the same. 

And that’s where the familiarity ends.

Monty does not know the man before him. The things he’s heard about him and the way he’s changed, it matches the boy he knew but it also doesn’t. This is not the Thomas that was his.

But then again, he is not the Monty that was Thomas’. He’s a father. He’s fled the worst and fought through the shit. He’s finally loved in a way that makes him better, and really Thomas doesn’t know a single thing about him either.

“Yeah…” he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, too tired to force it. “I uh… I didn’t break up with you because I wanted to. I didn’t even break up with you, my fucking mom did. I disappeared…” he waves a hand over Cassie. “Because of her.”

Thomas nods, green-gold eyes flickering down to the child asleep in Monty’s lap. He still looks worried, and Monty can’t bear it, so he looks at his coffee instead, swirling the liquid around in his cup. 

“So you… what, you knocked a girl up while we were together?” Thomas asks, eyebrows raising in disbelief. 

Monty had almost forgotten that Thomas didn’t know what was happening, that he hadn’t been there despite the fact he had been there, that of course he’d assume not the truth, but the most logical explanation. Of course, no one knew the truth. Not Edwin, not Charles. He’d never told anyone, because he didn’t want to. 

Except right now, for the first time, he wants to. Because Thomas deserves the truth. 

“No. No. I didn’t cheat on you.” He strokes his thumb over Cassie’s soft cheek, watching the way her eyelids flutter, but she stays fast asleep. “I…” he takes a breath, and it hitches in his throat, but he pushes through, drags the words up out of the little box in his chest where they’ve been locked away for so long. “Cassie’s mom, she… she uh… she drugged me, and then… then she raped me.” 

Thomas stares at him, processing Monty’s words for a minute before he nods ever so slowly. 

“Wow… Jesus, I – I’m sorry.” He says quietly, voice hardly louder than a whisper as he looks between Monty and Cassie. “I’m really sorry Monty, I had no idea. I… I thought you were dead for so long that I… I don’t know ”

Monty shakes his head, shifting Cassie in his arms before reaching out across a table, gently touching the tips of his fingers to the back of Thomas’ hand. 

“I’m sorry, about that. I didn’t know that… that she did that. But everything… everything was by design really… she cut me off from everything so no one would know.” He says softly, “I just… I dunno, everything ended on such shit terms for us, and I know it was a lifetime ago but I don’t like… I  don’t want you to think that I hated you or anything. I didn’t. I really didn’t. I still don’t.”

Thomas nods, then turns his hand, taking Monty’s slim one into his own. His nails are painted, the polish chipped at the ends from where he’s been biting them, a habit he’s clearly never kicked. It makes Monty smile, just a little. 

“I didn’t hate you either. Well, I did for a bit, but I assumed that there must have been some reason.” He smiles, but it’s a little forced, lacking his usual effortless nonchalance. He cares, Monty realises, he’s upset. He curls his fingers around Monty’s hand, pressing his fingertips into the spaces between Monty’s knuckles. It’s so achingly familiar, and for the briefst of moments it feels as if they’re 16 again, sitting on the floor of Thomas’ shitty little apartment by the cannery, exploring the world together through touching and kissing and ignoring everything else. 

“I’m sorry.” Monty whispers, his gaze dropping to their conjoined hands. “I didn’t stop loving you.”

Thomas swallows, his face twisting in an expression Monty truly doesn’t recognise, eyebrows knitted and lips downturned, and his fingers flex a little tighter around Monty’s.

“Yeah, me neither.”

The man sitting before him is not the Thomas King who Monty knew. Too many years have twisted and warped the parts of him that Monty loved at 16. They have been absent from each other’s lives for so long that the distance feels greater now they’re together than it ever did when they were apart.

And yet. 

Underneath the time and the space sitting heavily on his shoulders, the boy that Monty did know is still there. And he cares. He cares so much. Monty knows it in the way his fingers press into the skin of his hand, the way his lips are still downturned, the way he’s drawn into himself. Thomas is upset. He’s upset on Monty’s behalf. He cares so much, but there’s just not anything either of them can say.

The two of them just sit silently for a couple of minutes, neither willing to look the other in the eyes.

It’s hard to confront, but the reality is that perhaps in another world, they’d be together again, perhaps Thomas could have been there for him… Perhaps everything would have been different. If Monty had just gone to him back then, if he’d told him the truth and asked for his help, then maybe they’d have been able to figure this all out together. Maybe they could have escaped Port Townsend together and lived life barely scraping by until things worked out. Maybe they would have been happy.

But they can’t focus on the maybes or the perhapses. Monty can’t allow himself to focus on what could hav been, no. That’s not the world they live in. Monty’s with Edwin and Charles, Thomas is doing whatever the hell he’s doing, and ultimately, they’re incompatible. They have been for a long time. There might be glimpses of Monty’s Thomas, but he’s not him. Not anymore. They’ve got nothing together now, beyond the fantasy of what it once was.

It’s Thomas who breaks the silence, squeezing Monty’s hand again. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you escape.” He whispers, voice shaking as he speaks. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long.” He sounds not just sorry, but scared, like the reality of it all is something to be afraid of. 

Actually, he’s not wrong to be scared. What Monty’s just confessed is something horrifying, something terrifying and wrong. Even Charles and Edwin don’t know this much. Thomas should be upset. It’s just… impactful that he is, for some reason.

Monty swallows, the backs of his eyes burning as he stares at the table. It feels like there’s something lodged in the back of his throat, everything he’s wanted to say to Thomas over the years suddenly welling up. But he can’t say any of it. 

It’s pretty clear Thomas feels the same way.

They sit holding hands for a little while longer, Cassie still fast asleep in Monty’s lap, neither willing to let go just yet.

But of course they have to, eventually. Monty manages to successfully transfer Cassie into the stroller without her waking up, and manages to finish his (now cold) coffee too. He feels better, but wrung out, emotionally exhausted, and frankly there’s nothing he wants more than to collapse into his boyfriend’s arms and forget about the world.

Thomas pulls him in for a hug before they part, resting his chin on the top of Monty’s head just like he always used to. Monty can smell his cologne, rich and sweet and yet also fresh, the kind of combination Monty never knew how to describe. It’s the exact same as he wore when they were kids, one of the few luxuries Thomas had indulged in in their youth. Their childhoods were so awful, really, the kind of thing that no person should ever go through. Yet right here, in Thomas’ arms, smelling him… It’s hard to look back as anything other than fond. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Monty.” Thomas murmurs, lips brushing against his crown.

It’s all Monty can do to nod. 

– – –

It takes him a while to get home, and by the time he staggers in through the doorway, he’s fucking exhausted. 

He’s kicking his boots off when Charles appears at the end of the hallway, one hand still resting on the stroller as he rocks Cassie, desperate to keep her asleep just a little longer. At least long enough to palm her off onto one of his partners and bury himself in bed before the inevitable tantrum to come. She’s such a good kid, but Monty knows how overtired she gets after tantrums like she’d thrown earlier, still exhausted even after a nap and frustrated that she’d missed out on the chance to enjoy being out. 

Before Monty can even get his head together enough to greet Charles, warm arms are enveloping him, and he’s being drawn into his partner’s embrace. 

“Hi love,” Charles coos, pressing a kiss to Monty’s temple. “Welcome home.” 

And Monty melts. 

He sags into Charles’ arms, burying his face in the collar of his shirt as his hand slips off of the handle of the stroller. He’s so fucking tired, completely worn out, emotionally and physically. 

“Hi.” He manages, words muffled by the fabric of Charles’ polo. Of course Cassie chooses that exact moment to wake up and start fussing, but god Monty really truly cannot bring himself to do anything right now. Charles notices (because Charles always notices everything), but he doesn’t push, doesn’t do anything other than hold Monty. 

“Hi love,” Charles says again, rubbing a hand up Monty’s back, touch as ever tender and gentle as it always is, the touch of someone who understands. That’s one of the things Monty adores him so much for, that it feels sometimes like he can read Monty’s mind, that he just intrinsically, intuitively understands what he needs. He always does. If Monty had the capacity for it right now, he’d say something, acknowledge it and thank him… But he doesn’t, he really fucking doesn’t.

Charles says something that Monty doesn’t hear, only registering the rumbling of his voice deep in his chest. 

He’s so tired.

Charles obviously registers Monty’s fatigue because he kisses his forehead before gently pushing him down the hallway, hand splayed out across his lower back. There’s a firmness to it, tender and affectionate but equally strict, no space to argue. Monty doesn’t though. He just heads towards the living room. It’s times like this where he’s so truly grateful that he’s got partners who care so deeply for him, who understand when he needs to be told what to do and have responsibilities taken out of his hands. 

He collapses down onto the sofa, drawing the thick plush blanket slung across the back over himself, before slinging his forearm over his eyes. He can hear Charles chatting to Cassie down the hall, engaging in some cheerful babble about how her day was and how pretty she looks and how glad he is that she’s home, completely nonplussed by her lingering bad mood. It kind of breaks Monty’s heart a little how good Charles is with his daughter, mostly because it’s so reassuring to know that he’s found the person ( people!) who can treat him and Cassie right, but also because he can never be that good. He’s not a natural with kids, he truly doesn’t know what he’s doing with Cassie no matter how hard he tries, and it’s always days like this that remind him of that. 

Except…

Except weirdly, today doesn’t feel like normal. Normally he’s drained and frustrated and tired beyond belief after days like these, and admittedly he is, but he’s also not angry and miserable and all the other bitter and uncomfortable things that usually follow. He’s shattered, but he’s loved.

For the first time, there’s no doubting that. 

For the first time, he’s allowed to be tired and irritated and shut off. 

He’s allowed to palm his daughter off on his loved ones and collapse on the sofa and he’s loved all the same. 

Monty’s sort of half asleep when the cushion by his head dips with a familiar weight, and long fingers rake themselves through black locks. He’s not immediately sure who it is at first, until they speak.

“Baby, you hungry?” Charles murmurs, combing Monty’s hair back away from his face. 

Monty blinks up at him. When he collapsed down onto the sofa, the big overhead light had been on but Charles has obviously since turned it off and replaced it with the lamp, the room now bathed in a warm golden glow. He digs an arm out from the blanket that definitely wasn’t covering him before and catches Charles’ arm. He brings it to his mouth and kisses his knuckles, a silent expression of his thanks, before he nods. 

He’s not actually that hungry, but he knows he ought to eat. That’s one of the biggest things he’s noticed since the three of them got together, all the old unhealthy habits he’d fallen into over the years… one by one, they’re disappearing. Gone are the days of not enough, where what little they had in the fridge and cupboards only kept Cassie full, and Monty sacrificed everything for her. He’s safe here,  both of them are safe here and he knows it. He truly, genuinely knows it. There’s that little worry in the back of his mind though, that none of this is going to last, but weirdly… he finds he doesn’t mind it. He can acknowledge the fear, but it doesn’t control him, it can’t. Not when Charles’ fingers are so soft against his scalp and he knows Edwin’s on his way home and Cassie is safe and warm and sound asleep upstairs with a full belly and all the toys and blankets a girl could need. It’s the kind of acceptance that even if this doesn’t last, he has it now. 

Charles bends and presses a kiss to Monty’s forehead before he gently withdraws his hand from his hair. “Okay, I made some chicken and lentil soup, if you’d like some? Cassie thought it was so good that she threw it all over the floor and got it in her hair.”

Monty laughs, pushing himself up so he can lean against Charles’ side, nestling his head into the crook of his shoulder. “Sounds about right. There was like… three weeks straight where all I could afford to feed us was soup and there wasn’t a single bowl that didn’t end up half everywhere but her mouth.” 

Charles grins, an arm winding around Monty as he draws him in. He’s obviously just showered, because he smells like his shampoo, like amber and oud and something faintly spiced. It’s a fucking delicious combination, made even better when it’s paired with Edwin too. He always smells clean in some sort of way – not that Charles doesn’t, it’s just that Edwin smells truly clean – , like fresh linen and cotton and sea salt and mint, and when they’re together… it smells like home. “You should see what spagbol night is like at the nursery, I’ve considered investing in like – full body plastic suits like painters wear, ‘cause I swear all of them end up wearing it. Fed up with having to scrub sauce off of hands and faces.”

Monty huffs another soft laugh, “I was wondering why Cassie was always coming home with red greasy splotches on her clothes… makes sense it’d be bolognese.” 

“Mmmh, yeah well, nursery is definitely the messiest age of kids, I think I come home just as dirty as they do.” Charles nuzzles into Monty’s hair, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Monty turns his face up towards Charles’, and they meet in a tender kiss, Charles’ other hand coming up to cradle the side of his face. When they part, they’re both smiling, soft in the gentle golden light.  

It’s perfect.

Everything is perfect. 

Cassie wakes up while they’re eating, appearing at the kitchen door with a plush purple blanket clutched in her little hand, blinking sleepily at them before clambering up into her dad’s lap. She’s obviously half asleep, and when Charles suggests they watch something after they eat, it only seems right to curl up together.

That’s how Edwin finds them when he comes home. The three are on the sofa, Charles half on his back, half on his side, propped up against a couple of pillows. Monty is on his back too, lying against Charles’ chest and wrapped firmly in his arms. Cassie is on top of him, curled up in a foetal position with her face buried into her dad’s chest. They’re all fast asleep, warm and comfortable and utterly peaceful as they lay there. It’s the kind of sight that Edwin had always dreamed of. Or rather – the kind of sight he’d never let himself dream of. He’d never allowed himself to fantasise about what a genuine and loving queer relationship when he was growing up, just because it felt like it never could be real. But it is. He has two partners who love him – a husband and a boyfriend – and a daughter. And here they are, safe and happy and fast asleep. It’s almost a shame Edwin can’t join them, but there definitely isn’t space on the sofa for four. So instead, he settles for sitting down on the arm chair across from them. It’s like Charles has a 6th sense when it comes to his husband’s presence though, because before Edwin’s even fully sat, Charles squints at him. 

“Hey love.” the corner of Charles’ mouth quirk up into a smile, his face creasing as he beams at him. Against him, Monty stirs, disturbed by the sound of his voice. He doesn’t wake though, and Edwin smiles. 

“You three look comfortable.”

“Would only be better if you were here too.” Charles’ voice is thick with sleep, and Edwin’s chest aches with unbearable fondness for his partners. 

“Well, for now I’m happy just to watch.” 

Monty does wake then, blinking sleepily up at the ceiling before he registers Edwin’s presence. His face lights up when he sees him, and he reaches out for him, making grabby hands. 

“C’mere.” He grumbles, and Edwin’s on his feet immediately. He crosses over and takes Monty’s hands, bending to kiss his knuckles.

“Hello.” Edwin whispers into the back of his hand, and Monty beams.

“Hi. How was work?”

“It was productive, thank you. How was your day?”

Monty’s smile fades, just for a moment, then he nods. “You know what…? It was good, actually. I…” He hesitates. He’s not sure whether he wants to tell them, not because he doesn’t want them to know (he does, he really does), but because confessing anything to do with his past is terrifying. It’s not something he knows how to talk about, not with them, and Thomas seems like such a touchy subject that it kind of scares Monty… just a little bit.

But if there’s one thing he’s learnt over the past few years, it’s the importance of doing the things that scare him.

“I ran into Thomas.”

Edwin stiffens, his hand tightening around Monty’s as Charles clutches onto him a little more securely. 

“And how was that?” Edwin’s tone is careful, controlled, and it’s clear that he’s letting Monty control the situation. If Monty doesn’t want him to be upset, then he won’t. If Monty needs anger and defense, then he’s there. 

“It was… it was good. He was nice, understanding. I think… I think we both got some closure.”

Both of his partners relax, Edwin nodding along to Monty’s words. “That’s good. I’m proud of you.”

“Me too love,” Charles says from behind him. “But like, if you need me to deal with him… tell me, yeah?”

It’s not that Monty had been expecting anything at all, but these two beautiful, kind, smart, perfect men never fail to remind him how truly insanely flawless they actually are. 

They’re everything. 

It doesn’t even make sense how Monty could have gotten so insanely, incredibly lucky.

But he did.

“I love you.”

“We love you too, more than anything, darling.”

Edwin bends and kisses Monty’s hand again as Charles settles back against the sofa, rubbing Monty’s shoulder. They’re both so warm around him, and with Cassie fast asleep on his chest, it’s everything he could have ever wanted. He is loved. He is safe.

Chapter Text

If you asked anyone at St Hilarion’s School for Boys about Edwin Payne, they’d tell you that he was certainly a… spirited individual. From his aversion to exercise and mandated team sports and generally going outside, to his passion for Latin and the Classics and his downright bitchy attitude (which he had no qualms against turning towards any positions of authority when he disagreed with them) and his tendency to give feedback or criticisms or any information — really — in the bluntest way possible, he was a person who clearly valued structure and routine and desperately needed to be in control. 

Charles had learnt that very quickly about his husband, back when they’d been boys, and it just worked because they fit together. Charles let Edwin make the decisions, let him do what he needed and when he needed and together, things worked. That didn’t stop the times where the world got too much, when work and university and life in general disrupted Edwin’s routines and took things out of his control, and Edwin simply couldn’t deal with it. Times like that were hard, but Charles knew Edwin better than anyone else, better than himself, and he simply learnt how to deal with it. When Edwin would come home, anxious and angry and uncomfortable, it was easy to pull the blinds down, make the house quiet and dark, ease his husband out of his uncomfortable clothes and simply be there. Sometimes Edwin needed earplugs and dark and to be left completely alone, sometimes he needed to curl up in Charles’ arms and be read to, and sometimes there just wasn’t anything he could do. He just had to sit and wait for it to pass, to do what he could and manage. Those were rare, especially now that their life was so routine and simple. Their house was always clean and organised, just like Edwin liked it, there were always his safe foods in the cupboard or fridge, always providing him with meals or snacks that required no effort to prepare that he could always access — even if Charles wasn’t home. His things were always where they were supposed to be, and if Charles cleared up anything or tidied, everything went into Edwin’s specific place for it because Charles knew him. So together, things were easy.

And that was where Monty changed things. 

Because he meant well, Edwin obviously knew that. He was his boyfriend — he was Charles’ boyfriend — and he loved him, but he was new. He didn’t know where things went, he didn’t know the intimacies of Edwin’s filing systems or how he liked his clothes folded. He was still desperately trying to figure out how to fit himself and his daughter into the new life that Edwin and Charles had introduced him to and so Edwin really could not hold any of this against him. 

But that didn’t mean that it wasn’t incredibly frustrating. 

Because it was no longer the case that everything was in its place, but everything was in a place, and that place hardly ever made sense. Monty was trying so hard to keep Cassie from disrupting their lives, it was clear how much effort he was putting in but that didn’t stop the impact that Cassie had. She wanted to play with everything, she was loud and curious and she was a child, for fuck’s sake, so why couldn’t Edwin deal with that? Why was he finding it so hard to cope? Her stuff was everywhere but it was normally organised into some semblance of neatness, but he shouldn’t care that it was, she was a toddler, she was supposed to be messy. And yet recently, every time he came across a toy lying on the floor, or a handful of pens and a half finished drawing discarded on the coffee table, he didn’t feel the same affectionate fondness that he had when they’d first moved in, but he felt his anxiety growing, something sharp and uncomfortable turning in his stomach. 

He hated it.

He hated himself for it. 

It was the same when she cried, or screamed, or asked a million questions. His skin prickled, uncomfortable and unsettled and he found himself gritting his teeth, desperate to be anywhere else than there. 

———

It isn’t that Edwin regrets inviting Monty to live with them.

Because he doesn’t. He really doesn’t regret it. 

It’s just… A lot. 

And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t struggling with it. 

It’s not bad at first, not over the Christmas holidays, because really it feels no different to having Monty over most nights as they had before, and with neither him nor Charles working, it wasn’t like there was any pressure for things to be normal. It’s not bad once the three of them go back to work, and their schedules begin to mesh and align.

It’s a little irritating, trying to remember where they’d moved their clothes around to make space for Monty’s, and suddenly needing to check in on the whereabouts of not one, but three people, but it’s nothing a couple of weeks or so of familiarisation doesn’t fix.

And it does. Monty’s things fit perfectly, as does Monty, and their routines begin to fit together, but those aren’t the things Edwin’s finding so difficult to cope with.

Really it isn’t one thing at all, just a series of little things that had been building and building and building until he just simply can’t cope.

Unfortunately, he hit that line a while ago.

It doesn’t start off quite so bad. It’s not good, but it’s not awful. Monty’s more than aware that Edwin can be a little hot-tempered sometimes, and that he says things without thinking that sound cruel but are rarely intended to be. 

But even Monty doesn’t see it coming this time.

It’s nothing, really, it’s just Monty forgetting to put the mugs back where Edwin always keeps them, reaching for one and finding the cupboard all wrong, and that combined with the sound of Monty humming tunelessly in the kitchen while Edwin’s already balancing on the edge of too much. It’s nothing, it really really is, but it’s nothing on top of so many other little nothings. It snaps something in him, sharp and sudden, before he even realises what he’s saying.

“For God’s sake, Monty, could you just shut up!”

The words are out, harsh and barbed, and Monty freezes like he’s been slapped. Edwin knows it’s too much, knows it’s not fair, and the moment the sound hits the air, he regrets it. Regret coils hard in his chest, but there’s no space to explain, no room for softness, because his head feels like it’s full of static and every movement, every sound, is scraping raw against his nerves.

He can’t untangle it enough to make it right, so he doesn’t. He can’t. Instead he just turns, shuts himself away in the bedroom, the door clicking closed behind him, and sinks down on the edge of the bed with his fists pressed to his temples. He tells himself it’s better like this, that it’s safer if he stays quiet, if he stays out of the way, because otherwise he’ll only make it worse.

But the silence after is the worst part. Edwin can still hear the faint clatter of the kettle, the hush of voices, Monty, probably, murmuring something low and even to Cassie in the kitchen, but here, in the bedroom, it’s just him and the ringing in his head.

He hates it. He hates how quickly he’d gone from tolerating to snapping, from a simmer to a boil in the space of a heartbeat. It feels like failing, like proof that he isn’t capable of this, that he isn’t built for sharing space, for compromise, for… for love, maybe. Because that’s the truth of it, isn’t it? That he does love Monty, in his strange and complicated way, but when the cupboards are wrong and the noise is too much and someone’s moving his things, that love doesn’t stop his brain from short-circuiting. It doesn’t stop the fire under his skin, the unbearable, buzzing sensation of everything being off . With Charles, theyve become part of one another, edges so well worn with familiarity that they just click, and it’s nigh-on-impossible for Charles to disrupt things anymore, because he understands.  

But Monty doesn’t, yet. 

And now Monty probably thinks he meant it. That he actually thinks he’s an idiot or too-loud or whatever.

Which he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. Monty is… kind, and patient, and warmer than Edwin knows what to do with. But the words had flown out sharp-edged, like a knife hurled across the room, and Edwin hadn’t caught it in time. He never does.

His chest is tight, his throat prickling with something halfway between anger and tears. He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until sparks bloom in the dark. He tries to breathe evenly, but every sound beyond the door feels like another invasion, another reminder that the world doesn’t stop just because he’s overwhelmed.

Part of him wants to go out there, to apologise properly, to force the words out before they curdle into something worse. But the thought of Monty’s face, hurt, confused, maybe even forgiving, sends a fresh wave of shame crashing over him. He can’t bear to see it. He can’t bear to see himself reflected in their eyes, this brittle, unkind version of himself.

So he stays put. He curls sideways on the bed, pulls the blanket over his head like armour, and wills the world to quieten. He tells himself he’ll make it right tomorrow, or the day after, when he’s steadier. When he can find the words without them tasting like ash.

They don’t talk about it that afternoon. Or that evening.

The day just… moves on around them, like it always does, with Charles chatting idly over dinner and Monty asking about Edwin’s day in that gentle, undemanding way of his. Edwin answers as best he can, clipped and awkward, careful not to catch Monty’s eyes for too long. It isn’t coldness, not really, it’s fear. Fear that if Monty looks too closely, he’ll see the guilt written all over Edwin’s face.

By the time night falls, the house is softer, calmer, light low. Quiet, peaceful. Edwin drifts into the kitchen on unsteady feet, and fills the kettle. He doesn’t think too hard about it, doesn’t let himself. Just sets out a mug, a teabag, pours the water, stirs. His hands feel clumsy, but it’s something he can do. Something that feels like making amends without having to find the words.

When he carries the cup through to Monty who’s curled into the corner of the sofa, legs tucked up, Cassie asleep in his arms, the television flickering muted light across his face, it feels like holding out an olive branch he doesn’t deserve. He sets it down on the table with a little clink, and awkwardly mutters, “Here.”

Monty looks at him, really looks, and something softens. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t bring up earlier, doesn’t press for apologies or explanations. He just reaches up, cups the back of Edwin’s neck with a kind of easy tenderness Edwin doesn’t understand, and pulls him down into a kiss.

It’s not long, not deep, just steady and certain. 

They don’t talk about it. They don’t tell Charles.

But when Edwin sits beside Monty and leans, just enough that their shoulders touch, the shame ebbs back to somethinga little more bearable.

———

It’s a Thursday afternoon when it all comes out properly. Bigger. Worse. 

Edwin’s nauseous with stress as he walks in through the front door, every touch of clothing against his skin grating, scratchy and overwhelming. His headphones had died on the bus, and he’d spent the journey with his teeth clenched, nails digging into his palms with every noise. It didn’t help that there had been a screaming baby only a few seats behind him, every cry permeating his very core, sharp and pitchy and not dissimilar to the sensation of shoving a screwdriver into each ear. 

He unlaces his shoes, goes to put them in their place on the rack, and finds instead Monty’s cracked and crumpled pair of old leather boots. Cassie’s little pink velcro ones have just been discarded on the floor next to the shoe rack, and he accidentally kicks them as he tries to put his coat away. 

The TV is on in the living room, he can hear it through the walls, some child’s show — Bluey, it sounds like, given the Australian accents Edwin can vaguely discern — and Cassie’s hysterical giggling, ringing out through the house. It should be sweet, should fill him with the same sense of satisfaction of having a family that it did before, but instead it just make’s him feel worse. He ignores the two calling out to him as he walks past the living room and up to the stairs towards the bedroom, unable to find the energy to respond and greet them in return. He goes straight to their room, and instead of finding it neat and tidy like normal, finds it a mess, the duvet thrown across the mattress, pyjamas on the floor, and the anger overwhelms him. He yanks the duvet onto the floor, then throws his bag down too, ignoring the clunk of his laptop. He’ll regret it later, but for now it’s just all too fucking much. He feels like he’s been electrocuted, the way his skin is prickling, his hair standing on end. He feels sick and tired and angry and his head hurts and his bowtie suddenly feels like it’s cutting off his air as he reaches up to yank at it. He can still hear the TV, can hear the buzzing and clicking of the radiators heating up, can hear every car passing by on the road outside their window, and it feels like he can’t escape. 

Behind him, the door opens and he groans, finally managing to undo his bowtie and flinging it at the dresser. Whoever it is, he does not want to see them, he can’t manage with even more stimulation, so he does what he hates the very most. 

He snaps. 

“Fuck off.”

The door creaks, whoever it is taken aback, but Edwin doesn’t have the space to feel sorry. His shirt is too tight, buttons digging into his skin, and it’s too loud and he can’t think and he can’t breathe and — and — and —

“Edwin.” 

Charles’ voice is soft, hardly louder than a whisper, and as Edwin opens the eyes he hadn’t even realised he’d shut, his hands are knocked away as Charles instead unbuttons his shirt for him. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look Edwin in the eye or touch him or do anything, he just stands there and carefully unbuttons his shirt. When he’s done, he reaches out to take the collar, and Edwin gets the message. He shrugs it off, letting Charles pull it off of him, fingers never one touching his skin. 

They just stand there for a moment, before Charles reaches out and places a hand on Edwin’s shoulder, firm and decisive. It’s a question, a silent offer of support that Edwin is welcome to reject and squirm away from.

And he does. 

He brushes it off with far more force than is necessary, turning his back to his husband. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to be coddled or loved or even fucking looked at. 

“Go away.”

It’s firm — far too harsh —  but Charles gets the message and pulls away, his hands dropping to his sides. 

“Okay. I love you.”

Edwin doesn’t reply.

By the time dinner is ready, Edwin is still raw, trapped in the tight coil of overstimulation and exhaustion that has been building all day. Every small noise, the clink of cutlery, the low hum of the hob, the whir of the extractor fan, feels amplified, invasive, impossible to ignore. He steps into the kitchen, trying to focus on nothing, trying to find a corner of himself that can cope, but the edges of the world feel jagged and sharp, scraping against his skin, buzzing at the back of his skull.

Monty is there, stirring something in a pan with his usual careful rhythm, humming softly under his breath. Charles is chopping vegetables, knife tip tapping against the board in a steady but incessant rhythm. The radio plays low in the background. None of it is loud by normal standards, but for Edwin, for this moment, it is too much.

He opens his mouth, intending only to ask something innocuous, but the words come out sharper than he expects.

“What are you making?” 

It sounds less like a question, more a command, but neither comment on it. 

“Pasta with a mascarpone, tomato and veggie sauce, and there’s some meat too that Charles has made.” Monty answers softly, smiling up at his boyfriend.

Rationally, Edwin knows it smells good, that it’ll taste good, but all of a sudden the air sours around him. Just the idea of it, of all the unknown textures and flavours, the inconsistency of it, it turns his stomach and all of a sudden the idea of eating is repulsive. 

“Sound good?” Monty asks, so innocently, so good-intentioned, but it doesn’t, god it doesn’t. He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want anything now, the idea of food is disgusting and there’s chunks of vegetable in the sauce and a fleck of something burnt on the handle of the frying pan and it smells so strong and so confusing that Edwin feels suddenly like he can’t breathe with how badly he doesn’t want it. 

“No – no, I don’t – I don’t… I’m not in the mood for–” he falters, swallows the next word, but the bite in his tone stays, “ — whatever this is.”

Charles freezes mid-chop, brow furrowed. “Edwin –”

“I don’t want it.” Edwin snaps, voice rising slightly, sharper than he intends. “I don’t care what it is. I just… I don’t want it.”

Monty’s hand tightens on the spoon, a soft, exasperated exhale escaping him, but he doesn’t argue. “Okay,” he says carefully, his voice even, gentle. “We can figure something else out.”

He’s being nice, he’s being so nice, but the tone of his voice is grating and it makes Edwin just feel worse, and before he can think, he’s speaking. 

“Don’t patronise me Monty, I just – I don’t fucking want any.”

Charles takes a careful step forward, voice soft but tentative: “Ed—”

“ Don’t. ” Edwin spins to face him, eyes wide and burning. “Stop trying to fix it! Just leave me alone! I can’t deal with – just everything, all of you, right now. Stop. ”

Monty’s shoulders slump, and for a fraction of a second, Edwin sees the hurt flash across his face. Charles looks like he’s been punched. And then, as quickly as it came, the storm in Edwin’s head crashes forward again, dragging him to the edge.

Silence falls, but it is a fragile, tense thing. Monty sets the pan down gently, Charles stops moving completely. Neither of them makes a sound. Guilt rises a tight, prickling sensation that burns in his chest and stomach, and he opens his mouth to try and fix it, to try and stop the way Monty’s eyes are widening and his mouth twisting in hurt, but he’s interrupted by Charles’ hand tightening on Monty’s shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. Edwin knows, somewhere deep inside the tangle of nerves and shame, that he’s hurt them, probably deeply. He can feel it, the weight of it pressing down on his chest, but he can’t stop. He can’t go back and take the words back.

“Edwin. Enough. You’re being mean. We’re going upstairs.” 

It’s rare that Edwin is ever at the receiving end of Charles being firm. In the early days, Charles had had no qualms in pointing out when Edwin wasn’t picking up on social cues or his bluntness was bordering on offensive, but as the years had passed and Edwin had made the effort to learn and grow and understand people better, the less and less Charles had had to help him. They didn’t argue, and they knew how to live together and share each other’s space, so there was normally no reason to get firm with one another. 

Of course, with the addition of Cassie to their family, Charles had more reason to be strict — never harsh — for her safety, and because he understood how. The benefit of being a teacher, and all that. 

But this.

It had been a while. 

“Charles I—”

But Charles shook his head. “Edwin, love, stop. We’re going upstairs.”

Guilt burns in the pit of his stomach as the two of them leave, Edwin’s hands twisting together as he wrings them, unsure of how to approach this situation. He wants to explain, to defend himself, to do something, but he knows he shouldn’t. He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated and he doesn’t actually mean anything coming out of his mouth. Charles knows that, he’s not in trouble, Charles isn’t going to break up with him, Monty isn’t either. 

It’s all okay. 

When they reach their bedroom, Edwin stops before the bed, his breath hitching in his throat. He’s upset, he’s angry, but it’s all at himself. It’s awful, not being able to regulate and cope with things as silly as this, and he hates that he hurts the ones he loves because he can’t handle it. Because he can’t handle himself. 

They just stand there for a moment, not saying anything before Charles reaches out and places a hand on the small of Edwin’s back, firm and decisive, no gentle hovering or hesitation about it. It’s a question, a silent offer of support that Edwin is welcome to reject and squirm away from, just like earlier.

This time though, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns and buries himself in his husband’s arms, pressing his face into Charles’ shoulder. 

It’s still too much, still too overwhelming, but Charles understands. 

Charles always understands. 

He presses a kiss to the top of Edwin’s head, then gently leads him over to the edge of the bed and Edwin sits. Charles pulls away, and within moments he’s offering out a pair of earplugs, which Edwin takes. 

The curtains are drawn and the duvet returned to the bed, as well as the bag placed on the chair instead of the floor, before Charles is back with a clean pair of Edwin’s pyjamas in hand. He doesn’t need to ask what’s brought this on, knows better than to try, he simply provides. He gives Edwin space to change and climb into bed, then carefully tucks the duvet around him before he pulls out the weighted blanket from underneath the bed. They used to keep it on the bed for Edwin to use when he needed it, but with the addition of Monty, there just wasn’t space, so they’d moved it. Frankly, Edwin had found he hadn’t wanted to sleep with it, not with the warmth of the two men, so it was one of the few readjustments that hadn’t proven to be an inconvenience. Charles carefully spreads it across Edwin, then sits next to his husband. It’s up to Edwin now, whether he wants Charles to stay, whether he wants him to read to him, maybe play with his hair, just generally comfort him or whether he wants to be firmly left alone to decompress. 

But the truth is that he doesn’t know. 

He doesn’t know what he wants. 

And that’s only making it worse. 

Frustrated, he curls up into himself, turning his back to Charles. He feels so stupid, so childish for being so upset and overwhelmed and overstimulated. He’s an adult man, a lecturer, a PhD student, a husband, and yet he can’t handle his boyfriend and his beautiful perfect daughter moving in. He can’t handle change. At all. And he’s fucking pathetic for it. 

Charles doesn’t move though, just stays sitting quietly, watching, waiting. 

Edwin’s not even sure how much time has passed before he eventually feels the tension begin to release. It no longer quite feels like he’s trapped in a box, and he feels like he can breathe again. 

Charles has relocated so he’s lying on the mattress next to Edwin, carefully not touching him. It’s reassuring, to know that he hasn’t left, and he reaches out to find his hand, intertwining their fingers. The contact makes Charles stir and he rolls over to face Edwin, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?”

Edwin shakes his head, and Charles knows better than to push, instead just bringing the back of Edwin’s knuckles up to his lips and brushing a kiss against the skin. 

“You wanna talk?” 

Edwin shakes his head again, and Charles nods. 

“Okay love. You want to sleep?” 

There’s a moment, before Edwin nods, slowly, hesitantly.

“Okay… You okay if I give you some space?”

When Edwin nods, Charles gently pulls himself up off of the mattress, squeezing Edwin’s hand once before detangling them. 

He returns a short while later, and he doesn’t crowd him, doesn’t smother him with words or touches, but quietly sits beside him until the tight coil in his chest loosens and the overstimulation begins to ebb, and the first tendrils of sleep being to drag him under. Edwin doesn’t sleep perfectly, but he does sleep, and by morning the world feels a fraction more manageable. 

Monty and Charles take the spare room, and Edwin’s privately glad of it when he wakes up alone. 

He takes his time getting himself up and ready, before he sits at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a cup of tea, shoulders tense but less rigid than yesterday. 

When Monty comes in, a smile tugging at his lips, ready to greet him as usual despite the sleep still weight him down, Edwin clears his throat, voice low and careful.

“Monty… about yesterday. We must — I must talk to you.” He pauses, trying to find the words that won’t sound stilted or dismissive, that might convey both his regret and an actual explanation without dragging out the shame he still feels. “I… I was overstimulated. I wasn’t thinking straight. I said things I didn’t mean. And I—”

Monty holds up a hand, soft and patient. “Shh. I know, Edwin. I get it.”

Edwin swallows, gaze dropping to his hands. “I don’t want to hurt you or Charles. I just… I sometimes can’t cope with everything happening at once, and I end up being… cruel. I really wasn’t trying to be mean, but I know I was.”

“Edwin, baby, I have a child. I’m used to meltdowns.” Monty says softly, reaching out and taking Edwin’s hand in his. “Everyone has trouble regulating themselves sometimes. Everyone says stupid shit when they’re angry or upset or overwhelmed. I know you don’t mean it. Cause like I — I’m in your space, disrupting your routine.” He shrugs. “I know you, I know how your mind works — or, I don’t, and that’s what’s kind of so amazing about it and you, and well… Y’know, I can’t be mad at you for this. Was I hurt when you snapped at me? Yeah. Am I still hurt or upset? No.” 

Edwin nods sharply, the backs of his eyes burning as he listens. He can’t meet Monty’s eyes so he doesn’t, gaze locked on their intertwined hands. 

Monty continues, voice warm, patient, unwavering.“You’re my partner, and living together is hard. You’re allowed to get dysregulated and have a meltdown and whatever, because I know you and I love you and I know that you’ve been trying to keep it together and be a good partner for so long. But you… you don’t have to Edwin. You’re allowed to be annoyed if something’s not how you like it, just tell me and you can show me how it’s supposed to be. Just — don’t let it get this bad again, okay? And if it does, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m here cause I love you, nothing’s going to change that.” 

Edwin swallows again, tightness easing from his chest, and whispers, “I… I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll try to do better, and I’ll tell you before it gets this bad again.”

Monty smiles softly, leaning down to press a brief, careful kiss to Edwin’s temple. “I know you will. And I’ll be here. Always.”

Later that morning, Charles finds Edwin in the living room, curled up on the sofa with a book he isn’t really reading, staring at the page but seeing nothing. Charles sits down beside him, careful not to crowd him, letting the quiet settle before speaking.

“You apologised to Monty?” Charles asks quietly, not expecting a long answer, just checking.

Edwin nods, a little stiffly. “I did. He… he understands. He said he’s not upset.”

Charles reaches over, brushing his fingers briefly against Edwin’s hand. “Good. That’s… important.”

“I feel awful, still,” Edwin admits, gaze fixed on the book again. “I hate that I was so rude. I don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Charles says gently, “and you didn’t. That’s the thing. You were… overloaded. It’s not fair on you, either, trying to keep everything in check all the time.”

Edwin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I just… don’t want it to happen again.”

“It won’t. Or at least, we’ll work on it together,” Charles says. “Monty and I, we’ll notice sooner next time, and you… you’ll have the space to step back. No shame. No judgment. We just… adjust.”

The words settle over Edwin, comforting and quiet. He nods, letting himself lean just slightly into Charles’ shoulder. They sit there for a little while longer, until Charles suggests Edwin try some self-regulating tools, decompress more after last night while he’s still fighting off the residual upset. It’s a good idea, and so Edwin agrees. 

Charles helps him, helps set out  a corner of the living room, a little cocoon with a blanket, noise-cancelling headphones, and a cup of tea. A small ritual he can control. 

Monty and Charles drift around the room, but they give him space, preparing lunch slowly, deliberately quiet, checking in with glances rather than words.

Edwin ignores them closes his eyes, takes a slow breath in, then out, counting to ten each time. He notices the thrum of the radiator, the faint hum of traffic outside, the occasional creak from the floorboards above. Each noise makes him wince slightly at first, but he grounds himself by gripping the mug in both hands, feeling its warmth. He takes a slow sip, focusing on the heat spreading through his bones, lets it anchor him. 

Charles settles down after while and sits at the sofa’s edge, reading his book but keeping one eye on Edwin. Every now and then, he places a hand lightly on Edwin’s shoulder, then pulls it away before Edwin can feel trapped. No words are needed; his presence alone is enough.

As the minutes stretch into half an hour, Edwin’s breathing eases, his shoulders drop, and the sharp edges of tension dull. When he opens his eyes, the room feels less like it’s pressing in on him. He allows himself a small smile, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, as Charles mirrors it quietly.

Monty appears with a tray, and sets it gently on the coffee table before the two. “Snack?” he offers, voice careful, not intrusive.

“Thanks,” Edwin murmurs, taking the plate, stacking small pieces of food mindfully, one at a time. It’s all the foods he keeps for the difficult days, the snacks he likes that are always the same, always consistent, safe. It’s so thoughtful, so loving. 

By the time lunch is ready, Edwin is calmer, more present. He joins them at the table, helping with small tasks in a measured, deliberate way. If a noise startles him, a clatter of cutlery or the microwave beep, he takes a slow breath, doesn’t snap, doesn’t lash out. Both Monty and Charles notice, and without making it a spectacle, they give him the space to steady himself.

The afternoon stretches on with a similar balance: quiet conversation, gentle gestures, and Edwin occasionally retreating to his cocoon for a few minutes to reset. Each time he does, he returns a little more grounded, a little more in control. By evening, when Cassie returns from her morning with Niko and Crystal, Edwin is able to greet her with a small laugh and a hug, something he wouldn’t have managed the day before without shutting down entirely.

It’s not perfect. But Monty and Charles are patient, and they love him, and they forgive him, and when they go to bed, together, it feels good. It feels okay, again.

Chapter Text

The weeks that follow feel different. Not easier, not exactly, but more bearable. The sharp edges of those early days dull, smoothed over as the three of them begin to learn each other’s rhythms properly, like musicians who’ve finally found the same key.

It’s small things at first. Monty learns that Edwin needs the radio switched off at certain points in the evening, when the day’s noise has already gnawed him raw. Charles remembers to chop vegetables on the thick wooden board instead of the thinner one that rattles against the counter with each cut. Edwin, for his part, tries: tries to speak up before everything spirals, tries to name the things that make his skin feel too tight instead of bottling them until they explode. None of them are perfect at it, but there’s a quiet, mutual effort, and it begins to show.

Monty, though, still runs himself ragged. For weeks, he darts between shifts, Tragic Mck’s Magic Shopin the mornings, tends the bar at a pub just down the road for late evenings, picking up every shift he can until his hours stitch together so tightly that Edwin sometimes doesn’t even realise he’s gone until he’s stumbling back through the door at midnight, exhausted.

He still insists on picking Cassie up from nursery himself whenever he can, no matter how tired he is, even when there’s no reason not to just let Charles do it. He hums while cooking dinner, even when his eyes are half-closed with exhaustion. He kisses them both with a smile, but Edwin and Charles see the cracks: the way Monty drags himself up the stairs like each one is weighted, the way he blinks too long over his textbooks when he’s supposed to be studying for exams he’s missed, the way Cassie tugs at his hand and he flinches, too worn down to react quickly.

It’s Charles who says it aloud first. One evening, when Monty has left his half-eaten dinner untouched to answer yet another late-night message for picking up a last-minute shift at work, Charles folds his hands on the table and says, very calmly: “Monty, this isn’t sustainable. You’re killing yourself like this.”

Monty tries to laugh it off, cheeks pink. “It’s fine. I’ve done worse. I can manage—”

“No,” Edwin cuts in, sharper than he means, but not cruel. Just firm. His throat feels tight, but he forces the words out anyway. “You can’t. You shouldn’t. Not when you’ve got us.” He glances away, fidgeting with his bowtie. “You don’t have to do everything alone anymore.”

Monty blinks at him, startled by the conviction in Edwin’s voice. Charles nods, steady. “He’s right. You’re already carrying more than anyone should. You don’t need two jobs on top of everything else.”

“But the bills—” Monty begins, his jaw tight.

“We’ve already made it clear that you don’t need to pay us anything, we can manage the bills. You don’t need to fund anything here,” Charles interrupts, decisive in that quiet, immovable way of his. “We’ll figure it out. What matters more is you. And Cassie. You can’t pour from an empty cup, Monty.”

For a long moment, Monty doesn’t speak. He looks down at his hands, rough and ink-stained, his expression unreadable. Then he exhales, a shaky, reluctant little sigh, and nods.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Alright. I’ll quit.”

The relief that floods the room is immediate, almost physical. Neither of them had quite realised until that moment how tightly wound he’d been, how much he’d hated the way Monty dragged himself through each day with half his soul worn away. 

And so Monty quits. The change is subtle at first, but unmistakable. He still wakes early, still keeps himself busy, but there’s no desperate, frantic rushing out the door, no bone-deep exhaustion dragging at him by mid-afternoon. 

He doesn’t know what to do with himself at first.

He’s been working almost nonstop since he came to England. Now, his days stretch out wide and unstructured. He tries not to feel guilty about it, but guilt has a way of following him from room to room.

So he throws himself into helping.

He starts small: washing up the breakfast dishes before Edwin even finishes his tea, tidying Cassie’s toys into neat baskets, folding laundry in the living room. But the more he tries to pitch in, the more out of place he feels.  

He takes over mornings, getting Cassie ready, coaxing her into her shoes and jacket, walking her and Charles to nursery with her little hand clamped in his, and Charles’ big one intertwined with his own. It feels good, grounding, to be the one she looks up at with her bright little grin. He does the food shop too, scrawling lists in the margins of notebooks, and comes home proud when Edwin doesn’t complain about the biscuits he bought. Cooking comes easier than anything else; nothing fancy, just filling, warm meals that make the flat smell like home.

And slowly, things start to shift.

Charles looks different first. Lighter. He still works the longest hours, still takes on more than anyone should, but when he walks through the door now, he doesn’t come home to chaos. The flat is tidy, dinner is simmering, Cassie is laughing. There’s space for him to just exist, not immediately pick up the pieces. Monty sees it in the way his shoulders ease, in the smiles that still catch him off guard with how bright and beautiful they are.

With Edwin, it’s harder to read. Monty knows his presence can still grate, knows he moves too much, hums too often, puts things in the wrong place. Sometimes Edwin’s sharp tongue cuts without warning, when he’s overwhelmed and exhausted. But then there are moments. Edwin sitting beside him, cursor blinking on Monty’s essay draft, giving him clipped, serious feedback like it matters. Or Edwin allowing their hands to rest together longer than habit demands. Or Edwin’s silence softening when Monty sets a cup of tea on his desk without words.

Monty is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, Cassie’s picture books stacked beside him while she flips through one on his lap. He’s half-watching the TV, half-listening to the kettle whistle in the kitchen. His phone lies face-down on the armrest, a calendar reminder still buzzing quietly in his head, of online class deadlines he hasn’t touched in weeks.

Charles comes in first, carrying three mugs of tea. Edwin follows with a plate of biscuits, balancing it precariously in one hand. Monty shifts, moving Cassie off his lap so she can scramble down onto the rug.

“Alright, here you go,” Charles says, handing him a mug.

Monty takes it with a grin. “Thank you love.”

Edwin, across the room, settles down on the armchair with his own mug. There’s something deliberate about the way he sits, shoulders squared, as though he’s gearing up to say something. Charles notices it too; Monty can see it in the way he hovers instead of sinking into the sofa straight away.

Monty narrows his eyes. “Okay, what’s this? You two have your conspiracy faces on.”

Charles finally sits, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “It’s not a conspiracy. We just… we’ve been talking.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Monty laughs nervously, sipping his tea.

Edwin cuts in, his tone sharper but not unkind. “It’s not bad. We just think, well, you’ve got more time now. You’ve been running yourself ragged with work, but you don’t need to anymore.”

Monty shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah, but… y’know, rent, bills, Cassie’s stuff, it doesn’t all just disappear because I’ve got time. You two can’t do everything.”

“We’re not doing everything,” Charles says firmly. “You are. You’re here all day running the house, making sure Cassie’s okay, keeping things together. That matters, Monty. A lot. But you’ve also got an opportunity now.”

Edwin nods, adjusting his glasses. “Your degree How are your classes going?”

Monty stares down into his tea. The reminder stings; he’s lost count of how many times he’s signed up for classes and then failed to keep up. “Yeah. I’m awful at it. I’m – I’m always behind, always exhausted. It feels like I’m throwing money away. I’ve missed so much I’ve been unenrollled from half my classes.”

Charles’s voice is gentler now. “You aren’t awful. You’re just trying to do too much at once. Anyone would have dropped the ball. You were working two jobs, Monty. Two. And taking care of your daughter.”

Monty shakes his head. “I don’t know. Going back properly now… what if I just screw it up again?”

“You won’t,” Charles says immediately. “Not with us here to support you. You’ve got time now. You’ve got space. You don’t need to kill yourself working forty hours a week on top of it.”

Edwin sets his mug down with a quiet clink. “You’re bright, Monty. And determined, even if you don’t see it. You deserve to finish what you started. You deserve the chance to do something for yourself, not just for everyone else.”

Monty feels his throat tighten. He tries for humour, but it comes out cracked. “You two are making it sound like I’m about to go off and cure cancer.”

Charles smiles faintly. “We just want you to have the chance. To focus on your degree without burning out.” He leans back, tilting his head. “What do you think?”

Monty stares at them both, heart twisting. The idea of actually finishing his degree feels impossibly far off, but the way they’re both looking at him, serious, expectant, but not pressuring, it makes something in him dare to hope.

“I think…” He swallows hard. “I think I’m terrified. But… maybe I’ll give it another shot.”

Edwin nods once, decisive. “Good. Then we’ll help you figure out how.”

Charles nudges Monty’s knee with his own, smiling. “That’s all we wanted.”

And for the first time in a long time, Monty lets himself picture it, not just surviving, not just scrambling to keep afloat, but actually moving forward.

It’s late, Cassie already tucked into bed, the house quiet in a way it rarely is now. Monty sits at the dining table with his laptop open, the screen glowing far too brightly in the dim light. His stomach is knotted. It feels ridiculous, sitting here terrified of a sign-in page, but he can’t shake it.

Charles sets a fresh mug of tea beside him and drapes an arm across the back of his chair. “Alright, soldier. Time to face the beast.”

Monty huffs out a laugh, though his hands hover nervously above the keys. “Feels like I’m about to set myself up to fail, again.”

“You’re not,” Edwin says firmly, sliding into the chair opposite. He’s got his notebook with him, as though he intends to catalogue Monty’s progress. His expression is serious, but not gentle, affectionate. “You’re not doing this alone this time. That’s the difference.”

Monty glances between them. “I… I don’t even know where to start. I dropped so many modules before, I’ve lost track of what I’m meant to take.”

“Then we start at the beginning,” Charles says simply, reaching over to nudge the laptop closer. “Log in. Let’s see what’s what.”

Monty exhales shakily and does as he’s told. The familiar dashboard loads up, cluttered with old notifications, overdue assignments from months ago. Shame pricks sharp in his chest. He starts to close the tab, but Edwin reaches out, stopping him with a single finger against the lid.

“Don’t,” Edwin says quietly. “Look at it. It’s the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not being measured against that now. It’s just information.”

Monty swallows, nods, and scrolls through. His heart pounds, but the longer he looks, the less overwhelming it feels. Charles leans over his shoulder, reading aloud the modules that are still open, and Edwin flips through the course handbook with neat precision, cross-referencing dates and requirements.

It becomes almost mechanical, the three of them piecing together a plan, Charles suggesting which classes would fit around Cassie’s school hours, Edwin highlighting deadlines and drawing up a structured calendar, Monty slowly realising it’s not impossible, not if they do it this way.

An hour later, he’s clicked “enrol” on two modules. Just two. Manageable. His hands tremble when the confirmation screen pops up, but he feels lighter too, like he’s set something heavy down.

Charles grins, pulling him into a sideways hug. “Look at you. Back in the game.”

Monty shakes his head, overwhelmed, but he can’t keep the smile from breaking across his face. “Back in the game,” he echoes softly.

Edwin closes the handbook with a decisive snap. “We’ll keep you on track this time. You won’t fall behind. I’ll make sure of it.”

There’s a fierce determination in his voice that makes Monty’s chest ache. He squeezes both their hands under the table, voice thick. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to deserve either of you.”

Charles answers for both of them, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world: “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, Monty. You’re ours. That’s enough.”

Monty sits back, staring at the enrolment page one last time. For the first time in years, the future doesn’t look like a blur of exhaustion and failure. It looks like something he might actually reach.

The first week is clumsy. Monty hasn’t sat down to “do homework” ike this in years, and his muscles don’t quite remember how. He spreads papers across the table, gets lost scrolling the wrong reading list, forgets which password is which. Twice, he closes the laptop in frustration and mutters that this was a mistake. Both times, Charles takes Cassie out for a walk around the block while Edwin stays behind, calmly coaxing Monty back into his chair.

“Try again,” Edwin says, sliding the laptop back across the table. His voice is firm, no-nonsense, but there’s a softness under it. “You’ve already done the hard part by enrolling. Now all that’s left is admin. Boring, but you can do boring.”

Monty groans, buries his face in his hands. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” Edwin says, tugging his notebook across and jotting down steps in sharp, neat handwriting. “One. Open the right tab. Two. Read the first assignment. Three. Start with the first sentence.” He pushes the notebook towards him, tilting his head. “Do number one. Just number one.”

And somehow, with Edwin watching him, Monty does. One step at a time.

By the second week, a rhythm starts to form. Cassie curls up with her colouring books at the table while Monty types beside her, the two of them sharing pencils and paperclips as though they’re in class together. She beams every time she looks over and sees him working.

“Daddy’s doing school like me,” she tells Charles one afternoon, holding up her page of scribbled rainbows. “He’s got homework too!”

Charles laughs, scooping her up. “That’s right!”

Not every day is smooth. One evening, Monty stares at a question for an introductory economics module and feels his brain shut down. Numbers blur together, logic won’t stick, and frustration claws at his chest. He shoves the book away hard enough that it slides across the table.

Edwin, sitting on the sofa with his own laptop, looks up sharply. He doesn’t scold. He just gets up, retrieves the book, and sets it neatly back in front of Monty. Then he sits down beside him, pen in hand.

“What part?” he asks.

Monty shakes his head. “All of it. I can’t—”

“Which sentence first made you feel stuck?” Edwin presses.

Monty frowns at the page, tracing the text with his finger. “…That one. The bit about supply curves.”

“Then we start there.” Edwin writes out the sentence on a fresh sheet of paper, underlining each key word. His handwriting is crisp and clinical, his explanations clipped, but there’s no impatience in him. He breaks the concept down piece by piece, making Monty repeat each part until it sticks.

When Monty finally manages to sketch a rough example that actually makes sense, Edwin allows the barest flicker of a smile. “See? You’re not incapable. You just needed to slow down.”

Monty lets out a shaky laugh, relief washing through him. “You’re terrifying when you’re right, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” Edwin says dryly, but he allows himself to be kissed thoroughly before turning back to his own work. 

Charles helps in different ways. He doesn’t sit and problem-solve like Edwin does, but he keeps the world soft enough for Monty to work in. He takes over Cassie’s bath time on nights when Monty has deadlines. He clears the kitchen counters so Monty can spread his papers out. He keeps Monty fed, sliding plates of food under his nose before he even realises he’s hungry.

“You don’t have to look after me like this,” Monty mutters one night, cheeks burning as Charles sets down a bowl of soup beside him.

Charles just kisses the top of his head. “Sure I do. We;re family. Families look after each other. And, you’re pretty.”

By the end of the month, Monty has handed in two assignments. Just hitting “submit” nearly makes him sick with nerves, but Edwin insists on a ceremonial drum roll from Cassie both times. Charles claps like Monty’s already graduating.

The grades take a week to come back. They’re not perfect, a B and a low A but Monty stares at the screen like he’s hallucinating.  

Cassie insists they celebrate with ice cream sundaes for dinner. Charles agrees without hesitation.

And that night, as Monty lies in bed listening to the quiet breath of his daughter in the next room and the even softer rhythm of Charles and Edwin beside him, he lets himself believe, just a little, that maybe this time, he can do it.

The first set of midterms creeps up faster than Monty expects. He’s been floating along on weekly assignments and discussion boards, finding a rhythm that almost feels natural, but the word exam still makes his stomach drop. Exams feel final. Unforgiving.

The night before his economics midterm, he spreads flashcards across the kitchen table, Cassie long since asleep. His leg bounces under the chair, heart hammering.

“I can’t do this,” he mutters, half to himself, half to the stack of notes. “I don’t—none of this is sticking.”

Edwin looks up from the sofa, where he’s annotating a book with his usual precision. “That’s not true. You’ve been drilling this for days. You’re catastrophising.”

Monty lets out a bitter laugh. “Catastrophising is my specialty.”

“Then stop specialising in failure,” Edwin says flatly, though there’s a glint in his eyes that softens the words. He gets up, pulls out the chair next to Monty, and begins flipping through the flashcards with clinical efficiency. “I’ll quiz you. Close your notes.”

Monty swallows, throat dry, but obeys. Edwin’s questions are sharp, unforgiving, no mercy for hesitation. Monty stumbles, gets half wrong, but Edwin doesn’t sigh or roll his eyes — he just corrects him, marks the weak spots, and circles back until the right answers start coming.

When Monty finally manages three in a row, Edwin nods once, satisfied. “Better. You’re not an idiot. You just needed to be pushed.”

The words stick. They mean more than Monty knows how to say.

The next morning, Charles wakes him early with coffee and breakfast already made on the counter.

“Eat,” Charles says firmly, sliding the plate in front of him. “You’re not going in there hungry.”

Monty groans, head still foggy. “I can’t even look at food.”

“Then nibble,” Charles replies. “Doesn’t matter how much. Just enough so your brain doesn’t switch off halfway through.” He kisses Monty’s temple, hands warm on his shoulders. “You’ve got this. Trust me.”

It’s the steadiness in Charles’s voice that gets Monty to take the first bite.

The exam itself is brutal — two hours of questions that make his chest tighten and his hands sweat. But he breathes through it, just like Edwin had told him the night before: one question at a time, no catastrophising .

By the time it’s over, Monty feels hollowed out, buzzing with leftover panic. He half expects to come home to silence, to disappointment. Instead, the front door opens to Cassie shouting, “Daddy! Did you win your test?” and Charles sweeping him into a hug before he can even take off his coat.

Later that night, Edwin sits beside him on the sofa, typing quietly on his laptop. Without looking up, he nudges Monty’s knee with his own. “You’ll have passed,” he says matter-of-factly. “You prepared too much not to.”

Monty blinks at him. “You really think so?”

“I don’t think,” Edwin says, eyes still on the screen. “I know.”

And Monty believes him.

When the grade comes back a week later — an A minus — Monty stares at the screen until his eyes blur. Cassie cheers. Charles actually lifts him off the floor in celebration. Edwin just smirks, smug and proud, like he’d known all along.

That night, when Cassie’s asleep and Charles is in the shower, Monty curls against Edwin on the sofa. His voice is soft, almost shy. “Thank you. For… not letting me give up.”

Edwin closes his book, finally meeting his eyes. “You didn’t give up because you didn’t want to. All I did was remind you.” A pause, quieter, almost grudging. “And I’m proud of you.”

Monty’s throat tightens. He doesn’t reply — he just leans in, pressing his forehead to Edwin’s shoulder, letting the quiet settle. For the first time in years, exams don’t feel like a noose. They feel like something he can survive.

Monty doesn’t realise how much the A– changes things until weeks later. It’s not just a grade, it’s proof. That he can still do this. That the years he spent working himself into the ground, shelving dreams in favour of survival, haven’t completely hollowed him out.

For the first time in a long while, Monty starts thinking about after .

At first, it slips out in tiny ways. A comment to Charles about how one of his professors worked part-time in social housing, another to Edwin about maybe specialising in policy rather than just scraping a general degree together. He doesn’t mean to say it aloud, but once it’s spoken, it lingers in the air.

One evening, after Cassie’s gone to bed, Monty lingers at the table with his laptop open and three tabs pulled up: job projections, graduate programs, and a fellowship his tutor had mentioned. He chews at his lip, bouncing his leg under the chair.

Charles wanders over first, dropping a kiss on his hair before peering at the screen. “Planning your world domination already?” His tone is light, but his hand settles steady on Monty’s shoulder.

Monty huffs a laugh. “More like planning to not completely embarrass myself in front of Cassie when she asks what I actually do with my degree.”

Edwin looks up from the sofa, where he’s sorting through a stack of papers. “You’re not going to embarrass anyone,” he says crisply. “And if you keep second-guessing, you’ll talk yourself out of something you’d be brilliant at.”

Monty flushes. “Brilliant’s a bit generous.”

Edwin raises an eyebrow. “You got an A– while working and parenting. Stop being hard on yourself.”

The words are blunt, maybe harsher than intended, but Monty understands the sentiment.

Charles pulls up a chair. “So what are you actually looking at?”

Monty hesitates, then clicks open the fellowship tab. “It’s, um, community planning. Housing, infrastructure. Developing a community for those in need. Stuff I’ve never been interested in but it seems… cool… I dunno, it feels out of reach.”

“Does it?” Charles asks gently. 

Monty swallows hard. He doesn’t have an answer.

Over the next week, he starts sketching ideas into notebooks — nothing polished, just thoughts, what-ifs, fragments. Sometimes Cassie colours alongside him, filling the margins with rainbows and cats. Sometimes Charles sits with him, asking practical questions that Monty doesn’t know the answers to yet. Sometimes Edwin silently sets a cup of tea by his elbow, scanning through Monty’s notes before making sharp, precise comments like: This needs refining. This argument doesn’t hold. Rethink this angle.

It should sting, but it doesn’t. Edwin isn’t criticising him — he’s sharpening him.

One night, Monty closes his laptop and blurts it out before he can lose his nerve:

“I want to finish this degree properly. Not just scrape by, not just… tick the box. I want to make something of it. Maybe even go for that fellowship. Maybe… more.”

The room goes quiet.

Then Charles grins, wide and unguarded. “There he is,” he says, pulling Monty into his arms. “That’s our Monty!”

Edwin just nods once, matter-of-fact. “About time you admitted it to yourself.”

Monty laughs, shaky and disbelieving, but for the first time in years, he feels something like ambition settle in his chest. Not heavy this time — not like a burden. More like a fire finally catching.