Work Text:
It’s necessity, more so than desire, that arranged your first sleepover at Castle Wyvern. Some madman with delusions of grandeur that believed you could do something for him. You’re not sure what it was exactly- every time you asked it seemed like a counter questiom was thrown over your words, and in the whirlwind of reminding them you needed your toothbrush, yes - the blue one- yes I don’t want my teeth to fall out- you hadn’t thought to ask Brooklyn, Broadway, or Lexington any questions when the Trio arrived to escort you to your impromptu vacation.
Those questions died a second time, however, when you realized exactly where it was you were sleeping.
”This is your room,” you said calmly, as though the butterflies in your throat weren’t tickling.
Brooklyn peered around the edge of the door he was holding open, glancing in at the mishmashed interior before tilting his beak down towards you. “Yea, it’s my room.”
“Can- I mean-Where-“
”It’s the closest to the rook,” he explained, dark eyes sliding past you to stare at the floor, and those butterflies soured in your throat. “Not that I’ll be much help during the day, but-” He shrugged, shoulders rolling as if he was coaxing a weight off. Your eyes automatically followed the motion, trailing down until you landed on his hands, stiffly holding the loops of your bag between the two of you.
You followed him into the room, hands pressed to your stomach as you debated continuing the conversation. “This is your room,” you repeated.
Dark eyes found yours again, a question there this time. “Yes?”
”Is… it’s not weird?”
Brooklyn’s head canted to the side, the gesture reminiscent of a hawk spotting movement, before his eyes narrowed marginally. “Weird how?”
You gestured between the two of you, letting the fingers of one hand flex outwards in his direction before tucking it tight against your stomach once more. “We haven’t really talked about… boundaries. Or…”
The insinuation took a moment to land, and you watched as he ducked his chin in apparent bashfulness and raised a hand to the back of his head. “Ah, well, I wasn’t going to…”
Assume
You filled in the word mentally, then hummed, loosening your posture and looking around once more. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall,” Those words come easier, and his posture relaxed a tad as well.
You realized you’d both sidestepped some unknown hole in navigating whatever this… new development between you two was, this bonfire that crackled under your ribs when he looked your way. Your hands twisted together, worrying the material of your shirt, as you got caught up in the questions once more bouncing around inside your head.
Brooklyn broke the spell, taking a step towards you and reaching slowly for your hands. Giving you enough time to pull back, you thought, as you blinked and realized you’d been staring.
”Hey, are you alright?” He asked, voice pitched lower than before, something careful in his tone, like you might spook.
Skin warmed from the sun all day touched the side of your hand, a talon tracing over some of the thin bones along the back. You opened easily for him, head ducking down to press your chin against your chest as his beak ghosted over the side of your forehead and your fingers spasmed around his.
“It’s just a lot.” You whispered, thinking not of the malformed shadow of danger hanging ominously somewhere over your head, but of the tight ball of nerves and bubbling joy lodged somewhere under your lungs, making each breath a labor.
“It won’t be for long,” Brooklyn said quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “We’ll figure out how to get you back home soon-“
”That’s not-“ You interrupted him, biting your lip. Something unsettling roiled in your gut, like the vertigo standing at the edge of a cliff. But you had already started, and when he paused, eyes dark and steady on your own, the rest of the words came tumbling out. “That’s not what I meant, Brooklyn. Not at all.”
When Brooklyn kept silent, you gestured to your chest, at the space between your collar and the bottom of your sternum. “I meant… this. This feeling- it’s a lot.”
He looked confused, his gaze dropping to follow the motion briefly. “Feeling?”
”I-“
Fragile thrumming beat against your tongue, and you’re surprised when its words, and not gossamer wings, that escape when you finally managed to speak. “I like you. And this feeling, it’s like-”
”Like you can’t breathe.” It’s his turn to interrupt you, his other hand reaching up and softly capturing the one you have resting over your heart. “Like there’s the whole world resting in your throat, and you’re scared the right words will never come out.”
The sensation of the fall from the cliff hit you hard, an almost nauseating plummet before the riot of butterflies carried you back up. You must have squeezed his hand, hard, because his fingers rubbed over yours, grounding, giving you space to reshape into the new revelations.
Something settles in your mind, and the words come a bit easier. “This wasn’t how I wanted to end up sleeping over the first time.”
Brooklyn’s chuff is a low thing, and he raises both your hands to press against his beak. Your fingers shifted, cradling, little points of contact against the rough surface. “I never thought I’d be brave enough to ask you, otherwise.”
”I would have, eventually.” You aren’t sure if that’s entirely true, what with the way those butterflies choked in your lungs, but it was worth it to see the way his eyes pulled back to yours. “Whenever we had the time for such things.”
”Somehow, I believe you.” Maybe it was a little bit of a lie on his part, as well, but you both chuckled into the little beat of quiet that followed afterwards.
Brooklyn tipped his head down, seeming to savor the way you let him press his beak into your palms. If you thought about it, this might have been the first time he’d touched you like this, without some reason to.
His next words were puffs of warmth against your skin. “We will figure this out, you know that, right?”
You nodded, letting that little, secret smile out once more when his dark eyes tip in your direction. “Yeah,” you say gamely, like you’re both talking about the madman after you, or the weather, or if there’d be any dinner left over after Broadway delivered it, “I know.”