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It was a perfectly normal, totally not weird, average day for Foolish—up until the point Juan arrived back from his late night adventures with Tina.
They had left hours earlier, both wearing matching outfits that screamed party attire (fitted shirts, brown hair styled in something other than shaggy textured layers, tight shorts that curved against him in all the right places—), and Foolish didn’t need any clarification as to where they were going. He wouldn’t have asked either way. It was never a problem before, and he trusted them to give him a detailed breakdown wherever they saw him next, even if it was only Juan who would find him at the brink of morning to talk about some stranger who flirted with him. Foolish didn’t care, he told himself, teeth gritted and hands clenched to his sides. What mattered was they had their fun; what mattered was that they were making safe decisions, with each other, and living their best lives.
So when Juan came home earlier than planned, alone, face covered in sweat, reddened from running up the mansion’s neverending staircase, Foolish knew something was wrong right away.
“What are you doing standing outside my door like a weirdo?”
Leaning lazily against the frame and blocking the view into his room, Foolish could only stare in hidden amusement at the man who stood an arms length away, shuffling his feet against the wooden floors in a nervous manner. His hand was still raised to try knocking. He jumps back, as if surprised to see Foolish up this late, worry clouding his face. Nearby, a candle flickered from the table— one, two— nearly three trembles before settling into a distant glow of yellow. Down the hallway, outside past the stairs, lightning strikes, and a brief slam of thunder rumbles in response. Every nearby window is fogged from the heat of the night air, only showing blurred images of the dragon, the darkness becoming more encapsulating, and Foolish contemplates leaving him out here alone if he continues to stall.
The man opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and repeats, words clinging to his throat before finally: “I need to talk to you,” he murmurs, hand moving up to thread through his brown hair sheepishly, the scent of alcohol still lacing his tongue. “Can I come in? This is—”
“Where’s Tina?”
“Ah,” Juan mumbles, face flushed even brighter than it was, “she wanted to stay a little longer—Dont worry, Molly said she’d get her back safely.”
Foolish nods.
Out of every possible person, Molly would most likely be the most trustworthy in situations like this. He moves aside, motioning for Juan to come in, a tiny grin creeping up on his face. The small second-in-command only moves past him with embarrassment, and Foolish frowns. He’s left wondering what the hell happened tonight to make Juan so skittish, acting in a way he never would normally; Usually he was too brash and avoidant and loud, but tonight, it's like the essence of his personality was swallowed by a black hole. It's kind-of terrifying.
They end up around his kitchen table, Foolish leaning against the edge of it, while Juan stands further away, arms crossed and face held sideways, his hair sculpting his face like a hand cupping his chin. Foolish successfully holds himself back from trying to move it. They stand in silence for what seems like hours, yet in truth, only a few seconds pass. Foolish tilts his head in an inaudible question: “What’s up?”, it asks, even when Juan doesn't turn around to look at him, his eyes never straying from his side profile.
“I uh…” The human pauses, lacing his fingers together nervously. “There was a guy...”
The shark totems smile drops immediately.
He’s not used to being told these things without preparing himself emotionally, plastering a smile on his face as he laughs about Juan’s night time exploits, or teasing him about getting a new lover for the night (always insisting he loved women). When new islanders arrived one day, Foolish knew he’d have to put up with the sudden spur of relationships—especially for Juan, because he knew how much of an island magnet he was. The whole thing was always exhausting, heartbreaking, and honestly only served to piss Foolish off. Still, he tries to force glee into his expression as he responds.
“Oh? Really? That’s surprising.” Foolish grins, the sides of his smile arched too high to be believable, and suddenly he’s glad Juan isn’t facing him. He says the rest of his sentence in a sing-song kind of tone, taunting. “Juan has a boyfriend~.”
“Wha–no! No, dumbass, I don't like him!” The second-in-command shouts, now fully facing Foolish, a finger jabbed in his direction with obvious anger. The shark totem stops his mocking, but only because the defeated look on Juan’s face. His eyebrows are scrunched together painful, lip bitten and bruised a flushed kind of red, the tattered look of his hair and bandanna only serving to make him look more pathetic. Foolish shouldn’t care as much as he does. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I…I…” He pauses, chin pushed down to his chest, and Foolish sees a flash of red in his vision. The totem rises from his slacked spot against the counter, standing taller, more alert for whatever Juan was willing to tell him.
“What happened?” He asks, lowering his head in an attempt to see the human beneath brown bangs. “I won’t judge you.”
Juan stares up again, this time with watered eyes and a borderline infuriated laugh, one that rings out through the whole room, bouncing off the walls. Foolish watches as all his hidden little mannerisms spring into action, like the bitten lips, or him tugging on his hair so much it tightens drastically, and a part of him wants to reach forward to stop those things from happening. Instead, he looks away, because it's easier to keep his distance than acknowledge the random thoughts that spring into his head. He knows what this emotion is. It would never grow into anything more than an agonizing feeling in his chest, bursting, and he refused to put a name to it out loud, but if Foolish had to, he’d probably call it love. He isn’t stupid, though. Juan doesn’t—couldn’t—think of him in that way. He never will, and the totem has to live with the feelings of rejection bubbling up inside his burning heart. The truth is written in the words he never says, hidden behind blatant joking jabs and the hours they spend together laughing: Foolish loves Juan. He loves Juan too much; he's willing to put up with all this heartache just to see him happy, even if it means he’ll spend the rest of his life listening to other people make their moves instead of himself.
He leans forward, eyes blazing with rage. “You need to tell me what happened.”
That only seems to make Juan laugh even more crazily, a delirious sound, and Foolish’s eyes widen in surprise and disbelief. “Are you sure you’re not angry?” He asks, heaving out a heavy sigh. “Even if I tell you?”
Foolish shrugs.
He has nothing more to lose tonight, and comforting the second-in-command sounded better than listening to an hour-long tangent about the people flirting with him all night. Moreover, Foolish isn't too sure he’d ever be able to stay angry at Juan for more than a few minutes. The human buried himself into his soul in a matter of months, fingers threaded through each vein in his body, becoming the very source of his beating heart. He was a part of Foolish in every aspect, whether he realized it or not.
So, he says: “I mean, it depends.”
Juan only huffs in response, as if he expected the answer before it even left the totem's lips. He speaks anyway, making little-to-none effort in keeping his secret, eyes already turning into that pleading expression he wears when he’s asking for something; or coming up with a dumb idea.
“I told him I have a boyfriend.”
What?
“What?” Foolish now questions aloud, stunned. He opens his mouth, but closes it immediately again, completely out of his depth in a scenario like this. Why did he rush here to tell him that? Why did he leave the club specifically to tell him about his lie to a man who was hitting on him? Foolish gulps, letting a hand run down his forehead, downwards, covering his eyes as he continues. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “You’re so stupid. I’m assuming there’s more to the story than that, right?”
Juan hesitates. “Maybe...”
“Tell me.”
He retells the events of the night with dramatic movements, exaggerated, and Foolish watches with a puzzled expression. Apparently, it was a regular ‘girls night’ outing that Juan had been frequently invited to, their small contribution in getting the second-in-command out of the mansion that didn’t involve lounging in his art store. They ordered drinks and danced the night away, barely interacting with anyone other than themselves, before a man began circling them like an animal scoping out its prey—and he didn’t have any interest in the ladies. Juan tells him about the flirting that started out sweet, like him buying them drinks, or their thighs brushing as they sat near the long bar table, and Foolish clenches his teeth enough to taste iron filling his lungs. He pretends to be unaffected by the information. The more the story goes on, the more he has to hold back his anger, stopping himself from running out the mansion's front door and hunting down this unknown man to rip him limb for limb.
Juan continues, his voice pittering off into a soft, barely there tone when he says, “I didn’t let him get my comms, but he was persistent and wouldn’t take no for an answer”, and Foolish’s heart breaks. He doesn’t like when Juan sounds like that.
“So, you told him you have a boyfriend because…?”
The tiny second-in-command looks at him suddenly with a very serious expression, moving from his rooted spot to come face-to-face with Foolish. He crosses his arms, sticking his lips out in a pout, not noticing the way the totem follows each movement like a vice.
“I need you to date me.”
Foolish’s heart stutters.
He looks down at Juan with widened eyes, mouth agape, searching for anything in those honeyed irises that tells him this is a joke. Juan, seemingly realizing his own words, backs away dramatically. His hands cover his face, the maddening blush coating his skin only making the totem’s resolve crack more and more. They stay still.
“I mean, not like—I don’t need you to date-date me,” Juan rushes out, voice high pitched, “just pretend. Until this guy stops bugging me. Please? He…uh…he doesn't think I have one. A boyfriend.”
And if that cracks Foolish in two, he doesn’t tell him that aloud. Instead, he looks at the human hiding his face away, embarrassed by his own words, and he nearly drops everything to help him right then and there.
“But…”
“No, no ‘but’, Foolish. I need your help” Juan grimaces, “he wont stop bugging.”
“Is he persistent like Graf was?”
“Worse.”
Foolish frowns. He thinks about the setbacks this possible plan could bring, the ties it could cut between them if it goes wrong, and hesitates. He imagines what he and Juan’s relationship would look like if this somehow irrevocably destroyed the way they saw each other; would there be hatred stemming through the cracks of their arguments? Would Juan finally notice the adoration harboured between Foolish’s eyes, lips, hands that always followed the second-in-command like an irresistible temptation? Would he despise the totem for his love? Those are questions he doesn’t want answered. He was happy keeping his distance, closing his heart off, but now…
Now Foolish is willing to risk it all just to see Juan happy again.
“So, will you help me?” The second-in-command asks, his eyes wide with ignorance to the totem’s internal plight.
He shudders out a long breath that tickles his throat, lungs deflated from every ounce of air. Juan watches with pleading eyes, face dusted with that pouting look that always makes Foolish fold with zero effort, and he answers the question in a punched-out laugh.
“Fine, but if your stupid plan backfires, that’s on you, not me.”
—
“Are you sure I have to wear this?” Foolish asks for the billionth time on their walk to the club. The flashing lights surround them as they enter, but it doesn’t hide the way the totem pulls at his shirt, the formal wear too tight around his neck. Juan swats at his arm without even looking back.
“Yes, I’m sure,” he hisses, eyes scoping the room, “look, over there! Tina!”
Foolish does. He notices Tina, Molly, Alondrissa, and Katie stashed in a corner booth, all their eyes focused on them, watching intensely as they begin to walk towards them. Tina waves, as well as Molly, but the other two settle on a more neutral nod of approval. Foolish nods back. They settle in their seats quietly, Juan beside him, their thighs brushing up against each other, and for some reason his muscles shake even when he tries to steel himself. It’s annoying. He feels Juan push more into his space, arm clinging to his back as if trying to side hug him, and Foolish bites his tongue.
“How are you doing, Juan?” Tina asks, the concern evident in her voice. She’s frowning a tiny bit, before a blinding smile covers her face, euphoric and definitely under the influence of alcohol. “Y’know, we could always just curse the guy, if you want.”
Juan shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. This way is better.”
“If you say so.” Tina squints, raising her cup back to her lips, the smile never dimming. Foolish always found she was most talkative like this. “But I think you’re enjoying this.”
“Wha-no!” Juan flusters, detaching himself from Foolish. “I’m not. This is just to make that guy stop flirting with me.”
The nether-demon only hums in response, way too buzzed to put up a fight. Foolish, who was there for the entire conversation, feels dread settle in his stomach at Juan’s adverse reaction. The conversation slowly picks up, all of them talking about random topics, using this time of peacefulness to talk about mundane things over a sticky wooden table. Foolish starts to loosen up after the fourth glass of whiskey—not something he’d usually drink, even on the occasion he does, but the slight caramelization helps him steel his nerves. He doesn’t dislike alcohol, more so he doesn’t need it to have fun, and it's not like he feels the effects of it that much. Being a heavy weight is expensive. He ends up drinking the rest of Juan’s drink as well, against all better judgment.
Foolish is so tuned in to the conversation that he doesn’t notice when the guy arrives at the bar, the only indication being because Juan suddenly froze beside him. He turns sideways, raising an eyebrow, his arm possessively curling around Juan’s shoulders without any hesitation. The girls don’t notice the change in atmosphere, too busy talking to each other about their hectic days, but Foolish leans down to Juan’s level, letting his lips graze the soft curls atop his head. “He’s here, right?” he sighs out the question, a fake smile on his lips, and he feels Juan shudder against his grip, “What do you need me to do? I’m at your disposal tonight.”
Juan gulps. “Hold me closer?”
“I’m already so close,” Foolish replies quickly, hesitant. He was practically flush against the human, only a sliver of space between them, and any closer he’d be able to feel every inhale from Juan; he’d feel the beating of his heart, goosebumps raising, the electricity that came with skin on skin contact. “I think this is believable enough. It’s like we’re glued together.”
“Foolish.” Juan huffs, taking the task on himself to come closer into the totem's space, hands brushing in places that leave the totem stiffening. “It’s not believable enough. Try harder.”
Except, Foolish isn't listening anymore.
He feels warm skin holding onto his wrist, the forearm just grazing him, hairs raised from how sensitive he was. He feels a heart beating against his ribs, heat encasing his entire side, his own hand resting on the other side of him and caging him in the most loving embrace. He feels the breath of spoken words, listening to each inflection, the weightless sound of his voice. And when a giggle slips through—one of those ones that never failed to make Foolish smile—he knew he was completely, undeniably gone for Juan.
So he does the most mature thing in the moment:
Foolish leaves.
“I’ll go get us more drinks,” he says aloud, maneuvering his arm back from Juan. “I’ll be right back, don’t have fun without me!”
He gets up from his seat in milliseconds, rushing to the bar even before noting down everyone's orders, leaving behind many curious gazes from the ladies. The whole way to the queue, Foolish is left replaying the last ten minutes in his head, his heart thundering to the sound of the overhead speakers. The line slowly cuts down until he’s near the front. By then, he’s already imagined Juan’s nimble fingers gripping onto his wrist, steering his whole arm to cover himself as if it was a blanket nearly a dozen times. Probably more, if he’s being honest. He orders random drinks off the top of his head, basing it on their personalities, and hopes for the best as the bartender begins to prepare them. A migraine starts to rear its ugly head. He moves to sit down for a moment on a nearby stool, the only one that didn’t have stains caked-up on it, only to bump into someone on the way there.
And, wait, he knows that voice.
Foolish looks down, surprised to see pink locks of hair, and a large pair of nerdy glasses. Mike looks up at him with a large toothy grin, punching his shoulder immediately as he notices who he bumped into. “Foolish!” He yells, happy. “I never see you here on party nights. Is the North celebrating today? Is this a new holiday for you guys, like your…what is it called? Purple Wednesday! Is that it?”
Foolish snorts. It’s just him, Juan, and Tina there today, but that's practically the normal amount of Northern members that aren't travelling right now. It seems like every day, everyone gets more and more busy, leaving the three of them to upkeep the mansion alone. Sometimes, he wonders if he can just take their rooms as extra storage space…
“No, no. We just decided to go out today.” Foolish responds, the migraine still attacking him. “Nothing too special.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, me and Juan are here with the ladies.”
“Oh, that's fun! Where are you guys sitting? Maybe I’ll come bug y—”
Mike doesn't get to finish his sentence before he’s cut off by another voice, one that sounds desperate and frantic, hands clasping themselves to Foolish’s sleeve. “Monster,” Juan says, eyes wild, “Save me.” He goes to face the totem, moving his hand to his hips as if he controlled Foolish’s whole body, not even waiting for a response. Foolish didn’t mind. Still, he looks at Mike with an apologetic smile, and like a saint, the pink-haired man backs away without another question. He whispers that he’ll find them later.
“What’s wrong?” Foolish asks. If he tightens his grip around Juan’s waist absentmindedly, no one says anything to point it out.
“He saw me,” Juan huffs, leaning into the totems side once more, this time clinging back to Foolish doesn’t relinquish his hold, “and you’re over here flirting with your real boyfriend, what kind of fake boyfriend are you? I was about to die and you were laughing and joking with Mike!”
Foolish can only frown slightly, the sound of it ringing in the crowd around them. “Quit being dramatic.” And he scrunches his eyebrows after finally comprehending the full sentence. “I was not flirting with Mike, we were having a normal conversation!”
“You were flirting.”
“We weren’t—ugh, you’re the worst.” Foolish sighs, scoping the dance floor for the man Juan was talking about. “Where is he then?”
Juan hesitates. “I, uh. I don’t know, actually.”
“So you interrupted me for nothing? Did you even see him, or was that a lie?”
“Of course I did!” The human flushes, however, the effect of his anger isn’t fully apparent due to him being snuggled up against Foolish’s side. The totem smiles, a warm sensation filling his heart. “Maybe he seen you and got scared, because you…you are so ugly.”
Foolish ignores that.
The bartender calls for him, the drinks presented on the counter, and though he guides Juan to the table, he never lets go. “This one’s for you. Vodka slime,” Foolish says, handing the second-in-command the glass, “I didn’t know what you wanted so I guessed.”
“You would have if you didn’t run away.”
And Foolish has no comeback for that. He did run away; he doesn’t need to be reminded, because he knows he’s a coward. Still, he watches Juan sip the liquid, eager to see his opinion on the drink he requested, lips licking the few droplets that slip off the corner of his mouth. Juan hums. It’s a beautifully baritone sound, stored inside the very depths of Foolish’s brain, locked away for only him to hear.
“It’s good,” he says, softly, “I don’t normally drink vodka, though.”
“I’ll remember for next time.” Foolish responds, like there will be a ‘next time’. Juan looks up at him, a shy smile on his face, the frequent glow of flashing lights bumping off of him. Instead of hindering his beauty, the bright neon only seems to make him even more ethereal. Foolish opens his mouth, scared, and tries to put his thoughts into words. “Hey, Juan… There’s something I need to–“
“So this thing is your ‘boyfriend’?”
Someone asks behind them. Foolish turns his head, a glare sprouting from being interrupted. The man doesn't seem to care or mind, sporting a smug look, his lips turned into a sneer as the previous sentence is spoken. He’s definitely a new cocky islander, not that Foolish would know him—he hasn't taken the time to get to know any of them, only the ones who joined Oscurucho and were basically coworkers to him.
“And what about it?”
“I expected more,” the jerk responds, eyeing him up and down like a giant shark totem hybrid wasn't a threat. He looks at Juan now, his smile suddenly sweet and risque, making Foolish freeze up at the sight alone. “Especially with how this cutie hyped you up.”
He growls. “Well the hype can’t be all for nothing now, can it?”
“I wouldn’t know. From what I can see, there’s nothing to hype up.”
“Oh yeah?” Foolish asks, detaching himself from Juan and going to tower over the annoying guy. Normally, he’d be against fighting (not that he was adverse to it, he just didn’t think it was worth it unless he’s being forced to), but the way he was scoping his human out had Foolish’s blood boiling. Only, now that he’s right there, displaying his razored teeth and sharpened nails, the man seems to openly hesitate. “What’s that supposed to mean? Do we need to take this outside?”
“Maybe we do.”
“Foolish,” Juan calls behind him, hand suddenly curling around his, “let’s just go, please. He’s not worth it.”
The totem smiles down at him, that angry expression turning into one of sweetness, before channeling back as he turned to the other man. “Not until he agrees to leave you alone,” Foolish snakes a hand around Juan’s waist, “because you’re already taken. I don’t want to see this bastard near you ever again.”
“Foolish.”
“Juan.” He responds, monotonously, and maybe he said the next sentence too seriously, but he could barely pay attention with the second-in-command shivering in his grasp. “I’m dead serious. Even if it means I have to tear out his throat so he never talks again.”
“You really don’t need to—”
“I do,” Foolish lowers himself to Juan’s level, looking into his eyes. It’s supposed to be a display, but all the words he says are true, even though he knows the little human doesn’t see it that way. “You’re mine.”
And without thinking, he kisses Juan to prove his point.
It’s a closed-mouth peck, barely even there, dusted against the second-in-commands lips like he was too afraid to commit to it. From others, it probably looks like the totem doesn’t like physical affection, but he’s forcing himself to do this anyway. To Juan, it probably feels terrible. He never asked for a kiss when he solidified the whole ‘fake boyfriend’ deal, yet here Foolish was, forcing himself upon Juan and becoming just another jerk for him to deal with. He pulls away. Guilt washes over him like a wave, and no matter how flushed the human’s face is, he knows what he just did was wrong. He expects anger; He expects disgust, for Juan to push him and storm off, go back to the group of ladies in the corner, because anywhere would be better than being in Foolish’s arms.
What he doesn’t expect is for their faces to be smashed together again.
Teeth clatter together so sloppily he can feel a forgotten migraine rearing its ugly head, crashing down, irritated gums making the taste of raw iron fill every bite. Still, Juan isn’t deterred. He bites at Foolish’s lips like there's no tomorrow, hand pulling at the back of Foolish’s head, pushing him deeper in like he couldn’t get enough. Maybe it's the alcohol talking, Foolish thinks as Juan moves positions, and slowly, he finds that he’s backed them up against a nearby wall subconsciously. They dive into this new role with such unprovoked intensity, short yet passionate kisses being left on his lips, adrenaline pumping in his veins that will definitely make his heart short-circuit.
Foolish breaks it up, his mouth just resting inches from Juan’s. He’s too focused in this moment to see anything else around them, but he’s so sure the jerk left already, uncomfortable with their abrupt makeout session. He doesn't even see him nearby. “Why not me?” Foolish asks, breathless. “You come here every night, flirt with everyone else, when I’m right here, Juan. I’m willing. I’m able to love you. I don’t have to fake my feelings. Why can’t you just choose me?”
Juan replies, stunned. “I didn’t…I didn’t know you were an option.”
The blasting overhead music drowns out the small gasps of air from both of them, but it can’t stop the shakiness of his voice. He asked the questions with such vulnerability, fingers that once held him so fiercely losing their grip, and pupils blown wide. Now, he feels out of his depth. The carpet has been ripped from underneath him, leaving him unsteady and shaky and nervous,
“Well,” Foolish coughs, face flushed and embarrassed from everything he just said aloud, “now you do.”
He moves to leave.
Juan is there to keep him from running this time. He glares at him, a thousand suns thinly shielded behind the anger lacing his face, and Foolish gulps. “What are you doing?” he asks, voice hard, “where are you going?”
“Back to the table with our dr—”
“You can’t just leave after that, dumbass!” Juan yells. The effect is lost from how bitten his lips are, and with his bandanna slipping down his forehead.
“What do you expect me to do?”
Juan huffs, dropping Foolish’s arm to walk in front of them. They stand face-to-face, and despite the growing nervousness in the air, they look into each other's eyes. “Ask me…ask me out.” Juan says, the words fizzling out into a murmur. “Right here, right now, because I won’t be able to pretend that didn’t happen. And if you don’t, I’ll—I’ll never talk to you again, or send you songs, or match clothes with you ever. We’ll be strangers. Forever.”
Foolish is so sure he died.
There’s no way Juan said all of that, it has to be fake, but still, the totem responds with anger at the thought of any of that happening. “Strangers?” He asks rhetorically. “Strangers? A stranger doesn’t know the way your mouth tastes, Juan. A stranger has never held your heart in their hands. A stranger hasn’t backed you into a wall and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe.”
“That’s still not the question.”
“Juan,” Foolish says, fatigued, so done with their little game. His heart had been locked away in a chest years ago, and he promised himself he’d never love again, but somehow, someway, Juan found the key. He rushes to grab his hand, lifting it to his lips, and places his lips against the ring of his finger. “You’re such a—I don't even know what to…ugh.” He pauses, swallowing, before finally asking: “Juan, would you go out with me?”
It’s like time stops.
The blaring music, loud voices mingled in a crowd, even the laughter that rings through the midnight air. It all becomes background noise to him. All he can hear is Juan’s gentle breathing, the stuttered gasp, him, in all of his most overlooked qualities. Foolish’s grip on his hand falters for merely a moment, scared of the stifling silence that greets him when that question is uttered, only for the thumping of his heart to return with the little human's bursting smile. He smiles back. Juan yells, jumping into Foolish’s arms, and cheers erupt around them from all the bystanders who watched their dramatics.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll go out with you!”
Foolish rests against Juan's head, welcoming the love that pours all around them. “You’re infuriating,” he says, pulling back only to press their foreheads together, and rushing out the next sentence before Juan can start cursing him out. “But, for the oddest reasons, I still love you.”
-
Years later, against all odds and the Federations disapproval, the wedding is held in the dragon.