I was going to work on this chapter whilst camping this week, but then I started reading over the comments to this that people had left over the years, got emotional at the nice words, and decided to finish this before I went instead, as a thanks for all the support.
This chapter does have some sexual content (nothing explicit though) and scenes of immense secondhand embarrassment. That's right, it's a chapter with both Turkey and Romania in it.
"Are you sure you're ready for this?"
Franz didn't want to push him, not here, not to do things he might regret. He wanted Lars to know they could stop at any time. If he wasn't ready, then that was okay.
"Yes, I'm sure," Lars smiled up at him, "I want this. I want you." He bit his lip. "But, erm, if you don't want- if you're not ready, that's fine too!"
Franz smiled warmly. "I'm ready."
Roderich wasn't home – he was at a New Year's party with Elizabeta and the two of them had the house to themselves. Franz had left his bedroom curtains open so they could watch the fireworks, closing the drapes around his four-poster bed on three sides to give them privacy. Like they were in their own little world. He'd even gone to the trouble to tidying. Slightly. There weren't any cups of paint water on the floor at least.
He'd gone out of his way to set the mood perfectly. The sheets were clean, blankets and cushions neat, and the only light in the room came from the string lights wrapped around the headboard. He made sure Lars was as comfortable as possible, and he seemed to be: buried in a nest of cushions, sprawled out across the bed.
"I love you," he whispered, "I love you so much, Lars."
Lars looked up at him with shining eyes.
"You know I love you, right? More than new stationery. More than all the cake in the world. More than that fresh-baking smell."
"I know. Thank you." Lars leaned up to kiss him. "I love you too. More than Minecraft."
Franz raised an eyebrow. "Thanks?"
"I really mean it. And Overwatch, and Dream Daddy too. None of them are as beautiful as you. You're way more dreamier than all the daddies and Hanzo put together."
"We don't have to talk, you know?"
"You know you love it." Lars winked and Franz silenced him with a kiss.
"I love you, Peach, more than that feeling you get when you're motivated to finish a project you've been sitting on and finally get it done."
Lars began to tear up. "Fuck, that's beautiful." He pulled Franz down to hug him. "I love you. Please take my vir-"
"Don't call it that!" he pulled a face, "it's weird."
"Please deflower-"
"No!"
"Am I wrong though?"
"Well no, but-"
Lars smiled up at him. "Look, it doesn't matter. Please make love to me."
"Do you promise to never use the words 'make love' again?"
"Yes."
Franz smiled warmly, "then I guess we got ourselves a deal."
"Feels weird, having a teacher live with you," Kuzey moaned to Andrei, who nodded and began to explain his theory that teachers were actually life-sucking aliens who lived in the school and sent out scouts to mix with humans and kill them. Kuzey pretended to listen and wondered just who exactly had let him watch doctor who again, or was this one of Alin's original conspiracy theories?
When he'd heard Miss Hedervary (yes she was supposed to be Elizabeta, but even when she was a housemate, it still felt weird to call her by her first name) was inviting her boyfriend, he'd been hoping the guy would bring Franz along. Kuzey didn't know why, but he'd grown rather close to the weirdo. Not to mention, someone his own age at the party would've been nice.
A sly voice told him they were closer because they'd both won the affections of a certain pair of brothers, but he buried that thought before he could even acknowledge it.
He glanced over at his teacher and his - um - friend's father. They were just talking, at least, not wriggling about like a pair of eels. He didn't know which of them it would be more traumatising to watch.
A strong contender for 'worst thing he would see at this party' was baba dancing to 90s Turkish pop shirtless with those stupid pink-sequin, flared trousers, his tits wobbling about like a pair of hairy jellies. From across the room, Kuzey and Stelios shared looks of disgust. At least someone was enjoying themselves though?
Heracles was already passed out. Tsvetan was using him as a chair whilst he sneakily added chalga to baba's party playlist; Alin was dropping it low like his butt wasn't pathetically flat, even in ripped skinny jeans. He'd even gone out of his way to embroider 'juicy' across the back, presumably to violate the Trade Descriptions Act.
Hassan was on Andrei's other side, feeding the kid as many homemade sweets as he could get away with.
"You need to eat too," he said, handing Kuzey his own plate loaded with food.
"I've already had too much," he tried to insist but it fell on deaf ears. Stupid relatives. He sighed and bit into a kebab.
"Just looking out for one of the few other sane people here," said Hassan, like he hadn't changed his full name to 'Muhammad Salah Hassan', after his favourite footballer. It would probably be his first born's name too.
Stelios was dancing now, seemingly competing with baba to see who was better at twerking. They were both so bad Kuzey had to wonder if he could cringe himself into another dimension. Over on the other side of the room, Miss Hedervary and Franz's dad (he threw up in his mouth) disappeared into the hall. He decided not to read into that, for the sake of his baklava-laden stomach.
He almost cried in relief when he received a message from Franz himself. Finally! If he could get away with staying on his phone, maybe he could actually survive the night without craving death.
He was quickly proved wrong.
"What the fuck, Edelstein?" he hissed, caught between holding the phone out of Andrei's reach and turning the thing off before anyone could see the screen-covering, in-depth, no-detail-spared description of just what had gone on before the attached picture of him and Lars Fucking Birghir Oxenstjärna-Väinämöinen naked in bed.
This was true suffering, and Kuzey hoped the dying year would take him with it.
Upon first being introduced to Alin Radacanu, Roderich had made a promise to himself to not touch the man or anything he could've touched himself. He looked like meth had had a baby with every STD and been left to be raised in the bins outside Gerard Way's house. When he'd made the comment to Elizabeta, she was more surprised that he knew who that was than anything else.
Franz had had a fair few phases in his life. Roderich had picked up more than he'd liked to about all of them.
He was glad though, because Elizabeta had laughed at his joke. And also because it meant his son had trusted him enough to talk about his interests, of course.
Still, it opened up an interesting - harrowing - conversation about just what it was Elizabeta detested about Alin, and there was a lot to get through, from his clothes to his hair to his habit of loudly talking about demons and his kinks in public.
So when she suggested they sneak upstairs and have sex in his bed (revenge, apparently, for him and Tsvetan doing the same thing in hers last month) he'd been reluctant. He didn't want his bare, concave backside touching Alin's bed, but he'd be damned if he made Elizabeta unhappy. It also meant he got to have sex which was always nice. Being with Elizabeta Hedervary was even nicer.
That was how he found himself in Alin's bed with minimal complaining and an hour of the year left to go. He was completely out of breath, even having to resort to borrowing the inhaler in Alin's bedside drawer and making a note to wash his mouth out with bleach tomorrow. And maybe booking an appointment at the doctor's just to be on the safe side.
He was happy, though. Elizabeta was curled up next to him, her hair clinging to her face in long tendrils, the rest splayed out across the pillow with a few strands even tickling Roderich's nose. Her skin glowed in the low light, eyes sparkling as they just stared at each other in silence, no words needed. Her hair was frizzy, makeup smudged and her cheeks puffy and red, but Roderich thought she was the most beautiful person on the planet. Flashes from distant fireworks danced across her face and Roderich had no chance of resisting the urge to kiss her.
Elizabeta tasted of salt and that bottle of wine they'd gone through, and when she pulled away, she kissed his nose and climbed out of the bed to fetch her tights and dress, strewn over Alin's skeleton chaise. Where the ever-loving fuck had the guy found that?
Roderich rolled onto his side to stare, knowing the adoring smile on his face probably looked stupid, but it didn't matter. He was happy, so unbelievably happy and in love and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way.
Elizabeta was silhouetted against the window as she scrunched up her tights and put them back on, light from the fireworks becoming trapped in her hair.
She caught him staring.
"Get dressed," she hissed, though she was smiling and her voice playful, "before anyone misses us." It was probably a bit late for that. They'd been gone an hour so far.
Roderich said nothing, though, continuing to smile that warm smile, a rare one for him. For once, it wasn't condescending or snide, but pure, genuine. Because of Elizabeta.
"Marry me."
He didn't even hear himself say it. He would've assumed it was just a thought, had Elizabeta not been looking at him like he'd just sprouted another head.
"I'm sorry?" she squeaked.
To deny or front it out? Roderich was, by nature, a coward in all matters except one.
"Marry me," he repeated, louder, voice even and firm though every inch of him was trembling. He stood up, shaking, and got down on one knee. He'd imagined this moment many times, and in none of his fantasies had be been naked and in a gothic, cigarette-infused Balkan bedroom. He didn't have a ring, so bowed his head, submitting himself to her. She could keep his heart and soul, every scrap of his being belonged to her now.
Now if his Richard could stop swinging like a pink grandfather clock, that would be fantastic.
"Rod, seriously, we've been going out for, what? Two months? We've not even said 'I love you' to each other yet-"
"I love you!" He didn't mean to sound desperate, but it was true. He did.
"Yes, and I love you too, but-"
"You love me?" Roderich grinned.
"Yes you fucking dork, I love you! But don't you think it's a little too soon? We aren't even living together yet!"
"Why would you live with someone before marrying them?" Roderich was genuinely baffled by the thought. Elizabeta raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, the 1890s just called. They want their values back."
"The 1990s just called. They want their joke format back."
Elizabeta snorted. "Get off the floor and put your cock away." Roderich stood up and began to look for his underpants as Elizabeta paced the room. He much preferred life when he wasn't naked anyway.
"Look, is this a joke? Are you actually proposing or is this something you say to every woman you sleep with?"
"I mean, statistically, yes," said Roderich, finally putting his boxers back on, "I have proposed to every woman I've slept with. All two. And - well - this is as serious as you want it to be." He was starting to feel like an idiot. Okay, that was a lie, he was beyond feeling like an idiot now and slightly wanted to disappear. "We can pretend it never happened, if you want, or, well," he was probably blushing up to the tips of his ears by now, "Elizabeta Hedervary, will you- do you want-"
Elizabeta silenced him with a kiss, and Roderich was grateful for it.
"How about a deal? If I get to move in with you beforehand, then yes, I will marry you."
"Wait, are you being serious?"
Elizabeta smiled at him, "as serious as you are."
"The perfect amount of serious!" He grinned. "So, we're… we're…"
"Engaged, yeah," even saying that, neither of them could quite believe it. Maybe it was a little fast, but they were too happy to care.
"Look, I wasn't exactly planning to say it this way," explained Roderich. Elizabeta laughed.
"Really? I would never have known!" She smiled warmly. "How would you have done it?"
He bit his lip. "Nothing too fancy." She snorted at that; not wrong, Elizabeta. "Maybe take you down to London, have a nice meal, and, maybe - I suppose - is it a tad stuffy in here? Either we could hire a row boat at Hyde park and I could propose there, in a particularly scenic spot. Or, I suppose, in the evening, on the London Eye, right at the top overlooking the city." He was blushing furiously, hoping the dim light didn't betray just how purple he was. "I mean, I could still do it properly, sometime. Take you on a weekend trip." He bit his lip. "Unless that sounds boring then we don't-"
Elizabeta kissed him again. "That sounds wonderful, my dear fiance."
Franz and Lars were curled up on the sofa, half-asleep under piles of knitted blankets, empty packets of chocolate strewn everywhere as they watched fireworks displays from around the world and said nothing. They held each other close, wrapped up in the softest pyjamas Franz owned and occasionally kissing each other on the forehead.
It was 3am by the time Roderich came home, with Miss Hedervary in tow.
"Hey boys," she whispered when she saw them, swaying ever-so-slightly. She was supporting a completely paralytic Roderich, who was grinning like an idiot with his bow-tie draped around his neck and his shirt untucked. Franz had never seen his dad this drunk before.
"Hey Miss," Franz whispered back, reeling ever-so-slightly at the sight. "Is vati okay?"
She shrugged. "He'll be fine, though he won't be too cheerful tomorrow. I was going to let him sleep at mine but he really wanted to see you. And tell you-"
"We're engaged!" Roderich cried before collapsing, face-down, onto the chaise lounge.
All three of them just stared at his groaning, dishevelled form.
"Happy New Year!" said Elizabeta with a clap.
I might go back and change Elizabeta to Erzsebet sometime. Y'know, when I'm feeling particularly masochistic.
The next chapter is a HuttMol, and a pretty big one too. I'll try to keep updates regular but we all know how good I am at that.
