AN: Today's crosspost is "Night In The Corner At The Back Of The Hall Where We Sit All Alone And Listen To The Rain Fall", title from (and I still can't believe I can say this) Pictureboard by Linkin Park.
"Do you see that, Perry the Platypus?" he murmurs, curling an arm around your shoulders while his other points out at the sky, or at least the image of it projected on his ceiling. "Those stars on the horizon there, it kind of looks like a goozim, doesn't it? When you squint, anyways. Or maybe it's just me, no one ever told me about their constellations, so I- I had to make up my own. Not much else to do while standing guard as the family lawn gnome, you know?"
Squinting at the stars, you nod. Yes, you see it. You lean back against his chest, cosy here, in his arms, in his lab, safe from the rain beating down outside.
In front of you is his latest invention, the Stargaze-inator. Designed to see the stars without any pesky walls or clouds or atmosphere getting in the way. Using the cameras he'd secretly installed on satellites around the world, he could project the night sky onto his ceiling, specially repainted for this exact purpose.
That's how he'd described it to you, when the rain had prevented your original plans of laying on his balcony. You can't say you mind. After all, he's reformed now. A certified Good Guy. Still your problem to deal with, of course, but nowadays that's less because nemesis and more because boyfriend. The thought once again takes your breath away. Letting out a contented sigh, you nuzzle at his jaw until he's smiling again.
He makes a surprised noise and pulls back to meet your eyes, a slight tinge of colour on his cheeks. "You want to hear more?"
Of course you do. Listening to his monologues, his voice rough like a good scritching, is one of your favourite things to do. Especially now that you're more than nemeses. He has a way with words that's always impressed you, bad as you are with them yourself. Who needs to talk when he can do it for you?
"You do? So, uh, I've never told anyone this before- I mean I tried to show Charlene once but then she said she was pregnant and- Never mind all that. The point is, now I can tell you. Now where was I? Right, the goozim."
You let his voice wash over you as he explains every pattern he saw in the stars as a child, goozims and ocelots and doonkelberry bats and Balloony and the things that howled in the night, his hushed voice barely louder than the rain outside. Everywhere he points, you look for the shapes he's mentioned. His other hand, you curl around your waist, before he has to ask.
There are stories, too. Of hunting, prowling, closing darkness. Now, more than ever, you can hear a catch in his voice, echoes of the all-consuming terror that used to be so normal for him.
His hand shifts to a new part of the sky, and he hesitates. "I- I didn't know what to call that one," he mumbles, and you pat at his knuckles. "We didn't have anything like that in Gimmelshtump. I used to think it might be Mama Ocelot, you remember her, don't you? I mean, it was so comforting, it had to be her, but it never felt right. Look at it, it's not an ocelot, it looks more like..."
The rain drums on the roof, the only sound now that he's trailed off. You twist in his lap to face him, meeting his wide eyes, and press your forehead to his. There's no rush. He can take his time, you'll wait. All that matters is that he's comfortable.
"Like you," he finishes, just above a breath.
Your mouths meet after that, as natural as breathing, a kiss that sets both your hearts alight. His lips pulse with it, crackling pleasantly against your bill. His other hand joins the first in your fur, tugging gently the way he knows you like until you can't help but chirr into him. His life burns bright before you, filling your every sense.
Breaking for air, he pulls back, just far enough for you to see his soft smile. "Thank you, Perry the Platypus. You've always been here for me, even in- in star form, I guess."
That's why you're here. To look after him, keep him out of trouble, love him.
"Do you mind if I, uh, if that's a constellation? His fingers tremble in your fur. "You don't have to, I just- You've heard my backstories. You're- you're the first person who's ever really listened, and you're still here, and- and that means a lot, believe me." Tears shine in his eyes, under the soft light, matching the ones pricking at the corners of yours. "So this is... repayment, I guess. I hope it's enough, I wouldn't want you to think I don't appreciate you, because I do."
When you nod your agreement, he tells you the story of this one too, quiet and hesitant at first, but growing stronger as he continues. A story of trust and comfort and safety and love. Built out of small moments, some you remember, most you don't, but all spoken with the same sincerity and truth you've always found in his backstories. Your relationship, immortalised in the stars. That he worries this isn't enough...
You listen. That's what you've always done, listen to his words, grateful he's chosen to share them with you. His words and his heart. He's given you so much, and all he ever asks in return is that you listen.
And when he falls asleep, mid-monologue, you keep listening, to his soft breathing and quiet heartbeat and the rain outside. You owe him that.
AN: Reviews always appreciated!
