"...Phantom?"
The blond man squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hoping the noise would go away.
"Phantom," The voice persisted, accompanied by a sensation. Phantom sighed and blinked his bleary eyes open. Evan was standing there, patting his uninjured arm before flinching away with a scared look.
"Phantom, pancakes."
...What.
"Pancakes...?" He answered slowly, with the air of someone who has no fucking clue what's going on.
"I want some..." The brunette answered shyly. Evan's hair was knotted and messy, and Phantom itched to take a brush to it and smooth it out.
"Yeah?" Phantom yawned, propping himself up with one arm. "There's no pancake mix in this house. Sorry, kid."
"Oh," Evan bit his lip sadly, just a hint of his buckteeth showing. "I drawed- drew- something for you and Mister Freud..." The child held up a messily scribbled picture of three stick-figures; a yellow-haired one, a red-haired one and a brown-haired one between them, all smiling. In awkward handwriting, it read 'thanks for saving me!'.
"Thank you," Phantom flashed a genuine grin. He had never had a child draw something for him before... Something inside him felt warm.
Evan, holding his stuffed dragon tightly, hesitantly nodded and scurried off.
"It's the weekend, isn't it?" Freud idly remarked as Phantom ate a bowl of cheerios. He would have much preferred cinnamon toasters, these things tasted like a Rotter's ass.
"Dunno," The blond shrugged, milk dribbling down the corner of his mouth before it was stopped in its tracks by clever fingers. "I haven't exactly been keeping track of time. Apocalypse, and all."
Sometimes it disturbed him, how easily he could speak of the apocalypse these days. And before he knew it, the man was lost in memories of halcyon days.
"I remember back when on Saturday nights, I would lay about and drink fine wine," Phantom murmured absentmindedly. "Steal things, too- diamonds and gold chains, family heirlooms and the lot. Do you know why I have such a strange name?"
"Because your parents were drunk when they named you?"
Phantom snickered, "Come on, it's an amazing name, not a horrible one. It's actually a pseudonym. I... Was at large before all this," He waved a hand in some vague, incomprehensible gesture, "Happened. I'd leave calling cards at people's houses marked Phantom, before I'd steal their things," He chuckled. "...Good times."
"I see," Freud looked amused. "Did you ever get caught?"
"Once or twice. I always busted out," Phantom grinned pridefully.
"What's your real name?"
Phantom raised a finger. "Ah, ah, ah. You're not qualified to know that."
"Do I need a Ph.D just to know your given name?"
"Yes. Three years of graduate study, studying the wonder that is me. Don't worry, the years will go by fast; I'm sure it won't bore you to learn about me," Phantom grinned cheekily.
"Will I be doing you as my homework, Phantom?"
Phantom's eyes widened. Was Freud... Hitting on him? He was attractive, but- well- they had just met!
"Shoving you in my closet, forgetting about you, and hoping my dog eats you?"
"Excuse me?!" Phantom huffed.
...Freud grinned and whistled innocently
"Your name sounds familiar," Freud mused. "Perhaps I heard of your crimes when I was still alive. I think... That what they did to me wears off when I'm reminded of things."
"Then maybe I can help you. I can ask you things and see if you remember anything."
"Ask me things? Such as?" Freud was practically perked up eagerly, the expression strange on the unusually calm man.
Phantom, nosy as he was- Hey, I'm just trying to help him remember, asked the first thing that came to mind. "Did you have a husband or a wife?"
"What? Why would I have that?" Freud laughed. "I'm pretty sure I was, and still am, a bachelor."
Phantom paused doubtfully, staring at Freud's hands for some reason.
"...What, Phantom? Do I have something on my hand?"
"Freud," Phantom remarked slowly, paying attention to details as he always did, "You have a ring on your left ring finger."
The auburn-haired man's eyes widened and he stared down, holding up his left hand as if it was a stranger.
"I..." Freud hesitated, something nagging at the corner of his mind.
"Do you remember proposing, or being proposed to? What's the first thing that comes to mind?"
"I don't know."
"What day was it?"
"April thirteenth," Freud answered without missing a beat, before his eyes widened. "I- How did I know that?"
"Looks like you did have a sweetheart," Phantom mused.
What to ask, what to ask? Phantom tapped his lithe fingers against his lower lip, ponderingly. The blond's bright amethyst eyes widened and he grinned as an idea struck him.
"I take you, Freud, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. "
The reaction was immediate. The redhead tensed, his hands beginning to shake, before he clutched at his head.
Sunset. The glow over the horizon was lurid, like one of his lover's drawings of landscapes. Periwinkle, peach, pumpkin and carmine blended together, shining over small wooden Leafre huts and green, dewy grass. Mockingbirds sang out their songs as night caressed day to sleep.
Leafre was home. It was fields of gold and blue skies, watching rain fall and glisten on the grass, illuminated by the sun. It was scrapes on his knees from climbing trees, vivid bruises on his legs in bright blues and greens and yellows, and being told by his mother to not bother with the baby birds who fell from their nests, or their mothers wouldn't take them back. Home painted an abstract picture of childhood pains and pleasures. Maybe it was nothing special, but it was his.
It was nice, to simply lay there on his back on the soft ground, absently running his fingers through woven grass, laughing as his love placed a flower crown upon his head. It was beautiful, that he could share this home with another. Life was peaceful. No worries about far-off wars.
A shadow moved in to block the light that flooded in from behind his closed eyelids and he smiled, playfully kicking at the man in front of him. "You're in my way. Could a poor damsel request that you allow her to catch some sun?"
"Not until you open your eyes."
Obediently, Freud opened his deep blue eyes. The sight that awaited him made him swallow, hard.
His love was down on one knee. Could it be that...? Anticipation was a nervous rush that nearly unhinged him.
"Freud. I want you to marry me," And he was presented with a silver ring, with a red ruby shining in the remainders of the sun.
Slowly, a smile widened across Freud's lips. His hand came to rest over his rapidly beating heart, as elation made him dizzy. Perhaps this was the happiest day of his life.
"Of course," He whispered.
"I take you, Freud, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."
The exchanging of rings, the signing of names, and finally, the kiss. It was slow and sweet, not rushed at all. The world faded away into staccato noise, and it was just their lips, performing a ritual of giving that had been exchanged many times before, both passionate and sleepy, angry and warm, sad and slow and delighted and fast, aroused and desperate, precise and messy.
Applause, and it was the delicate beginning rush of love, all over again. The butterflies in his stomach fluttered excitedly.
Their bodies fit together perfectly in their lovemaking, as Freud was teased and brought to the very brink of pleasure and pain until he could bear it no more, was crying out for his love, love, love.
Because he was truly his, now, his husband, and the happiness was almost unbearable because he felt it would burst out of him, that he would explode from the joy. It was a warm, loving pain in his chest and he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry from so many emotions anymore. They made love under the midnight sky, in the place where they had become engaged, with only the bright stars to watch them.
"I love you, Freud."
"I love you too," Freud laughed and raked his fingers through his sex-mussed hair. "I have a feeling it's 11:11. Let's make a wish."
"I wish," Freud's husband hummed, "For death not to do us part for a long time."
"How morbid. Don't worry, we're both going to live long lives." Freud nudged the man laying next to him playfully.
"You can never be too sure."
Freud slowly pulled his hands away from his face, eyes wide and shocked.
"E-Eun..." He whispered.