oh my gay giddy aunt. he’s taking him to church achromatic <3 


It ended the way it had begun. It went back to the beginning.

Doe was always good at elaborate dates, at spending an entire day collecting flowers to weave them into a birch copse and rolling terracotta pots across the wildflower meadow just because he fancied the mandarin blossoms. He liked simple things, sometimes, gentle things — nights at home, soft words, warmth that really meant love. They were part of healing. But if he was being perfectly honest, he was a diva. He liked big things; he liked popularity and noise and being in the mosh pit; he’d have five hundred people at his wedding and still complain the tables looked empty. So, I suppose that was what it was: he liked small things with people who had already given him big things, who had already won him over with extravagance — then he could be happy with intimacy. And so, when, for the first time in his life, he was going to finally propose to someone, of course it was going to be big.

Well, bigger than big.

Massive.

Doe was all alone in the city cathedral, flitting about as quickly as he could with his broken paw to make all the finishing touches. A midsummer storm had started, lashing rain against the sweeping windows and turning even so vast a space as this to a warm, intimate thing; usually, Doefreckle would have been furiously angry about the universe wrecking his careful plans — he’d be the ultimate Karen, demanding an audience with whoever was in charge and lurking cross-legged and prim in the waiting room with passive aggressive glances thrown at the receptionist — but tonight, he felt it added a special atmosphere. He was all done up, too; he was never afraid to admit he was beautiful. Shaded had kept him company as he spent all morning picking the prettiest flowers, talking with him for hours to keep his mind off things and letting Doe complain about anything and everything like a mean girl, and his daughters-slash-granddaughters had done most of the work tucking them into the fur round his ears, more than he ever usually wore; it wasn’t perfect, but for once Doe loved that imperfection, because it was something his family had given him before he’d gone to propose to the tom he loved.

Doe had planned to ask Hywel in a knave off the main altar, and he was in there now practicing. The vaulted ceiling was painted dark blue and dappled with a thousand golden stars, so tall they seemed to belong in heaven itself. The storm thundered outside, dark and steamy with summer and lashing rain against the stained glass windows rising on either side of the long, long hall that led to the knave. It turned them grey; the shadows of droplets slipped down onto the stone floor. And all along both sides, a thousand candles of different heights ran along the vast walls, resting on the floor or held up by metal stands. They reflected off the stained glass, and the reflections reflected off each other, till everything was a world of flickering candle light and gloomy rain and thick incense. “Hywel,” Doefreckle was whispering to himself, limping back and forth in the warm, comforting gloom with the candle-lit stained glass just visible through the arched doorway. “Ever since the night I met you—“

A crash from the start of the hall made him jump. Ears perking up around the flowers, he limped quickly to the door and stopped at the end of the rows of candles. “Hywel!” he exclaimed, his ears pinning back anxiously and his voice sharp with reproachful despair, the despair of a housewife who’s husband had come back when the roast was still in the oven. “You’re early!” Ever the control freak, he hated when things deviated ever so slightly from the plan he had imagined in his head — but, pushing down the panic, he supposed if he was about to ask this tom to be his mate, he’d have to start relaxing a little. “By,” he let out a strangled, passive aggressive laugh, like he wasn’t bothered at all, “seventeen whole minutes!” He didn’t mean anything by it, and surely Hywel would have known that; he wouldn’t have been dating a spoiled brat like Doe if he didn’t understand that his little tantrums never detracted from his love for him. The fact that Hywel could deal with them was what made Doe so calm in their love. If Doe was in love with one thing most of all, it was the freedom he felt in their relationship.

It was alright. It would be fine — he still didn’t know he was proposing to him; that surprise wasn’t totally ruined. He might have just thought this was an incredibly fancy date with deep sentimental value. Forcing on a big, beautiful smile, Doe limped over to him, doing a quick lap around him before dragging his cheek and side against Hywel’s, still careful not to dislodge his flowers. “Hi. You didn’t get too soaked, did you? If you did, the candles will help.” If he could have, he’d have been anxiously offering to take his coat. Oh, he hadn’t realised he was this nervous; usually he was so self-assured, so in love with himself, so sure he was a treasure — this was new. He gave a slightly hysterical laugh, all soft and breathy. “You look gorgeous,” he blurted, just to fill the quiet. The little flames flickered behind him, lapping at the stained glass windows. For a moment, Doe lost himself in the sight of Hywel and just smiled at him stupidly, the bottoms of his eyes pushing up. And then he shook himself out of it. “Um… Why don’t you… Follow me?” He gave him a beaming smile, heart still fluttering nervously, and then turned to limp-trot ahead, face immediately falling as he let out a breath and reprimanded himself under his breath — get it together; you’re a catch; come on, he’s in love with you; come on, Doefreckle.

But it was just such a momentous thing — all his life he’d wanted a mate, and all his life he’d been running from it. He’d pushed toms away, attacked them, ridiculed them, treated them so terribly, especially Shaded, that it was a wonder and a testament that he was still here. And now, tonight, he was going to do what he’d daydreamed about with such longing, such guilt, such shame since he was an apprentice: he was going to ask someone — ask a tom — to be his mate. It had always been a guilty, disgusted fascination, always been a holy, beautiful thing he was both unworthy of and sick to want — and now he was going to ask for it. His breath shuddered in his throat as he tried to steady it. Tonight. Tonight. It still felt unreal. He’d half-proposed to Chim, but that had been a messy, frantic thing borne of pure emotion and desperation and confusion. This time, he’d decorated a whole church. It felt like all his life had come together for this one night, like everything had built up to it. Someone else would have scolded themselves for such a thought, but that was all Doe was — love. Other toms. And he was done feeling bad about it. He was happiest when he was in a relationship. He was happiest when he was supporting someone else’s hobbies and goals and dreams, not his own. He was happiest when he could be at the top of social popularity and an ‘and’ everywhere else — his name and someone else’s, and his always second. He liked being someone’s. He liked being the plus one. And it was a difficult thing, to reconcile knowing the way he’d pretended to be stupid for so long — because toms only liked one thing, prettiness, and no one would like him if he wasn’t pretty, and especially not if he was smart — was harmful, and knowing he was happiest as the eye candy on someone’s arm. But that was just who he was, that was his truth, and he was slowly learning how to untangle the two ideas from each other and find some middle ground. And nothing had ever felt as right as what he was going to ask of Hywel.