InsaneJournal

He winced as he sat up in bed. His back aching from the way he’d slept, his hand reached up to rub his neck as he nodded his head to loosen the tight muscles. He sighed, glanced at the clock, knew it was time.

Waking up was the hardest part for him.

They called it an ‘eye-opener’, that little sip of whatever you fancied to start your day off right, to get yourself going and up, to help you face whatever it is that made you drink in the first place. And it pained him to admit it, but he missed it. Missed that quick one in the morning more than he missed the one at night that’d help put him out in the first place, more than he missed the ones with dinner, the ones after a rough day.

But he was better off without. He knew that. He reminded himself of that. And he stood up.

They’d lost. They’d come so close, so far, and they’d lost. And now that he was on vacation, there was little to distract him from that fact, as he tugged on a pair of shorts. Even a week after the fact, he couldn’t forget his poor performance, that there was a God and he hated the Cannons. He imagined he’d be kicking himself over it until training for next season began -- who was he kidding? He’d be kicking himself until the goddamn apocalypse began, and he knew it -- that every morning would be like this. Aching neck and dry throat. The Evan Chambers story, that.

And yet, he still couldn’t help but smirk as he walked into the kitchen.

“Well. Good morning.”

Morgan Coote glanced up at him the second he spoke. Her bare legs were crossed at the ankle, resting on the chair he'd claim for himself in a moment. Pale hands surrounding a mug of steaming liquid. His shirt, a faded remnant of Falcon pride she'd found buried in his closet and claimed for herself, outlining the deep crease in her shoulders. Her shorts, a remnant of chasing down half-full alcohol bottles and living out of a suitcase to keep him from self-harm that no one else agreed was so dangerous.

"Good morning," she answered back, easy, nonchalant. Not expectant, but patient as he walked toward her, and the moment he came within arm's reach, she tilted her chin up intentionally, waiting until his bravery, the casual grace with which they had come back together, took over, and he kissed her good morning to tell him, "I made tea."

He smirked down after the kiss, nodding once before getting his own tea in hand, and sitting beside her as she folded her legs up, wrapping arms around them. This was nice. This was easy.

“Tea,” he said, smiling, nodding again. “Not my usual morning routine but… I think this could be a good change. Thank you.” With a little shake of her head, she lifted her own tea to her lips and blew on it, patient with the heat and with him.

He smirked as he took a sip from his mug, glancing at her. Her eyebrows raised in response.

“You know. If Xavier comes back from Mer’s and sees you wearing that… there’ll be trouble,” he said, the smirk growing and him all too helpless to stop it. “You should take it off.”

"If Xavier comes back from Mer's and sees me wearing nothing," she quipped in response, "there'll be trouble too, but it'll come from you." All the same, she settled her cup to the table, crossing her arms over her knees where they met at her chin, and resting a cheek atop them, looking at him as though memorizing the sight. "Have you told them yet?"

“Well, mostly I was hoping Xavier wouldn’t come back for a while but you’d take it off anyway…” he admitted. “But sure, have it your way.”

Her question gave him pause, and he took a sip of his tea, before setting his cup down beside hers.

“Not yet. I mean, it took months to tell them I’d stopped drinking. I’m a bit slow on giving them life updates, these days…” he frowned, though his expression softened when he looked back up at her. “I also wasn’t sure exactly what to tell them. I mean. One date -- two, maybe. Depending on your definition -- and, well, you know. This. It’s hard to define.” He smiled wistfully, reached to take her hand in his. “I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was...”

"If you're actually quoting Shakespeare at me like I'll know what it means," came the implicit threat, her voice stern but still playful, still teasing as she let him take her hand, idly toy with her fingers, "you really haven't been paying attention all these years." A pause settled over them, connected by the touch of their hands and the gears in their heads turning. Morgan just watched their hands, his nails longer than her own, her own dwarfed by the size of his. Meant for catching Snitches, not for gripping a bat.

"Tell them," she decided, "that we're doing something." As though it were definitive in the slightest, she dipped her head, agreeing with herself. That vague definition was as far as it went.

“It felt fitting,” he countered. “It’s from a play where the fairy queen is enchanted to fall in love with a man who looks like an ass -- the hee-haw kind. Not the… yeah.” He chuckled, squeezed her hand in his. “At the end of it, he wakes up, ass head changed back to human and… it just all seems like the most marvelous dream. Perfect beyond words. Righter than right. Everything… good.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek, nodding at her decision. “I think I can manage that.”

There were several moments that passed as she squinted at him, tried to make sense of the story he was telling her—he'd mentioned it before, she swore, but they all blurred together with how excitably he talked about them—and what it was that it was supposed to mean. "So what you're saying is," she managed, after a long moment of consideration, "you're happy."

And, after another beat, with eyebrows raised, "And that you used to be an ass."

Evan laughed, and nodded. “You know, I was just going for the happy beyond words part but… yes,” he replied. “Yes, I was an ass for quite some time. Though I can’t blame my behavior on any fairies bewitching me, I suppose.”

"Good," she answered, letting her attention focus once again on the hand in his own, pressing her fingertips against the center of his palm, idly examining every line that ran across it. "Good," she managed, though not looking up at him with her indulgent smile. "So am I."