Glenn
𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍
𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐
𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚎'𝚟𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝
𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍
𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚛
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜
Keith
It had been three hours and twenty-seven minutes since Freddie Lovejoy had arrived at the building that served as Briar Ridge's hospital, if you could call it such a thing. 
Early evening was creeping in at the windows, as if sensing that the townspeople had had a long day - one that they'd rather have be over as soon as it had begun - and the sun's low rays cast orange and shadows through the crack in the curtains that hung at Florian's bedroom window. 
The youngest of the Barca siblings lay quiet in his bed, his back turned to Freddie, who sat vigil on the rug, cross-legged and still, having just closed his journal and placed it safely to one side. 
The house had settled into a numb sort of silence not long after three souls had crossed the threshold, the weight of one missing set of footprints in the snow a heavy burden in each beating heart. 
Valerian Barca would not return home tonight. 

Freddie had run to the hospital as soon as he heard of what had transpired in the night. News, though it often travelled fast in the holler, could only reach so far when those who were left to spread it found themselves otherwise engaged. There had been wounded and dying to attend to, blood to scrub from floors and wash from skin and hair, all things which took precedence over the usual spread of gossip and whispers, and had prevented word of the misfortune that had befallen the coal man from reaching the Lovejoys' doorstep until what felt like much too late. 
*Valerian Barca has been wounded*, the messenger had said - a message meant for Alfred Lovejoy Sr, on account of the position the patriarch had once held at the company, no doubt, and not for his son, who had only happened to be in earshot, and who had dropped the chipped china cup of tea intended for his mother upon hearing the words. 

Freddie's blood had run cold in his veins.

Florian. 
*Where is he*, he had demanded, *Where is Valerian* And *Where is his family* And *Are they alright?* 

The man at the door had had so little information to give beyond *The doctor* That Freddie had felt he had no choice but to find the rest out for himself. Barely taking the time to lace his boots, and forgoing his coat entirely, he had bid his parents a hurried goodbye and rushed out into the streets.

He had found them in the ward. 

Olivia's sweet face had been streaked with the ghosts of tears. Florian, wearing ill-fitting borrowed clothes and an expression unlike any Freddie had ever seen his face bear, had had to be coaxed to leave by not one, but two gentle-natured nurses, his sister, and Freddie himself, for though it seemed Valerian had been heavily medicated into slumber, he had not taken kindly to the suggestion that it may be time to leave him to rest. In the end, it had been Olivia, who had taken her younger brother by the hands and all but *Begged* Him to go home, at which point Freddie had felt an intruder on a private affair, and gone to help Miss Lorelai fold sheets until the point that the two emerged. 
Olivia had been pushing Florian's chair, and before she could ask, Freddie had offered to escort them back to the house.

Which brought them to here and now, in the bedroom, the door clicked shut with a rolled blanket at its base to prevent the draft. 

Few words had been shared between Florian and Freddie, besides the necessary ones. Freddie had done the decent thing and turned his back while Florian took off what he'd been given by Miss Marianne and changed into nightclothes, but the bandages wrapped from hip to knee around his injured leg were bulky, and Freddie had been careful of them as he drew the blankets up to his shoulders. Olivia had brought water, but Florian hadn't touched it. *Stay with him?* She'd whispered, and Freddie would have done so even without being asked.

Florian had had a werewolf sink its claws into helpless flesh, and he hadn't so much as whimpered in complaint.

He'd never known the man so quiet. So still, looking for all the world like he were asleep, but he didn't breathe as though he were at peace. 
The two had been growing closer for enough time now that Freddie was beginning to think he could read Florian's body language as easy as a children's book from the library, a story laid out in pictures on pages. He knew when he was frustrated by the way he held his charcoal in a vice-grip, could tell when he hadn't slept by the furrow of his brow, sensed when he was cold or otherwise uncomfortable from the simple curve of his shoulders.
Motionless beneath the covers, Florian now gave away nothing.

So all Freddie could do was sit where he was, watching, listening for the moment when Florian would decide to say something, if he chose to at all.

The time that passed could have been minutes or hours. The sun slipped low and the slant of light on the wall decorated with wildflower illustrations grew long. Florian's steady hands had sketched and shaded every single piece. Freddie could have traced each from memory, though he'd never have the artistic ability to truly reproduce one.

Freddie stayed close, leaning against the side of the mattress, and wished he had the strength to reach out, to touch, to offer a comfort that words couldn't. But could anything, in a time like this?
Florian and Valerian had the kind of inseparable bond he had with his sister Catherine - the oldest child and the youngest, a bond stronger than mere blood. Freddie couldn't imagine the state he'd be in had he come so close to losing Cath. 

Still, it came unexpectedly, when Florian's quiet, even breathing shifted. A hitch and a soft exhale, and Freddie watched the man's curled fist raise to his mouth as a shudder ran through his shoulders. 
He wasn't sleeping, Freddie doubted he ever had been. 

Florian had begun to cry, and the realisation damn near wrenched Freddie's heart right out of his chest. 
How could he do anything but reach for him?

"Flor? Y'okay, darlin'?"

His hand found Florian's hip, his forearm, then his hand, as he pushed himself up onto his knees to be closer to the man he'd been sweet on since the day they met. 

"Hey... Hey. C'mere. It's alright. I gotcha."

||
Christiana
It had taken the combined effort of four people to get Florian to leave his brother's side. Two of which were his sister and Freddie Lovejoy, the man he considered his closest friend out of all the souls on this wretched planet. The man he wished to call something more intimate than just friends. The man who, over the past three months had started appearing more and more in his sketchbook, a clear sign that he had been occupying more and more of his thoughts as well. In the end, it had been Olivia who was able to convince him to go home, to get some rest, to let Valerian be taken care of by the staff. Florian didn't want to leave, he knew Val was in the hands of those best equipped to handle this, but it still felt wrong, it felt like he was abandoning his brother. What if he left and this would be the last time he would see his brother alive? He told himself to stay strong, to not cry again, Olivia and more importantly Freddie didn't need to see that

His heart sang when Freddie offered to walk the remaining two Barcas home, it swelled more still when the other man remained in his room, going so far as to help him get situated in his bed. The gentle act of pulling up the blankets made his heart flutter. He found himself briefly wondering what it would be like to pull him into the bed with him, to be held in his arms, for Freddie to not feel the need to turn around when Florian struggled to get out of his clothes, for Freddie and him to joke about that struggle. _No_ he would not ruin their friendship with those ideas. Freddie sat on the floor, he had told Florian he liked sitting on the floor, a strange habit the boy had. One of many no doubt, and Florian wanted so badly to learn about all of Freddie's weird and wonderful habits.
_ _

Florian sank into his thoughts then, fell into them and like a strong current they pulled him out into the sea, he tried to fight them, tried to reach for a hand. For Freddie's hand, but fear held him back. He had been fighting that current from the moment he left Valerian's bedside. A battle he was losing. _Red stains on their kitchen floor._ Just breathe, this will pass. _Valerian had died._ Don't cry, don't cry. _His brother's body, frail and broken._ Keep it together Florian..._Miss Marianne's screams._ You cannot cry in front of Freddie. _The sound of shattering glass_ I have to be strong. _The smell of blood, both man and beast._ no. No. Nonono. His breath caught, a shuttering inhale, a soft exhale to try and stop himself. A failed attempt. He brought a fist to his mouth in a last-ditch effort to stifle the sound, but Freddie, ever perceptive as he was, had noticed. If only he also noticed how Florian felt towards him.

_Flor? Y'okay, darlin'?_ He was not, in fact he was the furthest from fine he had ever been. _Hey... Hey. C'mere. It's alright. I gotcha._ Was it alright though? Was it really? He almost snapped at Freddie. Of course he wasn't okay. And it was not alright. None of it was.

He shook his head, indicating that no, he was not doing okay. "I am so sorry you have to see me like this." Freddie's hand met his and Florian held onto it tightly. "Can you h-" _hug me, hold me? I just want to feel safe and your arms feel like safety, but I don't want to ask you in case it makes you hate me. I don't want you to hate me, please don't hate me for having these thoughts._
_ _

Freddie had called him darlin', darling, a term of affection, of _love_. Could it be? No. A man like Freddie could never be with a man like Florian, the miner deserved more, deserved better. Besides, Florian didn't know if Freddie was even interested in men to begin with. He hoped he was, but Florian knew that hoping for something did not mean it would come to be. They were friends, just very good friends. Very good friends where one was maybe falling for the other. For his smile, the way his hair fell, the way he sounded when he laughed, the color of his eyes, his weird habits, the way he spoke, his kindness, all of it.

The tears started coming in earnest, he'd lost the battle, dragged out into sea, Freddie's hand still proving to be a lifeline. His unsteady breathing was threatening to tip over into sobs. _weak weak weak_ "I'm sorry I-" He didn't even know what he was sorry for. He squeezed Freddie's hand, drawing comfort from the physical touch. "Please stay? I don't want to be alone." I don't want to be alone with my thoughts.
Keith
To Freddie's utmost relief, Florian didn't bite back at the words, and nor did he push away the touch. Instead, he clung to it, desperate fingers entwining with Freddie's own, holding on and squeezing tight, and so Freddie held tight too, taking it as an invitation to move closer. To leave the floor and close some of the gap between them. He sat on the edge of the bed, hesitated for only a moment, and then brought himself in to Florian's side, reaching for whatever parts of him he dared to touch. 
First the one hand, then the other. His wrists, his forearms - strong from years of pushing, strong because he'd had to be. His shoulders, his chest, as he helped him turn until their eyes could lock. And his face - his beautiful face, streaked as it were with hot tears rolling down his cheeks that Freddie couldn't resist trying to brush away even as new ones replaced them. It was a hopeless endeavour, first with fingers and then with a crisp handkerchief pulled from his shirt-pocket (and thank the Lord, Elizabeth Lovejoy would *Never* Let any of her children leave the house without a neat and fresh-pressed handkerchief, rain or shine), but still, Freddie tried. He could hardly bear to see Florian cry, as much as he could tell it was needed. His words scratched like nettle-stings, direct to the heart. 

"Hey. Shh, I ain't havin' none a' those apologies," Freddie murmured. "You done more than enough today to merit a whole wash-basin fulla' tears. I'm here. I got you, and I'm not goin' nowhere 'til you decide it's time to say our goodbyes." How many evenings had he sat on Florian's bedroom floor and hoped, even prayed, that the other man might ask him to stay? How often had he lain in his own bed across town and wished he'd had it in him to have said *Hey, the night don't have to end just yet*?

And now, Florian was holding tight to his hand like he might float right away into the air if he let go, asking - no, pleading - for him to stay, saying he was sorry. What the hell he had to be sorry for, Freddie wasn't sure, and so he shh-ed him again, but soft, soothing, still trying with all his might to keep tears from rolling down to soak the pillow. He'd had his fair share of nights spent sobbing into bedsheets, knew how it felt to try to sleep when salt-water had turned cold against your cheek. He wouldn't put Florian through that if he could help it. 

"You got no reason to go sayin' sorry. Trust me," He whispered. "And even if you did, you'd've been forgiven the first time you said it. So just take a deep breath for me, we're gonna slow this right back down. Livvy'll slit my throat if she thinks for half a second I've got you cryin'. Nice and easy... You're doin' so good, Flo. Ain't never gotta be alone again while I'm around."

Florian didn't deserve any of this. 
From the moment Freddie's gaze had landed on those sweet brown eyes, on that day back in November when their hands had touched and his heart and whole world had been promptly set on fire, he'd known that this was a place that didn't deserve men like him.

And yet, here they were.

"I'm gonna stay right here," He continued on, voice soft. "I'll be stayin' as long as you'll have me. As close as you'll have me, too." For he couldn't deny that despite it all, he wanted *Closer*. He wanted to wrap himself up in all Florian had to offer and give up all he had in exchange, share touch and breath in equal measures until there were no tears left to cry and no hurt left to heal. He ached to wind his arms around Florian's waist and bury his nose in his curls and press kisses there as though a kiss could do anything to take away the pain. As it were, he didn't dare move without further permission, aware of the possibility that he'd already crossed a boundary in climbing up onto the bed and feeling the heat of the other's skin under his palms, in touching his face in his desire to relieve him of his tears. 

"You just tell me what you need, and I swear, if I got it I'll give it to you. If you're hurtin' and if it's somethin' I can do, it's yours, and if you want it, I'm here. If you want me."

||
Christiana
Freddie helped turn Florian onto his back, his eyes met the other's. Freddie was looking down on him, his hand gently cradling his cheek, the other still firmly in Florian's grasp. He gently wiped at the tears even as new ones formed. _pull yourself together Florian, you're embarrassing yourself_ He didn't want to cry, he wanted to be strong, why couldn't he just be strong for once?

And there Freddie was, sweet as ever, void of judgement, what did he do to have deserved such a friend? He didn't want to say goodbye to Freddie, he wanted him to stay, he'd found himself thinking about that more and more often recently. _He was forgiven._ So much of his life seemed to revolve around that, around forgiveness, blame and guilt. Maybe one day he'd believe that he truly was absolved of guilt. He leaned into the other man's hand, into its warmth, into the comfort being close to Freddie brought him. His breathing began to steady slowly, Freddie's words of comfort were working. In that moment it was just he and him, and he was safe. _He was safe._

He laughed at Freddie's comment about his sister's hypothetical murder attempt. The image of Olivia chasing Freddie around like he was a cat who had gotten into the good sausage briefly appeared in his mind. He smiled through his tears. "You're right." He said, taking a few deep breaths. "Wouldn't want her to start chasin' you out of the house." She wouldn't, she got along with Freddie well, a fact that made Florian happy. He took another deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. It was hard doing that, he was having quite a lot of thoughts at the moment, some very bad, some very good. ~~Like how natural it felt to hold hands with Freddie, how their fingers fit together perfectly.~~
_ _

The full realisation regarding their current position dawned on him. Him laying there, Freddie looking down at him, holding his hand, caressing his cheek. He pushed himself up, letting go of Freddie's hand and scooting himself backwards on his bed so his back was against the bed frame and he was sitting up straight. Laying in his bed with Freddie there had felt intimate, much too intimate. That didn't mean he didn't want him there, quite the contrary in fact. His face felt warm, he was blushing, _great_. Could anyone blame him though? Anyone in their right mind would be blushing if they had seen Freddie Lovejoy looking down at them the way he had. Now Florian felt bad about moving into a sitting position. He felt like he'd just rejected Freddie without even meaning to. Maybe he'd just been imagining that there was something there. He wasn't good at this. These feelings towards another man were quite new to him. Especially when added on top of the fact that he'd been through a whirlwind of emotions in the past few hours, it was all very confusing to him at the moment, all a bit much. He hoped that the fact that he had been crying would at least mask the growing redness of his cheeks. He feared he had just ruined something, something that he wasn't sure existed beyond his imagination. Did he want to hold hands again? Was it okay for him to want that? It had felt nice, even if it had been out of desperation. He gestured at Freddie to come sit next to him, patting the mattress, a universally recognizable invitation. _Please accept, please don't think that I don't want you near me like that again._ Florian thought that he did want Freddie looking down at him like that again, to see Freddie's eyes meet his own so gently, to hold his hand... Yes, _yes_ he did, just without the need for Florian to cry to make it happen. He just hoped that next time they would be in such a position, _please let there be a next time_, he wouldn't flee like a coward.
_ _

"I keep _seein'_ it in my head, hearin' the doc say those words _retract time of death, Mr.Barca is alive_, Valerian in that hospital bed. That wolf breakin' through the window, its claws in me. And I could _feel it_ somehow-" He looked at his legs, he hadn't felt them in about 8 years now. "-and I can't feel my legs Freddie, you could poke at 'em right now and I wouldn't even notice." He looked at Freddie and smiled, exhaling a soft laugh, and then that smile dropped again. "I can't stop repeatin' it, over and over again. I fear I'm losin' control of my mind a little bit." He wiped away his tears, the steady stream had since stopped, that familiar numbness slowly returned. It helped to voice what was going on, it helped calm him down, things didn't seem so overwhelming once spoken. "I know Valerian is safe and in good hands, and that those wolves won't be comin' back until next full moon and I know I'm safe with you. But just now it, well it felt like I was right there again, in Miss Marianne's house and in the hospital right after, I don't know how to describe it. But thank you, for pullin' me out of there." 

_I'm here, if you want me._ Of course he wanted Freddie. He thought of him nearly every day, looked forward to him briefly swinging by after returning from the mines, stumbling into town atop his pony. A shabby looking creature it was, Angel, but he seemed to like that horse very much. Florian had found out that he was not very good at sketching horses, never got the proportions quite right on them. He'd have to ask Angel to model for him next time Freddie and her came by. 
_ _

What did he need? A distraction. He wanted to find something other than werewolves to think about. "Could you tell me about your family, your parents and your sisters?" He'd heard of them before of course, Freddie loved them very much and his parents lived with him. "What was it like growing up with them?" Florian had grown up without much of his parents around, his father had died when he was six, his mother abandoned them soon after that. "I've not really been outside Briar Ridge myself."
Keith
Florian sat up, and Freddie moved with him, not wanting to move away entirely, but making sure his friend could get as much space as he needed. He did his best to help, though he wasn't sure how much help he could really be, rearranging the pillows to support Florian's back and pulling the blanket up to cover him. He hoped his hands weren't shaking - what had he been thinking, rushing in like that, touching Florian all soft and sweet like he had the right to do that? Stupid, stupid and impulsive, and if Flo hadn't been so receptive to the touch he'd have felt like even more of an idiot. He could've ruined every morsel of trust they'd built up together in the months that had passed by, all over his helpless desire to hold the hand of the prettiest boy he'd ever met. He needed to get himself in check, goddammit, and remind himself that no matter what he and his lovesick heart wanted, he couldn't have what Florian didn't want to give. 
Whether Florian wanted to give anything at all remained to be seen. 

But then his friend patted the spot beside him on the bed, and managed a smile through watery eyes, and it was all Freddie could do not to jump at the chance. He moved to sit closer, and if his arm found its way around Florian's shoulders and squeezed and stayed there, it was nobody's business but theirs. If the top of his head came to rest against Florian's cheek for a brief, tender moment, then so be it.

Florian was *Safe*. Hurt, sure, beyond the deep gashes in his thigh, but safe, and home, and breathing, and if Freddie had anything to do with it he was going to stay that way. 

The blond was quiet as he listened, wanting to understand exactly what was going on in the other's head, what it was that had made him snap and cry like a babe in arms. And while he couldn't fix it, couldn't take away the memories, he could at least comfort him through it, and be the distraction it seemed was so desperately needed for tonight. 

"Sure thing, darlin'. You know I'll talk all the night away if ya let me," He murmured. "Anythin' for you."

When everything else failed him, Freddie had always been one to turn to his words. He'd learned to tell stories from his sisters even before he could talk, sitting at Rebecca's feet begging her to read her school books to him even though they didn't have pictures on the pages, and lying in the grassy field behind the old house with Marjorie and her encyclopedia, pointing at the illustrations and asking what they were and what they meant. As he'd gotten older, he'd made up stories of his own. 
But there was no need to make things up when Florian asked about his family. They were all he'd ever had, and he'd never wanted for more. Decades of love and light had left him with a whole world to wax lyrical over. 

"Alright. You stop me if I go into details you've heard before."

He sighed softly. 

"So there's four of us. Me and my sisters - they're all off and married now, 'course. Cath wrote a letter last week tellin' me what her girls have been up to. Seems like yesterday they were babies and now they're off to school learnin' to read and write. Cath, she's the one that taught me readin' too, kept all the paper scraps we used to get me knowin' how to write my name."

Of course, there was no need for those papers now. They bore a name that wasn't his any more.

"Catherine, she's the oldest, then Marjorie, then Rebecca was the youngest, 'til I came along, and even she's expectin' now. The town we grew up in didn't even have a name 'til last year. All the men worked the mines there my whole life. Never thought goin' with 'em would be what brought me here."

*Brought me to you*, he wanted to add, but didn't. 

"Wasn't an easy growin' up, but we were happy. Mama used to sew, the men kept her busy with their pants comin' in all torn up and dirty. She'd pride herself on her stitches, she always wanted to give the clothes back lookin' as though they'd never needed the fixin' in the first place. We were proud of her, too. She taught us all to sew a little. I never took to it. My hands ain't good at the delicate bits, I'd snap the thread if I wasn't careful and most of the time I couldn't ever be careful enough. Think she was almost relieved when the company took me on, even if we had to lie about my bein' of age to get me there... Don't tell Valerian? Think they all still think I'm twenty-three."
It was one of those things that hadn't felt like it mattered at the time. The Lovejoys had needed money and Freddie had finished up his education and wanted to work, and if the foreman had asked for a birth certificate there would've been more conflict than a simple discrepancy in years. Women couldn't work underground.

"Anyways. You didn't ask about all that. You wanted to know about the family." Freddie smiled, shifting his position to turn slightly towards Florian. He wanted to be able to see his face, just to be sure he wasn't being too boring, going on and on to fill the heavy silence. It was harder to keep an arm around him like this, so instead he took one of Florian's hands again, in both of his, and those joined hands came to rest on the artist's uninjured leg. Freddie squeezed softly. He hated how much he liked holding onto him like that. 

"You'd like the girls, I think. And I just know they'd love you. Marjorie likes her flowers, same as you do. Catherine's house is full of all kinds of paintings, I'm sure she'd love knowin' you're an artist. And Rebecca's a teacher, just like she always wanted to be. It's how she met her husband - he knows all kinds of history and she used to stop by his classes and just listen to how he talked."

Freddie went on for a while, grasping at straws just to come up with as much information as he could, looking around his memories for stories he hadn't told Florian before, from early childhood all the way through his teenage years. To give Florian his due, he seemed to be listening to every word.

And he wasn't crying any more. That had to be a good thing. 

||
Christiana
Freddie still wanted to be near him, to sit with him, to touch him even. Part of Florian hoped deep down that this was not just how Freddie was, that the other man reserved this kind of affection for a select group of people. Freddie's head rested on his shoulder and his arm around Florian's shoulders. It was the closest thing to a hug that either of them felt comfortable with in that moment. He could feel the warmth of the other seeping into his very bones. He chuckled softly, he wouldn't be stopping Freddie even if he did wind up repeating himself. He liked listening to the sound of his voice. Florian listened attentively, grateful for Freddie and his ability to just start speaking without a need for preparation or pauses.

_ _
"My lips are sealed, your secret is safe with me Freddie." Florian would never try to sabotage the other's job, he knew how much Freddie needed it. Still, it felt strange that his brother was technically Freddie's boss. Valerian did not involve Florian in coal business, and truth be told, Florian tried to keep himself out of coal business wherever he could. There was a reason the town had little love for S&C and in turn for his brother. If Florian was completely honest with himself, honest to a level he was currently unable to reach, he knew deep, _deep_ down that he didn't pay close attention to Valerian's actions for S&C because he did not want to know the full extent of those actions. He wanted to hold on to the idea that his brother was a good and honest man who had done no wrong. Looking too closely might reveal some ugly truths that Florian would be unwilling and unable to face. Better to stay ignorant than to have to reconcile with the fact that Valerian Barca may have blood on his hands. He believed that the deaths in those mines were not Valerian's fault, that S&C was to blame, Valerian was merely a pawn. Florian shared the town's dislike of S&C, but he firmly opposed their dislike of his brother, his mind subconsciously twisted and turned any evidence to suggest otherwise so it aligned with his feelings. Repairing cognitive dissonance was second nature to him. The fact that the mines had not bothered to confirm Freddie's age, that a child was allowed to work in such a dangerous environment, it didn't sit right with him. But the blame was shifted, _Val wouldn't do that, would he?_
_ _

His hand came to rest between Freddie's again and he didn't pull back this time. A gentle smile crept onto Florian's features as he watched his friend talk of his family. Freddie was the youngest son, just like Florian was. Both had unbreakable bonds with their siblings, yet Florian was raised in relative luxury and had never truly needed to work a day in his life, a stark contrast to Freddie. The other man had nieces, he could sew, hypothetically speaking, he wondered what other aspects of Freddie he would learn about in the future. "I would love to meet your sisters one day, they sound great. I am glad you all grew up together and get along so well." One day, when it is safe here, should that day ever come. The notebook that was found seemed to hint at immunity, but would they truly be so lucky? "I am sure they're proud of you for providin' for your folks too." Florian wished Freddie didn't have to provide, but such was the harsh reality of their world. "Maybe we could work together to make them something, a small painting for each of them, to remind them of you whenever they see it?" It was how Florian gave gifts, by making them for his loved ones, a piece of him went into every gift he gave. "Free of charge of course, they would be gifts and I could never charge you for my art. Just an idea." 

Florian continued to listen to every word Freddie spoke, sinking deeper into the mattress as he grew more and more comfortable. It felt good to just _be_. There were no expectations here, no roles or reputations to uphold, no judgments or biases to disprove. It was just the two of them, sharing stories. The world almost felt normal then.
_ _

"I used to sneak in there as a child, those mines, before an illness took my legs away from me." He said, reminiscing. "I had all kinds of silly adventures back then, I'd go into the woods and the fields to collect flowers and climb in trees. It was so peaceful in those woods, just the sounds of the forest and nobody else around. It was mighty foolish of me to do that, the adults would tell me not to go in there all the time. They said that kids have gone missin' in there before. But I believed I was an exception and that they were just stories so I wouldn't go in too deep and get myself lost. I suppose I have a guardian angel watchin' over me, now that we know that there are things in those woods that are not natural." Florian wished that angel would look over someone else instead; Freddie or Valerian for instance, who were in danger much more often than he was these days. "I would come home with dirt all over my clothes and Liv and Val would just sigh and shake their heads and try to remind me that I had a reputation and good name to uphold. And of course make me wash my own clothes, I'd gotten 'em dirty myself after all." He laughed. "At least I was bright enough to not go adventurin' in my Sunday best, I fear they would've killed me if I had."
Keith
Truth be told, there was nothing in the world that could've made Freddie move away from Florian now. People didn't place enough value on just being able to *Talk* To someone, to feel as though you were utterly and entirely understood in a moment, in the displaced peace shared between two bodies and minds. All that had happened since the full moon's rising could be forgotten, if only for a little while, because Freddie had Flo, and they could just *Be* Here, where there was nothing needed of them, no onlookers with their preconceptions of what boys ought to do and say and be, no wolves howling in the distance nor scratching at the door.
The feeling of safety in his presence was one of the things that drew Freddie back to Florian Barca, time and time again. While the world was cruel and full of hurt, the man's bedroom was a sanctuary. When people were cold and unkind, the man himself kept an open heart and his callused artist's hands. And Freddie privately yearned to call all of that his own, to lay claim to what he could not, to reach and take and hold and give all he could in return. 

Sometimes he longed so hard it left an ache in his chest, a pain entirely separate from the tightness of the wrappings, steps apart from the crushing weight of others' expectations. 

"I'm no artist, Flor. Like I said, never been good at the finer details with my hands. Sure I'd snap your pencils in two without even meanin' ta. Or I'd have all the lines smudged and the paint dripped over the paper all by accident." Freddie sighed softly.

He could be gentle. 
He could be good and soft, but he could not be clean. Even as he looked down at their joined hands, there was coal dust in the grooves of his knuckles and staining his fingernails in a way no amount of scrubbing could get out. His hands weren't hands he could rely on - though they were hands that worked to the bone to provide, they were also hands that dropped things (he grieved for each lost china cup), and damaged them (the ragged stems of the flowers he tried so desperately to pick neatly), and dirtied them without even trying (his white dress shirt, stained beyond rescue at the Christmas soiree with the spilled dregs of Miss Marianne's last glass of red wine). 
He worried for a moment, as he looked at Florian's hand, all wrapped up in both his own. Worried that he would damage, or break, or dirty him too. That this fragile trust they'd built could be crumbled by a mistake like a ruined castle set upon by a storm. 
"I'm sure the girls would love your paintings, though. They all got birthdays to think about. I'll check back in 'round the right time." 

Florian went on, which he was grateful for - he needed to think about something else, and imagining a young version of his friend was something he hadn't done before. To picture him running through the woods, scrambling his way through the mines, climbing trees, was a sweet kind of fantasy. He could only guess that young Florian had been a wild thing, judging by the way he described his antics and his dirtied clothes, and he smiled as he listened, letting his gaze drift up to the man's face and tilting his head to the side in thought.

"We'd have made great friends then," He decided. "I was always gettin' myself into scrapes in the streets. Coming home all scratched-up and bleedin' with no idea how I'd gotten that way. Never hurt 'til Mama came to clean me up and then I'd kick and scream as though she was murderin' me." He laughed. "She'd pour alcohol on my skinned knees and act as though it weren't mean to sting, then she always promised that the hot cocoa that came after was as good a medicine as any from the doctor."

He could taste the chocolate as he spoke of it - always not quite sweet, sugar was a luxury that they couldn't always afford, and the powdered cocoa was bitter even with it, but it was warm, and it brought comfort. He'd have to see if the store here sold anything that came even close, for the nights he longed for what had been left behind. He'd make Florian a cup, and bring it up here to his bedroom, and hope it brought him the relief it had brought to cut-up knees and a child's tired eyes in the twilight hours. 
Would it taste the same, when not made by a loving mother's arthritic hand? When home wasn't the home it had been and when the world outside the kitchen door was no longer a world he knew and felt safe in? 

"I don't know how much I believe in angels any more, doll. But I can make a promise to ya. A couple promises, actually, if you'll take 'em from me."

Freddie squeezed Florian's hand again, just as soft as before. 
*He would not break anything, this time.*
Not a promise, not a heart, not the faith he could only hope the other man would someday have in him. 
"I'll take you out to the woods, when the weather gets warmer. As deep as you feel like goin' for as little or as long as you like. Just because you don't got your legs to carry you there no more don't mean you should miss out on the bluebells and the birdsongs."
He bit his lip. 
"And I won't let anythin' that's out there get to ya. I should've been there last night, and I wasn't. But next time that moon rises full, I will be."

||
Christiana
_I'm no artist Flor._ That was true. Maybe it had been wistful thinking. Florian had imagined holding Freddie's hand, helping to guide it across a page or canvas, laughing at the mess they would undoubtedly create together. But they weren't a 'we' after all. ~~Not yet...~~ It was beginning to dawn on Florian just how much he wanted that. For Freddie and him to become 'us' and 'we'. To be not just individuals but two parts of something more, something deeper and more meaningful. Freddie felt safe, being around him felt comfortable and natural. He did not have to pretend with him.

Florian made a wincing sound at the mention of alcohol straight to wounds. An incredibly unpleasant sensation he too had experienced. "One of the benefits of not havin' control over my legs, cleanin' them didn't hurt one bit." He laughed. Florian created a mental note to get his hands on some cocoa so he could make hot cocoa for Freddie next time he visited.
_ _

"I will gladly take that promise." Going back into nature was a dream he had already partially given up on. His wheelchair was not really made for traversing woodland and fields. Nevertheless, it warmed his heart that Freddie offered. "I would love that Freddie." He could imagine it, he'd bring a basket of food and they'd find a spot in a field to sit. Bask in the sun's rays, eachothers company and listen to the birds sing. "As long as we go out there durin' the day and get back well before nightfall. As much as I would love to show you where I spent my childhood, I would rather not introduce you to the not-deer. Or whatever else lurks in there." He yawned, looking at the other man. "I can't wait for you to see the fields when the wildflowers are bloomin'. The green of the grass and the bright spots of color, it's quite somethin'. I would love to show you." 
_ _

"I am glad you weren't there." His tone was gentle and non-accusatory. It wasn't said because he didn't believe Freddie to be capable. "I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt by those beasts because of me." There it was, that familiar feeling of guilt. He hated nothing more than others getting hurt because he was unable to defend himself. He similarly hated when others expressed wanting to protect him. A protection he often perceived to be handed out because of prejudice. Florian had spent the last seven years being treated like he was in constant need of help. He knew he _did_ need help for quite a large number of actions that others deemed trivial, but by God was he stubborn. His own drive for independence clouded the view of offered aid for the young Barca. But with Freddie it felt different. Freddie didn't seem to want to protect Florian because he looked at him as helpless. There was something else there, something that made Florian feel loved and cherished. Florian found himself almost _enjoying_ Freddie's protective streak. As for Florian's perception of Freddie, he supposed he saw Freddie as somewhat reckless. But didn't know about the firearm that Freddie owned. He didn't know that the young Lovejoy might actually stand a chance if given a silver bullet. "I hope you never have to see those wolves Freddie. However, when next full moon comes around perhaps I could ask if you and yours would be welcome to take shelter here. You don't know how to shoot, do you?"
Keith
Florian approved of at least one of the promises, and that was good enough for Freddie, who took the soft words as a comfort, and settled himself a little closer to Florian again. If his head found its way back to his friend's shoulder, then who was he to prevent it? Florian was tired - yawning and all. Freddie couldn't deny that the day was beginning to catch up to him too, but he wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep here. Not yet - that would be too forward, too fast, altogether too much, and the last thing he wanted to do was be too much of anything when it came to the tentative bond he held with Florian. "I'll take you out there and you can show me as much as we can squeeze into daylight hours," He murmured. "I swear I'll have you back *Long* Before dark comes for us. I ain't got no desire to be seein' werewolves, or... Not-deers? Or anythin' else that lurks out there. I'll stay indoors where there's lamps an' locked doors at night." He grinned. Trust the artist to be thinking of the colours in the fields like paint splashed on canvas. He'd seen Florian's depictions of those very fields. If the real things were half so beautiful as the paintings then they'd be breathtaking beyond description. He only hoped it wouldn't be too long before he got to take Florian to see them.
Spring would come and bring with it new hope, after all. Freddie clung to that thought almost as tightly as he clung to Florian's hand. 

"You don't know that I'd be hurt. I coulda been there and been fine just like Miss Marianne," He pointed out gently, tracing over the lines on the other's knuckles, trying all he could to offer some kind of comfort as the conversation toed the lines of that which no doubt Florian would rather forget. "But I won't say no to takin' shelter together. If you and your family'll have me - and if that damned window's all patched up by the time it rolls around."

He couldn't say he hadn't thought of Florian as he lay in bed the last full moon, wished he was there and close enough to reach out and touch and comfort, though he'd never have been able to imagine touch like they shared now, entwined fingers and pressed-together sides. He had wondered if the man he held so dear was safe, if he was sleeping soundly or sitting awake, afraid, listening to the howls beyond the tree line. If they were together, there would be no need to wonder, for they could talk about their worries and fears 'til dawn if the need arose, and Freddie would be the first to know, this time, if Florian needed him. 
"If it's not... If the house ain't ready, or if Valerian's not happy with you and Livvy bein' here after all that's gone on in these walls... You can come home with me, you know. Now the house is ready for ya to come right on in."

It would be a greater step, introducing Florian to his parents when they'd only heard his name thus far. They knew he was the reason for the new installation at the front door, and for Freddie's late comings-home some nights when his journey back from the mines took him past the Barca estate and, more often than not, up onto the porch and into the house for a precious few minutes of talk. But they hadn't an inkling of the way Florian made Freddie *Feel*, the way it was his smile that melted the boy's heart like the springtime sun on the final frost, and they had no notion of the way Freddie could be taken apart by a mere few words in that familiar, soft voice after a long day. They didn't know how Angel liked Florian, and would reach with all her might up to nose at his bedroom window when she was tied to the oak in the yard.

They would never know how Freddie ached to spend every waking hour in his company, nor how he wished with all his might that their time together might one day never end. 

It was Florian's last question that earned a soft, derisive but not unkind snort from Freddie. "Do I know how to *Shoot*? Flo. *Flo*, darlin', I been knowin' how to shoot since my hands were big enough to hold my father's pistol," He assured him, turning Florian's hand palm-up in his so he could stroke blunt nails over the inside of his forearm, his wrist. "You don't got nothin' to worry about when it comes to me protectin' myself. Been hearin' Mister Sterling's workin' on some fancy silver bullets for when the next moon comes, so I saved here an' there an' I'm gonna get one. Two if I can afford 'em. Any wolf comes barrellin' towards us ain't leavin' without bein' burned."
Christiana
His eyelids were growing heavier with every passing second. He knew he really should sleep, but if he slept then he wouldn't be able to talk with Freddie. That just felt like a bad deal and he wasn't a particularly big fan of those. He was fighting against the combination of the warmth of the bed and Freddie and all of what had happened. Freddie's head had found its way onto his shoulder again, Florian rested his on top of it in turn. Oh, how his head fit so perfectly where it lay. "Not-deer." He repeated the word as if saying it again would explain what they were. "Look like deer, but ain't. They stand on their hind legs, got a taste for human meat. No good." No good at all. "Just like them hands in the river bank..." He could only hope Freddie would understand half of what he was saying at this point.

"That's true." It might not have gone after Freddie. Valerian and him had put two and two together in the hospital. How the wolf had seemed _injured_. How it had been covered in something that looked suspiciously like human blood. Blood he now knew flowed similarly in his own veins. "It didn't try to go for anyone else. I suppose I just looked like the easiest target." He huffed a humourless laugh. After it had grabbed Valerian by the throat and brutally dragged him to the gates of Heaven (or Hell) it had turned tail and ran halfway across Briar Ridge. "The one that got Val also came for me. Maybe it just hates us..." Tears threatened to form again, he forcibly blinked them away, he had none left. He was too tired to cry again. "I want it *Dead*." He knew there was a person in there, but he still wanted death for it. Like it had done to Val. A piece of his normally kind soul had hardened as a result of the full moon. Shrivelled up and dried out in order to protect him from all he'd experienced, from all he would experience still. A crumbling layer protecting him from accessing the full extend of his emotions in one go, haphazardly sectioning them into manageable bits.

Had it been looking for more Barca blood? Had it been pure coincidence? Was it something else entirely? Did werewolves even have the capacity of choice when it came to their victims? Florian did not know. Florian did not know if he wanted to know. What would that imply? If the person in there could choose, or if they couldn't. Did the werewolves remember the carnage they contributed to each moon? Were they helpless to their urges or could they fight back? Did they wake up covered in red, the taste of blood lingering on their tongues and staining their hands? Did they regret it, or did part of them enjoy it? "Ah yes, wall's still gone... Hafta fix that soon. Blasted window pane hasn't come in yet..."
_ _
He could come home with Freddie. Now that sounded lovely. And he could come right in, Freddie had built a ramp. Florian's heart swelled. "You're too kind Freddie." His friend had one of the biggest hearts out there. He hoped to one day be let into that heart fully, just as he hoped to let Freddie into his wholly and entirely. Florian just hoped that Freddie's kindness wouldn't be taken advantage of. This world was not always good to those with tender hearts, as he'd come to find out himself. He wanted to shelter the other from all harm that could befall him. But he knew that that wasn't possible. He knew Freddie was more than capable of defending himself, but the urge to shield remained present in him. If that werewolf came back for seconds and decided Freddie was the better target, he would never forgive himself. Even armed with silver bullets as they both would be when that time came. 
_ _

"My sincerest apologies Mr. Lovejoy." His voice was soft, half asleep as he was the undertones of laughter and friendly teasing were clearly woven into his mumbled words. "I did not know I was in the presence of a master marksman." He pictured Freddie as a gunslinger, not an unpleasant image. "Mhm, he has been, molded from Val's. Silver works like a charm. That's why I took that fancy butter knife with me. Burned that thing real good it did. Maybe I can get you a fork to melt into one of them bullets. 'S cheaper." He could still feel the echo of the hot, disgusting blood on his skin. He briefly wondered where that knife was now, he hadn't taken it with him when he left Marianne's house. He was too tired to give it much proper thought. "Knife must still be at Miss Marianne's place..." He yawned again, sleep was close to taking him. "Hope she's okay..." His eyes closed once more. "We'll get those bastards. We have to." If we don't get them, they'll get us. Two options. Two outcomes. Only one he was willing to accept.
||
Keith
Florian's words were slurred with exhaustion behind his laughter and smiles, and how Freddie ached to tuck him under the blankets once more, to stay beside him and run his fingers through those curls and soothe him into sleep. Though he couldn't imagine the night would go by without restless dreams, at least it *Would* Pass, and close by Freddie would remain until he had to leave for the mine come morning light. He would savour each moment, every passing second until he was forced to disappear. 
He almost hoped Florian would sleep through his leaving, for fear of a goodbye that tugged on his heart too hard to allow him to hold his tongue over his feelings. 

"If it comes for you again - either of you - we'll be ready for it," He promised quietly. Though he was far from understanding the wolf's motives, if it truly had a vendetta against the Barcas, then it held a vendetta against that which Freddie held dear, and he would hold that grudge in turn, and act upon it without mercy. Violence did not come easily to him, but the beast had caused irreparable harm to the family, and that was something that did not merit easy forgiveness. "We'll get the house protected real good. All of us with guns at the doors, just in case. But it won't come to that. If it comes lookin' for you a second time it's a damn fool for thinkin' we're not ready to kill it for tryin'." He bit his lip. "It'll be alright. I swear it'll be alright. We don't gotta talk about it any more for tonight, but you jus' know that nothin's gonna happen to you and Val next moon."

He squeezed Florian's hand tightly, fought the urge to bring it to his lips and kiss his knuckles to seal his promise. Too much, Lovejoy, too fast. *He doesn't want you like that, remember. You're the fool for thinkin' it.*

"You should get some rest, y'know."

He was loathe to say it, knowing that once Florian fell asleep, their conversation would of course end, and he never wanted to stop hearing his voice. But all good things, it was said, must come to an end, and he wasn't about to keep the wounded man awake against his will, nor did he fancy his chances against Florian's heavy eyes and sleepy voice. 
"I ain't goin' anywhere unless you want me to. I gotta go in the mornin', obviously, but I'll go quiet, and I swear I'll be back to see you tomorrow if you're wantin' to see me. Can meet you at the doctor, bring you home, do the evenin' all over again if you need the company. I won't be too late, I promise. An' - it'd be good to know how your brother's holdin' up. You'd never believe how the news carries down that mine, Flo. It's like the secrets get bundled in with the coal carts and stick to ya like the dust. The men'll want to know he's alright." It wouldn't be out of compassion, mind. The miners held a special kind of distaste for those up above their heads in the company.

As he spoke, he'd gently taken hold of Florian's shoulders, and helped him ease his way back to lying down. It wouldn't do him any good to fall asleep where he sat - he needed real rest for the gashes in his leg to heal quick and well - and no doubt he'd wake with an awful crick in his neck if his head were left unsupported. Freddie rearranged the pillows, and drew up the blankets, and if his fingers brushed Florian's cheek as he tucked the fabric under his chin, well, nobody had to know. 
"Close your eyes, darlin'. I'll be right here."

||
Christiana
If the wolf came back again. _If._ So far the attacks on the Barca estate had been a when rather than an if. But ready they'd be. "We'll be ready." He echoed Freddie's words softly. He was a Barca and Barcas didn't go down without a fight. Barcas were stupidly stubborn. Above all, Barcas were survivors, it seemed so were Lovejoys. Freddie told him nothing was going to happen to Valerian or him next full moon. A promise Valerian had made him as well. One of three promises made. One of three promises broken. "Mm, can't be sure Freddie. But we'll give it hell if it tries." 

_The men will want to know if he's alright._ Florian was fairly certain that most miners did not have necessarily have Valerian's best interest at heart. He was too tired to point out to Freddie that the young Lovejoy, who genuinely cared for Valerian, was likely not part of the majority. That a good number of miners unfortunately saw his brother as _being_ S&C, instead of being _used by_ S&C just as the miners were. "You'll have to tell me some of that coal covered news sometime."
_ _
Florian wasn't sure if he was still awake or dreaming. It seemed Freddie was helping him get settled, readjusting pillows and drawing blankets up. He was an adult, he could get settled for sleep himself. But this wasn't an act done out of the believe that he couldn't. This was an act done with ~~love~~ kindness, out of care for him. That made all the difference. _Close your eyes darlin', I'll be right here._ "Mm, you get rest too Freddie." He failed to consider the fact that the only place Freddie possibly could get rest was in his bed, on the floor or at his own place. His eyes closed again and this time sleep took him in fully. 
_ _
Florian slept, if he had nightmares he didn't remember them when he woke up. Maybe his mind knew he was safe, maybe it had sensed Freddie's presence. Just as it noticed that presence slowly, quietly getting up, getting ready to leave. His eyes opened.

_ _
"Freddie" He reached out, grabbed Freddie's hand and gently squeezed it. "_Thank you._" He let go, watching Freddie leave, hoping they'd meet again soon. His heart called out to the one in the miner's chest. If only his ears could hear how Freddie's heart answered it loud and clear.