Chapter Text
ĸíѕѕ мє нαя∂ вєƒσяє уσυ gσ, ѕυммєятíмє ѕα∂ηєѕѕ
Cecil almost always wakes up before Carlos does. It’s in Cecil’s nature to wake as soon as the twilight falls across the desert. He’s never understood it, but it’s always been that way for him. Once upon a time, he found it exasperating. Then again, once upon a time, he didn’t have Carlos.
Carlos, his beautiful, sweet, perfect, wonderful Carlos. Carlos, who curls into Cecil when he sleeps, who wraps his arms around him as if he’s afraid Cecil will disappear in the night. As if Cecil would. Or could.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Carlos mumbles into his shoulders, arms tightening around Cecil’s waist.
“Not,” Cecil insists, grinning boyishly because even now, there’s something about sharing his apartment with Carlos. It makes him think of being a teen home alone with his first boyfriend again, that faint, electric, oh my God, he’s here, alone, with me!
“Are too,” Carlos insists right back. Cecil can feel Carlos’ grin against his shoulders.
It takes a bit of effort because Carlos is strong and stubborn, even mostly asleep, and he hates letting go of Cecil, but eventually Cecil manages to flip himself so he’s face to face with Carlos. He presses his forehead to Carlos’, a warm smile tugging his lips because this, this is what he loves so much: mornings (evenings, technically, given Night Vale’s nocturnal schedule) with Carlos, Carlos’ sleepy morning smile that’s warm and honest and oh-so-open, Carlos’ sleep-rumpled hair that makes him think of a lion’s mane, and the way Carlos’ arms are still wrapped around his waist, how the other man’s hands trace soothing, gentle patterns in the small of his back.
And Cecil is struck by the terrible, fatalistic certainty that this is the last morning he’ll have like this in a long time.
Carlos, who almost drifted back to sleep, looks at him in more alert concern when he feels Cecil stiffen in his arms. “Cecil?” he mumbles, mostly into his boyfriend’s hair as Cecil buries his face into Carlos’ shoulder. “Cecil, what’s wrong?”
He can’t reply, for once in his life, he can’t find the words. Because he just wants Carlos to be safe, more than anything, he wants Carlos to be safe, but everything that’s been happening isn't safe. He could get in so much trouble with his plans, and he doesn’t want Carlos to bear the brunt of that. But, but…
His miserable train of thought is cut off when Carlos’ hands, warm and strong and scarred, cradle his cheeks with such delicacy. Carlos’ dark eyes are completely alert as they consider Cecil’s before they flick up to Cecil’s third eye.
Carlos is one of the few people who know his third eye, just like the rest of his “tattoos”, is more than just ink impressed into skin: it’s a representation of his power, his ability, him. The marks on his skin are his past, his present, and his future for anyone who cares to decipher it. And of all the people Cecil’s known, Carlos is the only one to ever truly look.
“You just saw something didn’t you?” Carlos asks, and Cecil knows his third eye is almost completely open. It hasn't opened entirely for a very long time, and Cecil is grateful it hasn’t. Bad things happen when it’s open all the way.
Cecil nods miserably, arms snaking around Carlos’ shoulders to cling. It’s just a breath into his ear, barely a sound, but Carlos murmurs, “The parade?” Cecil’s grip tightens; that’s all Carlos needs to know. Carlos coaxes one of Cecil’s arms from around his shoulder to press his hand to Cecil’s palm-to-palm. The gesture reassures Cecil, who intertwines their fingers together. Their hands are nearly the same color, but Carlos’ hands are rough and heavy from working with them his whole life; Cecil’s hands are comparatively slim and soft from working at the station and Cecil’s natural resistance to injury.
“It’ll be fine Cecil. Promise.”
Cecil can’t form an articulate response so he kisses Carlos, a hard, desperate kiss. He can feel Carlos start in surprise against him; Carlos melts into the all too easily, hands smoothing across Cecil’s cheeks to rest at the back of his head as Cecil clings to Carlos in a desperate bid to make sure he doesn’t go.
It’s Carlos who breaks the kiss, pupils dilated in his eyes, cheeks flushed, as he rests his hands on Cecil’s cheeks once more. “Cecil Palmer, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. I promise, I’m not leaving you, not now, not ever.”
í Ĵυѕт ωαηтє∂ уσυ тσ ĸησω тнαт, вαву, уσυ'яє тнє вєѕт
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í gσт му яє∂ ∂яєѕѕ ση тσηígнт, ∂αη¢íηg íη тнє ∂αяĸ íη тнє ραℓє мσσηℓígнт.
∂σηє му нαíя υρ яєαℓ вíg вєαυту qυєєη ѕтуℓє, нígн нєєℓѕ σƒƒ, í'м ƒєєℓíηg αℓíνє
”You’re hopeless without t-shirts and jeans, aren’t you?” Cecil teases Carlos, who returns his fond grin with a half-annoyed, half-amused look. “Let me help.”
Carlos acquiesces because they both know Cecil is the dressier one between the two of them. “What’s wrong with t-shirts and jeans?” Carlos demands in his warm, mellow tones as Cecil fidgets with his shirt buttons and smooths down the collar on Carlos’ best dress shirt: a red thing with a black design stitched into the left shoulder.
“Nothing,” Cecil replies lightly. The “as long as you’re in it” goes unspoken but not unsaid. “But I thought it would be fun to dress up a bit and go out.”
“It’ll be nice,” Carlos agrees. Cecil smiles, happy that Carlos looks so eager. “Where did you say we’re going now?” he asks, as both he and Cecil slide into their shoes: dress shoes for Cecil, since that’s all he wears, and boots for Carlos since it works nicely with his red shirt (with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing of the muscle there) and dark jeans that cling in all the right ways. And if Cecil’s looking, well, he has the right to check out his boyfriend!
“This little dance club in Oracle.” Oracle being the city closest to Night Vale at a 30 minute drive. “That okay?”
Cecil’s heart flutters in his chest as Carlos hugs him from behind, resting his chin on Cecil’s shoulder. “Sounds wonderful.” And he sounds genuinely sincere, his tone bright and aware in a way that he normally only gets when talking about science. And his excitement makes Cecil even more eager to go so he tugs Carlos in the direction of the door, practically vibrating in excitement.
σн, му gσ∂, í ƒєєℓ íт íη тнє αíя; тєℓєρнσηє ωíяєѕ αвσνє αяє ѕíźźℓíηg ℓíĸє α ѕηαяє
нσηєу, í'м ση ƒíяє, í ƒєєℓ íт єνєяуωнєяє, ησтнíηg ѕ¢αяєѕ мє αηумσяє
When they finally leave their apartment (and isn’t that amazing, being able to say their apartment), they slide into Cecil’s car and take off. And even though he’s lived in Night Vale since before it was Night Vale, everything feels so new and exhilarating. He credits it to Carlos, who’s grinning so wide, Cecil’s mouth hurts just looking at it. That doesn’t stop him from matching the expression as his tattoos writhe in excitement under his leather jacket.
As the boyfriends speed down Route 800, even bathed in the light from the UFOs that follow them, Carlos doesn’t panic, not like he once would’ve.
Nothing scares him anymore. And nothing should scare his precious Carlos, not with Cecil by his side.
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ĸíѕѕ мє нαя∂ вєƒσяє уσυ gσ
ѕυммєятíмє ѕα∂ηєѕѕ
í Ĵυѕт ωαηтє∂ уσυ тσ ĸησω тнαт, вαву, уσυ'яє тнє вєѕт
It’s hard, being back in Night Vale without Carlos.
Cecil glares at the bottle, determined not to take it. With a huff, a rolls over and curls into as small a ball as he can manage. It shouldn’t hurt this much. Not even close to this much. He’s lost partners before (and Carlos isn’t even dead, just trapped in a desert Other World and it feels like someone kicked him viciously in the ribs when he thinks about it), but the urge to drink has never been a physical sensation, not a near-desperate need to forget everything.
It doesn’t surprise Cecil though. Carlos is special, his Intended, and Cecil couldn’t imagine being happy without him. He tried explaining what an Intended is, and the nearest approximation Carlos could come up with is a soul mate. And a soul mate is so different, doesn’t even come close to describing the connection between your Intended. He never thought he’d have to explain it to someone because everyone in Night Vale knows who their Intended is with absolute certainty.
And then the bond began forming, that inkling, that knowing what your Intended is thinking or feeling at any given moment. With that, it was so exciting to explore and share, to understand Carlos on a more fundamental level than he ever would of thought. And he was, and is, happy that Carlos can feel his joy and understand Cecil more than any other being except his brother.
And that’s it, the thought of his brother, his twin that he hasn’t seen in so long, is the nail in the coffin. He sits up and grabs the bottle in a single jerky motion.
And for one night, memories of his and Carlos’ last morning together on Parade Day are pushed away. All he can think of is void.
í gσт тнαт ѕυммєятíмє, ѕυммєятíмє ѕα∂ηєѕѕ, ѕ-ѕ-ѕυммєятíмє, ѕυммєятíмє ѕα∂ηєѕѕ
gσт тнαт ѕυммєятíмє, ѕυммєятíмє ѕα∂ηєѕѕ, σн, σн, σн, σн, σн
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í'м ƒєєℓíη' єℓє¢тяí¢ тσηígнт, ¢яυíѕíηg ∂σωη тнє ¢σαѕт gσíη' 'вσυт 99
gσт му вα∂ вαву ву му нєανєηℓу ѕí∂єe
í ĸησω íƒ í gσ, í'ℓℓ ∂íє нαρρу тσηígнт
“Cecil, where are we going?” Carlos asks, a laugh in his voice as Cecil tugs him along.
“It’s a surprise! Come on!” Cecil beams, grabbing Carlos’ keys on the way out of their apartment. He pulls a bit too hard, and Carlos stumbles; Cecil immediately freezes, guilt washing over him because stupid, you should be more careful, what if you hurt him? but Carlos only laughs at his exuberance.
“Okay, okay I’m coming!” Carlos grins, and it makes Cecil so happy, knowing Carlos will never judge him, no matter what happens. And he’s so grateful for that because, for all his abilities show him, Cecil will never understand what he did to deserve his dear Carlos.
Cecil drives, leading them out of town way too fast. One of things he’ll never get tired of is driving fast. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to flying, and he’s grateful for even a small taste of it. Especially with Carlos by his side, laughing as wind from the rolled-down window tangles his dark curls.
“Slow down Cecil! You’re going to kill us!” Carlos yells, more joking than serious if his expression is anything to go by. Cecil grins, putting on just a little more gas, going just a little faster because this is perfect. He could die like this, and he’d die happy.
σн, му gσ∂, í ƒєєℓ íт íη тнє αíя; тєℓєρнσηє ωíяєѕ αвσνє αяє ѕíźźℓíηg ℓíĸє α ѕηαяє
нσηєу, í'м ση ƒíяє, í ƒєєℓ íт єνєяуωнєяє, ησтнíηg ѕ¢αяєѕ мє αηумσяє
The sunset tinges everything in red-purple-indigo-black power, and it’s electrifying. Carlos might not see it, but Cecil can see the energy all around him. The fading sun gives way to the moon which radiates cool, clean energy; the telephone wires lining the road sizzle. And all of this energy leaves him feeling like he’s on fire in a good way. He itches with strength. It’s almost like the first stretch of his existence, the raw power he felt when he was first created. This is different though: instead of the power being his to use, it’s simply there as something he’s aware of. And that’s okay.
There’s only a faint hint of light by the time Cecil pulls off the road, nestled between two towering mesas. Perfect.
Carlos doesn’t say anything as Cecil leans over the center console into the back seat to grab a blanket and little bag of food. He does catch Cecil by surprise by catching him in a quick, sweet kiss when Cecil pulls back to the front seat. “So,” Carlos says, eyes dancing and a charming little smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “What is all of this?”
“Go outside and look up,” Cecil instructs as he bustles out of the car to set up their impromptu picnic. It takes a few moments, but he can feel it when it happens and glances up at Carlos. Carlos, who is looking awe-struck as meteors streak across the sky, whose eyes dance with childish excitement, who turns those eyes on Cecil with such awe and love and care that he blushes red.
“Cecil,” he starts, voice filled with hushed astonishment. “What is…? How…?”
Cecil grins, tugging Carlos onto the blanket he settled on the ground. Carlos flops down, arranging his limbs into a comfortable pile; he never once looks away from the sky that’s streaked with lines of light.
He does look down when Cecil wiggles his way onto Carlos’ lap, leaning so he’s back-to-chest with Carlos. Strong arms wrap around his waist as Carlos rests his chin on Cecil’s shoulder. “Cecil… Thank you,” he murmurs, watching the night sky. “This is so beautiful. Thank you so much for showing me this.”
Cecil hums, turning to press a slow, gentle kiss to Carlos’ lips. When they break away, both men are smiling, warm and bright. “Think nothing of it, my dear Carlos.”
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