[ Mace is still counting every laugh, every smile, even the smallest huff of breath he can get out of Ian as a solid win. Registers through to him even with his mind as disoriented and doubting as it is right now, because each one of those is snatched directly from the claws of this fucking place and every damned thing in it. He'd never taken himself for the type, but maybe the fact is he just hadn't met the person who could elicit that out of him.
Until now, of course. Fowler. He mouths it in the darkness, unseen, and decides he likes it. It's a good name. It fits Ian like a well-made shirt, it ... man, if they'd met somewhere else, a lifetime away, he thinks he might've started calling Ian by that name, same as he himself goes by his last. Although it's strange to think of that right now, as attached as he’s gotten Mr. Fowler’s given name.
Ian doesn't stop there, though. Keeps going with his birthdate next, and at first Mace’s brain doesn’t quite catch up with what he’s hearing; he smiles at Virgo despite himself, and it’s only when Ian’s telling him his mom’s name — Olivia, which has a sweet, musical sound to it — that he finally realizes something’s off.
1985. Mace’s fingers twitch and tighten briefly around Ian's, but otherwise he gives no indication of his surprise, his voice still pitched low, but no longer strained. Amused, if anything. ]
I see we agree on the two most important things in any relationship.
[ Doesn’t think twice about using that word to describe the two of them, or how that might come across, because it comes naturally to him.
Ian can stabilize him with just a hand to his cheek, sustained eye contact, and the reminder that he’s not alone in this. Ian’s trying to distract him from the spiralling tumult of his thoughts, and more importantly, he’s succeeding. Ian’s the only thing he trusts right now, even more than he trusts himself.
What else is he gonna call what they have? He’s seen spouses with less feathers in their cap. ]
Cheese, and politics. [ Also religion, in a way, and Mace’ll get to that and the other stuff. But first, with a curious note in his voice: ]
So you’re a fall baby, huh? Figures. That’s my favourite season. [ It figures because he Likes You, Ian. ] Didn’t see much of it where I was born. Texas. But I got no real affinity for the place; we moved when I was a toddler. 2030.
[ A little bit of an urge to look over his shoulder at this point, but now that Ian's got him focused again, Mace stays facing forward as they walk, alert like a sheepdog. ]
no subject
Until now, of course. Fowler. He mouths it in the darkness, unseen, and decides he likes it. It's a good name. It fits Ian like a well-made shirt, it ... man, if they'd met somewhere else, a lifetime away, he thinks he might've started calling Ian by that name, same as he himself goes by his last. Although it's strange to think of that right now, as attached as he’s gotten Mr. Fowler’s given name.
Ian doesn't stop there, though. Keeps going with his birthdate next, and at first Mace’s brain doesn’t quite catch up with what he’s hearing; he smiles at Virgo despite himself, and it’s only when Ian’s telling him his mom’s name — Olivia, which has a sweet, musical sound to it — that he finally realizes something’s off.
1985. Mace’s fingers twitch and tighten briefly around Ian's, but otherwise he gives no indication of his surprise, his voice still pitched low, but no longer strained. Amused, if anything. ]
I see we agree on the two most important things in any relationship.
[ Doesn’t think twice about using that word to describe the two of them, or how that might come across, because it comes naturally to him.
Ian can stabilize him with just a hand to his cheek, sustained eye contact, and the reminder that he’s not alone in this. Ian’s trying to distract him from the spiralling tumult of his thoughts, and more importantly, he’s succeeding. Ian’s the only thing he trusts right now, even more than he trusts himself.
What else is he gonna call what they have? He’s seen spouses with less feathers in their cap. ]
Cheese, and politics. [ Also religion, in a way, and Mace’ll get to that and the other stuff. But first, with a curious note in his voice: ]
So you’re a fall baby, huh? Figures. That’s my favourite season. [ It figures because he Likes You, Ian. ] Didn’t see much of it where I was born. Texas. But I got no real affinity for the place; we moved when I was a toddler. 2030.
[ A little bit of an urge to look over his shoulder at this point, but now that Ian's got him focused again, Mace stays facing forward as they walk, alert like a sheepdog. ]