Work Text:
“and then you take me in
and everything in me begins to feel like i belong…
…i feel like i exist for love”
Ever since he was younger, Fezco had always craved quiet.
There was something comforting about it. It was probably why he was so soft-spoken now, most of the time. Quiet meant many things. It meant no Mouse, no Laurie, no business he had to take care of. It meant Ash was finally asleep, passed out on the couch to the sound of some old action movie, face free from the wrinkles of concern and anger of the day, finally looking as young as he really was. It meant he finally had some time to sit down and relax, as much as he could being who he was, without worrying about who could be waiting for him outside of his door.
It also meant some not so great things.
For the first months after his grandmother got sick, silence had become his worst nightmare. It was tedious and torturous and so goddamn lonely. It was mocking. It meant he, a fucking kid, had to run the business, take care of Ash, take care of her.
The first few nights, Fez hadn't slept a wink. The next week he went to the nicer part of town, leaving Ash in front of the TV and the doors double locked, and bought a little white noise machine. It was a shitty old thing, cheap and barely loud enough to make a difference, but it did. It worked, and it was his, and he still had it now, running on duct tape and pure will, because he sure as hell wouldn’t be getting rid of the only thing that helped him survive within his own mind every night.
It might not be quiet he craves, actually. The right word might be peace.
Peace of mind, peace of life. A little bit of peace and quiet, he often prayed, just one day off from the hell that was life, with all of it responsibilities and miseries.
That wasn't in the cards for people like him, though. The people who were forced to grow up too fast, forced into a world that threatened to swallow him up at every corner, thrown to the wolves without a second glance. He’d taken on his new roles with an unwavering strength that his grandmother would be proud of. She had always been worried about his heart, “too soft” and “too loyal for his own good.”
The woman his grandmother had been, the woman he knew, died that day, and the child he was died with her.
He’d accepted that, watched established adults and rich kids and addicts alike (though the words were often synonymous) lose themselves to these drugs, drugs he sold them, and wondered what life would have been like in a different universe. Wondered if there was a different version of himself that was like them, going to school, returning home to their parents, driving around town with their friends after school.
He couldn’t help but notice they were just as fucked in the head as he was anyway.
He had Ash, though, and Rue, even if she was a mess these days, and his house, and business was good right now. He couldn’t really complain. If this was all he would ever have, well, he was okay with that.
And then he'd met Lexi.
He hadn't been lying when he said talking to her was one of the best parts of his year. He didn't actively hate these parties, per say, but he sure as hell didn't go to them for fun. They were simply business, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn't concerned about Rue. He’d gone for the money and to keep tabs on her, do his best to protect her from the very thing he’d had a hand in starting, because if she hadn’t reached the point where she wanted to get sober, he might as well make sure she stayed alive to get there.
His spot on the couch was his own little bubble, away from the sweaty bodies shaking the floor and the messy hookups in bathrooms and on pool chairs. It was just him and his joint, relaxing in the eye of the storm that was drunk teenagers on New Year’s Eve. It was as quiet as you could get in a place like that, and then suddenly she was there, talking a mile a minute about witches and morality and God, topics he’d never dared to comb through himself.
She crashed through like a fucking wrecking ball, and he'd never even stood a chance.
It was clear to Fez that he'd been the first person—whether that be in awhile or ever, he didn't know—to truly listen to her. He was interested in every single word she said, even more interested in watching the way her lips formed the words of her latest fact. Watching how her eyes crinkled up as she laughed. Trying his damned best to be the reason she did.
He succeeded, many times. It did nothing other than add to the mental "Lexi" folder he hadn't realized he’d actually had (it must have been created the second she sat down on that couch, filling the air with strawberries and flowers and whatever made up the perfume that now haunted his dreams), the image of her skin glowing warm under the lights and the lines of her hands burning themselves into his brain.
What people didn't know, though, was that she was the first person in a long time who’s done the same to him.
Lexi brought a peace to his mind that he hadn’t felt for… he couldn't even remember, honestly. He’d spend forever listening to her talk. She’d talked about God so freely, about a nature documentary she had been wanting to watch (he’d sneakily typed the name in a note on his phone because yeah, he also thought bears were cool as fuck, sue him), about whether or not to crack the spine of your book (he still didn’t fully understand why it mattered, he’d always cracked his), and when he had to go, he realized he hadn’t once thought about why he was there.
For those few hours, she allowed him to exist as a teenager. He forgot about all the shit he’d have to deal with when he stepped out the door, back into the real world. He was just a boy sitting with a pretty girl at a party, trying his very hardest to get her to smile and praying he wouldn’t mess up.
He’d somehow had the courage to ask for her number, fighting to keep the blush off his face as he typed his in and hoping that he actually typed it in correctly (because of course that would be just his luck, giving this incredible, genius girl the wrong number).
Fez was sure he’d ruined it after his stunt with Nate. He heard the way her sister had been screaming, knew that his shirt, balled up on the bathroom floor, was still stained in Nate’s blood. The look in her eyes was still crystal clear in his memory, completely unreadable but somehow feeling like a stake to the heart anyways, carved with the words “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is a good idea” or “It’s too dangerous” or “You seem sweet, but-“ or whatever other miserable thought his brain comes up with that day.
But then she'd shown up at his shop, all dolled up, and her smile ruined him.
Fez had stuttered like a fuckin’ idiot from the second she’d stepped through the door. Her in those pants, lips painted red, had turned his brain to mush so fast that he’d barely remembered how to talk. He doesn’t think he successfully did, his “Lexi Howard!” coming out way too giddy to be anything but disgustingly obvious.
He noticed the way she was twisting her hands, and the nervousness hiding behind that blinding smile she wore, and he began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d come to see him for a reason. Maybe he did have a chance, and she hadn’t been scared off by beating a kid half to death, and she’d actually enjoyed talking to him, broken, battered him, and…and…and…
And then he screwed up. Again. Ashtray had made fun of him the entire way home, cackling on about his stupid stutter and his stupid misstep and his stupid “yeah, no, she’s just staying with me for awhile.” Fez had cuffed him on the head, slammed his door, and let out the most pathetic groan in history.
The ridiculous amount of relief he felt hearing his phone chime an hour later was a secret he’d be taking to the grave.
They became caught in a limbo of sorts, after that, hovering in a space of “will they, won’t they,” a time which had him getting caught smiling stupidly down at his phone one too many times by Ash or Faye (she didn’t really notice, though, too far gone to even register the fact that his dumbass was tripping this hard over a girl). He also saw her at a few parties over the next months, and if Ash had noticed the fact that they went to more of these stupid high school functions, well, he thankfully hadn’t brought it up yet.
Fez had always been in the habit of finding a niche for himself, one where, if he was needed by someone, they would be the one to come to him. He’d talk for a bit, point them over to Ash, and settle back into whatever couch or chair he’d parked himself at, blunt in hand and a frown on his face as he thought of the hours of time he had to burn.
Now, though, he’d been finding spots for two. He was always alone for a bit, but he watched. Watched as she walked in with her friends, most times trailing behind with a frown on her face (she always smiled whenever her friends turned around, though, and he never understood how they didn’t see how much of a front it was). Watched her grab a cup, disappear into a hallway or around a wall with a secretive smile, and then he’d continue to wait.
Sometimes it took ten minutes. “Listen, I know what you told me last time, I get it, but I still can’t understand how people get so invested in sports. Like, is seeing a bunch of overpaid men kick a little ball around for hours is…entertaining? Hockey excluded, obviously, I love hockey, but, like golf? Oh my god, don’t even get me started on how bad golf courses are for our environment-“
Sometimes it took half an hour. “Did you know that great white sharks aren’t actually the most powerful animals in the sea? I saw an article yesterday about how Orcas can actually kill them, by, like, putting them in this trance-like state by flipping them over, it’s called—“
Sometimes an hour. “God, so sorry, Cassie was crying about something. Anyways, about Spider-man-“
Sometimes she didn’t show up at all. Those were the worst, hours spent trading looks through doorways, her apologetic eyes meeting his with a frown. He ended those nights more pissed off than not, sick of seeing her always being dragged along by a friend or a sister, demanding her help with some stupid problem, yet never seemed to do the same for her, at least not from what he’d ever seen.
There was one time, though, that felt different. Fez had had to lap the house four times before finding a place not saturated in beer or occupied with frenzied bodies. He’d settled on a little window bench, a nook filled with stiff throw pillows and old books, carved into a disgustingly-neon pink wall.
It wasn’t the biggest space, clearly a last minute addition to fulfill whatever people-watching whim the owners had had (Fez was sure it had lasted all of, like, a month, and then they’d forgotten about it. That’s what always happened with rich folk). It was private, though, hidden near the front of the house well away from the the kitchen and patio. The floors weren’t vibrating there, pounding music muffled by the drywall and wood, and he’d almost call it peaceful.
Lexi had found him almost immediately after she’d gotten there, gold eyeshadow making her eyes pop and a smile on her face as she chattered about this dog she’d seen on a bike ride that day. He didn’t even hear what she said at first, too focused on the way her collarbones, soft and glowing pale in the warm lighting, were peeking over her shirt (he liked to think he was smooth, but the amused look on her face when he looked back up told him otherwise).
The bench was already tight with one, even more of a squeeze with two. Their legs were pressed together, his tattered blue jeans against her sheer black tights, and if he let himself think about it, he could feel the warmth of her skin through the cloth. She was curled up at such an angle that the flickering hall lights painted little rainbows on her skin, arms around her knees as she leaned back against the wall, hands flying as she talked.
“—and so that’s why they have such big museums, because they stole all of that shit. Take the Golden Temple in India. Filled with more emeralds and jewels and gold than you could ever imagine, and Britain just comes in and fucking takes it. Again, take the-“
He’d noticed her shivering pretty soon after she’d sat down, but he also had noticed that she had seemed unusually tense, so he passed it off as that. Something had probably happened with Cassie on the way over. He never liked to pry, so he hadn’t asked, but she hadn’t stopped, and he was getting concerned.
“You cold?” She startled at his question, stopping her rant mid sentence as if she hadn’t been expecting it (or, if she had, was trying to pretend that she wasn’t).
”Huh? Oh, uh,” she laughed sheepishly, hands rubbing at her legs as she met his eyes, “nah, I’m fine.”
He frowned, eying the goosebumps that lined her arms. “You’re shiverin,’ Lexi. It’s colder out tonight, no need to lie to me.” She spluttered, red lips drawing down into a pout that almost made him regret asking. Almost.
“Fez, no,-“
”Here.” He stood up, shrugging himself out of his sweater. He’d only worn a t shirt under, so he knew he’d be chilly, but he didn’t mind. Better him than her.
“No, Fez, you’ll get cold. I’m fine, I swear-“
“Lexi, you put this sweater on right now. You’re fuckin’ cold, put it on. I mean it.” His words, though his voice was ridiculously soft, left no room for argument. He watched the fight drain from her shoulders with a sigh, pressing his lips together to hide his satisfied smile.
His sweater dwarfed her. Fez always preferred baggier clothing. It was both a comfort thing and a “gives you space to hide a gun” thing, and in that moment he’d never been happier, watching her roll up the sleeves and fold her knees under the wool. Seeing her in his sweater did things to him, made his stomach flip and heart melt and ears burn fiery red, but he’d hid it under a smirk and a gentle nudge as he sat back down. It was already embarrassing enough how much she affected him just by existing. No need to clue her in.
“Still not cold, huh?” he teased, relishing in the sight of her smile and the shove of her shoulder against his.
“Shut up.”
They hadn’t spoken much after that. He could tell she was embarrassed, and his heart felt disgustingly warm at the thought that he did that. He did that, caused her dimpled cheeks to grow pink and her, the smartest, most talkative person he’d ever met, to grow quiet. The deep red of his sweater matched the ribbon already tying back her hair and the makeup coating her lips.
He thought she looked like an angel.
He’d told her as much as he’d pushed himself up to go, Ashtray already glaring at him from the doorway. A whisper—a confession, almost—of how beautiful he thought she looked and how he had really enjoyed spending the night with her and how he really hoped he’d see her again soon. The ribbing in the car ride home had been well worth seeing the way she failed to hide a smile as she muttered goodbye.
Fez hadn’t noticed she’d kept the sweater until after his head had hit the pillow. He fell asleep to thoughts of brown hair and sweet smiles and his newfound knowledge that Lexi Howard looks damn good in red (even better in his clothes, too).
Texts became more and more frequent, after that, spanning from random questions (Fez had quickly discovered her favorite topics to rant about, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t try his best to ask about them), to different article links of stuff she’d mentioned sometime before, to texts about Rue (those were the worst of them, heavy with pain and regret and worry even through the screen).
She blamed herself. He’d known ever since she told him.
By then, they’d had progressed to more shop visits, soft conversation and shy smiles becoming the most coveted part of his days. He knew there were shops much closer to her, in the safer part of town, but she never said anything, and he wasn’t stupid enough to bring it up and risk her leaving.
That day, she’d been perched on his counter, phone chiming with texts from her sister pestering her about god knows what (“the only words I saw were ‘bra’ and ‘lost,’ and I already know I can’t deal with that right now”), wrapped up in the blanket he’d started keeping around as the days grew colder and he spotted her shivering. He’d asked about Rue, asked how they’d met, because he knew they met in preschool (yeah, he remembered— This was “Lexi,” “Rue’s friend,” “since preschool”).
Five minutes later they’d ended up where they were now, words solemn and dripping with mutual melancholy for someone they both loved, and then she’d whispered, so quietly Fez thought he’d misheard, that it had been her fault.
Her lips had been trembling, eyes shining with tears she refused to let fall, and all he had wanted to do was wrap her up in his arms and never let go (he also wanted go back in time and stop himself from ever letting Rue buy in the first place, but that thought wasn’t a new one, so he spared it no attention).
Fez wasn’t used to this. This—her, them hanging out, them being this open—was new for him. He wasn’t able to get himself to rewrite the already-blurred lines between them, just brave enough to cross those already there, the ones that restricted them to temporary contact, to fleeting smiles and warm cheeks, so he’d held out a hand and just watched.
Watched her eyes widen at the offering, fingers slipping shyly into his. Watched her wipe wet cheeks with the blanket and shove her hands to her eyes with a sigh, one that gave away just how exhausted she was, and he started worrying again. He knew she always stayed up too late, her genius brain writing what would be the next Broadway play or something (she always laughed at him when he said that, but he meant it). She needed to rest, once in awhile.
She’d laughed, then, a stuffy, shaky sound, muttering about how embarrassing she was and how she should go, my sister is probably worried (and god knows that’s not true, but she could pretend), but a soft squeeze of her hand put an end to that real quick, just as he’d hoped.
She hadn’t let go of his hand until a customer had shown up demanding his attention, and even then, it took her a second. The warmth on his palm lingered long after she’d pedaled away.
One of the best things about Lexi (in addition to literally everything about her) was how genuinely kind she was. She never judged him, never got impatient when it took him time to find the right words to say, never laughed when he mentioned some new thing he’d seen or read about the night before.
Fez loved to read. He hadn’t ever gotten the formal education most people have, sure, but he’d had a fuck ton of free time, and T.V. during the day was always shit, so he’d gotten into the habit early on. His grandmother never said a word, her skeptical glances getting her feelings across quite effectively, but every year on his birthday, there was a newspaper-wrapped stack sitting proudly on the counter, and he knew she was proud.
Most people didn’t believe him. Years ago, Rue had laughed when she’d shown up, high as fuck, and caught him with a book in his hand. Laughed her ass off at the site of his chicken scratch handwriting in the margins and asked him who the fuck he thought he was (“man, you can’t even read the goddamn newspaper half the time, fuck are you doing?”).
That had hurt, but she was right, he guessed, because what business did he have reading like he was “some kinda private school kid?” (her words, not his). So he’d gotten into the habit of ‘selective cleaning,’ as Ash called it. Never cared much about magazines on the couch or shoes left on the floor, but anytime someone stopped by, his books were tucked carefully next to his bed, hidden away, waiting to be read as he fell asleep.
Lexi, obviously, was not like most people. The second time she’d stopped by, her eyes immediately zeroed in on his copy of ‘Frankenstein,’ tattered from years of love and constant use, dog eared pages and all. Fez was in the kitchen going through his mail, not really paying attention until she spoke up.
“You read?” Fez’s heart sunk. This had been going so well, they’d been doing so well, and now of course this happened.
He didn’t turn around, too nervous to see the look on her face. “Nah.”
He tensed when he felt a hand lay itself gently onto his shoulder. He could see the waves of her hair out of the corner of his eye, could feel the warmth of her palm through his shirt, imagined a burning red mark, ‘Lexi Howard’s hand,’ being left behind on his freckled skin.
A soft squeeze, though, and he turned to her with scarily little resistance, blue eyes meeting her sparkling brown, because if this was how it would all end, well, the least he could do would be memorize her face a last time.
”Have you finished this yet?” He wanted to shake his head, deny that it was his (he didn’t know whose it would be, but, whatever), but there was something in her eyes that made him freeze.
He could tell she was hiding a smile, one of the big toothy ones she always wore when she was excited but refused to admit it, and god, was he an idiot.
This was Lexi. Genius, strong, smart Lexi. Of course she’d be excited.
His voice was embarrassingly hesitant when he finally answered her. “Yeah, I, um, I been readin’ it since, like, middle school or some shit. Used to be Nana’s.”
Fez paused, weighing his options. The joy blooming on her face was all the invitation he needed to keep talking. “Yeah. The monster, science-y shit is cool. I like books like that.”
He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed at how stupid he’d probably sounded before Lexi spoke up. “Oh, perfect! If you like sci-fi horror type stuff, I have so many other ones that you’d like. Like, this book is great, Shelley is an incredible author, but there’s this other book that’s really similar but much less dense, much easier to get into. I, uh, I can bring them by the shop later, if you want?”
Her voice did that breathy thing at the end it always did when she’d talked a bunch, the thing that made his chest feel all warm and heavy.
The thought of her at his shop again, coming over with a book, staying like she belonged there, was enough for his brain to throw all thoughts of logic out the window. “Yeah, Lexi. I’d like that.”
She let out a surprised noise. “Oh! Oh, yeah, okay. Yeah.”
He laughed. “Yeah?”
A laugh of her own, warm and twinkling like the light streaming in from the window. “Yeah.”
Fez felt his ears grow warm at the sight of her smile, and he turned back down to his mail before he could say anything stupid, like “what’s your favorite book to read” or “you look really pretty” or, the worst, “I think I really like you, and I’m sorry.”
Ash had talked to him about her, just once. It was less ‘talked to him’ and more ‘sat down, gave him his opinion, and left no room for argument.’
Lexi had just left with a sweet smile and squeeze on the shoulder, some leftover brownies on the counter. She’d stuck a little sticky note on it, doodled some bears in the corners, and he’d fallen even harder.
Fez hadn’t noticed Ash come in from the kitchen, an uneasy look on his face as he watched his older brother, soft and speechless over a girl.
"This shit isn't good for you, man. It makes you weak. Vulnerable."
Fez’s head turned, noticed the closed off expression and the concern, hidden so deeply that no one except Fez himself would have ever noticed, in his voice. Struck first by just how familiar the words were, he instinctively glanced at the closed door.
"Yeah, man, but..." he looked up, a wry smile on his face, "I know you always got my back."
Ash snickered, a sharp, mean sound that Fez knew he didn't really mean. "Damn fuckin' right I do. You'd be dead already if I wasn't here."
Fez had simply shrugged because, well, he couldn’t argue the facts. Ash kept him alive, and he kept Ash alive, no matter the cost. It’s why they were still sitting there, spilling cereal in the kitchen every morning, even with all the shit they’d had to deal with.
"For real, though, I don't hate her. She's nice," and god, Fez thought, wasn't that an understatement, "too nice..." Ash paused. He froze at the pointed tone of his brother, still distracted by the approval (yes, approval, "I don't hate her" is the nicest Ash gets) he somehow got earlier. "...To get wrapped up in all our shit."
It hurt a bit, to hear that. It felt like a punch to the gut, actually, but he knew Ash was right.
Fez wasn't like her. He was made of gunshots and jagged edges and bleeding, bruised knuckles, brought up by loss and violence and forced to grow up way too fast. Lexi was... he can't even describe. She was the warmth of the sun on a cloudless day, the soft feeling of flannel pants on his skin and the smell of baked goods she always brought to the shop, claiming she'd made too many the night before. She was smart, pure, kind, fearless. She was everything Fez wasn't, and he knew that.
He knew that, had known that from the beginning, but if there was another thing he knew well it was how to survive, so he took all those moments and things and thoughts and tucked them close to his heart because it was better for her to stay there, a safe distance, away from his business and his baggage and the enemies he’d made along the way, where she won't get hurt.
He knew all too well what would happen if he ever let someone new, someone who wasn't Ash, in, wise beyond his years from past experience and still-there scars and faded bruises. If he lost her, he had no idea what he’d do, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
-
It’s a few weeks later. Fez is washing dishes in the kitchen, unforeseen business leading to too many dinners going uncleared and teetering piles of plates and forks, when his phone rings.
He freezes. No one ever called him this late at night, at least not anyone good. Wiping his sudsy hands on his shirt with a wince, he grabs his phone and prepares himself for the worst when he sees his screen lit up blue and pink, Lexi’s smiling face in the center of it.
What the fuck?
“Lexi?” He didn’t bother with hiding his confusion with her calling him. She never called him, and she sure as hell never called him this late.
“Hey, Fez.”
His stomach flips at the shakiness in her voice. “What’s wrong? You good?”
“Uh…” a sniffle over the line, “honestly? Not really. I’m so sorry for calling you this late. Oh, god, wait, if you were asleep. and I woke you up, I’d feel so bad. I am so so-“
He cuts her off, knowing exactly what she was going to say, having heard it endless times before. ”Nah, cut that shit out, Lexi, what’s wrong? Why you cryin’?”
Silence for a bit. The only sounds were the groans of their laundry machine (it was on its last limb, and Fez was dreading the day he’d have to go buy a new one) and his uneven breathing, too worried to even bother with his usual facade of calm. Lexi was crying, and she never cried, and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle this molten ball of panic burning in his chest.
”I, uh, got into this huge fight with Cassie. And my mom.” A bitter laugh. “It’s stupid, actually. Lot’s of yelling and crying, lots of bitchy things said. I just… I…”
He lets out a soft hum of encouragement, to show he’s there, gentle voice at odds with the way his hand was balling up, tense, squeezing into a fist, itching to hit something.
“God, I…. I’m sitting outside because Cassie’s in our room and my mom is passed out on the couch and I can’t deal with it anymore, I can’t watch them waste their lives away in so much pain, so I’m sitting on the curb crying and I called you because you’re the only person who I can even imagine being with right now without going insane, and I know this sounds stupid because my entire life is kind of stupid, but I really, really need to see you, Fez.”
And god, the things that does to his heart, hearing all that. He snatches the keys from the hook on the wall, shoves whatever shoes he could find on, and starts towards the door. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Oh, I, uh,” he can hear shame creeping into her voice—which, what the fuck, why was she feeling ashamed—”I’m outside, already, actually.” Her sheepish laugh goes unheard as Fez rushes to the door, a one track mind of “Lexi, Lexi, get to Lexi,” and he curses as he fumbles with the deadbolts and then he finally gets the door open and oh.
She’s standing there at the end of his front walk, cheeks wet and eyes red, arms wrapped around herself as if it wasn’t fucking freezing out, why didn’t she have a fucking coat on, goddamnit. A sniffle, a shy wave, a sheepish smile. She’s a mess, clearly, yet Fez feels his heart swell at the sight of her, here.
He barely even glances at her—glowing from the flickering streetlight that the neighbors still hadn’t replaced from The Firework Incident of three years ago, legs long and lean in her flannel shorts—didn’t have time to, before he’d run to her and bundled her in his arms.
She melts immediately. Chest shaking as she failed to hold back her tears, Fez stumbles, readjusts so they’re stable, arms wrapping around her and pulling her in, away from anything that could hurt her anymore.
He murmurs soft things to her, nonsense, really, too rattled by how panicked she seems to even bother worrying about what he should or shouldn’t do. “Lexi, Lexi, Lexi,” quiet rumbles from his chest, hands slowly rubbing her back to try and warm her up.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The term slips out without a second thought, but he doesn’t even notice, too busy with the feeling of her hands clutching her shirt and of his chest slowly growing damp from her tears, too worried about her to do anything but hold her and not let go.
“I’m just… I’m so fucking tired, Fez.” He frowns at the way she laughs, sharp and bitter and nothing he was used to hearing from her.
“Lexi…”
“I give and I give and I give until I reach this point where I have nothing left, but they still need my help, so why would I stop? I just can’t handle it right now, there’s too much going on but I can’t stop because they need me, they’re my family, she’s my sister, what kind of sister would I be if I couldn’t help her? But then I have nothing left for myself, which is fine, because no one really gives a shit anyways, but, god, Fez, I think I’m going insane and I’m fucking terrified, and, and-“
Fez shushes her, pulls her head back to his chest and lets her cry. Lets her sob, heart wrenching and loud in the quiet of the morning, because he isn’t great at this and he doesn’t know what else to do. He can’t help but tilt his own head to the sky, blinking away the burning in his eyes because this is about Lexi and Lexi’s pain, and he has to be here for her, for whatever she needs and could ever need again.
It hurt, though, hearing the shit she was saying. It hurt because she’s hurting, and it hurt because he knows exactly what she meant.
They both grew up too fast, saddled with the responsibilities of people who’d gone too soon. Him with his grandmother, with Ash and the business. Her with holding her entire household together, holding up her mother and her sister and somehow everything she did, too.
He knows exactly how she feels, and it makes him wrap his arms around her even tighter, pull her closer to his chest, because he may not be great with words, but he can do this.
She was stronger than she gave herself credit for. Fez firmly believed that she was one of the strongest people he’d ever met, fearless and smart and so many other things most people would never be. He just wished she saw herself like he did.
He doesn’t know how long they stand there for, but eventually he feels her move to rub her eyes, tucking herself further into his arms.
“Lexi.” A whisper, barely more than a breath, really, filled with reverence and admiration and every other possible word covering how hopelessly enraptured he is. How enraptured he has been, ever since she sat down on that lumpy couch and he’d been pulled right in.
She emerges from where she’d been pressing against his chest. His stomach clenched at the sight of her swollen eyes, reignited rage simmering in his stomach because it’s not fair. Not fair that this incredible girl, someone who gives more and cares more and loves harder than anyone he’s ever met, has to feel this shitty so often.
Fez can’t do anything but just stare at her, for a little bit. Stares at the flecks of caramel in her eyes, the faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. Stares at her like he would the most valuable painting in the world, the way she deserves to be admired.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
A small smile pulls at her lips. “Hey, yourself.”
Lexi breaks eye contact quickly, hands coming up to hide her face with a groan. “God, this is so embarrassing,” she mutters, words muffled by skin.
Tension he had’t realized he had drains from his body at the sound of her no longer crying, relieved beyond belief even with the worry that came with it. “Nah. I’m glad you called. Rather you come here then freeze your ass off sittin’ on a curb somewhere.”
“Yeah? Even at one in the morning?” Her voice, though still stuffy, is teasing, eyes sparkling, and Fez feels his stomach swoop.
“‘Specially then.”
Everything about her made him feel warm, as disgustingly sappy as that is. Ash would never let him live it down if he admitted that, but seeing the way her eyes lit up and cheeks blushed red made the risk worth it.
He watches her, the way her eyes crinkle as she smiles, the way she does when she’s surprised (as if it was surprising to hear he wanted her to call, as if he doesn’t spend hours wishing to hear her voice), and that just does it for him.
“I gotta tell you somethin’.”
Her eyebrows crease at his words. “What’s up?
Fez pauses. Takes a minute to think and gather his words because this is Lexi, and she deserves to hear just how incredible he thinks he knows she is. She deserves to hear his thoughts in the way she talks, organized and planned and right, because he knows she won’t believe him otherwise.
She deserves his best, and hell if he doesn’t try his goddamn hardest to give it.
“You are… the most…incredible person I’ve ever met.”
She gasps, quietly, so quiet he wouldn’t have heard her if she wasn’t still inches away, and he fights a smile.
Off to a solid start.
“You gonna do things, great things, better than everyone else from this fucked up town, and I’m jus’ the lucky mother fucker who gets to watch.”
He watches the way her eyebrows crease in confusion, lips parting around words that never materialized.
“Ever since you sat down on that couch at that party, my brain been,” a pause, a rough swallow, “you turn my brain into mush. Sounds stupid, I know, but you did.”
His voice is soft, softer than he’d ever admit, and it was her doing. He doesn’t bother to fight the blush climbing his neck, the way his lips turn up into the smile he only ever wore with her. He’s made it this far, after all.
“You do things to me I ain’t ever felt before. I don’ know what I done to deserve a girl like you in my life, but I know I thank God every goddamn night.” His voice is a whisper, now, words uttered like a prayer, because in his eyes, she’s divine, an angel sent for a reason he knows didn’t deserve but will never question.
If He thought Fez did something worthy of knowing her, well, he’d do his very best to proven Him right.
He feels the exact moment the air changes. Feels it in the way she stiffens, the way she pulls away a little bit but stays tucked in his arms.
“What do you mean by that, Fez?” Her voice is low, unsteady. “I think I know, I think I get it, but… if I’m wrong…” a broken laugh, the slightest shake of a head, “I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”
With that, what else was he supposed to do than be honest?
“I really like you, Lexi.” A whispered confession—breath steaming in the cold spring air—intimate and nervous and excited. A confession of two kids who found peace in one another, found things they’d never been afforded before.
She unraveled him, made his heart soft and stomach flip just by standing next to him, by existing in the same space, the same world as his roughed up self with his jagged edges and harrowing baggage. The second they’d met, she’d reeled him right in. He’d never once wanted to fight it, let himself get roped into the wonderful person that was Lexi Howard: sister, friend, author, genius, Shark Week’s number 1 fan, avid-baker but horrible cooker, cat-lover, champion at Monopoly, Ash’s “new favorite person” (his words), Fez’s anchor and angel.
Herself.
“Really?” Her voice is trembling, cracking at the edges. Fez can see the doubt in her eyes, written on her face, and he wishes he could go back to every single moment that caused it and rewrite them all.
His hands on her shoulders move, so, so gently, one to her neck and one down to her waist. He pulls her back in, pulse racing at the fact that damn, he just said that, just told her the all of the thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of the things he knows she needed to hear, and he’s willing to be the person to say them, say them over and over until she finally starts to see herself the way he does.
In this moment, he’s convinced can see the entire world in her eyes.
“Dead serious. When have I ever lied to you, Lexi Howard?”
A soft smile, a choked sob, a shaky laugh breaking the tension-filled air.
The kiss tastes like berries and smoke and everything he’d ever ached for.