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Hassel returns home from a long streak of battling. He aimlessly throws his gloves on the table and at once goes to tidy up the living room before going to wash his hands to start cooking. Brassius watches him float around the room doing this and that, so distracted that he misses Brassius sitting there looking at him doing all of that.
Brassius picks up the leather gloves discarded by Hassel and studies them for a moment. He puts them on and notices how much bigger they are on him than on Hassel. He brings them to the kitchen to greet his love properly and see why he’s so distracted.
Hassel is chopping carrots, and so the air smells sweet since the carrots are in season and freshly picked from the garden. Brassius steals one, but Hassel takes his wrist and stops him from eating it.
“Why do you have my gloves on?” Hassel questions him, eyeing his glove.
He kisses his cheek. “I like them. I’m sorry you lost your match today.”
“How did you know?”
Brassius puts the gloves on the counter and goes back to him. “You threw them down as if they disgusted you. And you look grouchy.”
Hassel takes that in without argument and holds up a piece of a carrot for Brasssius, which Brassius eats right away. Sweet and perfect, just as he thought.
He takes Hassel’s left hand into his own, removes the knife, and kisses the ring on his finger, and then along each finger, admiring them as long as possible.
Hassel allows this and grows quiet. His other hand does not attempt to continue prepping.
He takes his time and turns Hassel’s hand over to pepper the callouses with kisses as well. Those wounds came from years of playing strings, and these other scars came from training dragons. Hassel’s hands look aged but perfect, so perfect.
“You know,” Hassel starts after a while, “that was the first sign for me that something was always going to be different. I couldn’t afford to be different in my other life; I had to fit into a mold that was made for me before I was born. There was always that unsaid disappointment, from something so simple as my being left-handed. I was very young when I realized I would always have to work for the approval of my family—forget wanting to pursue anything for myself.”
He rubs his husband’s hand to release the tension building in there. “Hass, I don’t kiss your hands nearly enough.”
“Brassie, I’m not telling you this for sympathy.”
“That’s too bad because I wanted to spoil you all night just now.”
Brassius pulls him, easily, to sit on a loveseat back in the other room. After sitting on his lap, he grabs a small bottle of lotion and starts applying some of the vanilla and lavender scented cream to his hands. “I adore your beautifully sculpted hands.”
“Mmm, when my father noticed the callouses starting to form, he ordered a nurse to file them down and scolded me for damaging my hands—but now, guess what the punishment was for using my left hand in school?”
Brassius murmurs little sweet things while massaging his hands. “I’m so sorry. I love these hands so much. You’ve cared for them so well, even after all this time, dear Hass.”
Brassius smiles as he recalls how much he taught Brassius about taking care of his hands. He kisses the middle of the palm of his hand. Wasn’t it just the other day when Brassius would bite his hands when stressed? When he’d hit a desk or table when in a tizzy over something bothersome?
Hassel showed him and continues to show him how to respect his hands. How would he create without them? How would he feed himself? How would he reach out and touch something he loved?
That, and when a certain young man caught his eye, he wanted to woo him. So, he needed to care for himself to enjoy a life with him.
Hassel takes his hands now too and looks them over. “Look how well that burn healed, Brassie. You can barely see it anymore. And you’re not nearly as dry as you’ve been since that last project. Remember how badly the clay would dry you out?”
“I saw to it to rest them by taking a few days off to have them heal before starting the next project.” He reaches his hand to stroke his cheek. “I know it breaks your heart when they’re so damaged.”
“It does. Only because I care about you, and if your hands hurt…”
“They don’t, I’m okay.”
“I’m glad.” Hassel takes both of his hands with one of his own and kisses them each. “Now, I must continue with this evening’s affairs.”
Brassius puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head. “Darling, you’re exhausted. I’ll heat something up. Rest your hands.” He hesitates before asking, “do the gloves bother your hands?”
“No, no, you were right: I lost the last match and tossed them the moment I came home.” Hassel insistently tries to get up, but Brassius keeps him down.
“Hassel, don’t you dare. You’re not cooking tonight.”
“I need to keep busy somehow.”
“Fine, follow me,” Brassius agrees and waltzes back into the kitchen with Hassel’s hand in his.
He starts taking things out to heat up, rice and vegetables with chicken from a couple days ago. Hassel hovers nearby, moving around now and then, a pleasant presence though confused about his role. Eventually he settles his arms around Brassius by the stovetop, hugging his chest from behind and resting his head on Brassius’s head.
“Rice and chicken? That should do just fine.” Hassel hums, and it travels through Brassius.
“Found something to do with your hands?”
Hassel squeezes him tightly, kisses the top of his head, and mutters into his ear, “I know you wanted me here to give you attention.”
“Once you finish eating, I’ll give you something else to do with your hands~”
Brassius serves two bowls of rice and gives Hassel his. They eat and talk about a lot of nothing, standing by the counter, entranced with each other. Brassius encourages him to talk about the battle he lost, just to hear him speaking some more. He explains things with so much passion; his students had no idea how lucky they were.
After they finish, they walk into the living room, and Hassel’s eyes land on the piano. Brassius notices and sits on the piano bench as if requesting a song. Hassel obliges and sits next to him.
He plays the first thing that comes to mind, and Brassius hums along.
“Go on, Brassius, you can sing.”
Not as well as you.
Hassel hums the tune to help him start, so he humors him and sings. Hassel smiles like a fool and sings along with him, he can’t help himself, music just comes to him. It’s inescapable.
Now they both sing, but Hassel stops playing and pulls Brassius to his feet. Brassius lets him, curious but willing to go along with anything.
“We should take a dance class together! We could learn some easy little steps, right?”
Brassius scoffs at him and positions his hands as one would for a ballroom dance. He puts Hassel’s hand on his shoulder and interlocks their fingers on the other. “‘Take a class’, you silly old man.”
Brassius guides him through an easy set of steps and smiles up at him. “Now we just need music while we dance.”
Hassel laughs and pulls him to his chest. “I’ll take you dancing someday, Brassie, but I’m exhausted now…”
“Of course, even dragons need their sleep.”
Hassel chuckles tiredly at that comment. He walks away while slowly pulling off his work clothes, leaving Brassius in the middle of the room for the bedroom. He follows him and helps his tired husband out of his shirt.
“Have you ever lost to a challenger that was a former student?”
“Oh, absolutely, and it’s an emotional scene every time. You know that young lady that insisted on painting with her hands on every project? The one who always left her work space with paint on her hands all the way up to her elbows? She won our match today with an exciting team, unexpected and effective just the same. When students win with a team they adore, like she did, it just feels like we did it: we helped a student achieve something good. And with that, they can do anything.”
“That’s sweet, but you still looked devastated, Hass.” Brassius pushes him into bed before changing into more comfortable clothes for sleeping. “Afraid you’re losing your edge?”
“Yes, actually,” Hassel admits and sighs to himself. “But I know it’s silly. And I am proud of her.”
Brassius falls into bed and pushes himself up to Hassel’s chest, looking up to meet his bright eyes. “It is ridiculous because you couldn’t be more powerful. Otherwise Geeta would’ve taken away your gloves.”
“I suppose.”
“No, no, I’m right. If she even smelled weakness setting in, you know she’d replace you in a heartbeat.”
Hassel eventually nods to him. “Yes, you’re right. But then we could do things we can’t do now, like travel…”
Brassius twists his face, conflicted with the notion that he would ever retire from battling. Still, Hassel retiring would be inevitable someday. “Okay, then you pick the day you retire, don’t let her kick you out, and we’ll go on little adventures all over the world and make art out of everything we see.”
Hassel lets out a calm breath as if blowing away his worries. As he slowly drifts away, Brassius plays with the idea in his head for a while: all the places they could go, all the things they could do. As long as they have something to look forward to, they’ll continue to be happy enjoying life with all the joy in the world no matter what life throws at them.