Work Text:
“Trey, get in the car!”
“Mmmghmr.”
“Oh, you’re drunk alright.”
Stumbling to and fro, Trey clumsily made his way to Cater’s sedan.
He may have gone a little overboard with the liquor. But isn’t it good to let loose every once in a while?
It’s so hard being that dependable neighborhood man to despicable neighbors that let their dogs crap all over your lawn. It’s even harder when you’re married to a man you don’t even love.
“I think I’m going to vomit…”
“Here! Use this bag I brought.”
Delirious with nausea, Trey emptied the physical contents of his stomach into the thin plastic.
“You good, babe?”
The green-haired man hummed in agreement, slowly crawling into the back of the car where he would lay.
“Thank you, Cater.”
“No problem, you’re my husband!” Cater started up the sedan with a sickeningly sweet smile. “In sickness and in health, right? You would do the same for me.”
And he would. It was Trey’s second nature to care for those around him. He felt a need to protect them, especially with Cater.
Since their years at NRC, Trey has come to find Cater to be delicate. Like a piece of fine china that needed to be handled with care, otherwise the priceless object would be changed beyond repair.
Cater confided in Trey many times, regarding his past, family, and problems with identity. Yet he never noticed that Trey wouldn’t do the same.
The two were seen as thick as thieves, known as the reliable duo to underclassmen. It was no surprise to them that they eventually ended up together.
Cater was the one to confess first, with a heart in his hand and a bouquet of red roses in the other. He thanked the baker for his patience with him and hoped he would reciprocate the same.
Trey of course did. Drying and framing the flowers in a mount that now hangs in the couple's living room. And the rest was history.
In reality, Trey just didn’t want to hurt Cater’s feelings. As the brother of Heartslabyul, it was his job to repair not wreck them. Knowing how fragile Cater is, he didn’t want to be the one to hurt him even more.
Trey knew of Cater’s history of suicidal ideation. He could not bear the burden of being the one to set his ideals into action.
Although trembling, Trey accepted the flowers and he accepted the same for the next 5 years.
He hid in his bed in shame that day. Wondering how to come clean about his deceit. But the next morning, when he saw the ginger all dolled up, a smile beaming on his face, he decided another day to keep him happy wouldn’t hurt. And the days dwindled into weeks, which eventually turned into long withstanding years.
Trey believed the longer that this went on, the more his feelings for the man would transform. He swallowed down any apprehension with pity. He didn’t know if the pity was for himself or the ginger.
When did it become the norm for Trey to ignore his feelings?
Trey is jolted back into reality after Cater hits a sharp turn at the edge of a street corner.
“Mmm… love you…”
“Aw, I love you too, Trey.”
“I don’t love you.”
“What?”
“Cater, I don’t really love you.”
The car slows to a full stop at a red light.
“You don’t really mean that, do you?”
Cater could only hear incoherent mumbling from the other.
“You’re probably just drunk, I’ll make you some hangover tea in the morning.” He laughed.
The glowing traffic light turned green, pushing the car into a forward motion within the now-cold vehicle once again.
“Goodnight, Cater.”’
“...Goodnight, Trey.”
Cater always had this feeling that there was something off about Trey’s love. He was too careful. Always too careful. He never played rough with him, as if he were about to break. The baker never hurt him, the warm hugs provided by the green-haired gave comfort as well. But it wasn’t the warmth he was looking for. Something about it felt, suffocating, a mere obligation.
This only confirmed his theories.
Driving into the night, Cater had only one thought in his mind.
It can’t end like this.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Trey arose late in the afternoon with a yawn. He finds a now cold tea left on the nightstand beside him and a bored Cater lying on his right on his phone.
“Good morning, Cater.” He took a sip of his tea. “What happened last night?”
“Nothing of importance.” The ginger scrolled through his phone.