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Years had passed since Court had stayed in Lars' home, and somehow the memory of the strange man hadn't been able to fade in Lars' mind. Time seemed to make no difference. Even if he wanted to forget him, even if he tried, he still showed up in his dreams. He'd made an impression on Lars' life in that short week that couldn't be forgotten or erased.
It made sense, he supposed, it was because of Court that Lars had realised he was attracted to men, which was no small thing. The realisation had confused him at first since he had always found himself more drawn to women, although, in hindsight, his reaction to seeing Court shirtless hadn't entirely been… pure. Still, he knew he wasn't gay. He loved women; he had loved Bianca.
When he found out about bisexuality while researching things on his computer, a lot of things started to click into place. Old memories bubbled to the surface that he had shrugged off as meaning nothing, old feelings reassessed and then understood.
At first, he didn't plan on telling anyone—it wasn't really their business to know—but after finding out, he couldn't stop noticing how much love and dating and sexuality were talked about every single day. Nearly every conversation there was some mention. He could hardly go weeks without being asked about his own love life. It almost felt like he was keeping a secret by not saying anything at all.
Yet, the first time he ever told anyone was a complete accident.
He and Margo were out having a few drinks at a bar. Lars was trying to get out of his comfort zone and Margo, the great friend that she was, was supporting him. It only took a few drinks before he felt the buzz of tipsiness. He'd always been a bit of a lightweight since it wasn't often that he drank anything alcoholic.
The two of them were giggling as they talked, everything seeming the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Eventually, the topic of dating rolled around—it wasn't an unusual topic for them, their short-lived relationship felt like ancient history by then. In fact, sometimes they even joked about it, telling stories about how anxious and worried they were to talk to each other which seemed so silly considering how close they'd grown since.
Margo ranted about how terrible her options were out of all the single men in town, telling him about an awful date she went on that had them both in stitches by the end of it. Lars sympathised, though he didn't really have much stories of his own to share.
"No luck on you're end either?"
Lars shrugged, staring down at the table, "Everyone's either married or straight…"
Margo blinked and tilted her head, "Straight?"
"Yeah. You know there's not many-" As he spoke, Lars' brain caught up to him and he realised what he was saying. Suddenly, everything got a lot less funny. "Oh."
"Lars, are you…"
He interjected before she could say it. The assumption evident—she thought he was gay. A lot of people had assumed he was from how long he'd been single and with how he didn't quite fit in. "It's not like that."
"It's okay if you are, I-"
"I like both!" He blurted out, blinking hard and trying to ignore the rising nausea.
It was silent for a few seconds before Margo responded much quieter with, "Me too."
Lars' head whipped up to look to see if she was being genuine. As much as he knew she'd never pull such a mean spirited prank, he also couldn't believe it. Was she just trying to make him feel better?
Her face shone with a similar expression of relief and surprise and glee—the spark of knowing you're not alone.
"Really?"
She nodded with a bright smile and confessed about how similar she felt. There were hardly any queer people in their small town, yet unknowingly they'd found each other.
Afterwards, he felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. So came a revelation. The reason he hadn't wanted to tell anyone wasn't because it wasn't their business, more than anything it was fear over what they'd say. Even though he knew they loved him, and knew they were accepting and kind.
"No one else knows," Lars confessed to Margo.
"Same goes for me," she replied, and he could tell by the way she was fiddling with her hands that she wanted to hug him.
It was thanks to her that he was able to build the courage to tell Karin and Gus. She reassured him and helped him practise what he was going to say. He knew they weren't closed-minded people, mostly he was worried that they wouldn't understand, so he planned out an explanation and tried to foresee any of their questions.
It happened in the morning while they were having breakfast together. He eyed the clock, keeping in mind how long he had before work. It gave him an out. He picked at the bacon and eggs that Karin made for him, his anxiety screwing with his appetite.
"Are you okay, Lars?" Karin asked, ever the sweetheart.
He stared down at his leaking egg, blinking, "I have something I want to tell you."
"Yeah?" Gus said, a pinch of concern in his tone, "What's up, man?"
Worry bubbled up and he had to school his breathing. Though he couldn't see them, he could tell they were exchanging silent glances that only they understood.
"Well, you know I like women. Love women. But, I also think- well, no, I know I also like… men."
"Oh," Karin spoke first, "That's nice. Congratulations."
"Thank you for telling us." Karin's hand hovered near his shoulder, just avoiding touching him. Over time she'd learnt how to control herself and not push the touch thing so much but it was difficult for her. "We support you no matter what."
Gus spoke with a slight awkward stiffness. "Right. That's- What you do that's your business."
The acceptance came without question, and it also came with an overwhelming wave of emotion that Lars couldn't deal with.
"Okay. Thank you. Goodbye." He shot up from the table and ran out of the room to head off to work. Though he ended up being a bit early, he just sat in his car and let himself breathe and relax and cry a little.
Still, he never told anyone about Court. Not only to keep the secret safe, but also because it was something that belonged entirely to himself. It was his and that meant, in a way, so was Court.
As a result, he was left alone to deal with the pain of everything. He couldn't explain to Gus and Karin why he hated using his own kitchen, why he was so badly opposed to switching out couches even as his old one was tattered and falling apart, or why he liked to cling to a specific cardigan and hated having to wash it. They also didn't tend to ask, because Lars had always been particular and strange about things.
One of those particulars being always keeping his first aid kit stocked. Just in case.
Whenever he heard something in the night, his heart would pick up and, for a split second, the hope that he had returned washed back over him. Before he was crushed once again. For some irrational reason he just kept expecting him to just pop back up again—to appear as if from thin air.
After a while of absolutely no contact, he gave up on believing it.
Then, one day, a letter arrived for him.
Dear Lars,
I hope this letter manages to find its way to you and I hope that you are doing well.
I don't know if you still remember me, but it's Court. I doubt you've found many injured men outside of your home and brought them inside to nurse them back to health, but I don't want to presume anything. For all I know maybe you have. From what I could tell you were willing to help anyone in need who needed it, a little too trusting too since you brought me in without question, so it's possible.
Sometimes I'm grateful you pulled me into your home and let me stay, and other times I wish you hadn't, because from then on you are all I've been able to think about.
It feels a little ridiculous, I only knew you for a few days… yet it felt like so much more. It feels like a whole other life that I lived. A free life, a life of comfort that was free from danger. With a family. You have no idea how much it meant to me and how could you? I never told you. Though, so many times I almost did. So many times I almost opened up and told you everything. That scared me. The truth is a dangerous thing. Especially in my line of work.
Maybe that's why I'm writing this now. I just feel like you deserve some sort of explanation now that it is safe. No matter how late it is.
It might be foolish of me to think it meant anything to you too. Maybe this is all just some selfish wish-fulfilment… I don't know… It's just that the week I spent at your home was possibly one of the nicest times of my life. I know to you it was probably nothing more than a strange few days, but for me it was everything.
You offered warmth when I had only ever known cold. Like the sun shining through a cloudy sky.
Leaving you was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, and my job isn't exactly a cake walk so that's saying something. It took everything in me not to turn around and wipe you tears and stay with you like I truly wanted.
I need you to know I didn't leave you because I wanted to; I left because I had to.
I didn't want to hurt you and I'm sorry that I did. If I stayed it would have only hurt you even more… It was all I felt capable of doing. I was entangled into something a lot larger and more dangerous than you knew.
You asked me once if I liked what I did, I didn't lie but the full truth is that I had no choice in the matter. It wasn't the type of job you can quit from—not without deadly consequences. There was no retirement plan for me, and it wasn't like I ever looked that far ahead anyway.
Not until you.
I used to tell myself that I'd get over you and move on, that I could return to being wilfully ignorant of what I was missing, of the life I truly wanted but could never have. But, I can't. Now that I've seen what I could've had in a regular life with you, it haunts me. After I left, I would still hear your voice when I was going about my day. Still to this day when I cook I'm reminded of you, or when I bandage an injuries, or when I try to sleep at night. It is agonizing. More than once it has messed up my focus on a job.
Yet, if I could go back in time, I don't think I would change a thing. I don't regret the time we shared. Though, I do regret the pain I caused you.
I must sound crazy… A lot of the time I think I am. I think I have to be to have done what I've done. Out of everything, the most sane thing about this has to be my love want for you. Though, if I'm being honest, in the years of my absence reality and dream have become so garbled that I don't know what's what anymore.
Before you, I was just wandering through life from one mission to the next.
I always dreamed of freedom, but I never thought it truly possible for me. Even before this job that I couldn't escape, my father had forced me into a similar box since I was born, and after him, when I was 15, I was sentenced to life in prison. This may change how you see me—if you still think of me at all—and that honestly terrifies me more than some of the missions I've been sent on, but I want you to know the truth. I want you to know what you're getting yourself into with me.
I have killed.
While I try to make sure I only ever target bad people, it is murder all the same.
I understand if you throw this letter away, I understand if you've completely forgotten me or if you never want to talk to me again especially with the things I have told you, but on the small chance you do want to talk, on the tiny chance that that week mattered to you too, a number has been attached to the back of this letter.
If you call, I will answer.
A lot has happened since the last we saw each other. Most importantly, I earned my freedom. It wasn't easy or all that purposeful, but I no longer work for my employer. Now, I can go as I please. Perhaps a part of me hoped that you would want to see me again. Like I want to see you.
If so, I need to tell you I'm no longer alone. I'm the guardian of a teenage girl. My handler, the man I called on your phone, was her uncle. When he died, she was left with no one—except for me. She's head-strong and curious and stubborn, and I would love for you to meet her. You would probably be a much better influence than me. I don't have much experience handling kids, but I remember your sister recently gave birth when I left so maybe you do, even though her kid is still quite a bit younger.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I'm writing this. You've probably moved on and it'd probably be best if you have… You deserve so much more. A few times over the years I thought about writing you a letter. Actually, a couple times I did and then I scrapped them completely. I'm still half-tempted to just throw this in the fireplace. If you're reading this I guess I didn't…
I don't know if this is for you or for me anymore.
Sorry to lay this all on you. Sorry for these selfish dreams, but if there is even the slightest chance that you want to see me again too, I'm willing to make a fool of myself to try.
Sincerely,
Court x
He reread the letter again. Then again. And again.
A part of him couldn't believe it was true and another part of him was horrified and angry and upset. How dare he just stroll back into his life like it was nothing? How dare he expect Lars to have just waited around for him? How dare he…
His hands shook as he entered the phone number into the keypad. There were a few seconds of ringing and he started to think it was all some sick prank. Or maybe he'd put in the number wrong, his hands had been shaking pretty-
"Hello?" Court's voice came through and Lars' grip on the phone tightened. It was him.
He exhaled a breath and years worth of stress left him. "Court?"
"Lars?" Hope was clear in his voice, he could recognise it because it was the same hope shining in him.
"Yeah… It's me."
"You got my letter?"
"Just now."
"And you're calling me?" His voice shook with disbelief.
"You asked me to," Lars pointed out, a bit defensive mistaking his shock for judgement.
"I just… I thought you'd have forgotten me or I'd scare you away."
"I could never forget you…" Lars said, because it was true and because Court deserved to hear it.
Court snorted on the other end of the line, "Sorry, it's just a bit ironic. I'm not actually supposed to be memorable."
"You are to me. You helped me..."
"I didn't really do anything," Court pointed out, "Other than steal your couch for a few days."
Fiddling with his sleeve, Lars considered telling him the extent of his impact, how he'd learnt more about himself and about his closest friend because of him. That was dangerously close to a confession though. His heart picked up just thinking about it and his stomach turned.
"You did more," is all he said.
"Guess I'll have to take your word for it."
There was a pause, where both of them were unsure how to say what they wanted to and hoped the other would break the silence first. So, of course, they both broke it together by speaking at the same time.
"I just-"
"About the-"
"Sorry, you go," Lars mumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"No, no, please, you go ahead," Court replied.
Then they were back to their silence. This time Court broke it without interruption, "In the letter, I confess to some… bad things. Did it not freak you out?"
"… Yeah, a little, but you were doing the right thing."
It wasn't like Court had lied to him about it when he had stayed with Lars, at most he obscured it a little so he wouldn't freak out. Deep down Lars knew for certain that he could trust Court, even if he didn't know entirely why. It was just what his gut told him.
"… Thank you…" His voice was small and quiet, and it reminded Lars of how deeply human he was. "And I'm sorry for scaring you."
Lars wished he could reach out to him and tell him it was okay, not only through words but through touch. He wanted Court to see it for himself. He also just wanted to see him. Sometimes when he closed his eyes he could still see all of the scars and bruises that were littered across Court's skin, and he wanted nothing more to know that he was alive and safe and be with him at home where he could keep him alive and safe. The brunt of the desire hit him again at full force.
"Can I see you?"
"You want to?" Court's voice was thick with uncertainty.
"Yes."
Lars had never been more certain of something in his life.
As they stopped at a red light, once again Courtland checked himself out in the rearview mirror, smoothing down his hair once more. In the backseat, he could see Claire squinting her eyes at him as if suspicious of something. "We're gonna see a friend?"
"Yes."
He hadn't told her much about Lars and he wasn't entirely sure why. All she knew was that they were going to see a friend that helped Court out when he was injured and that they could trust them not to tell anyone. In the journey over he had more than enough time to have told her the full story, how he ended up there, why he wanted to go back, what Lars was like, but the words didn't come. In fact he didn't even know if he could vocalise it.
"So, not a girlfriend?"
Court's head whipped around so quickly that he almost snapped his neck. "What? Why-Why would you think that?"
Instead of explaining, Claire pointed forward, "The light's green."
Court turned back towards the road and kept driving, trying to ignore the strange confusion and worry building in him. Unconsciously, his eyes found their way to the rearview mirror once again. In the couple of seconds since he had last checked, his appearance hadn't changed, yet he just couldn't stop himself from checking.
His hair was styled, combed slightly back, and his facial hair was trimmed down so it didn't look too rugged or grown out. The suit he was wearing was ironed, though during the drive some creases had started to form. It wasn't like he needed to dress up to see Lars, but the thought of wearing something plain and normal felt like a disservice. To him, it was like making a second first impression. He wanted to look nice.
Wait, was that why Claire said that? Had he gone too far?
He cleared his throat and kept his eyes on the road, "Not a girlfriend."
Even though he wasn't looking at her, he knew she was staring at him—he could feel her eyes shooting through him.
When they pulled up in front of the house, Lars was stood outside stripped down to his flannel with an axe in hands. Sweat glistened in the daylight, making it look almost as though Lars were shimmering, as he raised his arms and slammed the axe down in a smooth curve into a log of wood. The log snapped cleanly into two clumps that fell limply from the trunk they'd been balancing on.
Court's breath caught in his throat.
When he'd stayed there last time Lars had mentioned that he had wanted Court to see him chop wood, he never got the chance. Now, he did and he understood why Lars said it. It was impressive. Lars didn't have the defined muscles that Court did, but there was muscle in the thickness of his arms.
The man looked hardly any different then he did all those years ago, just the slight signs of age showing on his face. A bit like Court.
Lars glanced over, noticing the car in the driveway, and Court got to watch the way he perked up as he realised who it was. For a moment, Court felt paralysed, seized by overwhelming emotion that he hadn't known had been lying dormant for so much time.
"Six?" Claire spoke when she noticed he wasn't moving. "Is this it?"
"Uh, yeah…" He blinked, feeling like he had just been slapped awake, "One second. Wait here."
Court climbed out of the car as Lars approached, the axe having been dropped by the stump. "Hey there!"
"Hey," Court's voice felt rough in his throat.
Lars extended a hand out to him. Court watched and, remembering the way he had acting when he last tried to touch him, hesitated. Instead of accepting it, he searched his eyes for reassurance that he wasn't misreading something to which Lars nodded down in response giving him permission. Gently, Court brought his hand into his, felling the warmth of his palm and the calloused skin. Despite his worries about Lars hating the touch and his hand being clammy, Court didn't let go until Lars moved to first. The point of contact was grounding and nice and…
"It's nice to see you." Lars' thumb grazed his knuckles as he let go.
"Yeah, me too, nice to see you too. You look…" The word good rested on his tongue, only a small minute fraction of what he actually felt. Lars looked incredible. Yet what actually ended up leaving his mouth was, "well."
Lars smiled, "I am. Thank you. Do you want to come inside? I have coffee."
"I'd love to, but, uh, before that," Court glanced back at the car, where he could see the teen girl had manoeuvred into the front seat to watch them interact. Since he knew she could see him, he gestured for her to come out. "You should meet Claire first."
She was quick to rush over to him, already riled up, "Is this him?"
"Manners," he warned, though he also nodded in answer to her question.
She straightened out her posture as if meeting someone massively important, "Hi, I'm Claire."
"Hi, Claire, I'm Lars." His eyes shifted between the two of them, unsure what to say and trying to check for some reaction that he had done something wrong or anything out of the ordinary.
"So, you like Six?"
"Claire," Court said in a hushed, scolding tone.
Lars' brows furrowed, "I don't know… Uh, it's a nice number, I guess…?"
Claire stared at Court with wide eyes, "You didn't tell him?"
"I didn't think it was relevant," he replied to her, and then turned to Lars, "Sorry, Six is a nickname."
"Oh," Lars said, then in realisation repeated, "Oh… Well, sure, I like Court. He's-" they shared a glance, only for Lars to quickly look away and blink hard, "Yeah, I like him."
Claire smiled up at Court, glimmer in her eye as if she had something planned, Court shook his head at her. He couldn't read her mind, but he had a good idea of what she was thinking. It would only end badly.
"Right, you two must be cold, come in."
The garage looked about the same as Court had been expecting. There'd been no big changes, though some furniture had been changed and moved around. The sofa he had slept on being one of them. For some reason, it made him feel sad.
"Would you like coffee? Tea? Uh… Water?" He asked, as their slipped their shoes off at the entrance.
Before Claire could reply, Court said, "Coffee for me, water for her please."
She huffed and immediately stole the sofa, spreading her legs across the length. Court tried to quietly tell her to be polite and sit normally, only to be interrupted by Lars smiling warmly, "Please, make yourselves at home."
Claire grinned at him like she won the war. "Thank you."
Shaking his head, Court approached Lars in the kitchen. "Yeah, thank you for this."
"You don't need to keep thanking me…"
When he looked at him, suddenly it felt as though they were transported to years ago, as if nothing had changed. It was like Court was back to making his lunch and Lars back to making breakfast. There was so much that Court wanted to say, most of it was just thanks.
The bubbling of the water on the stovetop snapped them back to the present moment. Lars poured them both a drink and Court felt a similar desire to reach out that Lars had those years ago. As he stirred the drinks, Court very carefully took hold of the corner of Lars' flannel. His knuckle grazed the layers underneath and he watched Lars shiver and turn to look at him. There was a moment of panic where Court thought he messed up, but Lars showed no sign of discomfort or pain, although his breathing had picked up.
"It's a nice shirt," Court mumbled in a weak attempt to disguise his real feelings.
Lars shrugged, staring intently at the glasses in front of him, "A hand me down. Most my clothes are…"
"It looks good on you." His thumb stroked the small bit of fabric in his hands.
"Thank you…"
Claire coughed from the sofa and Court immediately let go of the fabric replacing it with the cup. "We were planning on staying in town for a while," Court's hands engulfed the mug in it's entirety, "If that's alright."
"Stay for as long as you like," Lars responded, hoping they'd stay forever.
Court smiled, hiding the worry that Lars was just being polite and found them to be burdensome. What right did Court have to insert himself into Lars' life now?
The two of them sat at the dining table, and Lars realised he needed to add another chair. There'd always only been two, and that had been fine since Lars stayed there alone. He never usually had guest, let alone more than one.
Hopefully, not anymore.