Gavin is cold.

His eyes are dry, because the tears have been used up. Weak, he'd called himself with each one he let fall, let it ring with the sound of coward in his thoughts. Let those words bounce around in his skull until they lost their meaning.

He doesn't need him. He doesn't need anyone.

Coward.

He's alive, isn't he? He'd have been dead if he'd done as Temp suggested he should. Kanto would have ripped him to pieces.

Dog. Less than human. Weak.

He tells himself that it doesn't hurt, seeks physical hurt to dull the ache in his chest. He goes to bed bruised and sometimes bloody but no matter how sweet that ache, the bitterness always returns with the nightmares. They're worse, now.

The knock wakes him from one. Not the sound, but the low growl of a Lycanroc in his ear. His chest is tight, heart pounding.

Gavin stirs, groggy and uncertain. He barely sleeps. With curtains drawn, he's not sure of the time. What had the dog been growling at?

His phone vibrates with the truth.

Coward.

Wounds torn open anew. He shouldn't answer the door, but he does. He looks terrible, but more than that he looks cold.

"What do you want?"

Flat, like he's forced whatever he's feeling from his tone.

Tempest Quinn

Cillian Quinn looks like shit.

But he's still the most beautiful thing Temp feels like he's seen since they fought. He wants to reach out, cup his cheeks, sink deep into a kiss, and never let go. But he can't. Physically, since his hands are full of bribe food. Emotionally, since he doesn't think Gavin would let him. It's not appropriate.

"To apologize." The offering is held out. Gavin is only an inch taller than him, and that's almost nothing, but he feels it more now than he ever has before under the other's scrutiny. "And to talk." He spits out and it hurts. The fluttering of fear, of potential rejection squeezes his heart in a stranglehold.

There had never been fear of rejection with Gavin. Not like this. They had both fallen into so... naturally. Like they belonged. Two magnets meeting, puzzle pieces falling into place, soup for bread. Now it feels... how do people live like this?

"I treated you like shit and I'm a shitty person." But he can't get anymore out. He probably looks pathetic, too. Bags under the eyes, greasy hair pulled back, rumpled clothes, split lip and bruised cheeks.

Gavin doesn't reach for the offering.

With Temp, he had let his guard down. The other had been allowed to see his softer side, his most vulnerable parts. Coward. Now, Gavin is as solid and immovable as the ice in his eyes. A hard, stubborn set to his jaw.

Not the welcoming warmth of a lover but the frigid threat of an underboss.

He is no dog to be plied with treats once he's been kicked.

"Yeah," he agrees, "you did."

Coward.

He considers slamming the door. It might grant a brief moment of satisfaction to turn him away, to make Temp hurt as he has hurt. But he doesn't. He stares, expression unreadable even to the man whom he'd let so close, and steps back from the door.

A jerk of the chin, a chilly invitation.

"Talk."

Outside, the wind howls.

Tempest Quinn

A small breath to steel his nerves. Like a man headed towards the gallows, Temp enters.

The door is barely closed before he's burst into tears.

"I'm a fuck up." Is spat, bitter, just as harsh and angry as when Temp had last left this house. Sharp words meant for self harm, not to scrape raw at Cillian Quinn.

The fat tears drip down his face, eyes reddening quickly. He can't even hide himself, grip knuckle white on the containers with the food. His hands shake, making the fluff visible through the container wiggle on the cheesecake.

And Temp was more free with his emotions, sure, but he wasn't like Chu-e. Temp was vibrant and smiled and wore his emotions on his sleeves but he didn't cry. Not the same way as Gavin, either. Temp was afraid of crying. It was like tears wouldn't fall. His eyes would mist up at worst and get all blurry and red but no actual drops would slide down his cheeks. It was complicated. It always felt like he didn't deserve to cry, even if others should be allowed. His problems weren't that bad.

But they slide down his chin and drip onto the plastic containers, pooling on the top.

It feels pathetic.

"I took you for granted and lashed out at you and said terrible shit to you that wasn't even true."

Gavin's reaching to lock the door behind them when he hears the first sniffle.

He's never known how to deal with tears. Not his own, and certainly not those of others. He especially does not know how to judge them against the weight of his own sorrow, that which he's locked behind ice and steel. It's like a chink in the wall of his defenses, small and harmless but ripe for the hammering.

The harsh tone makes him bristle anew, fingers curling at his side, but they aren't directed at him this time. His lips press tight.

Yeah, you are. But he can't give voice to the scathing words, afraid that if he opens his mouth he might say the opposite. Coward. He is more delicate than he wants any of them to know, fragile and on the verge of shattering.

Temp had started to patch up the broken parts, a balm for the hurt, and then he'd broken them anew.

Betrayal.

There's a soft hitch to Gavin's slow intake of breath, the only hint to turmoil.

"Then why did you say it?"

Tempest Quinn

"I was angry." And then he's quiet, still sniffling, but it's clear he wants to say more. Is trying to think of how to put the pieces together. The way his lips twitch, how he glares down at the fuzzy reflection in the pooled tears.

"I got upset with what you said and then I tried to hurt you because I was hurt." But it's not just that, right? On the surface. It comes down to that but doesn't really explain it.

Another moment and he walks into the kitchen. Quick, so he could place down the things on the counter. He takes the chance to wipe his face, try and calm his breath before he turns to face Cillian Quinn- or get closer if the other didn't follow him.

"I felt like you thought I only want you because of what you can do for me and not who you are as a person, Cill."

So was I, he wants to snap, but I didn't call you a coward, did I?

His lips press thin.

"Well, it worked."

Temp had hurt him; more than he's been hurt in a long time. The break-up with Emma, Theo's rejection, nothing hurt so much as being called a coward by someone he loved so much. It was like a knife to the ribs.

He follows Temp into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost.

Cil. It stings like a slap.

"Cillian again, is it?" His words ring hollow.

He hadn't forgotten the way his lover had thrown the false name back at him in his moment of anger. It doesn't help when Temp continues, and Gavin's gaze of molten gold narrows on the man he'd fallen in love with.

"Didn't think to ask what I thought? Instead you call me a coward?" The word is spat. "Of all the things you could have said. Coward. A beaten dog, you called me. Is that what you think of me?"

His voice cracks and he looks frustrated, swallows hard. After he clears his throat, the flat quality has returned to his tone.

"Would you rather see me dead?"

Tempest Quinn

A heavy sigh. Cillian Quinn's words slice at him but they're well deserved. He'll take everything if it only meant the other would hold him again. If it could go back to normal.

He's exhausted suddenly. The stools in the kitchen are inviting, so Temp sinks into one. He leans over, rests his elbows on his knees, a balancing act, head hung over as he stares at Gavin's feet. Shame burns hot. He's unable to look the other in the eyes.

"I don't think it would have mattered if you told me different. I've never felt like I've been enough."

His own insecurities had... done this.

"You were one of the few people strong enough to claw your way on the top of Rocket. I couldn't do that. Kanto would have killed me, Cill, and you know that. You're so smart, like way smarter than anyone else I know, and you're so good at leading people. I can't even lead my pokemon confidently in a Gym Battle. Shells above, you were chosen by a god. And you're handsome on top of all that! You're the whole package. The deluxe edition."

At some point, a soft but bitter smile had spread over his face. Because he loves Gavin. He loves him so much it hurts.

But that smile is quickly snatched away. Temp sniffs and wipes another track of tears from his cheek with his palm.

"I'm just a guy, Cill. Even if you tell me it's okay, I just don't glow like you do, you know? And other people notice it, too. I'm not good enough for someone like you."

A sigh.

"And I proved it, too, by treating you like shit."

Once, Temp's words of encouragement might've made Gavin glow with pride. Strong. Handsome. Smart. Enough. He'd never worried about being enough for anyone until Theo had turned him down. Now? Hollow.

His chin quivers before he clenches his teeth to still his jaw.

Temp isn't looking at him, so Gavin turns his gaze to the wide kitchen window overlooking the bay. Rain lashes against the pane and wind catches in the leaves of palm trees on the beach.

I'm not good enough for someone like you.

He can't help but to think of Theo, then.

I just can't be with you.

His fingers curl to fists and he's struck with the overwhelming urge to punch something, to break the window and feel the glass dig beneath his skin. To feel something other than the pain that wracks his insides, that horrible clench in his gut that hasn't gone away since.

He doesn't move.

"I just..." Words fail him. He tries anew. "I don't get it."

Why call him a coward if that wasn't how he really felt?

Tears he'd thought dried up burn hot against his eyelids and he's glad to be staring away from Temp as he blinks them away, scowling.

Weak.

"I don't want to die." Finally, he turns away from the sight of turbulent waves against the shore. "Kanto almost killed me, it should have killed me." Not because he felt deserving, but because he'd tried to kill his superior. All for the very same insinuation that he was weak. "And I have tried — so fucking hard — to live." He slams a closed fist on the island, and cutlery jumps. "I want to be what they're afraid of."

It's wrong. He knows it's wrong. He's not a good person. He'd told Emma, and Chu-e, and even Temp. He would never be a good person.

As to the will of Cillian Quinn? Control.

"I thought you understood."

It's what had hurt the most. The thought that Temp had bared the blade to cut the deepest.

Tempest Quinn

He flinches at the hit. Can't help it. Temp can take a punch with the best of them but it still startles him.

"I'm glad you lived." If that's any prize, means anything now.

But Temp shakes his head, glanced back up at Cillian Quinn, and there is a soft pleading there now.

"But I don't think I can ever understand, Cill. Wanting to live so much. I don't want to die but I... I'm not as strong as you are."

There is a temptation to swallow down the sticky feelings rising to the surface.

"I've always had to live with the guilt that it should have been me who died instead of my little sister and mom. If it hadn't been for me, they'd be around now instead. Then the people of Hoenn, everyone, ever since I was a kid I've been told how little me, my whole village, are worth. How other people deserve to live more than we do."

A shaky breath.

"I'm the coward. I had the will to live beaten out of me when I was a kid. It's only because of you I even tried to be more."

Slowly, he stands.

"I hurled labels at you that would never stick when they belong to me, Cill. I don't think I deserve to be forgiven."

But, slowly, he offers his hand. Not a shake, but as if to hold, between them.

"I'll... I'll understand if I fucked up too bad. But I still love you so much it hurts, man. I'd do anything for you to take me back."

Strong?

Weak, his thoughts counter, curling like serpents to strangle hope.

A flash of anger at the insinuation that Temp doesn't deserve to live, lightning breaking across the flat expanse of his gaze to breath new life into his expression. Fierce, heat where he'd tried maintain only ice.

"That's bullshit and you—" know it, he wants to finish, but the words die on his lips. Does he? Seeing Temp now, looking desperate and pleading and sad, he's not so sure. He huffs, frustrated. "You deserve it as much as anyone else."

He's angry still, hurting still, but the ferocity in his tone is in defense of his — his what? What were they, now?

Gavin grows tense when Temp stands, holding his ground but with a wariness in his eyes that speaks of the hurts in his past. Not in expectation that Temp will strike him, but that he'll deliver a deeper hurt with his words.

His gaze flicks to the offered hand, then back up.

"Anything?"

Gavin grips him not by the hand, but by the wrist. Tight, harder to break. His grip is like steel and his eyes are shimmering.

"Never call me a coward again." Will it ever stop hurting, haunting his thoughts? "And whatever you think of yourself, know that I see you different. I do not settle. Next time I say something that hurts you, fucking talk to me about it."

Fire burns away the ice. He lets go of Temp's wrist and cups his face with both hands — just as firm, though less suffocating.

"OK?"

Tempest Quinn

The evil little voices in his head tell Temp that Cillian Quinn is going to grab him and shove him outside. That his heart is about to get ripped out of his chest. (And he'll deserve it.)

The grip startles him. Rough. Steely.

It doesn't match the slow softness that spread over Temp's face. His own eyes shimmer, with affection and fresh tears and they start to drip with renewed vigor. He's such a sap for this man it kills him.

"All of that and more. I promise."

A stupid smile breaks his face, the only once he's had since their fight.

"Seal it with a kiss?"

It's still tentative, unsure.

Outside, the wind seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

Temp is crying in earnest, now, and Gavin's finding it hard to maintain his own composure. He strives to remain as steady as the hands that cup his lover's face, nails pressing insistently against the soft flesh behind his jawbone.

"I'm going to do a lot more than kiss you."

Worded like a threat, he nudges Temp back against the island and crowds in close, kissing him hard and fierce. One hand drops to twist in his collar, hold him still to be devoured.

"You're mine," he growls, breath shallow against his lover's ear as he lays his claim with teeth and tongue. Air shivers past his lips and his eyes are damp, spots of wet marking the hollow of his lover's neck. "Don't ever walk out on me like that."

He'd been certain, so certain that Temp was gone for good.

His other hand drifts, too, low to hook against a barrier of fabric with an insistent tug.

"Tell me," is breathless, words tumbling out before he can stop them, "tell me you love me. Promise me."

Tears slip hot down his cheeks and he kisses Temp as hard as he can.

Tempest Quinn