Work Text:
You would be the first one to admit that you’re not the biggest fan of Chris Smith.
Not that the two of you have ever actually met, but you know enough about Chris Smith. You may not know exactly what went down while he was in Corto Maltese, but you know enough from what Adrian’s said— and what you’ve found online— to know that he was no fucking hero. He’s a killer at best.
Adrian kills people, too, you remind yourself. But— it’s different, with him. You understand him, and where he’s coming from. You agree with what he’s doing. Chris Smith— Peacemaker— he’s just a fucking dick. He’s a murderer and a shithead and he’s rude and you may not have met him, but you’re not exactly lining up to do so, either.
All of this, you have to admit to yourself, is secondary to the fact that you just don’t like him because you think he should treat Adrian better. The entire time Chris was gone, Adrian was picking up his slack, checking in on him, becoming a hero in his own right. When Chris got back, Adrian was suddenly at his beck and call, spending all hours with him. Sometimes, he’d vanish for days, and show up with horrible injuries, worse than any he’s gotten before. Parts of him cut off, burns frying his skin, shrapnel lodged in him, a fucking gunshot wound— and that’s just to name a few.
Adrian puts his heart and soul into everything and everyone he cares about. He cares about Chris, and he cares about what they’re doing together, and you don’t believe Chris cares enough about Adrian in return to properly reciprocate.
You met Adrian after Chris was already gone, but the two of you quickly became close. You had worked at Fennel Fields for only one summer, but you’d become such good friends during that time that you kept talking even after you got a new job. It wasn’t long before you were spending all your time together—
And then it wasn’t long before you were practically best friends, at which point you were already in love with him. When you finally confessed, and he excitedly told you that he loved you, too, everything seemed perfect.
But now Chris fucking Smith is back, and Adrian keeps begging you to meet him and hang out with him, and you want nothing less.
“Come on,” Adrian pleads again. He’s made you both breakfast today. Well, “made” breakfast, in that he did an incredible job making smoothies and then completely gave up halfway through the process of making actual food, settling for pouring you both cereal instead. He’s a great cook, when he manages to summon the patience to do it.
“I really don’t know,” you say, pushing your cereal around in your bowl. It’s easier to focus down on your spoon than on his imploring expression, green eyes sparkling behind his glasses. “I’ve got a lot of—”
“You always say that,” he says, “but only when it’s about Chris.”
“Yeah, well,” you mutter.
For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, Adrian says, “I like your friends.”
“My friends are nice to me,” you say without thinking. You try to be at least neutral in the way you talk about Chris around Adrian, since you know he means a lot to him, but this one just— comes out. You’re frustrated.
“Chris is nice to me!” Adrian exclaims. “What makes you think he’s not nice to me? He’s, like, my best friend! He’s super nice, I swear. He’s a superhero, remember? Hey,” he says, and you hear the suspicion in his tone. “Is that why you keep saying you’re busy or you don’t think it’s the right time or whatever? You don’t think he’s nice?”
“I don’t care if he’s a hero or he’s nice to random strangers or whatever,” you say. You finally lift your eyes, lock with Adrian’s. “I care if he’s nice to you.”
Adrian frowns, brow furrowing. He seems to think for only a moment before he says, “But he really is, though. He’s super nice. We blow stuff up together and hang out all the time and we even, like, totally saved the world together.” He pauses. “The entire world. From aliens—”
“Yeah, I remember,” you cut him off. “But—”
You hesitate, thinking that you shouldn’t continue. Adrian prompts you, says, “No, what? What is it? ‘But’ what?”
You tap the curve of your spoon on the edge of your bowl. You pause for another moment before you make yourself tell the truth, saying, “I don’t think we’re going to get along, and I don’t want you to be mad at me if that happens.”
“What?” Adrian asks. “No! No, I wouldn’t be mad. I’d never be mad, c’mon! I want you guys to be friends, yeah, obviously, it would be— like, the greatest thing that ever happened to anybody, since I love you both so much, but it’s not, like, necessary. You have free will and everything.” He pauses, then says, “Which I protected. With Chris. When the aliens—”
“I know,” you say.
You know he’s not saying this to make you feel bad. He’s saying it because he means it. And you know it meant a lot to him, but you didn’t really realize how much, until he’s saying this.
Besides, you’re not like Chris; you actually like Adrian. You want to give him the things he wants. And if it would make him happy for you to meet Chris, you’ll try it. You might even pretend to like him if he’s not completely and totally insufferable, but you imagine that’s probably too much to hope for. Stomaching him will probably have to be enough.
You sigh. Adrian’s head snaps up; you know he knows you’re about to give in.
“Fine,” you say, because there’s no point in drawing it out. Adrian jumps up, knocking his chair backwards, fists in the air.
“Yes!” he shouts. He slides across the table to you, knocking a stack of mail to the floor, and catches your face in his hands, kissing you between the eyes, then on the mouth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, babe, I swear, you’re going to be best friends!” He kisses you again, declaring, “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You think this might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. You’re sitting in Adrian’s car with him, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, trying not to think about where you’re going and what you’re doing.
“I promise,” Adrian says, “You are going to have so much fun. He’s such a cool guy, really. And you’ll meet Eagly! I really want you to meet Eagly, I think you’re really going to hit it off. Plus, everybody else really, really wants to meet you, too. Economos said he doesn’t think you’re real, but he’s probably just fucking with me.”
“Yeah, probably,” you say absently, struggling to focus on anything except your anxiety.
You don’t even realize you’re nervously drumming your fingers on your thigh until Adrian’s hand reaches out and covers yours, stilling you.
“Hey,” he says, his voice a little lower.
You look over at him. He’s still got one hand on the wheel, his sleeves rolled up, the strong muscles in his arm and the fine bones in the back of his hand shifting when he grips and turns the steering wheel. His glasses sit at the edge of his nose, his eyes flicking back and forth as he focuses on the road while he drives, his hair spilling back from his face.
He glances over at you after a beat, meets your eyes. He smiles, that wide grin that’s unlike any other smile he has. You think this one’s just for you, and it makes you melt every time you receive it.
“It’s going to be okay,” Adrian tells you, squeezing your hand. “Chris isn’t even going to be the only one there, remember? You’ll definitely like at least one person, odds are. You get along with pretty much everybody anyways.”
You let his voice wash over you, clinging to his hand as he pulls up outside a tiny house out in the middle of nowhere. Quite literally, the middle of nowhere; you can’t see shit from here.
Adrian parks, excitedly announcing, “We’re here!”
Your heart is racing, but you nod, taking a deep breath to steel yourself. Adrian has to release your hand so the both of you can get out of the car, but you’re practically buzzing the second you have to let go of each other.
You slip out of the car as quickly as you can, joining him at his side. He turns to you, taking your shoulders tight in his hands.
“You can do this,” he tells you, as if he’s pumping you up. You can’t help laughing. “You can, I’m not joking!” He grips your face, squishes your cheeks together. “You are the coolest person who has ever lived. Everybody thinks so. And everybody likes you.” He kisses you, hard, dragging you in until you’re falling into him. When he separates you, he knocks your foreheads together, puckering his lips to make a stupid face and do an even stupider voice, like Kermit the Frog dying of a gunshot wound to the throat. “You’re the star of the show—”
The front door on Chris’ house tears open, revealing a bewildered blonde on the other side. She seems to lose all confusion when she sees Adrian, however.
“Of course,” she says. She beckons to him, says, “Come in, you’re the last ones.”
Adrian takes your hand, easily jogging up the steps, hauling you up beside him. You start to say hi to the woman, but Adrian keeps moving forward, so you only manage half a wave before you’re continuing on.
The inside of Chris’ place isn’t large, and everybody’s pretty much crammed into a small living room space. You try to take it all in, abruptly overwhelmed.
Adrian slings his arm across your shoulder, and you’re grounded by that, at least. Leaning into him, you’re faced with the group going quiet as they realize Adrian and you are here. Their eyes all find you, and you’re nervous all over again. You offer a wave to the group at large.
“Everyone, this is (Y/N),” Adrian introduces you delightedly. “(Y/N), this is Emilia Harcourt, and this is Leota Adebayo, and this is John Economics—”
“—Economos,” the man in question corrects him.
“Economonos,” Adrian amends. “And this,” he presents with a flourish, “is Chris!” He wiggles his fingers. “Peacemaker!”
You’re faced with one of the largest men you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You’ve seen him in pictures, and even in scale next to Adrian in some of them, but you didn’t realize how truly huge he really is before this moment.
Chris stands up, then seems to hesitate. “Should I shake your hand or something?”
You stare up at him, bewildered. You’re caught off guard, your heart racing, and you don’t know what to do. You say, “I— Okay,” and offer him your hand.
“Oh, my God, this is the best day of my life,” Adrian says next to you as you take Chris’ hand. Chris rolls his eyes, and you tighten your grip on his hand.
“You’re so sweet, Adrian,” you say firmly. Chris raises his eyebrows slightly down at you, and you release him.
“Aw,” Adrian says, and tugs you in so he can kiss you on the cheek. To John, he says, “See, motherfucker? I told you they were real—”
“You owe me five dollars,” Leota tells John, who groans. Adrian gasps at him.
“Want to sit?” Chris asks, and offers you the seat he’s just left. You take it, hesitant, and he sits down on the arm of the sofa beside you instead. You don’t say anything, unsure of what to do— but when you look up, you see Adrian’s eyes looking in your direction. The expression on his face is hopeful, before he hurriedly looks away, and you’re—
Ugh. You have to try. He cares so fucking much, you can’t not try.
You turn to Chris and say, “So, Adrian says you brought him to the hospital when he got hurt. Thanks.”
Chris doesn’t seem to be expecting that at all, and he takes a moment before he says, “I don’t know, we all kind of went.”
“Oh, good,” you say. “So you didn’t—” And then you stop yourself, frustrated. “No, sorry. I just— I’m tired, I had a bad day. I’m not making a very good impression.”
Chris goes quiet for a second. He reaches out, taking his drink up off the table. He fiddles with it for a moment before he says, “I’m kind of a dick.”
“That’s a fucking understatement,” Leota snorts into her own drink.
“Hey,” Chris snaps. “I’m fucking humbling myself over here. Could you shut it for two seconds?”
“Sorry,” Leota apologizes, free hand held up in surrender. “Humble away.”
Chris sighs, then turns back to you and says, “I’m trying to— be less of a dick. So I’m sorry. If I did something to piss you off.”
You stare at him for a second, trying to puzzle him out, before you turn to Adrian suspiciously. “You told him I don’t like him.”
Leota and John both laugh. Adrian holds up his hands, says, “No! No, no, no—”
“It’s not that I don’t like you,” you hurry to say, turning to Chris. “It’s just—” You stop, then say, “I appreciate what you did to stop the aliens—”
“Thank you,” John says.
“—but I do not appreciate that Adrian almost died in the process,” you tell them sharply. You look at them all before turning back to Chris. “If you’re trying to be less of a dick, then stop acting like one. People who aren’t dicks give a shit about their friends.”
“Hey, I give a shit about him,” Chris snaps at you. It surprises you, the force of it, and you stop for a moment. “Don’t say I don’t give a shit about him, because I fucking do, alright? He’s, like— My third best friend, behind Eagly and Adebayo.”
“Behind— What?” Adrian demands.
“Obviously you’ve got a better fucking friend than me, you dick,” Chris tells him over his shoulder. He motions to you when Adrian doesn’t seem to put it together right away.
You can tell that Chris is telling the truth. You don’t know how, but you do. And you may have some distance to go before you’ll actually get to know Chris, but, seeing him in this moment, when confronted with your accusation that he doesn’t care about Adrian, it seems that his response has shown his true feelings, as frustrated as he is.
You evaluate him for another moment, then say, “Fine.” You shift, then tell Chris firmly, “But Adrian is my best friend. First best friend.” You motion high up with your hand. “Top of the list.”
“He’s a fucking nerd,” John says, and you turn to glare at him.
“And are you fucking not?” you demand. He hesitates. “I’m sorry, I thought friends were nice to each other.” You motion around the group. “All of each other. Including Adrian.”
“I should’ve brought you a long time ago,” Adrian says. “Stop making fun of me, you heard them, fuckfaces—”
“I mean,” you say, “unless you do something we have to make fun of—”
“How the turntables,” Adrian sighs. You reach out, and he grabs your hand, kissing the back of it. “My apologies, my liege. Never again shall I—”
“I need another drink if I’m going to watch whatever this is,” Leota says, pushing herself to stand. Chris reclaims your attention, asks if you want a drink, and you accept, hopes actually lifting.
By the end of the night, you can’t believe it, but—
You and Chris are actually friends. On the way to becoming it, at least. You’re friendly, and you actually get along shockingly well. He’s funny, and he listens well, when he tries. The two of you swap stories about Adrian, much to his chagrin— and obvious, not-so-secret delight that the two of you are discussing him so fondly.
You eventually start discussing other topics. You have similar tastes in music, and you find yourself discussing an album you’ve both listened to that has some heavier themes in it. That leads into a more in-depth conversation between the two of you. Before you know it, the two of you are sitting close, sharing a bottle back and forth between your glass and his, and discussing life and love and friendship.
You’re both definitely tipsy— and you probably more than him, but he’s much looser than he had been before. It’s made you both friendlier, more willing to talk with one another, and you’ve warmed up to each other so much over the night.
He even gets tearful with you, at one point. You’re surprised to see him showing so much emotion, but he seems embarrassed about it, and you tell him not to be. He tells you that he’s done terrible things, tells you he wants to make up for them, and you—
It’s not your responsibility to absolve him, but he’s not asking for that. He’s asking for you to reach out, he’s asking for a friend.
And if Adrian cares so much about him, there must be something worth caring about here. Something you think you’re starting to see.
You really do like Chris, you realize. The two of you have been getting on like a house on fire all night. Though you’ve had a few conversations with the other people here, most of your direct interaction has been with Chris.
Adrian must be so excited, you think to yourself, after you’ve both been there for a few hours. You’re starting to get worn out, the night getting incredibly late.
You realize that Adrian hasn’t been talking to you guys, and you’re curious, wondering who he’s been chatting with. Turning, you find him not in conversation with anybody, but instead staring at you and Chris. When your eyes meet, his abruptly drop downwards to focus on the glass in his hands, tapping his nails against the sides. He’s uncharacteristically morose, not speaking to anybody, not smiling. It’s almost impossible to get him this quiet.
Your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach with fear over what could have upset him, you say, “Hey, Adrian,” to catch his attention.
You know he’s heard you, because his face flushes slightly, patches of pink high on his cheeks, his ears going red. He doesn’t lift his face, though, and you look to Chris in confusion.
“You probably know him better than I do,” Chris says. You probably would’ve responded bitterly to that before, but now it just makes you feel kind of— sad. The way he says it makes it seem like he wants to know more people better, like he wants to be closer to Adrian.
You frown slightly, feeling for him. You wish you had given in to Adrian sooner; you could’ve made this all so much easier for all of you.
Chris is also probably right, and you turn back to Adrian again, saying, “Hey, I’m actually kind of tired. Is it okay if we head out soon?”
Adrian does lift his eyes again, then, to find yours, and he nods, his brow creasing. “You should’ve said if you were—”
He stops himself, flushing again, then looks away. Pushing himself to stand, he gathers up a bunch of random bottles and glasses off the table and heads for the little kitchenette.
“What the hell?” John whispers to you.
“I really don’t know,” you say, bewildered. “He’s been so excited for tonight. He really wanted me to meet all you guys, he says you’re all his best friends. You especially, Chris, he wanted me to know you and I’ve been putting it off.” You wring your hands, then nervously say, “He’s probably pissed. I shouldn’t have snapped at you guys— Chris, I’m really sorry—”
“No, hey, that’s not it,” Chris says to you in a low voice. “Don’t worry about it, whatever, I’m not even upset. It’s whatever.”
You don’t fully believe him, but you resolve to talk to him in the future about it. You think there could be a really great conversation there with him.
You take out your phone, telling them all, “We’re probably going to head out soon. Is it too forward of me to ask for your phone numbers? In a friend way,” you say, smiling, teasing. Emilia holds her hand out, and you give her your phone so they can all put their numbers in.
While they’re passing your phone, you gather up some of the remaining empties and bring them to Adrian in the kitchenette. Dropping them on the counter beside him, you keep your voice low, asking, “Hey. You okay?”
Adrian nods, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “We should head out. It’s late.”
It’s so unlike him, but he’s making you nervous, and you don’t know what to do, so you don’t say anything. Instead, you just agree, “Okay,” and let him go to say his goodbyes to his friends.
You follow behind, taking your phone when Chris hands it to you. You see Adrian notice it, but he doesn’t look pleased. You expected that he was going to be so happy, and he looks the total opposite. He almost even looks afraid, and you can’t understand why in the least.
“I’ll message you later,” you tell Chris and the group at large. “It was really great to meet you all! Seriously, I had an awesome time. I want to hang out with you all again soon, if you’ll have me.”
“Of course!” Leota exclaims.
“Yeah, for sure,” Chris agrees. You smile at them, then turn back to Adrian, taking his hand, pocketing your phone.
“See you guys later,” Adrian says, which is so much different than his usual energy. You know you’re not the only one who notices, but everyone just says bye and goodnight.
Once the two of you are back outside and in the car, you’re not entirely sure how to bring it up. It’s not until he’s started driving, his headlights the only light guiding you back to the main road in the deep darkness of nighttime, that you hesitantly venture to speak.
“Adrian?” you ask softly. His eyes stay fixed forward, but they look a little glassy, like they’re shining. Like they’re wet, you realize, and you can’t figure out what could possibly be upsetting him so much. “You’re really freaking me out, babe. What’s going on? Are you okay? Did something happen?” Something occurs to you, and you say, “Did one of them say something shitty to you? Because I swear to fucking God—”
“No!” he hurries to say, and it’s the most he’s responded to you in hours. You frown at the thought. “No, they’re all— They’re all good people. They’re good friends.”
He pauses again, then just goes quiet. It seems like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t, which is just so massively unlike him that you’re not entirely sure what to do about it.
Into the silence, you venture instead to say, “You were right, by the way.”
Adrian’s brow furrows. “About what?”
“Chris,” you tell him, and his face falls. You hurry to reassure him, “I liked him! I really did, I liked him a lot. I see why you’re friends with him.”
“Yeah,” Adrian says. He doesn’t seem reassured at all by what you’ve said, and you grow only more confused by this. “You really seem to hit it off.”
The way he says it sounds weird, and you can’t really figure out what’s going on. You tell him, “Adrian, if I did something wrong, you can—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Adrian says, too fast.
“What’s that mean?” you ask. “Who did?” Adrian still doesn’t answer. “Who, Chris? You?” His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “What the hell did you do wrong?”
Adrian doesn’t answer for a moment. His jaw is tense, a muscle jumping as he clenches his teeth. He knocks the heel of his hand against the steering wheel, then puts his directional on, shifting to pull over on the side of the road. He parks the car there, throwing his hazard lights on, and turns to you fully in his seat.
Your heart is pounding, eyes fixed on him, terrified. You don’t know what he’s going to say, but you’re abruptly sure that he’s upset, that you did something wrong, that he wants to break up or something—
“You and Chris got along so well,” Adrian says, like it’s the worst thing in the fucking world, and that’s— not what you expected.
Confused, brow furrowed, you ask, “What?”
“Like, as soon as you started talking,” Adrian continues. He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “Fuck, this is going to sound so goddamn stupid—”
“Just say it,” you say. “Whatever it is, just be honest. Don’t half-truth me. We talked about that.”
Adrian huffs a slight laugh, fiddling with a hangnail. Head still tilted downward, he says, “You hated him so much— so much— and the second you started talking, just— Wham! Right? Like— You just get along so well, and he makes you laugh so much, because, like, of course he does.” Adrian reaches up to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Everyone’s always been in love with him and he’s the fucking coolest guy ever and I should’ve known better than to introduce you to him because now you know him and you don’t need me anymore because, like, what the fuck am I next to that, right?” He shakes his head. “Fuck, I am so fucking stupid—”
“Yeah,” you say, “You are.”
His head snaps up, his eyes red-rimmed. “What?”
“You are fucking stupid,” you tell him, “if you think I think Chris is— What, you think that I think he’s better than you? Because we got along for one night?”
“Because I’m—” Adrian starts, then growls in frustration. He takes a deep breath, then says, “Because I’m me and I’ve always been me and he’s him and he’s always been him. And I’m just the fuck-up who tags along and I’ve always known that but I wasn’t that with you, but now you’re friends with him and you’re going to think the same thing and realize—”
You can’t listen to this anymore. You can’t believe that he’s just been sitting there all night thinking this.
“Adrian,” you tell him, your chest aching. “The only reason I wanted to try and get along with him at all was for you in the first place.”
“Because you’re a good person,” he says. “And I’m not, and he—”
“Adrian,” you interrupt him firmly. He meets your eyes again, and you grip his chin, forcing him to stay there, not letting him break your eye contact. “Look at me. Do you trust me?” He starts to say something else, but you cut him off. “Hey. Yes or no.”
Adrian doesn’t hesitate. He says, “Yes, I trust you,” and your stomach drops out. You love him so much it fills you up inside, until you can’t think about anything sometimes about how grateful you are that he’s at your side.
And it’s killing you that he apparently doesn’t understand that, doesn’t know that.
“You could introduce me to every single person,” you say, “on this goddamn planet, and I would still want you to be the one introducing me. The only one who stays the whole time. I could meet everybody who has ever lived, and I would want you to be here, with me, holding my hand through all of it. I could look into the eyes of everybody, know their names, laugh with them, and drink with them, and still,” you tell him, digging your fingers into his face, your eyes burning. A tear spills down his own cheek. “I would be in love with you. You are my best friend, you are my partner, you are my— my fucking everything. If you’re not here, the rest of it’s bullshit. It doesn’t fucking matter. I could have seven billion Chris Smiths on this planet, and if there’s not one Adrian Chase, I would— I would burn it all down, just for the chance to have you back.”
Adrian’s eyes are burning, too, streaking with red and spilling over with tears. He tells you, voice breaking, “That was really dramatic, babe.”
You squeeze his face a little tighter before tugging him in for a hard kiss. It’s salty, and your teeth meet for a moment, but you’re so stupid in love with him that you want to swallow him, be swallowed by him, be one person.
When you separate, you tell him, “I can’t believe you wanted me to meet your best friend and then got jealous when we got along.”
“I’m not jealous,” Adrian exclaims jealously. “I just— You don’t know him! Everybody thinks he’s the shit. How’m I supposed to know if you’re going to like him more than you like me or not?”
And there’s the crux of the issue, you realize. You press your forehead into Adrian’s, reaching around to grip the back of his neck, holding him tightly and reassuringly in place.
“Adrian Chase,” you tell him firmly, so he’ll remember this, “There is nobody I like more than you. There is nobody I will ever like more than you. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” he agrees.
“Tell me you believe me, though,” you say, and he sighs, rolling his eyes behind his glasses and blowing a raspberry at you. Laughing, you say, “Hey!”
Adrian reaches out and pulls you in, hugging you tightly. You expect him to kiss you, but inside he just tucks his face into the junction of your neck and your shoulder, hiding in your throat. It’s an awkward twist over the center console, but you hold him as close as you can, rubbing his back in slow strokes.
“I love you,” he whispers to you, his voice cracking again. He clears his throat, and says, “Like, way too much. It’s kind of fucked up how much I love you, actually.”
“Join the club,” you tell him. “I love you so fucking much. I’m serious. It makes me feel bonkers that you think I would like fucking Chris more than you. Apparently I’m not doing my job well enough as your partner—”
“Well,” Adrian says, throwing the car back into drive. “Why don’t we go make it up to each other?”
You can hear the possessive edge in his tone, and you shift in your seat, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. “Okay, yeah.”
Adrian grins, that special grin just for you. He reaches over the center console again as he drives, taking your hand in his, steering with the other. He kisses the back of it before starting to ask you all about your conversation with Chris. Now that he’s apparently processed this, he’s let go of the idea of you and Chris and seems genuinely excited to hear what you discussed, to hear you talk about your thoughts on Chris.
Your phone chimes partway through the night with an invitation to a group chat with Adrian and his friends. You see a message from Chris that says: welcome to the kids, and you smile to yourself before sending a merman back and locking your phone so you can keep talking to Adrian.