[Honestly, Onni hadn't intended to butt in when Reynir calls himself stubborn - that is something he agrees with him on, after all. Reynir is the only person he's ever met who could stare him down and win a battle of wills, and that's something notable. So instead of interrupting, he just makes a little grunt of agreement when Reynir says he's stubborn.
But that's where his calm agreeableness ends. Reynir goes on to explain that people see him as helpless, like a baby, young and non-Immune and pretty and practical rather than intellectual, that he hates being treated that way. Onni is about to respond when Reynir pushes himself up, hauls his shirt up over his head and tosses it onto the floor without looking where it's going and then lying back down. Without a word, Onni dips the cloth again and starts dabbing cool water further down, from his throat to his collarbone and chest, pale eyes locked on his face.
When Reynir explains that he's worried about Onni seeing him differently and starting to treat him like that, like he's helpless, like he's a stupid baby, something clicks. Onni makes another noise in his throat, his hand falling still and his eyes flicking back up to Reynir's face, trying to catch his eyes. After a moment, he sighs.]
Reynir, I don't treat grown people like babies. Even Tuu- [For just a moment, his voice catches on her name, but he comes through the wave of grief faster than expected, despite the fact the subject matter reminds him of dozens of moments when they were children. Carefully, he clears his throat and carries on.]
Even Tuuri. She was my little sister, and I love her. She wasn't Immune. If she was being stupid, I told her so. If she was taking on too much, I told her so. I protected her, but I didn't coddle her. Coddling people is stupid. But when a person is sick or injured and can't do something, that's different. It isn't as if you can't take care of yourself perfectly well when you're not sick.
[A pause, and he shrugs.]
When my rib was hurt and you washed my hair, it didn't feel like being coddled. Same thing.
[ Onni says it all so simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like it's no struggle at all for him to think of Reynir as competent - as competent as anyone else. And Reynir knows what he's saying is true. Onni had kept Tuuri from venturing out from Keuruu for a long time, but it had been in a different way than his parents, his mother specifically, had kept him at home in their village.
Onni hadn't lied to Tuuri. He hadn't stopped her, when she was old enough to leave with the expedition. And he had done it not out of a sense of her incapability, her vulnerability, her unfitness. He had done it because he, personally, was terrified of the world outside. Because he was sure that anyone, no matter how skilled or how immune, would be in so much danger that it wasn't worth it.
Onni just sits there, looking down at him with those blue blue eyes, telling Reynir he is allowed to get sick and be injured and it won't change Onni's view of his capability as a person overall. And Reynir knows it is true because Onni is honest and because he feels it in the Bond. There's no pity, no condescension. Just worry, and warmth underneath it, unchanged and beautiful.
If he wasn't already in love with Onni, Reynir thinks he would have fallen for him right at that moment. He shuts his eyes again, letting his head fall to the side, enjoy the cool air and cool damp cloth and the feeling of Onni sitting so nearby, quiet and steady and strong. The love he feels at that moment is almost a physical thing washing over him. It is not the frantic, giggly, nervous feeling of first infatuation. It is not the urgent, unchecked physical desire for Onni that had burned him down to the bone during the autumn. Instead it is something deep and gradual and inevitable, like sinking beneath water. Like opening his eyes into the dreamspace and feeling himself fitting in a way he never felt in the same way when he was awake.
He loved Onni, and there was no hiding it, no dissembling - and he couldn't even remember at that moment through the dizziness and fever and relief why he would even want to. He loved Onni and chances were Onni could feel that through the Bond so clearly that saying it aloud was almost immaterial. ]
I'm sorry. I - I'm not used to. You. The way you treat me. But I want to be, so. So if you really don't mind, you can take care of me when I'm sick, and I can take care of you when you're hurt, and- and we'll both work on being less stubborn.
[Having lived with Reynir for months now, it wouldn't occur to Onni to think that he couldn't take care of himself, that he wasn't competent. He works and brings in money, he cooks, he takes care of the house and the yard, he helps build the sauna, he decorates the cottage and makes it feel like home. The way his parents had treated him as helpless and stupid hadn't made much sense to him even back when he'd stayed at their place in Iceland for a few days.
He's about to go about finding a new shirt for Reynir, something cool and dry, when he feels that rush of emotion from the younger man, intense and overwhelming. It washes over him like a tidal wave, that mingled feeling of gratitude and affection and relief and satisfaction, like he's falling into place, like he's right where he should be. Even moreso, Onni can feel something else, encompassing all those other things and yet more than them, more vivid, more complete, and more powerful. It's strong enough that he can't help but name it - love.
Reynir has felt that fondness for him that's crossed from simple affection to love, and Onni had thought about it a little, when he couldn't sleep at night or when he was trying to wake up with his hands curled around a hot cup of coffee or while sweating on the roof of the nearly-complete sauna. But he'd never really explored it too much because it was too confusing and too vulnerable and too much. But there's no denying it right now, no denying that Reynir, with his head turned to the side and his lips curled into a slight smile and his eyes closed, loves him. Deeply. Beyond the type of love that friends have, close to the type of love that family has, but different because they're not family.
There's only one other type of love he can think of.
Taking a little breath, he watches as Reynir speaks, telling him that he's not used to the way Onni treats him, that he wants to be, that he wants Onni to take care of him and to take care of Onni in return, that they'll work on being less stubborn. Together.
For a moment, Onni is still, feeling a rush of heat to his face, his ears ringing slightly, his hand still, paralyzed by the combination of that feeling and what Reynir had just said. There is that slight shock of clarity that comes with realizing something vitally important that he'd missed before, something that should have been so clear. There is also the confusion and mild panic at not knowing how he wants to respond, if he should respond, of trying to name what's going on inside him. There's no suppressing the slight flutter of confusion and fear, but he's looking at Reynir still, and he allows the feeling to be buried in affection and concern.]
Of course I don't mind.
[His voice is a little brusque, but not with anger, and he wets the cloth one more time before sliding it down the center of Reynir's chest, cooling him a little more. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice a little careful.]
I'm not sure what special way I treat you, but I'm glad it makes you happy.
[Another pause, while he works out how to speak to make sure he's not dampening that feeling in Reynir, because he's come to realize very abruptly that he likes having someone feel that way about him.]
I like the way you treat me too. It's...scary sometimes. But I like it.
[ Even as full of love as he is, as blurred by exhaustion and fever, Reynir senses that confusion and fear, bubbling up inside Onni. He doesn't know where they are from, but he knows by now that Onni is sometimes like this. He mistrusts good things. He recoils from good luck, from comfort, from happiness, like he's afraid it will hurt him. And Reynir understands that a little better now. He knows how Onni had been taught - both in word and in experience - that it was dangerous and weak to let himself be soft.
And he knows, too, that thoughts of the future sometimes set off a fear in Onni. Maybe he'd been thinking of the swan, of that bargain, of everything that may happen when they return home. Who knows.
But he also feels how quickly those negative shades fade, and how quickly Onni goes back to what he'd been feeling before - though it feels a touch more complicated now. ]
I'm... glad, too.
[ Reynir reaches up, gently taking Onni's hand that is holding that damp rag and bringing it up so he can kiss the back of it, a little gesture of affection that he can't quite hold in. And then, because he is trying to actually follow through and ask for what he needs, he licks his lips and admits: ]
I'm really - I'm really thirsty, do you think you could...?
[ He might not get all the way through the request, but he makes half of it, and hopefully Onni will be okay with that. Reynir still feels a momentary flush of shame - asking for someone to bring him a glass of water like he's some fucking kid - but does his best to shove it down, deny and ignore it. He would never think such a thing if it was Onni asking. Of course he wouldn't. He will just - try to extend that to himself. Somehow. ]
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no subject
But that's where his calm agreeableness ends. Reynir goes on to explain that people see him as helpless, like a baby, young and non-Immune and pretty and practical rather than intellectual, that he hates being treated that way. Onni is about to respond when Reynir pushes himself up, hauls his shirt up over his head and tosses it onto the floor without looking where it's going and then lying back down. Without a word, Onni dips the cloth again and starts dabbing cool water further down, from his throat to his collarbone and chest, pale eyes locked on his face.
When Reynir explains that he's worried about Onni seeing him differently and starting to treat him like that, like he's helpless, like he's a stupid baby, something clicks. Onni makes another noise in his throat, his hand falling still and his eyes flicking back up to Reynir's face, trying to catch his eyes. After a moment, he sighs.]
Reynir, I don't treat grown people like babies. Even Tuu- [For just a moment, his voice catches on her name, but he comes through the wave of grief faster than expected, despite the fact the subject matter reminds him of dozens of moments when they were children. Carefully, he clears his throat and carries on.]
Even Tuuri. She was my little sister, and I love her. She wasn't Immune. If she was being stupid, I told her so. If she was taking on too much, I told her so. I protected her, but I didn't coddle her. Coddling people is stupid. But when a person is sick or injured and can't do something, that's different. It isn't as if you can't take care of yourself perfectly well when you're not sick.
[A pause, and he shrugs.]
When my rib was hurt and you washed my hair, it didn't feel like being coddled. Same thing.
no subject
Onni hadn't lied to Tuuri. He hadn't stopped her, when she was old enough to leave with the expedition. And he had done it not out of a sense of her incapability, her vulnerability, her unfitness. He had done it because he, personally, was terrified of the world outside. Because he was sure that anyone, no matter how skilled or how immune, would be in so much danger that it wasn't worth it.
Onni just sits there, looking down at him with those blue blue eyes, telling Reynir he is allowed to get sick and be injured and it won't change Onni's view of his capability as a person overall. And Reynir knows it is true because Onni is honest and because he feels it in the Bond. There's no pity, no condescension. Just worry, and warmth underneath it, unchanged and beautiful.
If he wasn't already in love with Onni, Reynir thinks he would have fallen for him right at that moment. He shuts his eyes again, letting his head fall to the side, enjoy the cool air and cool damp cloth and the feeling of Onni sitting so nearby, quiet and steady and strong. The love he feels at that moment is almost a physical thing washing over him. It is not the frantic, giggly, nervous feeling of first infatuation. It is not the urgent, unchecked physical desire for Onni that had burned him down to the bone during the autumn. Instead it is something deep and gradual and inevitable, like sinking beneath water. Like opening his eyes into the dreamspace and feeling himself fitting in a way he never felt in the same way when he was awake.
He loved Onni, and there was no hiding it, no dissembling - and he couldn't even remember at that moment through the dizziness and fever and relief why he would even want to. He loved Onni and chances were Onni could feel that through the Bond so clearly that saying it aloud was almost immaterial. ]
I'm sorry. I - I'm not used to. You. The way you treat me. But I want to be, so. So if you really don't mind, you can take care of me when I'm sick, and I can take care of you when you're hurt, and- and we'll both work on being less stubborn.
no subject
He's about to go about finding a new shirt for Reynir, something cool and dry, when he feels that rush of emotion from the younger man, intense and overwhelming. It washes over him like a tidal wave, that mingled feeling of gratitude and affection and relief and satisfaction, like he's falling into place, like he's right where he should be. Even moreso, Onni can feel something else, encompassing all those other things and yet more than them, more vivid, more complete, and more powerful. It's strong enough that he can't help but name it - love.
Reynir has felt that fondness for him that's crossed from simple affection to love, and Onni had thought about it a little, when he couldn't sleep at night or when he was trying to wake up with his hands curled around a hot cup of coffee or while sweating on the roof of the nearly-complete sauna. But he'd never really explored it too much because it was too confusing and too vulnerable and too much. But there's no denying it right now, no denying that Reynir, with his head turned to the side and his lips curled into a slight smile and his eyes closed, loves him. Deeply. Beyond the type of love that friends have, close to the type of love that family has, but different because they're not family.
There's only one other type of love he can think of.
Taking a little breath, he watches as Reynir speaks, telling him that he's not used to the way Onni treats him, that he wants to be, that he wants Onni to take care of him and to take care of Onni in return, that they'll work on being less stubborn. Together.
For a moment, Onni is still, feeling a rush of heat to his face, his ears ringing slightly, his hand still, paralyzed by the combination of that feeling and what Reynir had just said. There is that slight shock of clarity that comes with realizing something vitally important that he'd missed before, something that should have been so clear. There is also the confusion and mild panic at not knowing how he wants to respond, if he should respond, of trying to name what's going on inside him. There's no suppressing the slight flutter of confusion and fear, but he's looking at Reynir still, and he allows the feeling to be buried in affection and concern.]
Of course I don't mind.
[His voice is a little brusque, but not with anger, and he wets the cloth one more time before sliding it down the center of Reynir's chest, cooling him a little more. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice a little careful.]
I'm not sure what special way I treat you, but I'm glad it makes you happy.
[Another pause, while he works out how to speak to make sure he's not dampening that feeling in Reynir, because he's come to realize very abruptly that he likes having someone feel that way about him.]
I like the way you treat me too. It's...scary sometimes. But I like it.
no subject
And he knows, too, that thoughts of the future sometimes set off a fear in Onni. Maybe he'd been thinking of the swan, of that bargain, of everything that may happen when they return home. Who knows.
But he also feels how quickly those negative shades fade, and how quickly Onni goes back to what he'd been feeling before - though it feels a touch more complicated now. ]
I'm... glad, too.
[ Reynir reaches up, gently taking Onni's hand that is holding that damp rag and bringing it up so he can kiss the back of it, a little gesture of affection that he can't quite hold in. And then, because he is trying to actually follow through and ask for what he needs, he licks his lips and admits: ]
I'm really - I'm really thirsty, do you think you could...?
[ He might not get all the way through the request, but he makes half of it, and hopefully Onni will be okay with that. Reynir still feels a momentary flush of shame - asking for someone to bring him a glass of water like he's some fucking kid - but does his best to shove it down, deny and ignore it. He would never think such a thing if it was Onni asking. Of course he wouldn't. He will just - try to extend that to himself. Somehow. ]