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It was rare for Beloved to sleep past 7. It was even rarer for Fitz to be up first. Typically, Fitz was the one who liked to sleep in; as a freelancer, he made his own schedule, and he found that his motivation was usually strongest in the middle of the night.
Last night though, Beloved had still been working when he went to bed. They had claimed a sudden flash of inspiration that compelled them to spend the night in their makeshift studio furiously mixing paints.
“The muses are fickle, Fitz. If I ignore them they may flee, and I will be reduced to your kept lover who spends my days lounging and looking alluring. While that doesn’t sound entirely unappealing, I doubt you could afford my upkeep.”
Fitz had first met Beloved in middle school. Slight with long platinum hair and pale blue eyes, rumors about their gender abounded. People who claimed to have gone to elementary school with them said they were a boy, while others insisted that there was no way a boy would ever show up to school in a dress and handmade jewelry.
Beloved seemed to float above the rumors, and when pressed, would simply say it was no one’s business but their own. They didn’t seem to have any friends, but there was a group of boys who seemed angry about their very existence. It wasn’t clear what they thought relentless harassment would accomplish, but perhaps just having a target for their rage was enough for them. Beloved always remained composed, frequently making cutting remarks about why the content of someone else’s underwear could possibly matter to them in response to their taunts, which only seemed to make them angrier.
Fitz had been equal parts fascinated and afraid. The others were mostly affronted that a “freak” dared to exist in their vicinity. One time, Fitz could have sworn he saw a shadow of a bruise under their eye, but the next time he saw them it was gone and he wondered if perhaps he had imagined it. The thought of violence being used on Beloved, who he doubted could meaningfully defend themself, made him feel alternately sick to his stomach and full of rage.
Fitz could relate to being an outcast. His cousin Regal had worked hard to turn as many people against him as possible before school had even started. He was fortunate only in the sense that, unlike Beloved, he was entirely ignored; he may not have friends but no one was especially bothered to make his life difficult.
He knew that it would not make things any easier for him if he were to approach Beloved, who had been deemed a freak, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from finding them in every room. He felt a mad impulse with growing frequency to defend them against the people who seemed determined to make their life as miserable as possible and to force the others to leave them alone. Sometimes, he would glimpse Beloved sitting alone out of the corner of his eye and think of that bruise.
He knew that Beloved acted like they didn’t care what others thought of them. He had a nagging feeling though that perhaps that wasn’t the case, and that disregard for the cruelty of others was merely the armor that they wore to protect themselves. Pretending that things didn’t bother him was another thing Fitz could relate to.
He spent every day refusing to think about the way his mother had given him up and his father had chosen to not only sign away his rights but never even meet him before doing it. What little he knew of his parents came from his fathers family, who considered his existence to be an embarrassment, so he chose to push his feelings about them deep down and avoid them as much as he could. Perhaps he and Beloved had more in common than he thought.
Fitz could still remember the day he had worked up the courage to approach them. It had started when he found a simple leather book. A beautiful burst of flowers in pinks and purples and blues has been painted on the front, and he had opened it in a sudden burst of curiosity.
Inside the book, he saw drawings of dragons taking to the skies, filled in with jewel toned inks and so detailed that they looked alive. He continued to flip through the pages and saw sketches of plants, carefully labeled with their names and where they could be found, and to his shock, a drawing of him looking pensively out a window, sunlight illuminating one side of his face. He noted how there were no other drawings of people in the book.
There were poems too; Fitz didn’t fully grasp their meaning but there was almost a palpable sadness that came through the words. He realized three things at that moment: there was someone else in the world who was as lonely as him, he desperately longed for them in a way he didn’t fully understand, and the sketchbook belonged to Beloved.
When Fitz had approached them with it, Beloved had given him a wary look and said “let’s just get the mockery over with so we can both go on with our day.” Fitz wanted to reassure them that he wasn’t going to mock them, or tell him that his drawings are beautiful, or that I understand what it’s like to not especially like yourself but feel like you have no one else, but instead he only said “I liked the one of me.” Surprise momentarily flashed across Beloved's face before they returned to their carefully neutral expression.
He knew that he should walk away, go back to the way things were, holding himself in and ensuring no one ever saw too much of him. Something he saw in Beloved's eyes held him back though. So instead, he had sat down across from them and introduced himself, and both of their lives had changed.
After that, Fitz and Beloved had spent the next 7 years as inseparable friends. Beloved was sharply funny, clever, and incredibly gifted. They had the ability to find beauty in places no one else could and an appreciation for all living things. Being friends with them made Fitz look at the world differently, and perhaps consider that things he had written off actually deserved a second look.
While Fitz lived alone with his gruff foster father Burrich, who he had a tumultuous relationship with that had gotten more distant as he had gotten older, Beloved had three loving parents and an older sister who welcomed him in as an honorary member of the family.
The first time he had gone to their house, with houseplants on every surface and colorful blankets strewn all over the furniture and shelves stuffed full of books, he could see exactly how his friend had come to be.
Beloved’s parents embraced all of their differences; their art was on display through the house and their sister allowed them to borrow her clothes. Fitz noted that one of their parents shared the same androgyny and also preferred to go by they/them. They were the kind of people who embraced their children for who they were. Fitz couldn’t help but think of Burrich and feel a stab of hurt.
At first, he envied the support that he had never been given, but with time he had gotten closer to Beloved's parents and found that they were happy to offer the same kind of support to him. Their home became a refuge from his loneliness; after years of feeling like he was alone in the world he finally had people who showed him the care he hadn’t realized he was missing until then.
During those years, the two of them spent most of their time together. They hung around in Beloved's bedroom in comfortable silence as Fitz wrote in his journals and Beloved painted watercolors, went for hikes, stopping whenever Beloved found a particularly interesting plant that they wanted to catalog, and attended shows by local bands where there were only 10 other people in the crowd.
They never won the approval of their peers, but the persistent bullying of Beloved stopped after Fitz had witnessed them being pinned to a wall and gone into a blind rage. He and the boy, who had gotten a broken nose for his trouble, were both suspended for 2 weeks, but it was worth it to see the gratitude on Beloved's face and know that they would be left in peace.
In high school, things started to look up for them when they found another friend for their group, a blonde girl named Kettricken. She was grounded and earthy with a bohemian sensibility, everything that Beloved was not, but the two of them hit it off immediately. She would indulge them in their love for gossip in a way Fitz, who didn’t pay much attention to his classmates, could never keep up with, and the two of them had a shared love for fantasy.
Fitz liked her too; she was strong and smart and an excellent listener. She was formidable too; she could shut someone down with just a glance that made them feel stupid for even opening their mouth. He could tell that she was interested in him, and she was very pretty, but he couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate. He couldn’t say why, and the thought of examining it made him uncomfortable, so he pushed it to the back of his mind and just pretended that he didn’t notice. Kettricken, to his relief, never said a word.
Things with Beloved had started to shift during those years too. It started when they were both 14 and he had a dream about Beloved that made it very hard to meet their eyes the next morning. Fitz tried to forget about it, but not only did the dreams keep coming, but he found himself noticing how fine and silky Beloveds pale hair was, or how delicate they looked as Fitz got bigger and they stayed small, or how they always smelled like roses because of an oil that they used on their skin (“staying moisturized is the most crucial part of the routine Fitz!”) They were so beautiful that Fitz had no idea how he never noticed it before.
On occasion, the two of them would share a bed when he slept over, as they had done when they were young, and Fitz would wake up with the top of Beloved's head tucked under his chin. It always felt right. So did walking hand in hand, or learning how to braid their hair, or letting Beloved pick out clothes that he thought would look good on him. He pretended that he didn’t see the way they looked at him when he wore them, but it secretly thrilled him.
He sometimes felt a mad urge to wrap his arms around them and pull them close until their bodies merged and it was impossible to see where one began and the other ended, but would inevitably remember what his foster father said about unnatural desires, and how he had been tempted in his youth and it had never brought him anything but unhappiness, and then he would pull back.
He knew should save his affections for women. It wasn’t that Beloved was a man (though he knew Burrich would disagree with him on that,) but he was close enough that Fitz always felt like there was an unspoken barrier between them.
Beloved may be the person he loved the most in the world and the other half of his soul, but there were lines he knew not to cross. Things were already difficult enough for both of them; an unwanted child and someone who was neither a man or a woman. He didn’t need to make it worse.
Beloved never mentioned anything. Even if Fitz noticed that sometimes they would hold his gaze for just a moment too long, and that he was a favored subject for Beloved's art, they never broached the topic of their relationship being anything but platonic.
There were a few times when they were alone together and approached a precipice that where it felt like everything could change, and each time Beloved gave Fitz a considering look then changed the subject.
Fitz was grateful, and if any part of him was disappointed, he would not admit to anyone, especially himself.
Everything changed when they went to college. It was a natural choice to go to the same school; neither of them could picture being apart for 4 years. When he moved onto campus, Fitz was taken by surprise by how easily those who were different seemed to be accepted.
He saw men holding hands with men, women with broad shoulders and the shadow of a beard, and even other people like Beloved who were neither men nor women. They lived their lives without shame and no one bothered them. It was nothing like the shunning that Burrich had warned him about.
Beloved blossomed; they finally found more people who not only understood but appreciated them. They were admired for their talent and wit, inevitably attracting a hoard of admirers, though they always managed to deflect them. When Fitz asked why they never accepted any offers, both fearing the answer and inexplicably hopeful, he only got an enigmatic smile in response.
He couldn’t say exactly why, but these suitors bothered him. He didn’t want any of them trying to claim Beloved for themselves. He was welcomed into their circle, but his glare and protective arm around Beloved's shoulder made it known that others should be careful how they talk to them. He was secretly satisfied that Beloved always held the others at arm's length; they had never trusted easily and Fitz treasured being one of the few.
One night, he got his answers. They had been up late doing homework together, and when they were finished, they split a bottle of wine.
Fitz’s head swam pleasantly as he looked at Beloved's pale neck and thought about how much he wished he could mark it and let everyone know they were his.
Before his inhibitions could get through his wine soaked mind, he found himself saying “I don’t like it when they look at you like that. I want to be the only one who can.”
There was a long silence. Fitz felt a cold pit of dread in his belly; he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Beloved stared at him with wide eyes. The tension in the air was nearly palpable. He almost said that he didn’t mean it, but the words died on lips. He knew it would be a lie.
Finally, Beloved spoke. Their tone was measured, as if they were thinking carefully about their words.
“Fitz, what do you mean by that?”
I knew that they were giving me the opportunity to brush it aside and come up with an excuse. It was an out that would have been smart to take.
Thankfully, Fitz had never been smart. He grabbed the back of their head and crashed their lips into mine.
Beloved made a small noise of surprise before wrapping their arms around his neck and pulling him closer. This is how it should be Fitz thought hazily. He nipped at Beloved's neck, marking them like he had been wanting to and enjoying the gasp he got in response.
He pulled them onto his lap, and the last thought that he had before he lost the ability to think at all was that he should have done this years ago.
The next morning, they talked for a long time.
Fitz had finally admitted that he has loved Beloved since the day he mistakenly picked up the sketchbook in the 6th grade, and had wanted them for almost as long.
Being with each other in that way felt right, like there was something missing in his life that had finally slotted into place.
Beloved had simply kissed the tip of his nose and told him much to his embarrassment that they knew years ago but knew Fitz hadn’t been ready and they didn’t want to push. They had simply been waiting for him to catch up.
That had been fifteen years ago now, and they had been together ever since.
Fitz had gone on to become a programmer, and Beloved had gone for their MFA and did commercial illustration work on top of their painting. The two of them lived in a downtown apartment much like the home Beloved had grown up in, this time with the addition of Fitz’s husky, Nighteyes, and Beloved's much adored cat Bee.
They were married on paper per Fitz’s request, but Beloved still insisted on calling him their lover rather than husband, citing the fact that it seemed more glamorous and romantic. Really, their life wasn’t anything especially exotic, but Beloved had always liked to cultivate a certain mystique.
Fitz smiled at the thought and went to start breakfast. He cut up some melon for Beloved and cracked an egg for himself and put on a pot of tea while Nighteyes nosed at him.
He had already fed him and let him out, so he just rubbed his head absently. Bee was still curled up in bed, which was an admittedly appealing prospect, but Fitz found himself strangely buzzing with energy.
He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and went to present his offering of Beloved's favorite tea. Their pale hair was spread out across the pillow as they regarded Fitz sleepily.
“Did I really sleep later than you? Did I take a blow to the head last night without realizing it?”
Fitz smiled. “It’s not late, I’m just up early. I made you some breakfast. Come sit.”
“No,” Beloved sighed dramatically, “it’s far too cold to be leaving my blankets. I think I’ll just take the tea for now.”
Fitz thought of his own rapidly cooling breakfast, then thought of Beloved's bed warmed body, and knew which one seemed more appealing. He put the tea on the nightstand and climbed into bed, wrapping his arms firmly around Beloved's waist and burying his face in their hair.
“If you’re going to lie in, I’ll stay with you.”
Beloved only murmured “do you happen to have anything important to do?”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” Fitz replied, and smiled when Beloved rolled on top of him.
The tea was cold by the time they got to it, but neither of them cared.