this one took even longer oh no T-T had a bit of a writers block, hope it doesn't happen again. enjoy the chapter!!

Still, something about love is so quiet and so loud. Words cannot describe it, and any attempt at doing so usually ended up falling flat, in his opinion. It was heaven and anyone would die for it.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had come and gone, and they still had no plan. Anything he suggested got rejected for being “too tacky” or “just plain stupid”. And once again, Ancap regretted everything. Oh, the lengths he had to go just for a wee bit of fun in this miserable household! Disgraceful!

“For the love of weed,” he plead, exhausted “can’t you just ask him out?”

A groan came from the other end of the table. “It’s not that easy, Mr. Moneybags.” qui said, running quis hands through quis own hair, making the tousled locks appear even more messed up “Plus, how are you so sure he even likes me? “

This time, the groan came from him. Not this shit again. “Oh my god, Ancom” he didn’t even have the strength to insult quem “You guys flirt all the time, just thinking about it makes me wanna puke. Also, what about the time you almost fucking kissed in our couch with me in the room? And the other day when he kept staring at your- “

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, you- you capitalist pig!” embarrassment was evident in quis face, and the words came out rushed and less intimidating than Ancom would have liked. The grin on his face grew just the tiniest bit. “Aw, now you’re even using his insults too! How cute, anarkitty” he snickered into his hand as the younger one practically jumped with distress and started shrieking threats directed at him, mostly about how he was going to get his skull smashed in.

“What is going on here?” a firm, almost motherly-sounding voice with a heavy russian accent made both anarchists stop their fight in stupor. How long had he been there, exactly? The hooded one turned a bit to face Tankie, who stood resting one foot on the doorway.

Ancoms’ demeanor did a literal 180 in a matter of seconds.

“Nothing. Just losing brain-cells while hearing the McRich over here speak” qui pointed at him with quis thumb. Tankie gave quem a lop-sided smile at that, which of course meant that Ancom looked a bit brighter and of course meant that quis own smile was fonder. How gay of them. “Well let’s leave fighting for another moment, да? Nazi was playing his video games and complained to me. He was hearing you over the gunshots.”

Qui scrunched quis nose at that. “You’re just giving me reasons to be louder.”

Tankie huffed a laugh “I actually would do that, but we’re living together, so...”

Qui pouted a little and replied, in that teasing voice qui seemed to reserve for the other man: “Look at you licking his boots like that. Doesn’t surprise me one bit, statist.” Tankie shook his head slightly with faux exasperation “As if. I’m only saying it because I don’t want him to shoot you.”

Another thing he had learned from this whole experience was that watching them flirt was horrible when Ancap wasn’t sleep deprived. Very awkward. Like, ‘Can’t-even-watch-them-without-puking’ type of awkward. He needed an excuse to get the fuck out of here. Or maybe an excuse to observe them from a distance. He was a man on a mission, after all. “Anyway” he started, stretching the first syllable “I have to get going. Coffee to make, nukes to sell. Just the usual.” The glare both leftists gave him didn’t come as a surprise.

“Don’t interrupt me.” The statement was directed to both, but he looked at Ancom directly as he said it, in hopes qui would get the underlying message in his eyes. He put in his black Raycon E25 Wireless Earbuds© (with amazing sound quality!)(buy them or perish), and proceeded to enter the kitchen. After the Movie Incident as he dubbed it, he had decided to use the kitchen table to work instead. For obvious reasons.

It’s now or never, so stop being a pussy. Ask. Him. OUT!!

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Naturally, the first thing he did when he walked in was turn off the music playing on his phone (Doja Cat, duh) and pretend to start working on his computer. He liked to brag about the noise isolation those earbuds had, so he hoped the other two extremists didn’t think he was eavesdropping. Which he was, obviously. Despite his gossipy urges, he decided to be a bit subtle and sat far from the tiny kitchen window that faced the living room and dining area, but just enough so he could peek through it occasionally.

Present-him was furious at past-him for jumping in at the possibility of being part of a real life romantic sitcom. To be honest, it wasn’t the people he was setting up that he was mad at, surprisingly, more so the amicable and casual conversations they kept on having despite the feelings and touches that were there for anyone to see, if you paid close attention or if you were good at reading people, like him. They were an open book full of annotations and scribbled notes on the margins, pages highlighted yet kept with care and warmth. An intact mess.

And there were so many touches. These were left unsaid between the two, like most things in their relationship, a limbo between friendship and love. It was nothing explicit, but rather airy touches, full of hesitation. They danced around them. Like they were scared to lose the others’ trust by revealing too much with a slight caress.

Each and every time they were around the other when they thought no one was looking was the most fragile Ancap had seen either of them. It wasn’t hard to see why. The leftists weren’t used to having things served to them on a silver plate. And so, they kept on yearning from a distance, wishing and hoping and living for the other. Were they afraid of rejection or afraid of love? He didn’t know.

Nothing about either of them was truly quiet, both outspoken in their own ways. Still, something about love is so quiet and so loud. Words cannot describe it, and any attempt at doing so usually ended up falling flat, in his opinion. It was heaven and anyone would die for it. Romantic, familiar or platonic love, all of it intoxicating in unique ways.

Since when was he such a sap? Oh, right. Since Libertarian.

But this wasn’t about him. That was a completely different story that he wished not to tell, thank you very much.

Right now, he was doing a terrible job at spying the lovebirds. It didn’t take much to realize it was just the usual. Breathy laughs and quiet stares. Somehow, the air felt more charged than when he left the room, if such a thing was even possible.

“Hey, Tankie.” Ancom started, avoiding the other mans eyes “I barely see you now. Which is weird because… we’re literally roommates.” Qui tried and failed to lighten the mood by laughing after that phrase with clear implications behind it. He had been avoiding quem.

Ancap didn’t need to look up from his computer to know the face the tall man was making.

Taken aback by the sudden honesty, Tankie took his time to reply, and fiddled with his coat before saying: “Um… I’ve been busy, anarkitty. Revolutions are complicated.” he wavered before approaching the younger one, stretching out a hand and carefully placing it on top of quis. “If I could, I would spend so much more time with you. We’re comrades, да?”

"Yeah, that's part of the problem though." qui whispered, then realized what qui had just said. And realized qui had said it outloud. Tankie heard it however, hurt and shock in his eyes. Qui rapidly jolted quis hand away, and started to stand up, looking terrified of quemself and refusing to look up from the floor.

“What do you mean, anarkitty?” he sounded just as hurt as his face had shown, emotion fully betraying him and making his voice crack a bit at the end.

The anarchist was shaking now. “I.. I'm sorry- just- Please. Stop.” The Russian just stared at quem, appalled by those words. Ancom ran to quis room, slamming the door shut.

He was afraid this would happen.