Work Text:
Things were good for Ballister.
Nimona was alive. Nimona was living with him. In the house that he shares with Ambrosius. Funny, handsome, sweet Ambrosius. Who, somehow, after everything, still loved him.
Ballister had a family. Things were good.
So why did he feel so poorly this morning?
The first thing he registered when he woke up was how exhausted he felt. It had taken him a while to fall asleep last night— phantom pain. He’d had a nightmare, nothing out of the ordinary, but its after-effects were still clinging on, leaving him with the sensation of a dumbbell on his chest and a lump in his throat.
Ambrosius began to wake up beside him, and Ballister was seized with the overwhelming urge to hide. His boyfriend couldn’t see him like this. Eight months had passed since the Queen’s death and all that followed– he should be over it by now. Besides, he already added enough burden to Ambrosius’ life. It was only a matter of time before the golden boy realized that.
Ambrosius rolled over onto his side, slowly opening his eyes. This was Ballister’s favorite version of him. Not the man that decorated billboards around the city, but the man with bedhead and scars across his bare chest, framed by the soft light flooding through the curtains. What a shame that Ballister couldn’t appreciate this for long, considering that he was busy burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.
The blonde laughed. “Good morning to you, too.” He pressed his lips to Ballister’s crown, hand coming up to cradle the back of the brunette’s head. When he received no response, he continued in a mimicry of Ballister’s voice, “Indeed, what a jolly good morning it is, and I’m so glad I get to spend it with you, Ambrosius!”
When his usual cheering-up tactics failed to earn so much as a chuckle out of Bal, Ambrosius knew something was wrong. He nudged him with his shoulder. “Any plans to emerge from this hideout of yours?”
Ballister wanted to bite back with, ‘ No, I actually plan to stay here for the foreseeable future, ’ but the answer got stuck to his tongue, refusing to form. Obviously, he knew that he'd have to emerge sooner or later. He just didn’t think he could handle the guilt that would inevitably appear in Ambrosius’ expression— the slight furrow in his brow, the tensing of his immaculate jawline. Ballister didn’t want to be the cause of that.
But his need for comfort overpowered any self-respect he might’ve had left. When he lifted his head, Ambrosius saw how tired his boyfriend was. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Off-day?”
Off-days had been a part of their relationship for as long as the two of them could remember. In the same way that a period of high stress would lead to Ambrosius getting a headache, bottling up negative emotions would lead to an off-day for Bal. And Gloreth knows that he experienced plenty of negative emotions on a day-to-day basis, ever since the academy. Every snide comment from Todd. Every judgmental stranger on the news. Every memory that resurfaced. Bal plastered on a polite smile and shoved all his reactions down until his brain couldn’t handle it anymore. What resulted were a couple of days where Bal simply felt…well, off. He hadn’t had one in a while, since Nimona had returned. Ambrosius was surprised his boyfriend didn’t get them more than a handful of times a year, what with everything he’d been through.
Today, he just nodded. Ambrosius mirrored the motion. “Okay. Do you think work will help or make it worse?”
Ballister felt so bad telling the truth, but he’d never been able to lie to Ambrosius. “Make it worse,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ambrosius reminded him. “I’ll let the Institute know to count us both out for the day.”
“What?” Ballister moved to sit up. “No, you’re not missing work for me. That’s not happening.”
“Easy there, tough guy.” He was pushed back onto downy pillows. “I hope you know that I’d do a lot more for you than miss work.” Ballister shrugged, gaze cast downward. Ambrosius cupped his cheek. “Hey. I love you. Just let me take care of my boyfriend, okay?”
At that, the brunette relaxed a bit. “Okay.” He slumped back against Ambrosius, drained of his fight.
“What do you want for breakfast?” Ballister shrugged again, staring intently at the design on Ambrosius’ pajamas. The blonde tried again. “You gotta eat, Bal. Anything you want.” Gloreth, he’d be willing to catch an early morning train across the kingdom just to get pastries from Bal’s favorite bakery if that’s what he was craving.
Bal’s mouth opened, closed, opened, closed. Ambrosius knew how hard it was for his boyfriend to ask for help on days like these. Finally, he seemed to make a decision, and spoke. “Pancakes?”
Ambrosius beamed. “We can definitely make that happen.” He ran his fingers through Bal’s hair, scratching his scalp in a way that the brunette had once confessed he found soothing. “Need anything else?” Bal shook his head, eyes already sliding shut.
As he pulled on a shirt, Ambrosius heard a quiet, “Thank you,” from the bed. He leaned over to kiss his boyfriend’s forehead.
“Rest, Bal.”
On his journey to the kitchen, Ambrosius made a pit stop at Nimona’s door. He knocked. “Can I come in?” He got a vague noise of affirmation, which he decided to take as a yes.
The three of them had devoted a week to redecorating the guest bedroom into something more decidedly Nimona . She clearly felt more at home because of it, but the hot pink and neons were a little overwhelming this early in the morning. The designer in question lay on her stomach, spread-eagled across the mattress. “What do you want?”
Ambrosius smirked. This kid’s manners were abysmal, but he’d grown quite fond of her in the past few months. “I want you to go over to Bal’s and my room and hang out with him while I make breakfast. He’s having an off-day.”
Nimona flipped over, eyebrows raised. “Off-day?”
The blonde raised his eyebrows in return, before realizing that Nimona didn’t know what that meant. The shapeshifter prompted him, “I’m gonna need a little more info, dude.”
It took Ambrosius a moment to figure out a decent explanation that she would understand. “Bal gets them occasionally. A bunch of big feelings catch up to him, and he needs to chill for a couple days.”
Nimona briefly shifted into a rabbit to hop up from the mattress, shifting back mid-air and landing in a cross-legged position. “But why do you call them ‘off-days?’” she questioned, placing air quotes around the term.
Ambrosius tilted his head to the side. “Just because he feels a little ‘off,’” he explained. “A little tired, a little sad, a little low on self-esteem.”
Nimona scoffed. “And this is different from the usual how ?”
Ambrosius glared at her. “Would you just go sit with him while I make some breakfast?” When she made no move to climb off of her bed, he added, “ Please? ”
“Ugh, fine .” She shifted into a seal and rolled off the bed, slithering out of the room as a snake. “What’s for breakfast?”
Ambrosius followed her, switching off the lights and shutting the door behind him. “Pancakes.”
When Nimona entered the master bedroom, the first thing she noticed was that Ballister was sleeping. She immediately hushed herself, trying to prevent her footsteps from creaking against the hardwood floors.
In hindsight, she should’ve changed into something with wings to keep her feet off the ground, because she only made it a few steps past the bed before she heard, “Nimona?”
Whipping her head around, she made eye contact with her boss— her friend? Her father figure? It was too early to unpack everything that the broody knight meant to her. Judging by how quickly he’d reacted to her entry, he hadn’t been asleep in the first place.
“I thought you were asleep,” she said dumbly.
Ballister fell back onto his pillow. “Wish I was.” He tugged the blankets tighter around himself and Nimona was struck by how small he seemed.
She perched on the edge of the mattress. “Something keepin’ you up, boss?”
“Yeah,” he replied. “Arm’s all tingly.”
Nimona snickered. “Wait, that’s it?” She grew her fingernails to sharper points, tracing them along Ballister’s good arm.
The knight made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s very sweet, Nim, but it’s the other arm.”
The shapeshifter paused, glancing at the nightstand where Ballister’s prosthetic lay, then at the empty space following the sudden end to his right deltoid. “Listen, buddy, I hate to break it to you, but-“
“I know there’s nothing there,” he cut her off, hand clenched in a fist above the sheets. “Wouldn’t be a problem otherwise.”
Nimona frowned, noticing his discomfort. “Did you let Ambrosius know?”
“No.”
“ Pfft . Why not?”
“It hardly ever happens, it’s not a big deal.”
“I know, but still–”
“I don’t want to bother him any more than I already do!”
He hadn’t meant to snap.
He just wanted to sleep.
His arm itched , and there was nothing to scratch.
“What makes you say that?” He looked up to find a pink cat on the mattress beside him.
“Dunno.”
“ Dunno ,” Nimona echoed, poofing into a miniature Ballister.
“Hey!” The real Ballister took offense. “Stop that!”
She giggled, shifting back to her teenage form and stretching out. “But seriously, what makes you think that you bother him?”
Ballister sighed heavily. “Please don’t make me say it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t fit , Nimona!” Something in his chest clenched as he said those words. “I’m holding him back, just like I always have.” As if his outburst hadn’t been embarrassing enough, he felt his eyes begin to well up with tears.
“You know, Ambrosius really loves you.”
It caught him off-guard, the sincerity in the statement. “What?”
“I didn’t trust him at first– you know, because of the whole arm thing,” Nimona countered. “But in the past few months, living with you guys, I’ve seen that he would do… anything to make you happy,” she conceded. “And so would I. We’re your family, boss. We’ll always be here for you.”
“She’s right, Bal.” They both turned to see Ambrosius standing in the doorway, holding a breakfast tray. He set it on the floor and sat down on Ballister’s other side. “What’d I miss?”
And Ballister let it all out.
He choked on the first sob, causing his boyfriend’s smile to fall. “Woah, hey, come here.” Ambrosius hugged him, rocking them back and forth. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Nimona watched the display of affection, her heart twisted in a knot. She excused herself, mouthing, ‘ I’m gonna go ,’ to Ambrosius, who nodded.
Ballister’s crying stopped shortly after the first sob, but he remained hidden in Ambrosius’ shirt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
The blonde pulled back to get a clearer view of him. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because,” Ballister huffed, looking away. “You’re missing work because of me. It was months ago, and I’m still not over it, even though everything’s okay now.”
“But right now, you’re not okay, Bal,” Ambrosius argued. He reached up to smooth Ballister’s hair out of his face. “And that’s perfectly fine.”
When Ballister looked into Ambrosius’ eyes, all he saw was devotion, and perhaps a little guilt. It was almost too much to handle. “I don’t deserve you.”
His boyfriend shook his head. “That’s just the off-day talking. You deserve the world.” He grinned. “Starting with, but not limited to, the pancakes I just made.”
That earned a small chuckle out of Bal, which Ambrosius considered a win. He reached over to grab the tray he’d brought in, setting it on Bal’s lap. When the brunette looked down, his lips quirked up in the corners.
Ambrosius had arranged fruit on the pancakes to make a smiley face.
That night, after finishing the latest episode in that zombie apocalypse series Bal and Nimona had been working their way through, the two knights lay on the couch. Nimona had gone upstairs to get ready for bed, and Ambrosius was acting as a pillow for a drowsy Ballister. He’d taken some medicine for his phantom pain, and the side effects were beginning to show.
Ambrosius was about to take action and carry his boyfriend up to their bedroom when the man in question stirred. “‘Mbrosius?”
”Yeah, Bal?”
”Thanks for taking care of me.”
Ambrosius softened. “Of course.”
Ballister nuzzled into his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Ambrosius’ torso. “Just– It was just a lot today.”
“I know, Bal. I know it was,” the blonde reassured. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Later, once they were all washed up and under the sheets, the door swung open. Nimona padded into the room in cat form, leaping onto the duvet and curling up at their feet. Ballister felt a fuzzy warmth blooming in his chest, like a flower sprouting from a burnt forest floor.
He felt loved.