Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Cid didn’t ask for anything special before he went out to the quarry today. Ascension recalls a time when Cid offhandedly said “I’ll eat anything you make”. At the time, Ascension didn’t know if it was a "I eat to survive" way or a "I genuinely enjoy your cooking" way. By any chance, despite Cid’s habitual stoicism, Cid eats at Ascension’s house exclusively three square meals a day. Ascension chooses to take it as the latter. 

Green patches have only started peeking here and there some days, and yet still winter winds braid amongst spring breezes. The beginning of spring has Ascension itching to wander, but really, when a cool front had hit him on his way out this morning, he immediately became discouraged from idyllic dreams of picnics and wanderlust and retreated back. He spends what little of the day’s warmth tending to his sprouting vegetables and does not move an inch more beyond the village. Inside his home, he hesitates to let the oven-warmth leave; Ascension makes it a point to only prepare hot foods if he can help it. Hot food, once a luxury, found him in abundance with the new kitchen Cid installed for him inside his sprawling home. Even as the rest of the home remains in Cid’s barebones furnishing (for Ascension never had much to call his own in the first place), the kitchen rests in permanent clutter– pantries piled up high, coal stacked neatly in corner cabinets, fresh ingredients burst out of cupboards like eclectic cornucopias– these features are, of course, by and large courtesy of Cid. Maybe he did like Ascension’s cooking.

Without direction on today’s meal, Ascension prepares pie crusts as a base for the coming week. It is unusual for Cid to take off in the morning without so much as a word about their lunch. Routine kept them both in the know about each other’s whereabouts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and the time in between became coordinates. 

Flour, butter, water, salt. 

The sweet berries in his garden are almost ready to be picked again, albeit a little more sour from the heavy rainfalls they have been experiencing lately, but Ascension is sure that he could balance out the flavor into an amicable tartness if he stews them in sugar a bit longer. Cheesecake is the clear favorite between the two of them, but milking cows this time of year would be a two-person job if they want to avoid the mother cows’ fury. Ascension, for one, does not want to be the one holding the bucket when the calves start kicking.

Flour, butter, water, salt. 

Well, they still have a ton of meat left over from their last hunting expedition together. Meat pies are in order if they still have that winter potato supply. Since the vegetables in the garden aren’t quite ready yet he would have to go out and pick some wild ones, or, if he can’t take the cold, he’ll make the pie more indulgently meaty, just like how Cid likes it anyways. 

Flour, butter, water, salt. 

He takes another stick of butter from the fridge to his cutting board. What does Cid want for lunch? 

Flour, butter, water, salt. 

Where is Cid now? What kind of ores will he bring back this time? What kind of build did he have planned next? How far down did the excavator make it overnight? Where did he say he placed it, actually? What does Cid want for dinner? 

Flour, butter, water, salt.

Is he okay?

Did he bring enough ammo with him? Did he bring enough torches? 

Is he okay? 

Are they going to finish Paradiso tonight? 

Flour, butter, water, salt. 

Did he even make it to the quarry? What if one of those entities got him? Is he okay? What if an entity had followed him to the quarry? What if he was taken back to that godforsaken facility?

Flour, butter, water, salt.

Is he alone? Is he scared? 

Is he okay? 

Flour, butter, water, salt.

​

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​​ Ascension looks down. Finely chopped butter sits in a pile of creamy lumps on his cutting board– a far cry from the cubes the recipe calls for. Cold hands mold the butter back into shape to try again later.

He sticks the reshaped butter back into the fridge to set and gets to work on Cid’s request. He grabs a head of lettuce from the pantry. Old, rubbery leaves protect the tender heart of the cabbage from the dredges of time. Ascension parts the old leaves and stripped the inner white leaves, gives them a rinse, and lays them neatly upon his countertop. Water pools in the dips and veins of the young cabbage leaves, leaving dark stains on the wooden counters as the leaves wilted. Ascension sparks the stove to life and stokes the embers, simultaneously rummaging through his cupboards for rice and beans to prepare the filling, the multitasking unthinkably second nature to him now, where it hadn’t been only a few months prior. Heat once again rolls through the house, and the savory smell of cabbage and rice fills the air not too long after he closes the lid on his cabbage rolls. With a contented sigh, he gets to cleaning his kitchen.

“Hi!”

Ascension snaps his head up to see Cid in the kitchen entryway, energetic, despite having skipped breakfast and working in the mines all day. 

“Good afternoon! You’re back early.”

“It’s still too cold down there, so I came straight back after deploying the excavator again. Even though it’s spring, the caves are still cold, if you can believe it. And you’ve made it so nice and warm here.”

“You skipped breakfast.”

“Yeah, I realized on the way down to the quarry. The other reason I came back up.”

“You’ll have to wait a bit for lunch.”

“I figured.”

“Do you want to wait in the dining room until I’m finished?”

Through the walls dividing the kitchen and the dining room, Cid makes a small commotion of clattering and chest opening. Settling down, Ascension’s sure. Cid always comes straight to Ascension’s house at day’s end and unpacks Ascension’s share of resources first thing. Nowadays, Cid only returns to his house during work hours to drop off items at his lab. Cid had called his factories unsightly and his guns unhomely, that Ascension should fill the home that Cid built for him with only the things Ascension liked. Coincidentally, Cid also sleeps in Ascension’s bed most days; Ascension hasn’t pushed him away. Floorboards squeak, groan, and settle as Cid finishes cleaning up and takes a seat at the table.

Not too long after, Ascension emerges from the kitchen with two steaming plates of cabbage rolls. Curiously, a new chest sits in his doorway. Dustings of pink rose on Cid’s cheeks since the last time Ascension saw him, but his expression remains his signature steadfast stoicism. Cid must have found Ascension staring, both at the chest and at Cid, because he gives a gesture to the chest as permission to address the elephant in the room. 

“You can put the chest in that corner, you know. I cleaned it up for you.”

Cid shakes his head. 

“You should open it.”

Ascension serves the rolls on the table unceremoniously and pats his hands clean on his apron. He doesn’t miss it when Cid tenses up when he draws close to place the plate then away again. Why Cid is making a big deal out of today’s haul, Ascension doesn’t know. Fun blocks for a new build, perhaps? Maybe that gunpowder farm is finally working as intended and Cid wanted to share the spoils. Cid stares sheepishly at his food as Ascension opens the chest. Instantly, Ascension is struck with a brilliant light, as if lightning had been lit in the chest. He looks to Cid, flabbergasted. 

“What’s this?

“Three months of diamonds, for you.”

“For me? What are they for?”

“Ascension, will you marry me?”

Oh.

Ascension closes the chest and faces Cid with a wide eye. Cid’s blush has gotten just as red as the blooming roses outside, and he holds his gaze as confidently as he can, despite his trembling hands fisted in his lap betraying otherwise. Ascension’s sure that the intense heat creeping up his neck has warmed the room a couple degrees. An angel falls upon the room– but it does not stay for long. Silence is filled with intense thought, deliberation, confusion, an ambivalent energy building in the spaces between Cid, Ascension, and the cabbage rolls. Loud growls from both men’s stomachs break the silence, and Cid can’t help but crack a giggle at the cut tension. Ascension, on the other hand, without answers, gets to doing what he knows best before he treads the unknown waters of Cid’s heaviest question yet. He picks up a cabbage roll and eats.

He’d never thought that he would be someone who could be wanted, especially not by someone like Cid. Cid, the savior, who had given him a painless release from his cage. Cid, the redeemer, who had forgiven him so quickly after Ascension had unwittingly shown him the Hell from whence he came. Cid, the creator, who raises worlds with industrious hands. Cid, who… loves him back. 

Spring blooms appear in his mind, of rose sprays adorning village homes, lilies of the valley veiling his blackened face in white, green grass reaching after his step down the wedding aisle. Cathedral bells envelop the valley in mirthful chimes. Behind him sunrays and warm breezes urge him impatiently forward. His groom in shining armor awaits him down the lane and finally lifts his veil and leans in and–

His dream goes cold. The softened edges of the dream sharpen into icicles, needling him into reality. The kiss never comes because Ascension has no form for Cid to embrace, no shy eyes he can meet, no lips for him to kiss. Ice grips around his wrists where Cid’s warm touch was just a moment ago. He backs away from the ice statue that has become of Cid and stumbles upon a cage underfoot. The thick smell of iron and rot and smoke fill the air and suddenly, everything aches again as Ascension is squeezed back into the cage. The sickening sound of his bones shattering and bile churning up his windpipe punches soundless screams from him. He wants to cry, but he doesn't, for he has no more tears to cry for this old pain. Folded haphazardly into his small cage, in front of him, he stares at what once was his blood and his body strewn carelessly over the floors. It hurts like everything it did the first time, but the worst of it, this time, is the heartbreak. 

Ascension shuts his eye tightly and braces himself.

When he finally opens it, Cid is staring. Ascension chews and swallows. 

“Me?” He starts incredulously, floundering for words.

“You!” Cid shoots a smile back, the anxious tremor not lost on his words. 

“How will we do it?”

“However you want.”

“However I want?” Ascension echoes.

“I’ll help.”

“Will we kiss?”

“Of course we will.”

“... And consummation?” he whispers shyly.

“Only if you want.”

“And what would you want to do after?”

“I only want you.”

Ascension instinctually hides his blush with a subtle hand to his cheek, aware that Cid wouldn’t be able to notice his blush against his charcoal skin. Oh, a dream it is to kiss, to hug, to love! For this dream, he can pretend that he has soft skin, downy curls for Cid to run his fingers through, red lips to kiss. Yes, he would let himself dream a little longer. His vision blurs as droplets fall down his hands and cheeks, blunting the sharp edges of his field of view. The image of Cid engulfs his sight as he reaches forward and takes Ascension’s hand from his tear-streaked face, eyes filled with concern, breath held for Ascension’s answer. 

Cid is warm. Ascension’s fingers lace through Cid’s to chase the heat that comes up and down his pink and purple veins.

“Yes,” a raspy rumble arises from Ascension’s throat, unfamiliar to an utterance so sacred. He squeezes Cid’s hand. “Yes, let’s get married, Cid.”

He takes his hand away from Cid’s to wipe away his tears. A couple sniffles later and he collects himself enough to ask:

“Shall we have some cheesecake?”