Chapter Text
Lothar and Khadgar take the same bus every day.
They don't know it for a long time. Lothar likes to sit in the back because from there he can see everyone—he blames his military background for this—and Khadgar usually sits near a door; he can get so nose deep into one of his books that he sometimes forgets to get out at his stop.
So they aren’t really aware of each other. But one day the bus is so full that they are forced to sit together in the back. Khadgar can’t focus on his book, as the bus keeps making turns and jostling the two of them together.
People get off at every stop until it is just the two of them on the back of the bus. To move away to a different seat is awkward, even though staying is too. And it is winter, the bus’s air-conditioning not the best; so to share body heat with a fellow passenger is rather excellent.
The cold window that Lothar is pressed against, not so.
Khadgar is used to the cold and has come prepared. Halfway through, his heating pads are still warm against his palms but he doesn't need them anymore, so he offers them to the shivering passenger next to him to use.
“I'm fine,” mutters Lothar and refuses them. Khadgar knows he isn’t, so he gets a little stubborn with the man and practically pushes them into Lothar's hands.
That is all they say. Lothar kind of appreciates the warmth, but will not say thanks.
To Khadgar, it is a personal victory anyway.
As stubborn as they both are, they return to their appointed seats the next time, trying to pretend the other isn’t there at the same bus stop they get on. The problem is that they get off at the same bus stop too, so it always looks like one of them is stalking the other.
-
Winter passes and spring comes along. They go without acknowledging each other for months when another rush in the bus brings them back together. It is not quite a coincidence, yet Khadgar is simply an expert at pretending that their meeting is coincidental when he ends up next to Lothar again.
This time, Lothar very obviously puts in headphones and starts listening to music, not interested in talking to Khadgar at all.
Disappointed, Khadgar turns his shoulder, dives into a book. He doesn’t get why Lothar has to move his leg closest to Khadgar to the beat blaring in his ears, the appeal of listening to music on the bus rather foreign to him; it drives the younger man insane.
The bus takes another sharp turn. Khadgar would have known that was coming, but he is not sitting straight in his effort to avoid Lothar, and so he ends up toppling back. Or into the other man’s lap, more specifically. In the process, he rips the headphones out of Lothar's ears because the wire gets caught somewhere on Khadgar's jacket.
Khadgar doesn't know how to get away from that—the guy on his other side is snickering—but the bus just doesn’t let him. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in several variations while he tries to scramble back into his seat several times.
As he finally manages to sit upright again, Lothar just grunts in response, shooting an annoyed glance at Khadgar before he plucks the headphones back into his ears and listens to his music once more, trying not to look at the other man for the remainder of the drive.
So Khadgar, who believes himself to have really messed up, does get up at the next stop and finds himself an empty seat. He's dying from embarrassment along with a tinge of, well, rejection.
Lothar hates the young man for the interruption, and even more so when, not moments later, an old lady sits next to him and pokes her long manicured fingernail into his side. When he takes out one of his headphones to acknowledge her presence, however faintly he's aware of it, she asks him if he's married. He would be a perfect fit for her granddaughter. Lothar wants to kill Khadgar.
He rolls his eyes and just puts the headphone back in, but the lady is insistent. She nags him for the rest of the ride.
-
Early that fall, there is the problem that all seats are taken, bringing Lothar and Khadgar together once again as they have to stand on the bus.
Khadgar and Lothar aren’t initially close to another. The two people between them get out at some point, though, leaving a gap. Khadgar looks at the man under his lashes, holding what appears to be new curtain holders. He isn’t prepared when at the next turn the bus screeches to a halt, making Lothar almost slam into him.
Lothar manages to get a hold of a bar, but his curtain holder smacks Khadgar's shoulder. He feels like he should apologize. He just doesn’t want to.
Khadgar knows by now that Lothar seems to have something against him. Possibly for forcing those heating pads on him, half a year ago. So he does the best he can; he gives an annoyed look right back and mutters under his breath, “Whoever could be so stupid as to transport curtain holders in the middle of rush hour?”
Lothar is halfway through trying to ask if the younger man is okay when he gets that withering look, he just knows he is good not talking to him. Furthermore, to make a point, he gets out at the next bus stop. It isn’t their stop.
Khadgar knows this. To be honest, he didn't think Lothar cared. So he stares at the retreating form, and for some reason he feels horribly guilty. And then annoyed. The stranger has some nerve, first making Khadgar feel like shit on several occasions and then quitting out of rage.
By now several of the other passengers have picked up what is going on between them, seeing them both on a daily basis. The old lady with the nails throws him with a vicious glare and says, " You can't have him. He belongs to my granddaughter."
-
The next time fate intervenes and forces them together is at the beginning of fall. Lothar looks terrible. His eyes are rimmed red, and he keeps sniffing. A thermos in hand, he fills the scorching liquid into the cup and takes a sip while the scent of chamomile permeates the entire bus.
Khadgar gets some vindication out of standing nearly in front of him, his usual seat taken, with the heating pads snugly, pressed against his palms. He doesn't know how this has become a contest, or why he feels like he has to convince a bunch of strangers that he is not hopelessly messed up in the head and attracted to this asshole of a guy. But he does it anyway.
So Khadgar is ready to pull out his smug smile, but somehow when the opportunity arrives, it just doesn't happen. Lothar looks downright pitiful, being this sick. "Try honey," he says lamely and makes sure to get as far away from him as possible at the next stop, his eyes fixed on something outside the window and avoiding everyone on the bus.
Lothar does not know what to make of this information. He's not dumb; of course he knows that honey helps—he's got a kid, for fuck’s sake—but his cold dulls all of his emotions, turning him into a miserable shadow of who he is. He drinks his tea, not knowing if the warmth that spreads through his belly comes from the hot liquid or from the younger man's words. While he is busy trying to discern it, his brain slow and oddly stuffy today, the old lady sits next to him again, not bothered by his germs. "My granddaughter could have told you that, too."
Lothar groans and is willing his stop to come sooner.
The next time he sees the kid is when Khadgar gets on the bus before him, already seated in his place. Lothar's voice is still hoarse, but at least he doesn't cough his lungs out anymore. When he goes past Khadgar, he mutters a quick "Thanks" to him before taking his usual seat, feeling peaceful yet conflicted at the same time.
Khadgar spends the entirety of that bus ride not knowing what to do with himself. It is the first time Lothar has said anything to him that is nice. His insides feel like they are on fire, and he is pretty sure he is blushing. He is so obvious that everyone can tell—anyone who can see him, at least. Twice he glances over his shoulder for a glimpse of the man. He tells himself that this is nothing. It isn't. Lothar’s words were common decency.
Of course, he continues to pretend that he doesn't care. Because Lothar clearly wouldn't like him that way. But Khadgar does wonder how much longer he is going to keep himself together when they get on the same bus every day.
-
The next time they are forced to sit together is the day before Thanksgiving. Lothar bought tons of things this year, with him being the one to host. There are several bags standing on his feet, as he doesn't want the paper bags to soak in the water that oozes from his boots. Today the heater is emitting warmth, turning the inside of the bus into one big clammy space. Lothar starts to feel hot around the neck, opening his jacket to cool himself off, before he drags the zip of his black turtleneck down, revealing a slither of skin. He doesn't really care for the glances he gets, and he also doesn't care for the young man pressed against him is what he tells himself. In truth, he just pretends he doesn't care. The boy’s presence is nice, and perhaps his first impression of the other was wrong.
His belongings crowd into Khadgar's space; Khadgar's luggage is remarkably little. He must be the only one not looking forward to that holiday where everyone is coming together as one big happy family; he doesn't have a family, so that makes things very simple for him. Thus he doesn't mind when some of Lothar's groceries are more on his lap than anywhere else. "Big plans, huh?" he wonders when he rights one of Lothar's bags as it threatens to fall.
Lothar looks to the younger man, still not sure what to think of him. But the guy had just saved one of his bags from ending on the floor, so he could at least talk to him. "Yeah," he says, "My sister insisted." He's never been one to talk to strangers too much, and he sure as hell isn't going to tell the guy his entire life story the first time they embark in a conversation. "And you?"
Khadgar shares that philosophy. "Nothing big," he says noncommittally because he isn't going to go into the sob story that is losing his parents at the age of six. He offers Lothar a smile and then pretends to return to his book. He can be cool, he reminds himself. It wouldn't do well to respond as eagerly as he wants to this guy he already has some sort of history with, even if said history is built on the foundation of getting on each other's nerves.
The girl on his other side, for some reason, suddenly takes up more space than she needs and pushes him closer against Lothar. To save himself from the embarrassment, Khadgar figures he might as well get up and give Lothar more space for his stuff. "Here," he mutters, glaring at the girl.
Lothar is a little surprised when Khadgar stands up but is thankful for the space. He says as much "Thanks," short and a little unsure, but a small smile tugs at the man's lips. Before he can do anything and take the space for himself, however, the old lady pushes herself towards him, looking at Lothar with resolution in her eyes. He pales, not wanting to endure her insistent nagging yet again, so he looks at the only solution there is: Khadgar.
"Sit down again," he says quietly as not to make the old lady suspicious, "Please."
Khadgar finds the cause soon enough. And he thoroughly dislikes her as well. So he sits back down and mutters under his breath, "You have some serious issues with your grandmother-in-law."
Lothar realizes that he is now in a bit of a situation: he can either pretend to have a conversation with Khadgar, or not, making it likely that the woman will ramble at him about her granddaughter even if she has to stand near him to do it. So he chooses the lesser of the two evils, obviously—and is it really an evil?—and starts talking. "Not really, my mother-in-law and I are fine," he says loud enough so that the lady gets the hint. And technically it's true, he is still on good terms with his wife's parents, even if Cally has been dead for almost two decades now. "She's coming for the feast tomorrow."
Khadgar doesn't know what to make of this. Is it that the old lady is not Lothar's grandmother-in-law? Or does he have a grudge against her? At any rate, he may have hoped for a denial, but his hopes are pretty much swatted into the ground. This man is married. "Ah," he says, "Well. Nice to know that I can ignore it when she gets on my case again."
"I think it would be better, yes," Lothar finally sags in relief when the old woman is taken into a conversation with another man, one who has tried to talk to Lothar before, asking him if he was single. If he didn't know any better, he could swear that half the bus is trying to set him up. A small headache throbs behind his eyes. "That woman's been getting on my nerves since spring. So thanks for saving me, I guess." He clears his throat and holds a hand towards the boy. "Anduin Lothar."
"Huh," muses Khadgar, "About the same for me. You're welcome, I guess. Khadgar." He shakes his hand and holds his breath. It is wisest to stop this crush as fast as he can, now that he knows what he knows. It really doesn't help that the conversations in the bus collectively drop to a hush. "If she ever gives you trouble again," he tries to keep the subject on business, "count on me."
Lothar is a little surprised at the response, but shrugs mentally and then grins. "I will, I guess." He doesn't know how to continue, what to talk about with the other man—Khadgar—and he feels far too rusty in his small talk to find the situation comfortable. Thus an awkward silence settles over them, and Lothar feels as if half of the people on the bus stare at him condescendingly. It grates on his nerves, making him revert into himself even more, so he plays with the string of his jacket. God, when did he get so awkward around people? Get a grip, Lothar! "So," he finally manages to press this word out of his mouth, a process that is more exhausting than liberating, "What do you do for a living?"
The interest startles Khadgar from his confusing thoughts. He has always been good at answers. "I archive stuff," he says, "Down at the bureau. It's nothing high profile, but I like it. Sometimes when I am done, I help out at inventory. I'm an, uh," he rubs his nose, "Intern. Forensics. But of course, all the good forensics internships were already taken." Once the words come, they don't stop. "You?"
"I'm an instructor." Somehow Khadgar's words soothe Lothar's sudden nervousness, if only a little. "I teach self-defense classes all day, mostly for children, though." He'd always been good with kids, any kids, except for his own son. How that has come to be, he doesn't know. He's just glad Callan doesn't hate him completely. "And you're a forensics intern? Aren't you a little too young for that?"
"Senior year," Khadgar is quick to rectify that lapse of judgment. "Just a few months and I'll be graduated. They'll have to upgrade me to a real job. Well," he rolls his eyes, "I hope they will. The job is great but the pay less so." He ignores the old lady, and absently wraps an arm around one of Lothar's bags when it nearly slips. "Is that the school next to the bureau?"
"I see." Lothar keeps the old woman in the corner of his eyes to make sure that she doesn't get to him. He absentmindedly notes that there are only three stops to go before he has to get out, nodding at Khadgar's question, "Yes, it is. We also do some daycare for all the guys that have kids or provide traumatized children with counselors, but we're mainly a school." His tone is a little proud when he says it. "Nothing is better than the rush you get when you make a kid laugh or show them how to set up safe words with their parents."
He doesn't know why he talks so much; it's not like he knows Khadgar besides the few words they've exchanged with each other thus far, but something makes him talk like crazy. Trying to reign himself in, he clears his throat again and then looks to the announcement of the next stop. His destination comes into view. "I've gotta get out. We can," he interrupts himself as he takes the bags into his hands, makes sure he has all of them while he simultaneously looks for words, "We can talk some more at another time, yeah?"
Khadgar doesn't want to overstep his bounds, but he also knows that they get out at the same stop, so this is clearly a dismissal. He gets up too and hands Lothar the last bag. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Have fun tomorrow." He lingers before walking up to the exit, noticing how the lady claims a seat under a loud clamor of 'kids these days.'
At this Lothar can't help but snort loudly, "Yeah, fun. It's gonna be hell, kid." His shoulder slump and he grins somewhat, the awkwardness creeping back into him. He doesn't know what to say, and he feels like he did something wrong just now, but he can't quite put his finger on it, so he pushes it into the back of his mind and pretends he hasn't realized it.
He exits the bus alongside Khadgar. The vehicle screeches away. His shopping bags are heavy in his arms as he turns to the younger man again, then sighs deeply, "See you soon, kid. Thanks for the help again." With that, he turns around and leaves in the direction of his apartment.
And so Khadgar is torn. They talked, which is great, but then he sort of got dismissed. And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which Khadgar does not care for. Also, the object of his affection is married. He waits for a few seconds by the stop before crossing the street.
He is one of the few people on that bus the next day. But thank goodness he has a couple of days off when everyone else starts working again.
-
A few days after Thanksgiving, Lothar takes the bus again, but this time he's not alone. At his side is his nine-year-old niece, Adariall, wearing a light blue parker. Her eyes light up when they enter the bus, "Uncle An, can we sit at the front?", and the regulars see Lothar torn, because his corner has become sort of his safe haven while being on the bus, but he loves his niece to death and can't deny her any wish, especially when she looks at him like she does right now, so it's no surprise when he says, "Sure we can, honey."
She practically drags him to a seat, and only at second glance does he realize that he's going to be sitting right across from Khadgar. For some reason, this makes him nervous, and he has half a mind to ask his niece to take a seat in the back. But Adariall insists and plants herself on the slightly hard seat, dangling her feet in apparent glee.
Lothar needn’t have worried, though, because Khadgar does not ride the bus that day. Or the next. Only on the third does he return to his usual seat. He glances in the direction of Lothar's empty corner once, then sits down at the front, taking out his book.
Once more Lothar is not alone, but today it is not Adariall. Varian also makes it very clear to his uncle that he wants to sit on the front, and insists on being by the window. He takes up so much space that Lothar has to sit down next to Khadgar, without realizing who it is. Only when he looks to the younger man does he finally see him. "Oh...Khadgar." It's still awkward to talk to the younger man, but not as bad as it has been before Thanksgiving. "How are you?"
Khadgar blinks and nearly spills the drink he was unscrewing, and quickly puts that away before anyone can tell. "Why are you sitting here?" he asks instead, as bluntly as he doesn't intend to get. Never has Lothar come up front. Never. So it takes a few seconds for him to process this. "Good. Yeah, good. Took a train and traveled for a bit. It was nice. Uh." He should ask how Lothar has been, but Khadgar is just too baffled.
Lothar nods towards his nephew, that little bolt of energy wrapped inside a human child, who is taking up the two seats across from Lothar and Khadgar. He kneels on them, looking out of the window like he's never seen the neighborhood before. "I'm babysitting for my sister," he says, putting his hands into the pockets of his jacket, "and Varian insisted that we sit in the front. He loves it here."
Varian has apparently listened partially, because he turns his head towards Khadgar, "The front is my favorite place." Then he squints his eyes, "Are you my uncle's friend?"
Khadgar looks back at Lothar for what he is supposed to say. "Well, we ride the same bus every day," is a safe answer. "Are you coming with him to work?"
"Yes. Uncle An is going to show me how to behave if someone grabs me." Varian nods to himself, proud of the answer, or as proud as a seven-year-old boy can be. Then something seems to go through his head, and he looks at Khadgar, eyes wide, "Are you the guy that's driving my uncle crazy?" Lothar, who has just been about to drink something himself from a water bottle, chokes on the sip he took and looks at his nephew shortly before he starts coughing.
Khadgar looks pained. Driving Lothar crazy . He didn't think he had been that bad. He doesn't know what to say, his fingers grasping his bag, as he suddenly wills the two of them to sit elsewhere. An awkward silence descends.
Meanwhile, Lothar wants to strangle Varian, he really does. Why can't the kid keep his mouth shut for more than a minute?! He throws a warning glance towards the boy, but his nephew is already busy gazing out of the window again. Looking to Khadgar, he sees how tense the other is, and assumes it's because of Varian's comment. Lothar rubs a hand over his face, the silence following the statement could be cut with a knife. Should he just...you know, ask? Fuck, he's bad at this. Finally, he takes a deep breath.
"Wouldyougooutforcoffeewithme? " he presses out really fast, looking anywhere but at the younger man's face.
Khadgar is ready to complain. Whatever Lothar will say, he is ready to get up and 'oh look, this is my stop' and disappear from this man for the rest of his lifetime. An earlier fare, a later return; all of those are possibilities. But when he processes what Lothar says, actually processes , he can't help but stare. "Me? Are you asking me? I thought you—aren't you married?"
Now Lothar gets confused. He thought that the younger man would decline him either politely, or just tell him to fuck off. He isn't ready for such a question yet. But Khadgar seems to have assumed something that is not right, so he takes a deep breath and tells the awkwardness to go fuck itself. "I was married. My wife died twenty years ago." Suddenly, he realizes why Khadgar would think that he's currently off the market. "Do you think I am married because of what I said the other day when that old lady tried to chat me up again?"
Khadgar lamely shrugs. Yes, that is exactly the reason.
Right now he is trying to suppress that nervous shake in his hands. He is aware of half of the bus watching what unfolds, and one kid pretending not to—though ready enough to kick his uncle if he messes up, Khadgar gets a distinct feeling. "I'm sorry," he whispers. Also to keep their conversation somewhat private. He smiles to himself. "A cappuccino for me. Lunch?"
He might also vaguely wonder how old Lothar is, if he was married twenty years ago, and decides that it’s not relevant.
Lothar shakes his head. The thought of his wife does not sting as much as it used to anymore. "If you'd like that," he answers just as quietly. Varian makes a very weird noise, something in between a squeal of approval and a snort, and Lothar has the distinct feeling that he will make sure his uncle won't fuck up. Taria raises her kids too well, dammit . "Are you free today?" With Khadgar's agreeing to his first question, it does not feel as bad anymore to ask the younger man out. "There is this Italian place near the bureau. They serve warm meals and excellent coffee throughout the day.."
"Well, I'm headed towards work," smiles Khadgar with amusement and less of a nervous breakdown. "If it suits you to meet up after I'm done, that'd be nice." The next stop is theirs, so he presses the button and, although he knows exactly where to find Lothar if he needs him, he takes out his agenda and a pen, tears out the page of the date—it isn't as important anyway—and writes down his phone number. "Call me whenever."
Okay, that may sound a little desperate. But it can't be half as bad as the urge to kiss the other man right here and now. Khadgar offers a soft smile instead.
Lothar takes the paper carefully, looking at the number as if he's never seen them before. He silently folds it into a smaller square, then puts it into the pocket of his jacket, before giving Khadgar a little unsure smile as well. "I'll get off work at four and then have to take him home," he nods at Varian. "It shouldn't take more than an hour, so I could be back here at about six." He hopes he's not going too fast, it has been such a long time since he really tried dating anyone.
Not to Khadgar, though, who has been pining after this idiot for the larger part of a year, "Six is good. Yeah. I can be here at six." He is grinning now and continues to do so until they exit the bus, walks down the same path with him in a daze, and says goodbye at the bureau. Varian is beaming up at Khadgar; Khadgar only has eyes for his uncle. "Tonight." Lothar grins shyly and waves the younger man goodbye when it is time to get to work.
And if Lothar buys Varian ice cream on their way home later that day, no one has to know.