Chapter Text
Of all the things that Hakon has done over the years there’s plenty of poor choices to choose from that he could class as the worst, dozens in fact, his top ten shifts a lot, it’s quite impressive how often he manages to one up himself like this.
This isn’t the first time that Hakon’s inability to recognize said poor choices in their fledging stage has backfired on him. It’s not the second, or the third, or hell, even the fourth time. But the results are always the same, and yet on every single occasion it’s such a startling surprise that Hakon is indeed capable of sinking to new lows.
He was only meant to tell the kid about the metro station, that’s it. Tell the kid, set things into motion under the cover of night, carry on with his piss poor excuse for a life all while trying not to dwell on the fact that he’s on the path to another betrayal.
There’s nothing he can do, promises and oceans aside, there’s plans in place that are far out of his scope of knowledge or control.
Which is why he’s so confused to wake up late in the evening, the pressure behind his eyes almost as nauseating as his stomach when he goes to roll over and finds that there’s an arm fixed around his side, a body pressed against his back that he’s acutely aware of, though somehow they’re thankfully still clothed.
Now, if this were a different story, Hakon reckons to himself with an impending sense of doom, he might be prone to a spot of natural confusion over his circumstances, maybe a light sprinkle of panic over the fact that he’s been idiotic enough to invite a stranger into his bed.
As it is, Hakon is hungover, not stupid.
So he knows precisely who’s making these soft snuffling sounds into the back of his neck, and he knows precisely who’s got his hand clasped in theirs, and most importantly of all he knows precisely why there’s slim line of pressure encircling one very important finger on his left hand because he’s been married.
Which is how he knows the feel of a corresponding ring on one of those long fingers he’s noticed in passing enough times in such a short while to recognize it could be a problem.
Shit.
Hakon rescinds his previous statement, he really is stupid.
With the grace afforded to someone with far less of a hangover than Hakon’s boasting, he slips out from under Aiden’s grip and does a not at all awkward backpedal across the room until he realizes that he’s left himself the furthest he could possibly be from the door.
Again, to prove he’s not the smartest of creatures when cornered, he chooses to clamber up into the window sill and heft it open. Not the greatest of options considering they’re at least four floors up in the air but still, it’ll do.
As he’s considering the myriad of life choices that have led him here, leaning awkwardly to retrieve his pack where it’s conveniently leaning atop a table nearby while sending a silent prayer skyward that he won't wake up his... Friend.
He settles on friend because that's safer than considering anything else right now.
Of all things there’s a note balanced on top when he finally wrestles the bag in between his knees, fixed beside a half full bottle of water that doesn’t look like it might give him god knows what.
Congrats to the newly weds,
J&S ;)
“You fuckers.” He mumbles and then selfishly downs most of the water if only to ease the burning pressure at the base of his throat before plotting the best way to handle this that doesn’t dissolve into something ugly.
Hakon shifts himself until most of his weight is evenly distributed between the balls of his feet, hunched like a crow on the narrow ledge and pointedly ignores that he’s considering the long defunct air con unit a few floors down as a viable option to get him the fuck out of here. Instead he’s stupid enough to stare back towards the bed at his newest problem in a long line of fuck ups.
Aiden, as if aware of the drama he’s caused by simply existing lets out this sleepy mumble.
God, the kids got the kind of face that should be on a coin, he’d probably be somebody’s muse back in the old days, has the sort of pretty smile that can only be appreciated by someone with a brain far more articulate than Hakon’s. He can objectively see how someone could trickle away their life mapping the curves of it.
Through the usual quagmire of guilt and self-hatred Hakon wrangles a brief memory of bidding Aiden to sleep, pausing at the reluctant expression on that young face, shit he’s a bastard, and then offering the kid a drink, just a couple, enough to take the edge off for him.
The rest is gone, flutters into the distance when Hakon tries to focus, it’s infuriating, has him shifting too fast and then cussing the rush of bile he has to suppress.
Aiden shifts, eyes still shut, makes this strange sound that Hakon will not define as a whine because that will kill him, and rolls over onto his front, still for a brief second before one hand reaches up to scratch the back of his head with those long fingers of his.
Hakon, a man that will never be referenced in the same sentence as intrepid or brave, takes one look at the slowly stirring figure and throws himself out of the window.
- - -
“Ladies,” He says in lieu of a decent greeting, stumbles into their apartment, hangover still weighing down his shoulders, has him sloped forward as two of the very few people that still tolerate him treat his pitiful appearance with their usual charm.
Contrary to popular belief, Hakon is keenly aware that it is nothing short of a miracle that anyone wants to spend time with him.
“I keep reminding you that we need to work on our pest problem.” Sarah remarks from the corner where she’s stripping apart a bundle of wires.
Jana sighs. “Don’t blame me, you’re the one that keeps feeding him.”
“I am right here.” Hakon protests and then thankfully accepts the mug of coffee pressed into his cool fingers. The UV lamps strung up in various stages of completion illuminate the thin band around his finger as he raises it up for a swig and his jaw works to swallow when he catches Jana watching him with a barely concealed smirk.
“I don’t suppose you might be able to help me with this?” He eventually says, hand held aloft.
“How lovely, you kept it on.” Jana, the nightmare that she is, smiles sickly sweet. “What would you like to know?”
“I don’t know, perhaps you could explain that little note you left me?” Hakon grits his teeth. “I seem to be struggling to recall what happened.”
“Hakon, I’d be shocked if you remember much of anything from yesterday.” Jana says, distinctly lacking a single drop of fucks to give for his still tender head as she claps a hand around his shoulder.
“You’re helpful,” He sidesteps her, fights a very real battle with the contents of his stomach and decides not for the first time in his life that alcohol is the devil’s greatest weapon. “Real helpful, remind me why I bother with you.”
“Because you’re a desperate, desperate man who needed two witnesses,” Sarah doesn’t even have the decency to turn away from her tinkering to, quite fairly, insult him, “and you did plead rather nicely.”
“I beg your pardon.” He goes for indignation and reckons it lands pretty flat judging by both women's bemused expressions.
Sarah huffs and finally gives him her full attention. “Please, you beautiful creatures, I need but an hour of your time to fulfil this lonely man’s request.”
“That,” Hakon says, horrified, “is the worst accent I have ever heard in my life.”
“She’s not paraphrasing though.” Jana confirms with a foul smirk. “I don’t know how it started, but you both showed up mid-morning, barely holding each other up and asked us to bear witness to your undying love.”
Hakon is less than entertained. “And neither of you thought, I don’t know, to intervene before I made such a massive fucking mistake?”
“Watch your tone,” Jana says softly, head tilted a fraction towards the shadows where he can only just make out the narrow slit of her pupils.
There’s one thing that Hakon has learned since the world has gone to shit, and that’s to recognize certain signs in powerful women that tell him he’s stepped over the line, and this is one of them. In recognition of this he offers a guilty shrug, defeated and suddenly exhausted. “Sorry.”
“I wouldn’t stress about it too much,” Sarah takes pity on him, “your Aiden seemed as into it as you were.”
“That makes it all better,” Hakon aims for dryly and probably comes up short, anything to avoid the way she puts this heavy weight on your Aiden, because he owns nothing, hasn’t owned a thing since the world went to shit that he’s considered worth a damn. Hasn’t deserved to have anything worth a damn either.
“He kept pointing out that you were the one to tell him to just have fun.” Jana snorts, oblivious to his internal dismay.
“Right, brilliant, that’s just brilliant.” He studiously avoids her gaze.
“Don’t get me wrong, when he’s not trying to bite somebody the kids not bad to look at, I can see how you’d find that whole scrappy underdog vibe attractive-”
“Jana,” Sarah says, distracts the blonde long enough that she properly looks at him.
“Holy shit, I was only teasing, look at you blushing old man. You actually like the kid!” Jana laughs, and given all of the times that Hakon’s been less than courteous, she probably has every right to. “Oh, you’ve fucked yourself over here Hakon.”
“Well and truly.” Sarah agrees.
“Ladies, your empathy is much appreciated.” Hakon turns away groaning and therefore misses what he assumes is the look of glee they share at his predicament.
“You weren’t saying that when we were your witnesses.”
“I will never use your lamps again.” He informs them both primly.
“Yeah,” Jana rolls her eyes and places two bars into the side pouch of his pack, “you will.”
“Yeah,” Hakon sighs and nods gratefully at her because she’s right, they’re the best in the business, would make a killing in central if they ever decided to leave their cosy little apartment and venture out into the big wide world out there.
If they were brave enough to.
Coming from the man that coerced a pilgrim, a kid, that he just met into promising him the ocean, who he's known for a handful of days and somehow drunkenly married in some Old Villedor version of a shotgun wedding.
Fuck, he’s pathetic.
- - -
It takes an hour in which Hakon is not satisfied until he’s picked apart every line of what they’ve presented to him and found it seemingly correct. Then he tracks down the timid priest hidden away in a building far too close to a dark zone in the dimming light for his comfort and harassed the poor man until he’d confirmed what Jana and Sarah had already told him.
It’s not that he bullies the man into secrecy but he also isn’t polite in how he spells out all of the things he’s willing to do to keep this fuck up from ever seeing the light of day.
The woman he finds in one of the trading posts north of the bazaar finalizes the last detail, has the nerve to congratulate him and his husband on their good fortune when she spots the ring that he still hasn’t taken off.
Is in the middle of rubbing his thumb over.
Shit.
Hakon almost sets the place on fire.
Instead he lets her naturally assume its his nerves that have him wishing for secrecy, is a complete bastard in nodding along with this weak smile impersonating gratitude as she tells him that she’ll keep his secret and then gets out of there as fast as his fucking legs can carry him.
By the time he’s finished its night proper and he has no other excuse to delay the inevitable, so he navigates using the small circles of illumination lit up by several groups of survivors as they gather around tiny fires and UV lamps to share stories, barely has to think about where his feet are landing as he travels back across Old Villedor. These streets are embedded in every callous and whorl of skin on his palms and, infected aside, he’s confident in his ability to traverse them freely with his senses still dulled by what must have been an ungodly amount of alcohol.
He'd made a name out of it once.
But those are thoughts for a more maudlin night.
Not a night where Hakon has a husband to talk with.
It’s the not nearly as unpleasant twist in his stomach the word should bring that distracts him from any hesitation as he barrels back inside the safe-house, and comes up empty.
Aiden’s left for the tunnels.
Without a single word.
The radio hanging at his belt reminds him that despite inwardly debating it several times he’s left it on all day for reasons he can’t quite justify to himself. Holds it up and doesn’t think of what to say other than, “Kid, you there?”
Then he waits, for a minute, then another, then he tries again.
“Aiden…”
Trails off when he realizes that he’s never waited more than a handful of seconds for a reply, which means that Aiden is ignoring him on purpose.
Fucking rude, that.
Hakon scowls at the sheer nerve of being left behind, ignoring the rather flagrant hypocrisy, fiddles with the stupid fucking ring one more time before leaving it there and storming outside to go and hunt down and have it out with the pilgrim.