Work Text:
His Hallowed Chalice gripped in one hand, Barok swirls its contents as he perches on the edge of his desk, staring into the vortex he has made in the dark red liquid. Normally, sitting on his desk like this would provoke a comment from Asougi (“You have a chair, Lord van Zieks, but why are you so averse to using it?” his fellow prosecutor said just yesterday as he kneeled at his desk across the room, and he laughed when Barok responded by way of an obscene hand gesture), but Asougi currently stands in court, so Barok can sit however he bloody likes.
Right now, Barok has no idea how to deal with the pathetic anxiety eating away at his insides, and certainly not how to tell Albert about it. Back from abroad after nine long months, Albert asked to accompany Barok to his workplace—but the moment Albert excused himself to visit the lavatory, Barok’s façade shattered and he slumped against his desk, infuriated by his pounding heart. He has not felt such irritating nervousness since that fateful trial, when everything he thought he knew came tumbling down around him, and he cannot stand it.
For the first time since after Albert’s trial (when Barok hurriedly packed him off back to Germany before the Reaper’s curse could get him), Albert has returned to London. And it should be a joyous occasion—well, for Albert it is, but Barok cannot shake the anxiety, even though he was the one who invited Albert here. He knows the curse was nothing of the sort, and certainly nothing to do with him, but when Barok met Albert at the docks and watched his old friend step onto British soil… Anxiety attacked him like a snake constricting around his chest, and he struggled to hide his nerves on the journey back to London.
Barok sighs, longing for his pathetic mind to calm down so he can enjoy his time with Albert rather than worrying—
“I’m back!” Albert says, darting back into the office. He grins, smoothing his jacket with still-damp hands. “Sorry I took so long—I got lost.” Albert pauses, as though expecting Barok to respond with a snort or something sarcastic, but upon getting no reply, he stares at Barok’s face for the first time, and… “Barok, are you all right? You don’t look very well. Are you feeling poorly or something?”
Fighting the urge to kick himself, Barok sets his untouched drink on the desk and stands up. He turns his back to Albert, forcing whatever pathetic expression he wore off his face, and turns around again, a normal, sarcastic smirk on his lips. “Perhaps I was bored after waiting so long for you to return from the lavatory.”
Albert chuckles, adjusting his spectacles when they slip down his nose, but he frowns as he steps closer. “You know that isn’t what I meant. Barok, I know lots of people think I’m an idiot, but I do know how to read faces. Ever since you met me at the docks, you’ve seemed… off. And I didn’t want to say anything until we’re alone, but now we are, so…” Hands gripping the sides of his head, fingers digging into his hair, Albert’s eyes widen as he blurts out, “You’re f-feeling dreadful for some reason, and I want you to tell me.”
“Hmph. You could give Mr Naruhodo a run for his money,” Barok says with a weak attempt at a chuckle.
“Who?”
Despite the nerves twisting in his stomach, Barok rolls his eyes. “Your lawyer, you dolt.”
“O-Oh, the Japanese chap who defended me?” Albert says.
“Yes. Good Lord, I see your memory has failed to improve.”
“Hey!” Albert says, but he laughs. “Why do I remind you of your lawyer friend, then?”
It sounds strange to hear Albert refer to Naruhodo as a ‘friend’, but it isn’t a bad sort of strangeness, so Barok doesn’t argue back. “Just in the way you also noticed something I thought I had hidden.”
Albert’s eyes get even wider, magnified enormously by his spectacles. “So you do feel awful? Oh, Barok, why didn’t you just tell me?”
Barok sighs and folds his arms across his chest. “You have known me since university, Albert. Surely you noticed a long time ago that I… am not forthcoming about my emotions.”
Sighing too, Albert steps closer still. “True. But still… please talk to me. I read your letters so I know everything that happened, for better or for worse, and if you feel upset about anything, I, I can listen—”
“Objection!” Barok yells before he can stop himself, grateful he put down his Hallowed Chalice, as he found himself clenching a fist around nothing when he yelled that word, reflexively trying to shatter the glass.
Albert flinches but holds his ground. “Y-Yes?”
“I am not upset,” Barok snaps, but his clenched fists tremble as he slams them against his thighs, and he takes in air with a series of increasingly rapid gasps. “I object to the insinuation that I am so weak that—”
“You’re not weak,” Albert says, his voice wobbling but determined, and a pair of clammy hands clasp Barok’s fist. “Being upset never makes you weak. It’s normal. It’s… healthy.”
Barok stares at him, part of his mind longing to wrench his hand from Albert’s grip and storm out of the room, but the thought of leaving Albert alone seems even worse. Slowly, Barok averts his gaze and sighs, his shoulders sagging. And Albert must read something in Barok’s body language, as Barok soon finds his idiotic friend (friend? Partner? Companion? Nothing quite seems to describe Albert correctly) flinging his arms around him, pulling Barok into a tight embrace.
“Wh-What are you doing?” Barok splutters.
“Holding you,” Albert says like nothing strange is happening, his smile cheeky and his face flushing.
“I can see that. I meant… why?”
“Because I feel bad for you, and I haven’t held you in a decade.”
Barok rolls his eyes, begging himself not to blush at the fool’s words as memories of university rush back to him. “If I refuse to explain my behaviour, will you keep being so infuriating?”
Albert grins, taking the insult as a compliment. “Of course, Barok.”
Sighing, Barok glances at Albert before muttering, “I know it is pathetic, but I cannot stop fretting about… the curse.”
“The curse… Oh, do you mean the Reaper’s curse?” Albert says, eyes widening when it sinks in.
“Yes,” Barok mumbles. “And before you say it, I know such a curse doesn’t exist—it never existed—but that does not stop this infuriating terror gripping me.”
Albert sighs, beginning to rub Barok’s back, and Barok resists the urge to push Albert away. Hugs always embarrass him and having his back rubbed feels incredibly patronising, but as Albert is the one doing it, Barok forces himself to put up with it. At least the embrace proves Albert’s presence—and his safety.
“How long have you worried about me?” Albert finally asks.
“Ever since you stepped onto English soil this morning. I know you are safe, yet this infuriating fear will not leave me. It will not stop, and I feel…” He sighs heavily, wanting to bite back the words (to hide his feelings), but instead Barok forces himself to say, “Vulnerable. I feel vulnerable, and I keep thinking you are about to die whenever you leave my field of vision. Utterly daft, isn’t it?” he adds, chuckling weakly.
“No, not daft,” Albert says, still rubbing his back. “I promise I’m safe, Barok. But if it helps, I won’t leave your side until the fear stops. How does that sound?”
Barok stares at him, still wanting to be strong, but the anxiety is totally exhausting… and spending so much time with Albert might not be a bad thing.
“Fine. I suppose,” he mutters, managing a weak smirk, and Albert smiles, hugging him tighter.