[Gift] to be cared for, to be loved

“Lakehouse how in the fuck.” 

Lakehouse’s arms come up then back down in a jerky, uncomfortable shrug. They look more distressed than Agnes has ever seen them, neck fluff tangled in the dark green vines and needles of a half-finished wreath. Their entire head and one arm have been shoved through the center of it, and they wobble awkwardly on her front porch, tail waving back and forth to keep upright. 

Again, how in the fuck. Did they think it would be fun to stick their body through it? Were they making it around their neck like that, for whatever demon-forsaken reason? Did they think the wreath was a fucking necklace? And more than that—

“I saw you barely an hour ago,” Agnes says, staring.

Lakehouse gives another shrug, staring back.

Agnes groans and runs her hooves down her face, breath misting in the chilly air. “Fucking hell,” she mutters, and folds her arms. “Well, get inside so I can get your dumb ass out of this.” 

She steps to one side so they can enter her cabin, gesturing with her head toward the open doorway. 

Lakehouse shakes their head no, wide red eyes glancing between her face and the door like she just invited them to die. They shake their head no again, and the sharp movement nearly topples them.

Agnes closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath in through her nose, out through her mouth. Opens her eyes again, studying the wreath tangled in their fluff, dark green against black and gray. “No,” she snaps, “I know you don’t like being inside for whatever fucking reason, but I can’t help you out here. It’s too cold, and this is gonna take a while.”

Lake continues staring at her, looking more distressed by the second. A pang of guilt sinks into her gut, but she just— she can’t help them out here. They’d both end up frostbitten, or worse. 

A long moment passes between them, silent save for the frigid wind as it whispers through the trees and against her cabin. It would pick up any second now, crescendo into raging howls that they couldn’t be outside for. 

An errant gust pulls at her red fur, as if to confirm her suspicions. Agnes’ mouth presses into a thin line, eyes lifting to once again meet theirs. “Come on,” she says softly, and if her tone shifts to pleading… well, that’s between her and Lakehouse.

Something in her tone seems to make up Lake’s mind, and they come forward timidly. They linger a moment in the doorframe, wide red eyes glancing between Agnes and the cabin’s interior. 

Another moment passes, and Lakehouse steps inside. Agnes lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and follows close behind. The door clicks shut with a soft click, but Lake still flinches at the noise. “It’s unlocked,” she murmurs to them, swallowing. “Just need to turn the knob. You can leave whenever you want.”

Lake nods, and some of the tension leaves their form. They still linger awkwardly in her front hallway, and Agnes briskly walks past, gesturing for them to follow. She leads them to her living room, where the fire crackles low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across her cozy couch and armchair. “Sit down,” she commands them, and they gravitate to her couch, instantly curling up in the blanket there like a nest. They still look wary and uncomfortable, but less so now than before— something tight in Agnes’ chest loosens at the thought. 

“I’ll be right back,” she says to Lakehouse, who simply nods. Their eyes track her as she hurries off to grab her scissors, a wastebasket, and a small bowl. When she returns, she has to pause to hide a smile— Lavinia has already made herself at home in Lake’s lap, and she can hear her purring from across the room. Lakehouse watches the fiendish Furdin with something close to awe, a hoof already buried in her fur. Or well— they look in her direction, at least. They can’t look down with the wreath around their neck.

“Lavinia doesn’t usually like strangers,” Agnes says to announce herself, coming over. Their eyes lift to look at her, and they tilt their head quizzically, pointing their free hoof at Lavinia.

Agnes snorts, sitting on the couch next to them. “Yeah, her. She usually avoids my clients. I guess she recognizes your scent from the porch, since you visit often? Not sure.”

Lakehouse looks pleased at this, and continues petting Lavinia. The Furdin purrs like a motor, reveling in the offered attention. Agnes has to snort again. “Silly imp,” she mutters to herself, then louder, “I’m gonna start with the smaller pieces, pull them free so there’s less to detangle later. Understood?”

Lakehouse nods, but their expression is nonetheless a bit wary. Agnes supposes that’s fair— if she were a nonverbal succubun who lives by themselves in the woods and doesn’t like being indoors, she’d be wary if someone brought scissors near her neck too. 

Her imagination has to do some leaps and bounds to get to that conclusion, but still. Fair’s fair.

With carefully telegraphed movements, Agnes begins prodding at the vines and boughs that make up the wreath tangled in their fluff, finding bits here and there she can gently pull away or snip off. Occasionally, she’ll pick off holly berries, pinecones, or other bits and bobs, and drop them in the bowl instead of the wastebasket like the green parts. Her movements are slow, but methodical, and she soon gets lost in the rhythm.

Prod, pick, snip, drop. 

Lavinia’s purring and the crackling fireplace all fade into the background, until it’s just her, Lakehouse, and the half-finished wreath, now mostly disassembled. She smiles, running her hoof through their fluff, pulling pine needles from the silky fur. 

“Almost there,” she murmurs, and the sound of her own voice lifts her from her reverie. A glance at the clock atop the mantle tells her it's been over an hour since Lakehouse showed up. For their part, Lakehouse looks much more content, perhaps a bit relieved that their neck is mostly free. Lavinia fell asleep at some point, but is still curled up in Lake’s lap. 

Agnes has to smile at the sight. “Glad you came here,” she murmurs, pulling some more greenery from Lakehouse’s neck. “Dunno how you would’ve gotten out of this on your own, dumbass.”

Lakehouse huffs in amusement, the noise bordering on laughter. When they look at her though, their eyes are warm, a smile pulling at their mouth.

Without a word, the message is nonetheless clear— I’m glad I came here too. I’m glad you’re here with me.” Lake’s smile grows brighter, more real. “Not just here today. Glad you’re here at all, with me,”  that smile adds. 

Agnes’ face warms beneath her fur, and she rolls her eyes, nudging them playfully. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m glad you’re here too. Fucking idiot.”