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The thing about it, was neither Dexter nor Saracen planned to fall in love, but not many do. They certainly never planned to fall in love during war because they got placed in the same suicide squad, ready to risk their lives for the fate of the country and the world.
They did plan that they'd die there, because one doesn't go into war without accepting the fact that they may die during it.
They didn't plan to survive over and over and over until one day the war was over and there was no more surviving, but genuine living.
For a long time, living was confusing. There was so much time to do… anything. No deadlines, no limits, nothing holding them back, keeping them from all those promises they made for 'after the war.'
For a short time, they stayed home, separately, because when you've been around the same seven or so other people for over three hundred years, you're anxious to get some time alone. But being separate after being in a group so long felt like suddenly losing a limb, and it made them ache. So they moved in together and it was like those muscles and bones came back together, and the ache soothed, nerves connected and repaired, functioning just like before.
With all the time in the world, love came slowly, at a snail's pace. A side project often left alone but never fully forgotten about. As worth the wait as it is to watch the sun rise, or the snow melt or the flowers bloom; for the rainbow to emerge after rain, for the honey to be made and collected.
And when it happened, it would be twice as sweet.
They traveled together, and apart, and made better memories that had nothing to do with war, where it was far away, a distant memory, and couldn't hurt them again.
Sometimes it did hurt them, long nights spent with tears and mourning for friends and comrades and lives and memories they never got to have. Never could have.
Sometimes they turned their anger on each other, lashing out and turning into shouting matches and who could land the most hurtful blow. So many times they'd held grudges, and even more times they apologized as soon as they said anything, terrified to have actually hurt the other- stay upset for the night, sleep in different rooms, but wake up and make sure to make the other breakfast while they made their own.
The thing is, for a long long time, neither ever calls it romantic love. Yeah they're friends, yeah they're war buddies, yeah they've slept in the same bed, yeah they fuck, yeah they've kissed each other in elation from something inconceivably great happening, yeah they look at each other like they hung the moon and stars and they never want to be apart for so long again. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
But it's never romantic love, not till they're sent out on separate missions that both take so much longer than planned.
Two missions that were both supposed to take a month each, but end up taking 3 months for Saracen, and a little over half a year for Dexter.
Saracen comes back to that shared apartment and he's. Lonely... Lonely, but fine, for the first week. Though in due time it drizzles into a depression in the weeks, months that pass and Saracen sleeps and hardly gets out of bed, too cold without the blanket on him and Dexter beside him.
When Dexter comes home, he's using crutches and wearing a full leg cast because no place, magical or not, has doctors like Kenspeckle. It throws Saracen into an elated panic. Dexter is home! He's home and safe in Saracen's are but also oh God his leg is broken and hasn't been fully fixed and Saracen doesn't know how long it's been broken or what kind of break or-
Dexter has him sit down, laughing in his own elation at being home, being with Saracen again. They pull the coffee table closer to the couch and put a pillow on it for Dexter to raise and rest his leg. He holds Saracens hands with his own, keeping him tethered to the earth instead of floating away in his worry.
"It's a spiral fracture, bone broke and pushed away and up, looked like a staircase." Saracen near whimpers, but Dexter shushes him with a gentle look. "They said it'd be a good maybe 6 to about 9 weeks for it to heal, I'm betting on 9, and I'm already halfway there, yeah? I'll be okay, I promise, it's just, I, I, oh Sar, no, hey," Saracen tried, but he couldn't help it as tears began to escape and fall down his cheeks, soft whine escaping his throat. Dexter gently cupped Saracen's cheek with one hand. "Hey, hey, it's alright, I'm okay," he whispered, putting his forehead against Saracens' own. "I'm okay, shh, I'm okay, I'm safe, I'm right here," he told him, whispering so he didn't startle Saracen.
Nonetheless, Saracen held him for hours that night, determined to make sure Dexter was safe and sound in his arms. Dexter didn't really mind it.
Over time, Dexter's leg gets better, it takes the full nine weeks and even after the cast is off they go to Kenspeckle to make sure it'll be fully healed. Dexter spends an hour sitting with his leg in a tub of healing mud to fix any minor fractures still there, and Saracen holds his hand the entire time, and Saracen reads to Dexter from a book he started sometime earlier in the week, and Dexter laughs at every goofy voice and side comment.
Over time, they get new hobbies, experiment with new things. They find new labels and new things to do. Saracen takes up scrapbooking, filling every page with pictures and notes and stickers, and loves ever time he gets to put in a picture that involves Dexter, the way they're almost always of him doing something silly or laughing so hard he's tilted back, hand on his stomach.
He also takes up gardening and he plants lavender and bellflowers and hydrangeas, and roses for a pop of different color that climb up the gutters off the house and remind him of love.
Dexter finds himself taking dancing classes, and he gets good at elaborate, many step dances that take a lot of concentration. But he still loves most when he clumsily dances with Saracen far too early in the morning, whispering about what to have for breakfast with sleep laden voices.
It's never stated to be love, to be a relationship, but one day they find holding hands and kissing comes as natural as breathing, like they should have been doing this forever.
They decide to keep doing it forever.
And after some time, after all this time, Saracen is gardening, Dexter by his side, helping dig the holes and place plants, but mostly being emotional support by telling stories and jokes and whatever thoughts come to mind. He speaks of things he thinks are important, and when he's done, he moves to his knees like he's going to get up. He brushes the back of his pants like he's trying to get dirt off.
"Speaking of things that are important, I wanted to ask you something-" Saracen hums, then looks up after a beat of silence.
There is Dexter, on one knee, hands holding a small box. The outside is a soft, dusty blue, and the inside is a plush velvet purple, holding the most beautiful ring Saracen has ever seen. The surrounding metal is a soft rose gold, and the gem is a gleaming purple, Saracen's most favorite color.
"Saracen Rue," Dexter says, voice reverent, like Saracen's name is a prayer, "will you marry me?" His eyes are so, so hopeful, filled with unshed tears.
Saracen doesn't even take off his gardening gloves before he tackles Dexter, telling him, "yes, yes, yes," over and over again, kissing him and getting dirt and soil on his face from the garden.