nealuchi | friendship is necromancy

Title: friendship is necromancy
Fandom: Original
Character(s): Gershom, Ekkehardt, Jailbreak, Salvador
Pairing(s): Ekkehardt/Gershom
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 1,955
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: Shut-In Jewish Lich Makes Friends With A Goy Lich After 1000 Years Alone, What Happens Next Will Warm Your Heart
Notes: Related to Life's Leftovers but not canon to it. Ekkehardt belongs to Ruka, Jailbreak belongs to Echo.

in order to rejoice greatly

Gershom is as observant a Jew as he can be in this state. Some commandments are easier to fulfill than others. He recites the proper blessings, studies the Torah verses he’s read a thousand times, remembers to give generously when he can.

Some are more difficult.

“The commandment is to get drunk?”

“To drink until you can no longer tell the difference between ‘bless Mordechai’ and ‘curse Haman’,” Gershom says. “But being like I am, I doubt I’ll ever celebrate Purim properly again.”

“No, I think I might have something for you,” Ekkehardt says, hand to his chin. “It isn’t strictly alcohol, but the effect should be similar enough to qualify.”

Gershom’s eyes light up. “Really? And you just have something like that laying around?”

Ekkehardt considers his typical use for the potion - lowering a target’s guard in assassinations - and answers, “Just for special occasions.”

giving before being asked

When it comes to giving presents, Gershom is a little out of practice. This wouldn’t be an issue - even he knows Ekkehardt wouldn’t judge him for a gift being subpar - but Gershom refuses to even consider giving Ekkehardt anything less than the perfect gift. He deserves nothing less.

It isn’t that Gershom isn’t in a position to buy Ekkehardt anything. His paycheck from his articles covers his rent and his few other expenses, and he has plenty of savings. He could splurge on almost anything from Amazon, if only he knew what Ekkehardt would want most.

A new camera? No, that would seem more like a present to himself. Clothes? Ekkehardt’s fashion sense is impeccable, and Gershom’s is not. He doesn’t need food or drink, and Gershom’s never seen the inside of his home, so he has no idea what furniture would even work with his decor.

Handmade gifts are supposed to be the most meaningful, but…

“What’s this?” Ekkehardt asks, picking up a misshapen lump of white and brown fabric on Gershom’s shelf.

“Oh - I didn’t put that away yet? Well… it’s a bit embarrassing…” Gershom stares at the floor. “I was trying to make you something for Hanukkah. It was supposed to be a dog plush, but it didn’t come out anything like the guide said it would…”

It’s only to be expected, since he has no practice with anything more complicated than mending his own clothes. But it’s still a pathetic attempt, and he never meant to let Ekkehardt see-

“Thank you,” Ekkehardt says. “I’ll cherish it.”

Gershom’s gaze snaps up. “You really want it? But it’s awful, and I’m sure you could get better at any store, made by a professional-”

“I want the one you made for me.” Ekkehardt’s voice is soft, but firm.

There’s really nothing Gershom can say to that, except, “…Happy Hanukkah.”

yom huledet sameach

Normally, Ekkehardt might be concerned about what appears to be a walking pile of coats and scarves at his front door. He would be, but the height - or lack thereof - of said pile gives away its identity.

“Gershom,” he says, not hiding his surprise. “Come in. What brings you out here?”

Gershom steps inside and waits until the door is shut before pulling no fewer than four scarves away from his face. “Happy birthday,” he says. “I would’ve called first, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Oh, that’s right. It is Ekkehardt’s birthday. He doesn’t assign much significance to the date, but Gershom had asked a while back and Ekkehardt had seen no reason not to tell him.

He certainly hadn’t expected Gershom, who leaves his apartment only twice a year and is terrified of being run out of town for the hundredth time, to cross the city to come visit him.

“Thank you.” And because he can’t resist teasing a little: “So you’re my present this year?”

“That’s-! I just thought that since you’re always schlepping out to visit me I could visit you for once! I didn’t…!”

Gershom hides his face in a scarf again. Ekkehardt can’t quite stifle a chuckle.

shunned

Seeing someone else outside Gershom’s door is usually a bad sign if it isn’t Jail. It’s not Salvador, at least, but Ekkehardt is already quickening his step before he realizes the nature of the conversation going on through Gershom’s closed door.

“I don’t see how it’s possible for someone living in this country to not have heard the ‘good news’ as you say. All you’d have to do is step outside.”

Ekkehardt suppresses a snort, while the young men outside Gershom’s door smile awkwardly. One says, “Then you should be interested in attending a Bible study-”

“Not at all interested,” Gershom says. “I think this sort of door-to-door evangelism is patronizing at best, as anyone with genuine interest in becoming a Jehovah’s Witness is more than capable of seeking them out on their own. At worst it’s predatory towards people who can’t turn strangers away, the kind of people who are most vulnerable when it comes to shunning and the sort of manipulative tactics the Witnesses employ to punish their members.”

The men glance at each other. “Disfellowship isn’t a tool to punish, it’s a necessary precaution against apostates corrupting-”

“Also I’m very gay,” Gershom continues as if they hadn’t spoken. “So that’s at least one corrupting influence right there, nu?”

Ekkehardt clears his throat. Gershon’s handling this well, but he knows talking to people like this is exhausting for him, so he might as well step in. “Am I interrupting something, honey?”

“…No, not at all, we were just leaving.” One is already backing up as he speaks. “Blessed day to you, sir.”

As soon as the Jehovah’s Witnesses scurry off, Gershom cracks the door open and manages a tiny squeak: “’Honey?’”

insert boner joke

It has taken Gershom literally a thousand years to realize that becoming a lich does not automatically kill your sex drive.

In his defense, his becoming a lich was simultaneous with discovering that the man he’d considered the love of his life was actually an awful person. That tends to put someone off the idea of intimacy for a while. Then there were the many years of seclusion where any contact with a human being was dangerous, let alone being around one long enough to develop an attraction to them.

But then there was Ekkehardt and his smile and the way he chuckles when Gershom makes a joke even if it really isn’t all that funny and - and a lot of things that make Gershom uncomfortable for reasons beyond being too shy to confess to him. Uncomfortable physically.

This would be a nonissue if he knew how to deal with it. Unfortunately, undeath did not come with an instruction manual, and the only person he could ask about these things is Ekkehardt. Which he is definitely, most certainly not going to do ever.

“I could ask him,” Jail says, after taking another swig of the extra-potent wine they’re sharing. Gershom is technically fulfilling a commandment by getting drunk on Purim, but he doesn’t think the drunken babbling about sexual frustration is really what was intended.

He stares at her blearily. “If you do that he’ll know it’s because I talked about it with you, and I’ll die of embarrassment.”

“Nah, I’ve asked him way weirder questions before, ninety-nine percent of the time just because I think it’s funny. Asking about skellie boners is par for the course.”

It is a testament to how drunk he is that he did not expect that exact joke. “Nu, even if you asked him, I don’t think he’ll tell you something like that…”

“Can’t know until we try!” she says cheerily, and pulls out her phone.

Squawking something alarmed, Gershom grabs for the phone, overshoots, and falls over.

tekiah

Gershom adores Ekkehardt’s voice.

If he were to write about it in a poem, he might describe it as apples and honey. Refreshing, sweet but subtle. It banishes the ever-creeping silence to the corners of his apartment.

He could listen to Ekkehardt talk all day and not get tired of it. But Ekkehardt might if he never answered, so the least he can do is respond to what’s said. His own voice is nothing to speak of, but Ekkehardt never talks over him or ignores his words. It’s almost as if he considers them of equal value… surely not.

you pierce my heart

Ekkehardt weaves crowns of gladiolus and clematis, and enchants them to never wilt. Not every flower adapts well to DC’s humid summers, and plenty of those that do - peony and hydrangea - are not ones that he would give as gifts. But the yellow and purple flowers flatter each other and sit well on Gershom’s head. They bring life to Gershom’s apartment, but not as much as his smile does.

Gershom orders fabric online and picks up sewing. Reams of red cotton become carefully layered roses. Ekkehardt tucks his veil beneath the flower crown and wears it for his next visit.

the stranger in your midst

Gershom was in his bedroom when he heard a noise from down the hallway. Unaccustomed to noises inside his apartment that he didn’t cause himself, it took him a moment to identify the sound as his window being opened.

From the outside? He lived on the fifth floor??

Okay, so he’d clearly gone insane from isolation and was hallucinating things. It was surprising it hadn’t happened before now, really. But at least he didn’t have to panic-

“Carpet’s nice,” a young woman’s voice slurred. “Soft.”

Ah. Okay. Panic time.

He spent a good minute trembling in fear, and might not have moved from his bedroom for the rest of his unlife if he hadn’t had a thought: what if this person was hurt? Surely no one would break into an apartment on the fifth floor from the outside if the situation weren’t desperate. He could continue cowering under his covers, and maybe they’d leave on their own, but maybe they’d bleed out on his carpet.

Well, he had a good stay in this apartment anyway. It was getting about time for him to be run out of town.

His bones clattering from all his shaking, he poked his head out of his bedroom door. A woman was lying face down on his floor. No visible injuries, though if even he could smell the alcohol on her, she must have been incredibly drunk.

“Nice place you got,” she said, barely lifting her head. If she was surprised by the literal skeleton appearing, she didn’t show it. “I’m gonna crash here.”

“…Can I get you anything?” he asked, because what else did you do in this situation. “A blanket?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

So he draped a quilt over her and retreated to his bedroom again. He’d have time to pack his things before she woke up and called for an exorcist, at least.

(Except she didn’t do that, and just complimented his cat pattern pajamas instead.)

“Ridiculous,” Salvador says. “I’ve spent months trying to get inside my Kuni’s apartment, but that mezuzah keeps me from entering. What makes you any different?”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jailbreak drawls. “Could be that I didn’t want to hurt him.”

polyglot problems

Languages are one of Gershom’s many passions, though not one he’s been able to put to much use until recently. The advent of Youtube lessons has significantly improved his pronunciation, and he considers himself fluent in five languages and passable in another six.

Coupled with the sheer amount of knowledge he has to keep track of, this can lead to problems.

“For me, it’s never been an option to go back on my principles so much. It’s like… Taka wa shi shitemo ho wo tsumazu, do they have that expression in English? Or German?”

Ekkehardt just looks at Gershom silently.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Jailbreak chirps.

Gershom coughs. “Nu, of course that’s a silly question…”