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so after Shared Living Space, cell takes off for a while because what the fuck was that but, of course, he comes back around again eventually. and a lot more often. stray cat fr. i just remembered i have this tumblr-only fic that takes place a few months after Shared Living Space, so you can see more of their dynamic there!

either way, they start to understand how to live around each other. cell is learning how to chill the fuck out, how to think of people aside from himself, and how to operate in normal society. felps is learning how to handle him and is realizing that cell (when he's not trying to kill anyone or is plotting murder) is like. actually chill? is capable of being nice?? it becomes increasingly obvious to felps that a lot of cell's aggressiveness is a twisted sort of defensiveness, and cell finds himself increasingly loyal to the guy who's helping him "survive" in this "strange world" (it reminds him of badboy guiding him through the War sometimes; he tries not to think about that too hard.) you can have some fanart that @/rabbit-harpist made for this arc of the au!!! and two asks where he and i ramble about cell and felps' dynamic, as well as some worldbuilding stuff.

now this is the bit of the story that's a little more foggy in my memory but, from what i remember----whenever cell is away from felps, he's moving about the city's criminal underworld, trying to find a way to get his player code officially registered as a person/citizen, as well as under a new identity. this also means that he's having run-ins with shady characters. this is how cell ends up getting shot through the shoulder and winds up stumbling his way back to felps' apartment in the middle of the night. it's your "enemy-shows-up-on-you-doorstep-badly-hurt-begging-for-help" trope except they're not really enemies anymore---and this moment solidifies it for them. felps is genuinely worried for cell, and cell is genuinely trusting in felps. cell is so close to getting all the deals he needs in order, and if he dies and goes into respawn, he'll more than likely wind up respawning not at felps' apartment, but at the server's origin, where he'll immediately be taken into custody. and cell is terrified of that possibility because he actually has something out here he wants to stick with, goddamnit.

in the end, cell lives. he gets an infection from the wound but he manages to ride it out. (fun fact: this is the same shoulder that cellbit complains about "being funny" in Touching Base! it never healed quite right.) eventually, he gets his code altered and finally becomes the official player "cellbit". he still needs to keep a low profile (he's far from the first criminal to get their code altered to dodge the authorities) but hiding will be easier.

so yeah, after that, felps and cellbit slowly settle into their dynamic as seen in Touching Base. weirdest of friendships <33

It's the middle of the day on a lazy Sunday, and Cell has been tossing and turning on the couch for the past several minutes. He’s not typically a restless sleeper—quite the opposite, actually—so it’s strange for Felps to see him shifting around, restlessly tilting his head side to side.

Felps figures he must be dreaming, or something like it. What does someone like Cell dream about, anyway? Probably eating Felps, or putting Felps' head on a pike. Or eating Felps and putting his head on a pike. Or just murdering people in general. He must get a real kick out of that. Felps shrugs it off and continues working, reclined in the armchair and sorting through his email. Whatever Cell is dreaming about will pass eventually.

And then he whines.

Felps pauses and blinks for several seconds, processing that yes, there was a noise, yes, it was a whine, and yes it most certainly came from Cell. Felps glances up from his laptop again to look at the known murderer sleeping his couch. He's still shifting around, perhaps a little more animatedly than before. He settles for a moment, and Felps can see his eyelids twitching. Another half-whine, half-groan wheedles out of his throat. His lips move, barely parted, but whatever Cell might've said is much too soft for Felps to hear, if he said anything at all.

A few seconds pass. Then, Cell's face briefly twists, his lips moving again; and though it's still hard to decipher, Felps isn't certain that it's actual words that he's speaking. His chest heaves a few times, he makes another small noise, and he murmurs something again—no. Those...sound like they could be words. Garbled, but words nonetheless. Not Portuguese, though. It might be another language. (Cell speaks some English, doesn't he?) Or maybe it is just gibberish, Felps really can't tell; but whatever it is, it sounds urgent. Very urgent. And Cell is starting to breathe harder.

Huh. Felps starts to consider trying to wake him up before he shoots that thought down immediately. Why even bother? And he knows for a fact that Cell sleeps with a weapon under his arm—Felps can see it now, a small blade revealed in all of his tossing—and Felps doesn't want to wind up on the wrong end of it if Cell wakes up swinging.

Still, Felps' email has become an afterthought at this point. Felps watches, almost amazed, as Cell continues to toss more violently than before, breathing harder to the point of gasping, voice high and reaching and cracking and begging—

A shout. Cell's eyes fly open as he shoots up and yep there goes the knife arcing through open air. He's got a hand braced on the side of the couch as he bares his teeth at some middle distance, panting like he's just sprinted several miles. There's a thin sheen of sweat clinging to his face. Cell is sporting a furious expression so tense and wild that Felps—if he didn't know any better—would say pitches over to the other end of the curve and lands somewhere in the realm of terrified.

Cell, the murderer, the cannibal, the nightmare of so many people's dreams, just woke up screaming from a nightmare. It's almost novel, but Felps supposes that Cell is still just a human. And humans, people, get nightmares. Basic psychology. Though, it's hard to imagine Cell to be really, truly afraid of anything in particular aside from, possibly, getting caught by the police and being hauled back to Alcatraz. (Once in Alcatraz, he would end up spending quite the stint in solitary—one of the only things they found that could actually get Cell to behave, if only for a little while.)

A beat passes. Cell's eyes dart frantically, but it doesn't look like he's really seeing anything. He's still gasping. His legs have kicked away the towel Felps makes him put his feet on when he's sleeping, instead digging the heels of his boots into the cushions and pushing himself back against the arm of the couch, knife still in hand.

Felps hasn't exactly woken up fighting before, but he's had his fair share of nightmares. He knows how disorienting they can be. Best not to have the guy with the weapon and the horribly violent impulses forget where he is. Felps clears his throat. "Hey Cell."

Cell snaps his head towards Felps. He blinks several times. He stars at Felps, and he looks around the room...

...And his breathing starts to slow. And his shoulders start to slump. And the fury-terror starts to melt away. And the hand brandishing his knife drops into his lap.

And Cell is quiet. No threats, no growl. He just stares at the floor and drags a hand down his sweat-soaked face and breathes—something like relief. It's eerie, coming from Cell, and Felps, frankly, doesn't know what to make of it.

"So," Felps says. "The Monster of Alcatraz gets nightmares, huh?"

A beat. Then, Cell scoffs at him. "Inspiration," he snarls, voice dripping with venom despite his breathlessness and sleepy croak. "For when I carve out your guts and drag your entrails across the floor, Felps."

Felps raises an eyebrow. "You know, you could just tell me you want to be left alone."

"Fuck off."

"See, there we go." Felps closes his laptop and glances at the clock on the wall: just past twelve. "Eh, actually, before I do that—are you planning on staying for lunch?"

Cell makes a vague noise. He runs his free hand through his messy hair and scrubs one of his eyes with the heel of his palm. He sighs heavily, like a half-aborted yawn.

"...Yeah," he eventually decides.

"Did you bring me anything?"

Felps knows he did. Felps won't make him anything if he doesn't pitch in somehow—one of their new 'rules'—and Cell's backpack is looking a little more full than usual. In lieu of an answer, Cell picks up his bag from where it's slumped against the foot of couch and drags it into his lap, rummaging through it. Felps, meanwhile, stands, dumps his laptop on the armchair, stretches, and grabs the TV remote. A moment later, Cell produces a small paper bag and holds it out to Felps.

Felps crosses the living room and peeks inside: tomatoes and lettuce, in decent enough condition. Felps has certainly used worse. He could add in some of his carrots, chop them up, put some dressing over it and make it a salad. Rice and some seasoned meat (chicken—no red meat allowed when Cell is present) to go with it could be nice.

"This works." Felps grabs the bag. Cell lets him have it, and Felps tosses him the remote. "Your pick. And either fix the towel or boots off the couch."

Cell huffs, but he swings his legs around without protest, boots on the floor. As he flicks through channels, Felps brings the produce into the kitchen and opens up the fridge. He pushes aside his own tomatoes and lettuce to get to the carrots.

Sometime later, Felps finishes putting together lunch and brings a couple plates into the living room. There, he finds Cell curled up on his side, fast asleep yet again—no tossing or turning this time, though. Just sleeping.

Felps rolls his eyes with a sigh. He puts the extra portion down on the coffee table, lowers the volume on the TV just a bit, heads back into the kitchen, and returns with a cover for the plate.

(A nightmare having a nightmare. What could Cell be so scared of?)