everything is romantic

“Here, Alex.” George says, holding out Alex’s drift helmet. His fingers are shaking around it, clinging to the carbon fiber. All Alex can do is stare at him; the set in his jaw, the way his mouth looks under the light. “It’s yours,” he says, voice raked over coals. Alex’s stomach flares, eyes going from George’s jittery hands to his face. 

George’s skin is still flushed. 

Alex swallows, takes the headset from George. He’s moving as slowly as the situation allows. The Kaiju siren blares, but he can barely hear it above the screaming of his heartbeat. Their fingers brush and his heart races. Alex brings his other hand to his chest, trying to will the uneasy feeling away. This, he thinks, looking right at George, is yours, keeping his hand over his heart. 

There’s no way for George to know what he means. There’s not even any time for Alex to say anything beyond—“Thanks,” as he fumbles with the headset, pulling the straps undone, fitting it on his head. Clipping it in. 

Alex inhales. George’s hand is still outstretched, like he’s frozen in time. 

He’s staring, mouth ajar. George snaps out of it, finally realizing where they are and what they’re about to do. The Shatterdome alarm is still blaring. Chatter files down through their radio, LOCCENT asking for them both to report in, asking what’s taking so long.  

“We have to talk,” George reaches, then, and wraps his fingers around Alex’s wrist. This is the moment it really feels like the world is ending. Everything narrows inward, as if the walls are closing in around them. They’re not drifting—Yet—but it feels like they’re the only two people left on Earth. The Conn-Pod is everything, at all once. A whole world just for them. If this was all Alex had, he thinks he’d be okay with it. 

“Alex,” George says. “If we come back—“ 

Alex’s chest shudders, his eyes burn; symptomatic of tears. George’s hand on his skin is big and warm, the calluses rough. It feels like the both of them have just ran a marathon, the way their chests rise and fall in the same time, thick with adrenaline.

“When, George,” Alex says, the most serious he’s ever been. “When we come back.” 

“When we come back,” George parrots. He looks dumbstruck. The blue of his eyes is unforgettable. “When we come back,” he says again, with conviction. He’s so simple it makes Alex’s heart swell with fondness. Do it over and over and over, you’ll get it right. 

Alex smiles, because it’s George. He lets go of Alex’s wrist to fix his own headset on. The click of the strap, the readjusting of his radio. They know what to do. They were made for this. 

“LOCCENT,” George says, eyes trained forward, out the big glass windows of the scratched silver Jaeger. “This is Ranger Russell. Ready for the handshake.”

“Initiating,” comes the reply. The grin on Alex’s face doesn’t fade, especially not when George looks over to him, one last time, a bashful smile producing all of the lines on his skin that Alex wasn’t there to see grow.

The Pons drinks in the pair of them, and they’re interwoven once again, minds and thoughts melding to full completion. He holds his breath, like he’s freediving, like this lungful shared with George is the last full breath of air he will ever take again. His mouth tastes like an echo of the kiss from fifteen minutes ago. It’s nothingness for a brief moment, Alex’s stomach sinking as his brain readjusts to the neural pathways of both George and the Jaeger. Then it all shudders and snaps. When he opens his eyes, all he can see is warm light. 

It feels like coming home. 

-

Afterwards, all Alex can see is the sky. 

“I’ve got him, I’ve got him. He’s—I’ve got him.”

Clear skies; he can’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun. It’s blinding, until George moves his head to cover it, and all Alex can see is George. 

“He’s hypothermic,” George is saying into the bright yellow emergency radio, he’s not wearing his headset, and Alex can only see him in a blur as his eyes begin to sting. “Think he’s hysterical.” 

Fat tears are rolling down George’s face. Alex doesn’t feel hysterical. He feels—like he’s floating. He can’t really hear anything, head spinning. He’s either dead, or in heaven, because there’s no pain at all, just this constant stream of euphoria that feels endless. He taps into it, like he’s still drifting, can’t stop the grin that forms when he sees George.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” Alex says, his words slurring, tapering off into a laugh.

“He’s definitely hysterical.” George says, reaching forward to put his fingers on Alex’s face. They really must be floating, because the world spins upside down when George lurches, and George has to grab him by his arms to keep Alex from rolling over.

Alex wonders if his skin would burn if he could feel anything, but he doesn’t think so. It’s so hot, he sears from the inside out, like there’s a furnace inside his chest. The pressure of George’s touch is bizarre. He’s right here, he’s everywhere, but Alex can’t feel anything at all.

“I don’t think his brain is getting enough oxygen,” George is talking to the radio again, “You have to fucking–” George sucks in a breath. “You have to hurry.”

“I think I died,” Alex laughs. He wants to make George laugh. George’s fingers on his face are somehow still warm, slick with sea water, straight from the North Atlantic, “I can see your halo Georgie.”

“Stop–talking,” George isn’t laughing. He looks handsome even like this, Alex pulled into the space between his legs, face creased in anguish. He doesn’t keep his eyes off of Alex, though, and that cuts through all the numbness in his chest. Makes his stomach do a flip. “You need to conserve your energy, okay?” 

Instead, Alex puts all of his energy into trying to concentrate on George’s face. Suddenly, everything feels impossible, and he's so tired. He blinks. “I'm tired.” He tries to say, but he thinks it comes out as a gurgle, as more salt water runs down his chin. 

“Alex.” George says, and he sounds crestfallen. Alex’s never seen him so worried. It knocks the wind out of him, like he’s been kicked in the chest and all the elation leaves his body in an instant. George, hands framing Alex’s face desperately. Everything about him is so familiar, the pressure of his fingers, the sensation they elicit against Alex’s skin is electrifying. It’s as if George has restarted his heart. 

“You have to stay awake.” George swallows, “Alex. Remember to breathe.” 

Alex has no problem remembering things. 

The sound of Bangkok at night, looking at the sky in the morning, hanging onto his mother’s fingers with a balmy hand. Standing with his feet in the water, the smell of fish and salt. Laying eyes on George for the first time, hearing the shrill sound of his voice and the way he laughs. Drifting, piloting. The sensation of falling. Lando, the color of the grey sheets framing his face in the infirmary. Charles' quiet amusement, Carlos’ blank expression that makes Oscar heave over with laughter. Yuki, his small smile in the wind, looking out of binoculars. Kimi and Ollie, who are out there somewhere in the ocean too, their Jaeger crunching and creaking. Everybody he’s surrounded by, everybody who has come before. 

But, as Alex floats in and out of consciousness, salt water running out of his mouth, he thinks that what he’ll remember most is the upturned, surprised shape of George’s mouth when he laughs at something Alex’s said, or when he peers over at Alex when he doesn’t think he’s looking, and he bites his lip in what can’t be anything other than embarrassment. The way George says Alex, in that horribly bashful way of his. 

George, in the drift, arms metaphorically open, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. The terrifying sensation of knowing him, the way George knows everything about Alex, cradles his memories with both hands.  

A dream come true can never really be how you imagined it. George holds onto Alex’s face now in the same way he always has. Gentle, even now, when his face creases and lips form words that Alex can no longer hear. 

The last thing Alex thinks, before he passes out, is that he’d really like to be able to kiss George, just one last time, and that it would probably feel a lot better than saving the world.