a e g i s

Zed leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place as he took in the absolute train wreck that was Willem trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t two seconds away from face-planting onto the hospital floor.

"Yeah, no offense, but you look about as fine as a Windows XP update. Glitching, barely functional, and definitely about to crash," he quipped, stepping inside with a slow shake of his head.

He didn’t bother stopping him from trying to stand—Willem was a grown-ass man, and if he wanted to eat linoleum, who was Zed to deny him? But the second he swayed, Zed let out a dramatic sigh and reached out, one firm hand pressing against his shoulder to keep him from toppling over like a drunk Jenga tower.

"Alright, chill. You’ve already got one concussion, let’s not aim for a matching set, yeah?" He arched a brow, expression teetering between amusement and exasperation. "What’s the rush? Got a hot date? Secret underground fight club meeting? Extremely urgent Netflix binge?"

Zed knew the answer before Willem could even try to form it—this was a man who didn't sit still well, not when there were bigger concerns clawing at the edges of his mind. And yeah, Zed got that.

His smirk softened just a fraction. "Look, I get it. Sitting in a hospital bed while everything’s going to shit outside is agony—trust me, I’ve been there. But maybe don’t make it worse by throwing yourself at the ground like it owes you money."

He leaned back slightly, giving Willem a once-over, then smirked again. "Besides, I’d hate to be the one to break it to your crew that you got taken out by bedsheets." A beat. "That’s gotta be, like, a bottom-tier way to go."

“Nothing, just trying to escape from your ugly mug.” He shot back, but perhaps it was undermined by his inability to stay fully upright (also the fact that, from an objective male standpoint, Zed was unfairly attractive.)

Then the damn insightful bastard hit the nail on the head, naming every worry that clawed at his psyche, the thoughts had always driven him to push past the limits of his own body. “They’d never believe you.” A statement that broke some of the tension, his entire body easing just a fraction, letting Zed take some of his weight like a puppet whose strings were just loosened.

“Don’t just stand there, tech genius.” He groused, glaring at the other man rather ineffectually - as his gaze still couldn’t focus properly. “Help me back into those damn bedsheets.”

She reached out, pressing a steadying hand to his shoulder before he could do something real dumb—like face-plant onto the floor. “What, you think you’re just gonna waltz on outta here like you didn’t get your head knocked sideways?” She sighed, shaking her head as if he were the biggest headache she’d had to deal with all day. “And here I thought you were the smart one.”

Her smirk softened just a little, but concern flickered beneath it. “Can’t have a member of the fan club witherin’ away ‘cause of his own damn stubbornness. What kinda message would that send to the others?” She gave his shoulder a light squeeze before tapping her fingers against his temple—gently, but pointedly. “Now sit your ass down before I have to do it for you. I’d hate to embarrass you in front of all these nice medical professionals.”

A pause, her voice dropping just a touch, still playful but with something more serious beneath it. “You know you’re allowed to let people take care of you, right?”

“I am the smart one. I’m the one fan club member who insisted on screening for creeps in the first place before allowing them to officially join.” Willem pointed out his own use in her life while allowing himself to be guided back, albeit grudgingly, to his hospital bed.

Willem felt himself wince at her words - it wasn’t a sentiment he that hadn’t heard before, after all. He often ranked himself the lowest out of his own list of priorities. “I know that, theoretically.” He joked weakly inside, using humor as a shield to avoid confronting hard truths about himself he wasn’t willing to explore, just yet. “It’s just a concussion. It’ll pass.”

“and it’s you,” he grinned, teeth flashing. “what, you been waitin’ on me?” he added, voice dropping just enough to land the hit, to make it feel like something dangerous curling up between them.

the immediate “oh, i can’t dance” made him laugh though, low, deep in his chest, because that was a damn lie. tiago hadn’t gotten a good enough look at him the first time, but he’d noticed the body on him—fit, the kind that wasn’t just for show, strong arms, broad enough shoulders. wasn’t no way in hell that body couldn’t move.

“yeah?” tiago tipped his head, considering him. the music pulsed under his feet, bass in his ribs, sweat cooling against his collar. “don’t believe you.” not even a little. nah, dude could move, he was sure of it, even if he didn’t know it himself yet. but that was fine, he always liked a challenge. he leaned in just a little, just enough to be felt, body heat bleeding into the space between them, like gravity pulling tight. “but s’alright, i can teach you.” he added, grinning like he’d already won. because he had. because it was written all over the guy’s face, in the way his breath caught. the best kind of reaction. the kind that meant tiago had already taken root, already started sinking in.

“I didn’t know you’d be here.” The response was too for quick it to be uncaring, nonchalant. It was clear this man had no such boundaries, no reservations, a freedom to his actions that Willem envied. What would it feel to allow himself to reach out, to press against something more unyielding, instead of a softer curve? “I came for the food.” He offered, rather feebly.

Willem’s eyes flickered, his gaze darting every direction at his less than subtle offer. In fact, it was as blatant as a punch to his gut, stealing his very breath. “I-“ He swallowed thickly. “-my ex wife tried to teach me before. Didn’t take.”

Dylan pushes on, his vision becoming more and more impaired the further he ventures into the grey thickness of the smoke cloud, oppressive to even the worst of chainsmokers. He stumbles on something and trips, cursing as his hands shoot out in front of him to catch his fall. Now at eye level with the ground, he can see a vague outline of someone moving not too far ahead of him. Immediately thinking it could be Freddie, Dylan crawls towards the figure, realising as he gets closer that its not the signature shaggy blonde of his friend, but still someone he recognises all too well. "Willem," he calls over the noise of structure collapsing, fires crackling. He shakes the tail gunner when he doesn't get a response. "Willem, it's Dylan. How you holdin' up, old man? Can you walk?"

“I’m fine.” The lie escaped his lips easily, too easily, too automatically. He’s had some Ghost Riders accuse him of being too dismissive of his own wellbeing (usually after he bodily shoves them out of the way to take the hit himself), but Willem, in a stroke of foolish brilliance, often ignores his own fatalistic tendencies. As long as everyone else was safe, he’d be fine.

She didn't like hospitals, but she needed to go. She had gotten word that people who were important to her were there, so she decided to make a quick stop, just to make sure that they were all okay and would walk out in a day or two. She needed to make sure everyone was okay. She wasn't looking for trouble, or to run into anyone she didn't want to see. Though, she knew there was a chance of it happening. She had walked into his room by mistake, but he clearly needed assistance, despite his insistence that he didn't. Harper shook her head brows furrowing. He must've been near the explosion, because he was clearly having a difficult time with comprehending what was going on around him.

MAGGIE MAY HAVE LEFT the carnival early -- both out of general disdain for the sickly sweet nature of the activity, but because she had a teenage boy to check in on. dote after. while she had initially asked finn to join her he had declined with the expected sass that comes with this pivotal phase of life. never in her life was she so thankful for teenage refusal. she remembers a time when she thought motherhood wasn’t in the cards for her. while she had never forced finn to call her mom after his mother’s passing, fighting tooth and nail to keep her sister’s memory alive — he is the first place her mind goes whenever there’s danger. and the thought of him getting hurt is like a knife to the gut, feeling like the world is bending and breaking underneath you. the essence of being completely and utterly broken.

much like she feels at the news of willem’s injury, someone whom she considered to be a complete, unforeseen circumstance. finn is far past the age that she has to worry about leaving him home alone — but she does leave a post-it note on the fridge and fires off a quick text. breakfast in the fridge. be back later. gone is the well-thought-out outfit, the carefully applied makeup. in its place is a frazzled woman dragged out of sleep — moving as fast as she can into the direction of the hospital.

only family. very few words make her angrier. why? perhaps because he has woven himself so deeply within the virtibre of her life, that she doesn’t know anything else. of course the nurse wouldn’t know how important he is to her. how much she desperately needs him alive, when she’s been in this situation before. with perhaps the worst possible outcome.

Despite Maggie's blunt tone, he was certain her words carried the weight of emotions she wouldn't, would never, name. At least not to him. Willem was only privy to glimpses of her past, a odd constant in her present days, so he could only draw his own quiet, private conclusions at her current state of mind.

"Just some bruises." He spoke lightly, thew in a disarming grin for good measure. "And...perhaps a little token head injury. But the CT scan was clear, so I'm right as rain." He hastily tacked on the last sentence, wanting to ease rather than add to her worries.

"How about Finn? Is he at home? Safe?" Some may have considered his lack of overwhelming panic a sign that he truly did not care for the kid, but if there was one thing Willem knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt - Maggie would not be here, darkening his doorstep, if her beloved nephew was hurt or injured.

dulce vida wasn’t just a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. it was a living, breathing thing, stitched together from decades of family hands. the walls were the same shade of warm yellow they’d always been, darkened by time, smoke, and the occasional grease fire no one liked to talk about. the floors were sticky from life—spilled beer, and the shuffle of dancing feet wearing down the tile. the whole place smelled like fried empanadas, grilled arepas, simmering spices that clung to your clothes long after you left. it wasn’t fancy, wasn’t for tourists. the kitchen was always too loud, voices overlapping in spanish—tiago's mom yelling about an order, a brother or a cousin or an uncle swearing hard enough to shake the walls, overlapping with a live band crammed into the corner, the kind of sounds that made it impossible to sit still.

tiago never sat still. he’d been on the dancing floor near the tables and the bar for an hour now, sweat dampening the collar of his shirt, his body loose, electric, the rhythm locked deep in his bones. heat rolling between bodies as they spun, stepped, pressed close then pulled apart again. the dark-haired woman matched him step for step, smirking as they moved, both of them caught up in the pulse of the music. when the song ended, he pulled away with a grin, breathless but far from finished. he leaned over the dark wood counter of the bar the next moment, just helping himself, grabbing the cleanest glass he could find, tilting it under the draft faucet, and filling it with beer.

his attention flicked sideways, and his grin turned easy, warm. he knocked his knuckles against the wood and nodded toward the dance floor when they made eye contact.

"next one’s ours, yeah?"

His past self would also have identified him as a poser for choosing a place clearly not suited for him - the thrum of the music that echoed the beat of his pulse, the air pungent with mouthwatering aromas, the clash of voices rich with emotion, speaking in Spanish too quick for him to parse, though he still caught phrases here and there.

Willem took a few deep breath, trying to settle his own heartbeat, as he found himself a seat at the bar, his smile soft and hesitant as he was immediately accommodated - placing an order in halting Spanish that earned him an amused look of approval.

He took to admiring the pair of dancers that had taken to the floor when a voice startled him out of his thoughts. It barely took a glance - instant recognition flooding his senses, his lips parting in a gasp and his name ( though it was quickly swallowed, bitten back. )

"Hey, thanks for coming." Zak greeted them with a smile. "How are you holding up?" The events of last night were not favorable, "The babies are okay, they are a little early, a bit small but they are doing good." He said with a smile, he felt bad for being so happy right now, everyone else was suffering and this was the greatest night of his life in some aspects. "Do you wanna see them?"

"Hi Zak-" Willem spoke distractedly, glancing past him towards the pair of bassinets on the other side of the bed. "-I'm so glad you're okay, but yes I would like to see the babies." His eyes practically shone in excitement.

LOCATION: the hospital, willem's room. FOR: willem decker.

The list of his fears were endless, and being forced to recuperate in a hospital bed under the guise of being "under observation" was starting to grate at his already worn nerves. Caught up in his own brooding thoughts, Willem didn't hear Oxana enter until she was wheeled closer to his bed.

"Oxana!" He attempted to stand in an abrupt move that left him momentarily dizzy, clutching the rail and cursing his body for betraying him at such a crucial moment. "I'm fine, I'm fine." Willem waves off her concern quickly, his eyes taking in her expression, looking for signs of stress, weariness, pain. "I-" Willem's throat closes up at the the thought of the babies, his chest aching with sweet adoration "-I am so happy they're okay, that you're okay." He lets out a shuddering exhale. "I can't wait to get out of here and meet them."

tiago tipped the plastic cup back, last gulp of coffee sliding warm and strong down his throat. he strolled through the crowd, slow, relaxed, towering over most people even with the kids slowly fading out into the evening. his eyes flicked over the carnival stands—colorful shit everywhere. cheap toys, plastic guns, those rigged-ass games that made grown men cuss like kids. but then there was that one stand, with the teddy bear prize. biggest fuckin' bear he'd ever seen. stupid big, fur all soft, caramel brown, ridiculous gold satin bow tied around its neck. he could already picture the twins’ little screams, their faces splitting into those wild grins, eyes going wide like he’d brought home a damn unicorn. his sister’s kids, and uncle tiago was their favorite, and he was gonna keep it that way. had a rep to protect, and wasn't above spoilin’ them rotten. yeah, he’d be back at that stand before the night ended.

his hand adjusted the chain on his chest, stepping past the food carts, enjoying the heads turning his way. just like him. tiago clocked the flick of his eyes, brief, but he did. he knew that look, lived off that look. tall, fit. built in that way that said he wasn't just some gym bro pumping weights for selfies. his mouth curved, slow and lazy, teeth catching his bottom lip as he shifted course without a second thought.

he closed the gap. shoulder to shoulder, just enough to brush—barely, but enough to feel it, the press of muscle under fabric, like an accident to anyone watching. he looked at the man, mouth curling into that signature smirk, cocky, but with a smooth warmth under it, friendly.

“hey,” he said, giving a small upward nod. “lemme get your advice, man to man,” he continued, tone dipping playful, like they were already on the same team. his eyes flicked out over the crowd, just a quick glance, before snapping right back to the man, locking in.

“say i saw someone cute… you think i should go talk to them, or is that too direct?”

Willem felt his entire body stiffen when he caught the tail end of his smile - slow, lazy - a thrum in his pulse when he saw him change course quite smoothly. His casual stride ate the distance between them too quickly, in bare seconds.

“Uhm-” Willem’s tongue felt like a dry leaf in his mouth, his eyes darting all over the other man’s face - the small cleft in his eyebrow, the dark brown of his eyes, the shock of white teeth against his smiling mouth - he tore his gaze away as his mind scrambled for an acceptable answer to the other man’s innocent, if slightly out of no where, query.

“Direct-” Willem began, his words seemingly caught in his throat. “-direct makes sense, given this is Cupid’s carnival. Isn’t that what this opportunity is made for, after all?”

“I have a daughter-” He hedged, choosing his words carefully. “-but she couldn’t come today. Though I’ve been going around with some of my friends’ kids.” He thought of Sophia and Maddie and couldn’t help the way his expression softened, his tone turning fond. “How about you? After your shift here, are you going around with anyone?”