star - reqs open

“Andy,” You speak, voice barely above a whisper. Even with the low volume, Pope picks up on your voice immediately, something churning inside him hearing you call him Andy. He blinks a few times before stepping back out of the doorway to let you inside. He watches you as you take your shoes off next to the door, dropping your jacket to the floor unceremoniously, something out of the ordinary for you.

Pope shuts the door behind you, locking it as he watches you go over to his couch, immediately sinking into it, head falling into your hands. Everything about this situation was putting him on edge, both of you favored routines but this wasn’t following any of yours. Pope pads over to where you’re seated on the couch, slowly taking a seat next to you, observing how your body involuntarily leans toward him after he sits down. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his tone of voice similar to the one he’d use when comforting Lena. You shake your head, shoulders shaking as you fight the onslaught of tears threatening to start all over again. 

“Everything is just too much, so much is happening and nothing will slow down for even a minute to give me a fucking break,” You sob, tears begining to fall yet again regardless of how much you tried to will them away. Pope’s eyebrows furrow as he bites the inside of his lips, trying to assess what line of action to take to stop you from crying. 

“I just want everything to stop, I can’t handle it anymore, I just want it to stop,” Your voice cracking, hands moving to grasp your hair as a way to ground yourself. Was it the healthiest way of going about grounding? No. Did it work? Sometimes.

“Hey, no. No doing that,” Pope shakes his head at you, the frown on his face deepening as he takes your hands in his. “What happened?” He asks, leaning down closer to your face to try and get you to look at him but your eyes remain closed; believing that if you were to look at him then it would mean that this was really happening, you were breaking down in front of the Andrew Pope Cody.

While you could lie to him and say that nothing happened, you and him both knew that wasn’t the truth and it’s not a lie he’d let you get away with. Instead of using words you instead take your hands out of his and move into his arms, crawling into his lap to make it more comfortable for you both so that your bodies weren’t twisted in an awkward position. 

Pope freezes briefly, processing the change in position before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. His hands rub comforting shapes on your back as he holds you. He momentarily gives up on trying to figure out what happened to set off this breakdown and lets you cling to him hoping it’ll help calm you. It takes a while before you’re able to slow your tears and get a hold of your breathing, Pope’s steady heartbeat aiding in grounding you enough to calm down fully.

Feeling your body relax into his Pope gives your head a light kiss, patting your back a little before putting his hands on your shoulders. He carefully pushes you back to take a look at you, your eyes downcasted and puffy from crying, still avoiding his gaze. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” He asks gently, using his hand to wipe away the remaining tears on your face. You bite the inside of your lip, a nervous habit you picked up from Pope after all these years. Slowly, you explain everything that had been happening in your life as of late, how everything that could’ve gone wrong seemed to go wrong and to top if off you just found out that your childhood pet who is almost 2 thousand miles away from Oceanside had to undergo surgery after getting into something they shouldn’t have.

While the surgery went well, it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t there to be with them and you couldn’t take care of them while they recovered. Upon explaining the situation to Pope, you felt tears well up in your eyes yet again, falling onto his pants. Silently, he brings you flush to his chest again, holding you close and letting you cry again, not caring too much about the fact that his clothes were becoming damp with tears. 

“Andy…?” You ask, voice quiet and hesitant to break the silence between you and Pope once you’ve calmed down yet again. A small hum comes from his throat, urging you to ask whatever was on your mind. Swallowing a lump in your throat you build up your courage to ask the heavy question weighing on you. 

“Can I stay here tonight? Don’t think I can sleep alone,” You mumble, heart threatening to beat outside of your chest from anxiety. While you’d stayed at his place before, be it his place or Smurf’s, you’d never slept in the same room as him, let alone the same bed which is what you were asking for tonight.

Whether or not he picked up on that through your question was anyone’s guess, you weren’t sure if you’d even pick up on it if you were on the receiving end. It’s clear that Pope is struggling to fully understand what you’re asking for as he doesn’t answer right away.

“Like, can I sleep with you in your bed tonight? I know you don’t really sleep much and I also have issues with sleeping but I’d really like the company if that’s okay. If not, I can sleep on the couch too.” You ramble, looking down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers as the fear of rejection courses through your veins. Pope tilts your head up by your chin to make you look at him before he speaks. 

“Yes, you can sleep with me in my bed tonight.” He answers simply and clearly, leaving no room for misinterpretation. A sigh of relief leaves you as you all but crumble into Pope’s arms. He wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you together. The two of you sit together like this for some time before eventually Pope picks you up, letting you wrap yourself around his torso before he starts moving to his bedroom. His bed was perfectly made as usual, everything in its spot like it was supposed to be, but even still, it didn’t quite feel lived in.

Setting you down in his bed, Pope waits until you untangle your limbs from around him to stand up straight. The both of you undress to your underwear, neither of you liking to sleep with clothes on as they’d often twist in uncomfortable ways under the covers. Wordlessly the two of you climb underneath the blankets, joining together as if pulled together by an invisible force. Pope pulls you to him, letting you cuddle him and you the same. 

The moonlight streamed in through the window blinds, lightly illuminating the room, but not enough to be disruptive, just enough to let you stare at one another's face. As though time no longer existed you both silently observed each other.

It’s hard to say who fell asleep first, but for the first time in a long while, the two of you slept soundly. 

“Lock the door, get changed, maybe shower… no, no energy for that. Lock the door, get changed, eat. Okay, I can do that.” Santos reaches behind her and locks the door, not caring to turn around fully, as the lock clicks with a satisfying clack she steps out of her shoes. With her shoes discarded and flung into the corner next to the door she lets out a yawn and pads over to her room. Pushing the door open, Santos immediately begins to undress out of her scrubs, retrieving items in her pockets as she goes and putting them onto her dresser.

Layer by layer she derobes and tosses her dirty clothing into her hamper. Or at least in the general area of the hamper. Indifferently, Santos grabs a pair of knee-length shorts and a slightly oversized hoodie to slip into, along with a pair of worn down fuzzy socks. For some reason, following Whitaker’s absence the last few nights since he began house sitting for Robby, the apartment felt colder than usual. Maybe Whittaker had been secretly turning the heat up after Santos retired to her room for the night. Regardless of the truth of the matter, that’s what she chose to believe. 

“Food. Ok. Easy enough.” She somewhat scoffs to herself, shaking her head. As Santos saunters over to the kitchen she takes her hair out of her half pony, a sigh of relief leaving her. Something quick and simple should do, she thinks to herself as her hands grasp the cold metal of the fridge. Upon opening the fridge door, she feels any previous motivation for eating, leaving her body. After blankly staring into the fridge for an undetermined amount of time she shuts it and walks over to the pantry. Nothing again. 

“What’s the point? I’m too tired to do anything,” She groans, dragging her hands down her face, biting back tears. The stress of the day finally comes crashing down onto her shoulders as her eyes begin to wet.

“For fucks sake,” Santos partially whimpers, and half grumbles. “I feel so fucking useless, I can’t even take care of myself,” Tears finally begin to make their way down her flushed cheeks, and with the falling of her tears she feels her body give out beneath her as she sinks into the floor. She thought she could handle it, but ever since Langdon’s return she feels as if she’s walking a tightrope with no harness, safety net, nor support. Shame and hatred lie heavy on her chest as she silently sobs to herself. Logically she knows that she should be over that stupid first day at The Pitt over a year ago but still it keeps coming back like a bad joke in the back of her mind. Why wasn’t he suspended for good? What did I do wrong?

Angrily she balls up her hands into fists and hits them into the side of her thighs. Aching for comfort but believing she doesn’t deserve it after actively pushing everyone away day after day and shift after shift. Negative thoughts begin to flurry and overwhelm her with no sign of stopping. 

Why would anyone like me when I don’t even like myself? Should I have just said nothing, kept to myself? I just want to be good enough for someone. I don’t want to do this anymore, I can’t do this anymore. What’s wrong with me? Several moments pass before she’s able to somewhat pull herself out of her mind.

“I need to get up.” She whispers to herself, her mind now locked onto a singular thought that was previously in the back of mind but now front and center. Wordlessly getting up from the floor, ignoring the crumbs and dust sticking to her legs, Santos turns toward her bedroom, eyes devoid of life. She feels her guts twisting and turning inside her chest as her mind and body fight back and forth with one another. Her brain telling her she knows better as her body instinctively moves on its own; shaking with what can only be described as some fucked up cocktail of adrenaline, arousal, guilt, and shame.

She paces back and forth in her bedroom, one hand on her stomach and the other clutching her neck. It always feels like this before an inevitable relapse, the heightened heart rate, jittery hands, knotty stomach, and of course the urge to crawl out of her skin. These sensations overwhelm Santos, leaving her short of breath and dizzy. 

In a last-ditch effort to delay the inescapable she pulls her phone out from her pocket and opens her contacts. Outside of her coworkers at the ER she doesn’t really have anyone to turn to, not even family. Fuck me, she says to herself, a frustrated whimper leaving her throat without intention. She scrolls down through her few contacts, wondering if it’s even worth it to call someone. Upon each name her mind pulls a list of various reasons as to why she shouldn’t call or text them, further intensifying her antsy jitters. Mel? No. McKay? No. Whitaker? Knowing him he’d probably drop everything he was doing. I can’t bother him. Garcia?

Santos’ mind goes blank upon reaching her contact. It’s not like Garcia doesn’t know about her habit given that they’ve slept together, but it’s hard to say if she’d really care. Fuck. I need to call someone. Burdened with endless emotions, Santos grips her phone tightly like a lifeline, her finger slipping onto the call button. Her heart jumps in her chest when the familiar ringing noise emits from her phone’s speakers. Locked in place, Santos waits as the phone rings once, twice, three times, and-

“What do you need? I’m a bit busy at the moment, if you could make it quick that’d be great.” Garcia speaks briskly though the phone. Feeling her heart drop down to the depths of her rib cage from Garcia’s tone, Santos does her best to seem fine.

“Nothing, sorry, accidental dial.” She sputters out, grateful that no voice cracks occurred. 

“Okay. Bye,” Before Santos can bid her farewell the line hangs up to silence. 

“FUCK!” She yells out, more tears pouring down her face as her phone slips out of her hand onto the ground beneath her. What’s the point of anything anymore? Sobs shake her to her core as she cries out, crumbling to the floor once more. I just want everything to stop hurting so damn much. I can’t do this anymore.

With teary eyes, Santos looks up to her dresser where the scalpel she took three days ago lays still in its pristine packaging, sterile and sinister. She feels it calling to her deep in her soul, an unexplainable force pulling her to it as she shakily reaches up and grabs it, holding it in her lap as if it were a small animal. The static in her mind blocks out all other noises as she feels her heart beating against her ribcage rapidly as her fingers carelessly ripped the packaging open. Am I really doing this? The plastic wrapper falls to the floor as Santos holds the scalpel delicately between her fingers. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

“What now?” Santos asks to herself, laying the scalpel on her lap as she grabs her buzzing phone with the other hand. Huckleberry Calling. She watches as his call goes to voicemail, her adrenaline at an all time high. I guess I’m doing this. With shaking hands she grabs the scalpel before pulling her shorts down to her knees. Biting the inside of her cheeks, her eyes trace over old scars. She’d been clean for over a year now, but all of that progress would soon be gone. Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz. Santos ignores her phone, intuition telling her it’s 

just Whitaker calling again, whatever his deal was, it could wait. The incessant buzzing of her phone fades away by the pounding of blood in her ears. 

Soon her thighs are littered with angry red lines, blood seeping out of each and every one of them. Fuck me, I forgot how much it hurts, but that’s the point isn’t it? God I feel so stupid. Tears fall from her eyes but she’s careful to wipe them with the sleeve of her hoodie before they drop onto her delicate thighs. Still, she continued to add to her collection until she felt her mind quiet and as if she’d done enough damage for the night. Santos scooted back slightly so that she was close enough to reach the tissue box on the edge of her nightstand. Plucking a few she dabbed them onto her wounds, admiring the lines that had printed onto the tissue like some sort of abstract art piece.

Absorbed in her own little world she failed to hear the front door unlock, along with the sound of padded footsteps nearing closer to her door. It wasn’t until the hinges of her door squeaked in complaint that she noticed Whitaker. Her breath hitches, jaw tightening instantly before glaring up at him.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get out.” She growls at him, not too differently than a stray dog would if it were being cornered in an alley. Even if she was afraid to bite she wouldn’t show any of that fear on her face. Stunned, Whitaker rapidly blinks a few times before putting his hands up in surrender. 

“I just came to check up on you, you didn’t answer your phone and barely talked to me today at work. I was worried about you.” He says, the sincerity in his voice making her skin crawl. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t need to worry about me. Don’t you have some farm shit you’d rather be doing right now anyway?” She says, carefully deflecting, attempting to keep her facade up; even though one glance at her bloody thighs would tell a different story than she was trying to sell.

“What I would rather be doing is making sure you take care of those,” He says, gesturing to Santos’ thighs, ones she eagerly covered with her hands and tissues.

“I can handle it myself. Fuck off.” She huffs, feeling her walls close to crumbling, something Whitaker takes notice of.

“If you could handle it yourself, then I have a feeling we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Just let me help you,” Whitaker says, stress evident in the way he runs his hand through his hair. He’s quick to put his hand up as Santos opens her mouth to argue again. “Nope, don’t want to hear it. I’m getting our first aid kit from the bathroom,” 

Awkward silence fills the air as Trinity sits on her floor waiting for Dennis to return. It feels as though hours have passed waiting for her roommate but in reality the wait was only a minute or two at max. Dennis comes back into Trinity’s room with the first aid kit in one hand and a cup of water in the other, not wanting her to get a headache from all of her crying.

“Here,” he says, handing her the cup as he takes a seat on the floor next to her. Wordlessly Dennis gets to work in cleaning, disinfecting, and bandaging Trinity’s wounds as she begrudgingly sips on the water handed to her. Once finished, he leans back a bit, giving his roommate some space. Instead of trying to strike up conversation, Whitaker decides to pack up the first aid kit. 

“Thanks,” she says in a hushed tone, barely audible to most but loud enough for Whitaker to hear. He gives her a small nod then stands up, stretching a bit before leaning down to pick up the first aid kit to take it back to the bathroom down the hall. With Whitaker out of her room, Santos lightly entertains the thought of grabbing nothing but her passport and wallet then running out of the apartment but as quick as the thought comes, it goes, Dennis returning shortly after. He stands awkwardly in her doorway, leaning on the frame he tries to make eye contact with Santos, something she expertly avoids. The grim atmosphere of the room weighs heavily on them both, neither knowing what to do next. 

“Wanna go get Somi’s? They should still be open,” He asks, figuring getting some food might help, doubting she had food after her shift. Her head perks up a bit at this, she twists her mouth a bit, contemplating momentarily.

“Only if you’re paying,” Santos says softly, briefly looking up to meet his puppy dog eyes, “and, if you stop looking at me with those pathetic eyes.” She scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Okay,” He smirks, a small sigh of relief leaving his mouth. Santos stands up, letting her shorts fall to her ankles she steps out of them, kicking them to the side, deciding pajama pants would be better. Wordlessly, the two of them head over to the front door, both shuffling about as they get their shoes on and grab their keys.

“If you ever want to talk-” Dennis starts, only to be quickly cut off by Trinity. 

“Nope, not gonna happen,” She states shortly, opening the front door and walking out in front of her roommate. Whitaker sighs looking down briefly before following her out the door, shutting and locking it quietly behind them.

“Just thought I’d ask,” He mutters under his breath, before catching up with her. 

“I want to talk about it as much as you want to talk about how you have a massive crush on Robby,” She laughs, shoving him a bit with her right shoulder, Whitaker’s face flushing almost immediately.

“I do not!” He squeaks, the two of them falling into a comfortable banter as they get into Whitaker’s car and head to Somi’s.

fun fact, Somi's is an actual place in Pittsburg, it's a Filipino restaurant to my knowledge (aka search on the interwebs)

The door slides open, a rush of cold air blowing into the elevator. Jinx bends down slightly as they exit the elevator, Sevika following behind. Jinx happily hops towards the frozen river where it looks like a good place to play. 

“Remind me again why you needed me?” Sevika asks, shivering slightly as the brisk air blows in her face, having second thoughts about Jinx’s idea.

“I had to really sell that it was an important mission, plus you could lighten up a little. You’re always so uptight, when was the last time you had a little fun?” Jinx asks, briefly looking back at her. The older woman sighs, Jinx has a good point, although it wouldn’t kill her to be nicer about it. Sevika opts out of answering Jinx’s question as she’d rather not go digging through her memory right now.

“Alright!” Jinx exclaims, shifting Isha from off her shoulders and down onto the ground.  Lightly she taps Isha’s hands, letting her know it’s okay to look now. 

Hesitantly Isha pulls back her hands from her face, her mouth agape as she stares at the snow. She looks at Jinx confused as she hasn’t been on the topside before to witness the winter season and its weather. Jinx sees her confusion and quickly answers for her.

“This is snow! It’s like cold powdery water, but not water? But it melts into water! It’s a bit more complicated than you’d think. And these are snowflakes.” She explains pointing out into the air. “No two are exactly the same! Although I have my doubts..” she mutters under her breath, winking at Isha.

“And it’s safe to eat!” She says sticking out her tongue to catch snowflakes, Isha following in tandem, trusting her older sister without a doubt. Sevika shakes her head at the two, watching them both try to catch more than the other in their mouth. 

Sevika smiles to herself, an idea popping up in her head watching the two of them, her cold exterior melting away slightly. Quietly she bends down and makes a snowball with her hands, trying to ignore the pain she feels with the cold weather. Once her snowball is deemed round enough she aims, wham, hits Jinx right in the back of the head. Lightly of course. If this was supposed to be a mission shouldn’t there be a fight?

“So that’s how you want to play it grandma? Shooting while I’m not lookin’? Oh you’re askin’ for it.” Jinx smiles sinisterly. Isha looks between the two, worried that they’re fighting until Jinx looks down at her and winks. 

“Come on kid, let’s take her down.” She says bending down, showing Isha how to make snowballs. Together the two of them try to take down Sevika with their ambush of snowballs, laughter filling the air as they momentarily forget all their sorrows. 

Ultimately though, the snowball fight ended in a draw as they all started throwing snowballs at each other at one point during the whole event. 

“Alright, better idea, why don’t I show you how to make snow monkeys?” Jinx asks Isha, resulting in an eyebrow raise from not only Isha but Sevika as well.

“I’ve only ever heard of snowmen, what’re these snow monkeys you speak of?” Sevika asks.

“A tradition started by yours truly, come on I’ll show both of you.” She smiles. 

Jinx then goes onto show and explain how exactly she makes her snow monkeys, they’re just like snowmen but instead of three snowballs ranging from large to small it’s only a medium and a small snowball. Additionally they have little ears that come off of the top snowball, as well as a tail added to the back of them. 

By the end of her little seminar on creating snow monkeys there are three snow monkeys, of varying size next to each other like one happy little family. Sevika’s was the largest snow monkey with long twigs for arms and legs while Isha on the other hand had the smallest snow monkey. She gave her snow monkey an additional touch by adding a hat similar to hers on it. Then Jinx’s was about average size, with limbs of varying proportions, it sat to the right of Isha’s snow monkey. 

Under the moonlight and clouds filled with snow they all silently admired their work before a small tug interrupted. Jinx looks down to see Isha tugging on her sleeve then sees her sign: Mission done? with her eyebrows scrunched and a look of confusion on her face. Jinx thinks for a moment, tapping her chin.

“Hmmmm, I don’t know, you got any ideas leftie?” Jinx looks at Sevika who just rolls her eyes and the nickname.

“Maybe one more, it was something I always used to do growing up, aside from winning snowball fights.” She smirks as it is now Jinx who rolls her eyes.

“You want a rematch? Because I’m pretty sure I won.” Jinx argues, and Isha who was watching the two talk tugs on both of their sleeves at the same time and shakes her head then signs: no me. Both of them smile and Jinx ruffles Isha’s head.

“Maybe we’ll just stick with saying it was a draw.” She mutters, that of which Isha sticks her tongue out at Jinx.

“Okay okay, so what was your genius idea Sevika? It better be quick, I’m losing feeling in my toes.” She asks, a shiver running down her spine. 

“Don’t worry, it’s relatively quick, it’s snow angels. Here, I’ll show Isha.” Sevika answers standing up. Sevika then helps Isha up from the snow, Jinx getting up on her own. They found a spot, not trampled by their footsteps and stopped there. 

“Okay just watch and repeat what I do.” Sevika says, then she lays down flat on her back on the ground, albeit a bit ungracefully but it’s rare to find someone who can actually manage that with grace.  

“You just lay down and then move your arms and legs like this,” Sevika then demonstrates her instructions as she moves her legs out and in and her arms up and down. “Then carefully you get up and step out of it and it looks like an angel, ta da.” She says now up on her feet. Isha hops a bit excitedly and nods her head enthusiastically. Taking Jinx’s hand she leads her next to Sevika's snow angel and both of them plop down together, with enough space between them that they won’t run into each other. 

Sevika watches them and how they somehow turn it into a competition of who can move their arms and legs the fastest, the winner of course being Isha as Jinx wasn’t giving it everything she had, wanting Isha to feel proud of winning something. Had she been competing against anyone else however, there would have been no mercy shown. Sevika helps both of them up and then they all look at their snow angels, Isha looks at both of them and smiles happily, hopping a bit. 

Meanwhile Jayce is pacing around his room biting his nails as his mind runs rampant. It has been hours since he had slipped that note under the lab door for Viktor asking him to meet him in his room at 9, he was planning on finally confessing his feelings for him as he felt that had become too much to keep inside any longer. His eyes flick to the clock on his wall, the seconds ticking along, the hour hand inching closer and closer to the 9. Jayce almost goes down to the lab himself just to see if Viktor was even there but he shakes that thought out of his head. Surely he would take a break before 9 and see his note. Right? With no nails left to chew he soon turns to picking his lip as he feels his nerves bouncing around inside him. 

9 o’clock has come and gone with no sign of his lab partner. Tears brim Jayce’s eyes as he looks at his clock that now reads 10:33, cursing under his breath he glances at the flowers he had gotten for Viktor and tosses them in the garbage. His eyes seem stuck on the flowers in the bin as he assumes that Viktor had stood him up and ignored his note. His tears struck the petals of the flowers below him as he felt a crushing weight on his chest begin to form. Shaking his head he wiped his face on his sleeve and tore his eyes away from the pitiful sight. 

Jayce slowly began undressing himself, not bothering to put his dirty clothes in the hamper but instead left them sprawled out on the floor disorderly. After dressing in his nightwear he sluggishly made his way to his bathroom attached to his room. He stared at his face in the mirror, his eyes red and puffy, the bags under his eyes evidently clear, the exhaustion was painted all over his face. Jayce splashed warm water on his face hoping it would help him feel a little better. Too emotionally drained to try and do any of his nightly routine he just crawls into his bed, one that felt too big for how small he was feeling but too small for all of the emotions he held within himself. 

Jayce wakes up to light knocking at his door, drowsy and startled he climbs out of bed and walks over to the door, the cold floor sending goosebumps down his arms causing him to shiver. Not bothering to try and fix his bed head he opens the door to reveal Viktor standing in front of him, almost looking as shitty as he did, his eye bags more prominent than Jayce’s and his face pale. Jayce felt his heart flop in his chest as his heart was unsure if he was feeling excited or dreadful, but upon seeing his note in Viktors hand his anxiety spikes. There is an awkward beat of silence before Viktor speaks up.

“So… are you going to let me in?” He tilts his head slightly, awkwardly shuffling his crutch into a more comfortable position. Jayce blinks confusedly but opens the door further and moves out of the way regardless. He tries not to feel horribly embarrassed about the state of his room but fails as he looks at the wall trying not to critique himself over his mess. Viktor looks around his room and raises his eyebrow slightly not having expected Jayce to be the messy type but shrugs it off and sits down on Jayce’s bed. 

“Why exactly am I here?” Viktor asks, leaning his crutch against Jayce’s bed. 

“What do you mean?” Jayce questions, confusion clear on his face. 

“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’ Your note said to be here at 9 and it says 9 o’clock right there, or can you not read analog clocks?” Viktor says, pointing to Jayce’s clock on the wall. Jayce scrunches up his face as his mind tries to understand why Viktor is in his room at 9 in the morning.

“Okay clearly you are not the brightest crayon in the box in the morning.” Viktor sasses, rolling his eyes. “Your note clearly said 9 o’clock and that’s what time it is.” 

Finally Jayce understands, the pieces all fitting into place.

“I meant 9 PM, not 9 in the morning. I thought that would’ve made sense because I slid it under the door just a few hours before 9.” Jayce responds.

“The fuck is PM?” Viktor asks, looking at Jayce as if he had grown another head. The other simply pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“Post meridiem, you know, after 12?” He retorts, not understanding why Viktor was not understanding.

“Fuck, did you mean at 21 hours?” Viktor asks, trying to wrap his mind around what had happened along the line of communication. 

“Oh my god you use military time.” Jayce mutters under his breath as he puts his head in his hands, unsure if he was about to start bursting out in laughter or in tears. “Yes I meant 21 hours.” He nods letting out a sigh as he walks over and takes a seat next to Viktor on his bed.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just put 21 hours on your note otherwise I would not have woken the sleeping beauty.” Viktor shakes his head, laughing a bit to ease the tension.

“What, you think I’m beautiful?” Jayce jokes, joining in Viktors laughter leaning his head on the other man's shoulder.

“Yes.” Viktor answers softly, assuming Jayce wouldn’t hear since he was laughing. However Viktor assumes incorrectly, something he would know immediately had he looked up at Jayce’s now flushed face. 

“You do?” Jayce asks somberly, sitting up and looking at Viktor. Blushing, Viktor looks away towards the floor and attempts to change the subject.

“You never answered my question, you know. Why did you invite me here? Seems a bit late for a meeting about the hexcore, also a slightly odd location as well.” He asks, putting the note in his pocket and pulling out his small gear to fidget with in his hands instead so as to not ruin the paper with his sweaty hands. A bit startled at the abrupt change of subject Jayce clears his throat and makes a short glance at the trash can before swallowing his fears.

“I… uh,” He takes a deep breath and stares at the dresser in front of him trying to ground himself on something. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to be partners… Romantic partners, that is, not just lab partners, since we’re already partners in that aspect, but you know that already obviously. I mean like boyfriends.” He rambles nervously and begins to pick at the skin around his nails. Viktors eyes widen suddenly, his mouth opening momentarily before shutting once more as he tries to process the words Jayce had said.

“You want to be boyfriends?” He asks slowly, looking over at Jayce, not missing how his hands were trembling. Feeling as though his vocal chords were compressed Jayce nodded in confirmation to Viktors question. Seeing this Viktor struggles and fails to hold back a smile.

“Took you long enough.” He says, playfully shoving Jayce in the shoulder to try and get him out of whatever anxious thoughts were taking hold of him. Jayce looks at Viktor in shock, blinking a few times.

“So wait, is that a yes?” He asks, his eyes looking into Viktors with disbelief.

“Are you dense? Of course it’s a yes. Partners in and outside of the lab.” He says giving Jayce a reassuring smile. To this Jayce smiles brighter than that day they floated in the lab together and he hugs Viktor tightly.

“Careful, you’ll squeeze me to death. You wouldn’t want to kill your partner two seconds after becoming official now would you?” He laughs hugging Jayce back. Jayce shakes his head and lowers the pressure of the hug.

“I’m sorry about the confusion surrounding the time.” Jayce mumbles feeling a bit embarrassed for working himself up so much the night before. 

“It’s okay, now you know for next time whenever you ask me out on a date.” He smiles. Jayce nuzzles into his chest playfully before pulling away from the hug and looking into Viktors eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Jayce asks, or more accurately blurts out without thinking.

“Wow, eager are we? We haven’t even been dating for five minutes and you already want to kiss me.” Viktor chuckles. 

“Oh,” Jayce mumbles a bit dejectedly, looking at the floor like a sad puppy. Seeing that Jayce did not understand his sarcasm Viktor sighs slightly and puts his hand under his partner's chin, moving his head to look at him. Slowly and a bit nervously Viktor pulls Jayce in for a tender kiss, the air electric around them as they melt into each other wondering why they hadn’t done it sooner. Seconds feel like hours before they pull apart from each other.

“Can you do that again?” Jayce asks. Viktor smiles and briefly imagines that if Jayce had a tail it would be wagging quite fast.

“Of course we can. I would say we have all the time in the world for that but I fear my time may be shorter than most if we can’t figure out the hexcore.” Viktor smiles bitter-sweetly.

Tears flowed down his face, Curt would blame it on the alcohol but he knew better. His bedroom door was slightly ajar when he entered unlike how he left it closed. Hazardously he undressed himself throwing his clothes onto the floor being left in nothing but his boxers. He felt his mind going fuzzy, slowly slipping into a familiar comfort he had been pushing away, something Owen had also been scolding him for pushing away. Uncaring about the stench of alcohol that clung to his teeth and tongue he didn’t bother with washing up for bed. Instead he crawled onto his side of the bed, a familiar warmth radiating from the other side.

A small whine leaves Curt’s mouth as he scoots over curling up to the warmth which soon enveloped him with open arms. Breathing in deeply he smelled the scent of his lover who was now softly caressing his hair having woken up the moment he heard the door unlock. Curt nuzzles into Owen’s chest making little noises as his brain continues its torment on him. Owen shushes him pulling him closer, his hands tangled in Curt’s hair as he tries his best to soothe him.

“How much did you drink?” He asks softly, with no malice in his tone as he continues to comfort the other man. All Owen receives as a response is a long whine as Curt hides his face in Owen’s chest attempting to disappear from sight. A soft sigh leaves his lips as he continues to play with Curt’s hair.

“We’ve talked about this little man…” He whispers gently, his other hand moving to rub Curt’s back. The two lay in silence engulfed in darkness apart from the small night light plugged into the wall on Curt’s side.

“Sorry,” Curt mumbles sniffling, breaking the silence after a few moments of quiet besides their breathing. Another sigh leaves Owens mouth as he shakes his head shushing Curt once again.

“We’ll talk about it when you’re in a better headspace,” Owen says, unburying Curt from his chest, he lifts his head up to make Curt look at him, his finger under his chin. “You feeling small, little guy?” He smiles softly with a knowing look as a couple tears fall from the shorter boy's face. Owen wipes them away delicately, looking at him with the utmost care in his eyes.

“You’re okay, I’m here. It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.” He cradles Curt close to him playing with his hair once more.

“Do you need anything darling?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he wipes a couple more stray tears from his partner’s face. A small mumble leaves Curt’s mouth, that of which is only decipherable by Owen. Owen gives the younger a light kiss on the forehead before he reaches over grabbing one of his stuffed animals for him.

“You want Snowball?” He asks, holding a small stuffed polar bear out to him. He nods and carefully takes the polar bear from Owen’s hands, hugging it with fierce desperation, tears falling quickly as his emotions overwhelm him.

“That’s my good boy, I got you.” Owen whispers, pulling Curt into his arms once more. The two lay together, Curt’s soft cries filling the room along with Owen whispering to him a multitude of sweet nothings. Owen traces shapes on the boy’s back as he softly shushes him trying to calm his tears, but also grateful Curt is finally releasing his emotions in a somewhat healthy way, had the tears not started from what he could guess was the ungodly amount of alcohol he consumed. The taller man held the shorter one in his arms, whispering sweet things into his ears as his cries finally started to die down.

“That’s it, good job love,” He whispers delicately, wiping Curt’s tear stained face carefully. Whimpers leave Curt’s mouth as his body curls into Owen’s.

“Good boy, you’re okay, you’re okay.” Owen kisses the top of his head once more, making a quick glance at the clock that reads 3:31 AM.

“Let’s try and get some sleep okay? It’s a bit late for little one’s like you to be awake.” He teases running his fingers through Curt’s hair, the latter who nods slowly, exhaustion suddenly flooding his body as his fingers inch closer and closer to his mouth. 

“Hey, I see that… your hands aren’t clean little man…” Owen mutters pulling Curt’s fingers away from his mouth, receiving a whine in response.

“Yes, yes I know. Just give me a moment.” He sighs for the third time that night. He pulls away from Curt receiving more whines as he reaches into the dresser drawer pulling out Curt’s soother. Owen shushes him as he gives him the small item, putting it in his mouth, the younger immediately calming down and nuzzling back into Owen’s arms.

“That’s it, you’re okay,” Owen smiles sweetly at the other man, nothing but love in his heart for him. He caresses the side of his cheek before bringing him closer for one last forehead kiss, Curt’s eyes fluttering closed as a small yawn escapes his mouth.

“Good boy, you’re my good boy, I’ll stay with you forever. However long forever is.” He says, a content expression adorning his face. Owen holds Curt tightly breathing him in as he rubs his back, his hands running through his hair once more. A soft sigh leaves Curt’s mouth as he finally feels fully relaxed and safe.

“I thought I’d feel free with you gone. I thought I’d feel better, and in a way I do but don’t?” Nikolai thinks aloud as he caresses Fyodor’s lifeless hand with his fingers. The one he had been holding not even thirty minutes prior. Just the thought of that memory starts his tears up again. 

For such a loud person, his tears are completely silent, only strained breathing could be heard, but even that was lost in the wind. 

“What am I supposed to do without you?” His crying quickly became hysterical. “I know I wanted you dead but at the same time, I felt like I couldn’t live without you, and now I have no choice in the matter. You’re gone and I’m left here, clutching onto your hand like a child would its doll.” 

Nikolai could feel his ribs aching inside him, his lungs gasping for air they couldn’t take in. He let out a discordant scream, the stars as the only witnesses of his agony. He let in sharp breaths, failing to correct his breathing, the stars in his vision blurring slightly. Nikolai shook his head as an attempt to pull himself out of his panicked state. This is what I wanted, right? My dream of being a free bird’s finally come true. But maybe being in a cage wasn’t so bad? No, it was, it was terrible. But the company, his company was enough for me. No, what am I even saying? 

Nikolai felt himself slowly losing his grasp on his mind. Laying on the cold cement of the roof he stared up at the stars. In front of him he held Fyodor’s battered hand, holding hands with him even though Fyodor’s grip was limp, his hand cold as ice. Nikolai’s breathing slowed down as he focused on Fyodor’s hand in front of him. Steadily he moved Fyodor’s hand down towards his face, holding it against his cheek. Tears pouring out of his eyes once again, he cursed at himself for breaking so easily.

If I didn’t love you, this would’ve been easier, wouldn’t it? He asked himself as he leaned his head into Fyodor’s hand, mimicking what the Russian would have never done. He moved Fyodor’s hand caressing his face, in a pathetic attempt to comfort himself. Am I insane for doing this?  

Thoughts swirled through his mind as he swallowed his sobs down, trying to keep composure. 

The thought of digging through the debris of the helicopter to find what was left of Fyodor's body crossed his mind. To confirm he was in fact dead, that he wouldn’t somehow miraculously climb out of the wreckage. Nikolai shook his head at that fleeting thought knowing Fyodor wasn’t physically strong enough to pull himself from underneath all the rubble.

Nikolai removed Fyodor’s hand from his cheek and began snickering to himself, slowly building into loud laughter. How stupid am I to be doing this? I wanted him dead, I got what I wanted. He’s gone, he can’t control me anymore. But then again, can I even control myself? Was he the only one keeping me from going insane? Or was he the one that drove me into it? Nikolai felt lost in the sea of thoughts that flooded his mind as all he could do was laugh at how fucking pathetic he felt. 

“Fyodor, what would you think of me now if you saw me like this?” He mumbled to himself, his laughter coming to a halt as he stared at Fyodor’s hand in his. Christ, I’m pathetic .

Nikolai lifts himself from the ground, and looks at Fyodor's hand in the palms of his, an idea coming to his mind. He scoffs at himself for even entertaining the thought but decides to do it anyway, hoping, maybe even praying that it would bring him some closure.

Holding the hand to his chest, Nikolai began to sway back and forth. He begins to move his feet back and forth, slowly beginning ballroom dancing. Humming to himself and to the stars he begins to sing.

‘Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love, my, my, mine

Nothing in the world belongs to me 

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

Nikolai continues singing as he spins around on the rooftop, Fyodor’s hand grasped to his chest. His shoes clack on the cement as he waltzes around gracefully, a chorus of grasshoppers accompanying his mellow voice.

My baby here on earth

Showed me what my heart was worth

So, when it comes my turn

Could you shine it down here for her?

He closes his eyes lost in the depths of his mind as his steps become more complex. He imagines Fyodor alive dancing with him. A silly stupid thought that brings Nikolai more comfort than he can admit. He sees Fyodor’s black hair spinning as he holds up his hand pretending to spin him around before returning his hand to his chest. 

Nikolai wonders where Fyodor would put his hands, around his waist, around his neck, or maybe in his hands. He continues humming in the dead of the night, with the stars as his audience to his final act.

‘Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love, my, my, mine

Nothing in the world belongs to me

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

Nothing in the world is mine for free

But my love, mine, all mine, all mine

Nikolai finishes the song as he pretends to dip Fyodor, a smile gracing his lips, the stars twinkling brightly as if applauding. He opens his eyes and looks at the limp hand in his, his expression becomes blank once more as he lets out a sigh, straightening his posture.

“I must be sick in the head,” He whispers to himself, not being able to tell if his emotions are consuming him or if he doesn’t feel them at all.

His shoes clack back over to the rubble, Fyodor’s body buried underneath somewhere. Kneeling down Nikolai places Fyodor’s hand in front of the wreckage, returning it to where Dazai had found it.

“Thank you for that last dance,” He smiles softly, “You were an excellent dance partner, you didn’t step on my toes once.” He chuckles to himself as he stands back up and looks down at the scene before him.

They paid no mind to the eyes of passersby and stayed there until Dazai’s voice could no longer be used. Till his tears could no longer produce and all he was left with was the emptiness he felt inside. Something inside him had changed, and would never be the same. 

Without warning Dazai let go of Chuuya’s shirt turning his head into the alleyway to the left of them and threw up what little was left of his stomach. His throat burned from excessive use and now the bile that had crawled up his esophagus. Dazai dry heaved as Chuuya rubbed his back trying to soothe him. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state broke Chuuya’s heart into pieces, never in his three years of knowing him had he seen him shed so much as a tear.

Dazai shook, letting out sounds of anguish as Chuuya wiped the remaining residue off of his mouth with his sleeve.

“Let’s go home,” Chuuya said, helping Dazai to his feet. Standing on shaky legs Dazai shakes his head, more tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“Come on,” The redhead says, leading the brunette away from the stench of the bile in the alleyway. Dazai doesn’t fight back as Chuuya takes his wrist in his hand leading him back to the Port Mafia dorms.

“This isn’t the way to my container,” Dazai mumbles, furrowing his brows together.

“I know,”

Dazai grumbles and lets Chuuya drag him along anyway. As they walk Dazai finds himself longing for the burn of sake, and the self-destruction that later follows. He finds his mind quickly turning to self-destructive thoughts beginning to spiral. 

I could’ve done better. 

I could’ve saved him.  

Why am I so pathetic?

Why couldn’t it have been me?

Soon his thoughts got the best of him, stopping him in his tracks as he drowned within the confines of his mind. His brain was a swirling storm of destruction, he was slowly losing himself, his breathing catching in the back of his throat. Only were his thoughts nullified when Chuuya put a hand on his cheek, slightly caressing his face with his thumb. Dazai felt the thoughts leave his mind as he could only focus on the heat coming from Chuuya’s hand. Dazai leaned his head into Chuuya’s hand, closing his eyes. The two stayed there taking in the moment for a few minutes more.

“Let’s keep going, we’re almost there.” He says running a hand through Dazai’s hair before taking his hand off of his face and intertwining it with Dazai’s. 

Wordlessly the two of them walk into Chuuya’s small apartment in the Port Mafia’s dormitories. Once inside Dazai stands in front of the door not moving. After removing his shoes, Chuuya bends down and removes Dazai’s shoes and leads him to his bathroom. Chuuya grabs Dazai’s blood-stained hands and leads them to the sink. Flinching back, Dazai holds his hands to his chest.

“Dazai, you’re going to need to wash your hands eventually. The longer you wait the harder it’ll be,” Chuuya takes Dazai’s shaking hands in his own and slowly leads them to the sink.

“Can I turn the water on?” He asks softly, not wanting to try and pressure the other. Dazai gives a small nod, the redhead turns the water. The brunette lets the warm water soak his stained hands, watching as the blood mixes with the water running down the drain. Tears begin to fill his eyes as Chuuya starts to clean off his hands with soap.

“He’s really gone isn’t he?” His voice cracked, a single tear falling from his eye. “I’m never gonna see him, hear him, or talk to him again.” Dazai lets out a heartbreaking sob as he collapses to his knees. He stares at his hands, the ones that not only held Oda when he was in his last moments, the ones that held the responsibility of single-handedly murdering hundreds of people. His hands, although they were no longer stained with blood, Dazai could feel it still. The blood crusted up beneath his fingernails, the red substance gone but not forgotten. A thin hint of iron carried in the air. 

Chuuya turns off the sink and bends down next to him watching him with calculating eyes, trying to figure out what’s running through his head. Dazai looks up at Chuuya, his eyes unreadable. The following question he asked the redhead he never thought he would in his seven years.

“Will you leave the Port Mafia with me?” Chuuya looked at him with wide eyes at a loss for words. Silence hung in the air between them.

“The hell Dazai?” Chuuya asks in shock, trying to understand if he had even heard the brunette correctly.

“I can’t continue on like this,” Dazai shakes his head, staring at the floor. “Oda-” His voice cracks as he starts to shake again. The brunette clears his throat and tries to speak again.

“Odasaku, he told me,” Dazai struggles with his words and takes a deep breath. “He told me to be on the side that saves people, to become a good man. Something I’m not, and if I want to fulfill his wish I can’t do it here.” Dazai spouts on the edge of another breakdown.

Chuuya takes in Dazai’s words, letting them sink into his bones as he processes what Dazai told him and asked of him. While his loyalty to the Port Mafia is strong, his loyalty to his partner is stronger. Silently Chuuya nods, running a hand through Dazai’s hair and whispers a soft yes.

Dazai lets himself fall forward into Chuuya’s arms. He had half expected him to tell him no given the extent of the request, but another part of him didn’t even know why he asked Chuuya and dragged him into this mess that he saw as his alone to bear.

They sat together on the floor of the bathroom holding each other trying to come up with a plan to leave since they needed to act fast but decided they needed to rest first before they could solidify any plans. 

Once in Chuuya’s room, they both changed into pajamas and crawled into the small bed facing one another. They lay there in silence, neither of them daring to speak a word after everything that had occurred in the span of a few hours. 

Chuuya noticed a distance in Dazai’s eyes, it was one of those moments where he was lost within the depths of his mind again.

“It’s not your fault, you know. You don’t have to carry that burden,” Chuuya spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Dazai met his eyes with a solemn look.

“But I-” Dazai started only to be quickly cut off by Chuuya.

“No buts, I’m serious. It’s not your fault.” Chuuya says firmly, putting a hand on Dazai’s shoulder.

Dazai shakes his head and closes his eyes before changing the subject swiftly.

“I need sake, or some other distraction.” He whines, frowning. 

Chuuya takes his hand and carefully caresses Dazai’s cheek.

“What you need is sleep,” Dazai’s frown deepens but Chuuya ignores him and instead pulls him towards him, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead. 

He holds the other in his arms as they lay together underneath the blankets. Any grumbles of resistance stop as soon as Chuuya’s hand starts to play with his hair. In Chuuya’s arms, Dazai finds himself relaxing and drifting off to sleep peacefully for the first time in nearly a decade. He nuzzles his face into Chuuya’s chest, holding onto him tightly. Chuuya simply hums and plays with the brunette's soft messy hair until he falls asleep. Once Dazai is asleep Chuuya lets himself drift off into a dreamless sleep with Dazai in his arms. 

The two of them lay together their limbs entangled with each other sleeping peacefully as the moon’s light filtered in through the curtains. 

“Yeah, I was just thinking about things and got a bit distracted,” Ballister lets out a weak laugh only meeting Ambrosius’ eyes for a brief second before his eyes linger on the table again. Ambrosius follows his gaze and lets out a small sigh as guilt begins to plague his being. Before Ambrosius can get a word in, Ballister continues, looking him in the eyes.

“I’ll go get ready for bed now, I’ll be back in a bit.” Ballister gives Ambrosius a small smile before grabbing his PJs off of his side of the bed and heading toward the bedroom door. Ambrosius nearly grabs his hand to stop him but stops himself and lets Ballister walk through the door. 

Ambrosius feels a weight crashing onto his chest as Ballister softly closes the door. A shaky breath leaves him as one of his hands grasps the front of his shirt. He sits on the unmade bed as his thoughts begin to race about all that he’d done to his lover, it had only been a month since everything had all happened. Neither of them had really talked in depth about what happened, yes there were the rushed apologies right off the bat, but they hadn’t really expressed to each other how it had all impacted them emotionally. Maybe tonight would be the night they could talk about it, tonight, tomorrow morning, sometime soon, they needed to talk.

Ballister tossed his dirty clothes in the hamper in the corner of the bathroom before taking a look at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were heavy, and even after returning next to his lover's side, and stopping the director he still didn’t feel at rest, he couldn’t. Thoughts of Nimona often plagued his mind, if maybe she would return by whatever magic that had created her. He hadn’t gone back to their ‘evil lair’ yet, it still seemed too painful.

Of course it wasn’t only the thought of Nimona that haunted him, it was also scars left over from what had all happened in those few days, weeks maybe? Everything had happened so fast time seemed to slip his grasp. The scars, mental, emotional, and physical all had yet to heal completely, at points Ballister worried that they never would.

Ballister took his hand and ran it through his hair. He needed a shower but hadn’t found it in him to take one, at least not tonight. Sighing, he dropped his hand from his hair and quickly brushed his teeth before leaving the bathroom.

Ballister didn’t knock before he entered his shared room with Ambrosius. He expected Ambrosius to have already been laying in bed, but the bed had yet to be made and instead, his lover was standing in front of his prosthetic. His fingers lightly traced the wiring and metal with a sense of melancholy. The closing of the door caused Ambrosius to jump a bit, pulling his fingers away from Ballister’s prosthetic. Startled, he turned his head towards the door making eye contact with his lover.

The silence between them was heavy and dense, the unsaid words threatening to choke them as they stared into each other's eyes. Ambrosius was the first one to break the silence as he cleared his throat and took his eyes off of Ballister, now looking at the bed.

“Want to help me make the bed?” Ambrosius suggested, scratching the back of his head. For the most part, they had been behaving as they always had, but sometimes it got awkward and stiff as if the air molecules in the air had stopped moving. Ballister blinked for a second processing Ambrosius’ words before nodding and walking over to their bed. They both fixed the sheets together standing on their respective sides of the bed. With the bed made, Ballister turned on the lamp on the right side of the bed as Ambrosius turned off the main lights of the room.

Neither of them said a word as they lay down in their bed getting situated. Given that they were both in bed now, Ballister turned off the lamp and all that illuminated the room was the lights of the city filtering in through the thin curtains covering the window. They were quiet for a few minutes more before Ambrosius finally spoke up.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry, I know I’ve already apologized to you before right after it happened and a couple times after but I feel like we haven’t really gotten to talk about it that much with everything that’s been happening since the queen died. I am so genuinely sorry for how I treated you and your friend Nimona,” At the mention of her name Ballister stiffened a bit, he knew that eventually, they’d have to have a real conversation about it, but he didn’t expect it to be this night.

“I treated both of you unfairly, and while I never believed that you had actually killed the queen, I didn’t say anything to stick up for you and in staying silent I sided with those who were hunting you down. While everything turned out okay in the end, at least… for the most part, I shouldn’t have stood by their side. I should’ve questioned what the director was telling me and not seen Nimona out to be what she wasn’t. While I’ve apologized hundreds of times for your arm, I will apologize for it again, even though it’s what we were trained to do, I took a part of you that you can’t get back and have caused you pain and harm. Sometimes all my mind can do is replay my actions toward you at that moment and the moments following. I wish I could change my actions and go back and know what I know now back then, but I know I can’t. I just want you to know how much I love and care about you, Ballister,” Ambrosius confessed, a few stray tears making their way down his face as he reached out to brush away a couple of tears that had fallen from Ballister’s eyes.

“I know Ambrosius, and I love you too, and care about you so much. I really appreciate all that you’ve said, and I want to acknowledge that you were being manipulated while this all happened. You don’t have to carry the weight of it all, let some of it fall onto others. I would’ve probably responded the same way had our positions been switched. In the end, the person you are now is not the person you were back then, and that’s what matters. I’m in love with you, not your mistakes. While I’m glad you were able to acknowledge them, they don’t define you. While they’ve left scars, scars will heal someday, even if they feel like they won’t. I know I feel that way sometimes. Someday the pain will be gone, and all that will remain will be the scars and the stories they hold. I’m not sure if I’m making a lot of sense here, but I want you to know that together we can grow and move past this. You don’t have to feel guilty, you’ve suffered the consequences enough.” Ballister responded gently to Ambrosius, now caressing his face with his left hand. 

A weight had been lifted off the both of them, even if just a little bit, things were more manageable. Together they held each other and cried for what seemed to be an eternity but wasn’t quite nearly as long. They lovingly stared at one another, the filtered light highlighting the tear tracks that had run down their faces like rivers.

They talked a bit more after the tears had died down, being honest with each other about what they had been feeling. Talked about things they’d only ever share with each other, and by the time they had reached an end to their conversation, the majority of the city had fallen asleep.

 “So what if I told you I couldn’t dance and I could, that’s my business.” Marvin huffed, walking over to their velvet couch. Whizzer stood there for a moment before joining him.

 “I just would’ve liked to know, we could’ve danced sooner.”

 “How did we even start dancing?” Marvin inquired.

 “Does that matter? Come on Marv, let’s just enjoy the moment.” Whizzer responded, moving Marvin’s hair out of his face, before starting to run his hands through the others' hair. Marvin felt himself melting at his touch, and let himself relax shutting his eyes.

 The two sat in a comfortable silence happy to be existing together in the same space.

 “How come we don’t do this more often?” Marvin asked after a few minutes had passed. Whizzers hand stopped then pulled out of Marvin's hair.

 “If you weren’t off playing family so much maybe we would, but you seem to be spending your efforts there, then coming back to the apartment to argue with me,” Whizzer answered, speaking with an edge to his voice. Marvin was left silent for a moment, trying to think of a rebuttal to use against the other before one sparked in his mind.

 “Well, at least I don’t sleep around with the whole city, pretty boy.” Marvin smirked, proud of what he had come up with, but also feeling a tinge of regret when he saw something shift in Whizzers eyes.

 “Is that all you see me as? A pretty boy with no brain that will sleep with any man?” Whizzer soured, moving away from Marvin closer to the other side of the couch. Marvin for once was at a loss for words unsure what to say. At his silence, Whizzer scoffed before getting off the couch and making his way to the door. Before he could get too close to the door Marvin shot up and grabbed his wrist which Whizzer broke away from his grasp turning to him.

 “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, can we go back to how things were?” Desperation clear in his voice.

 “No, you have to tell me what you actually think of me Marvin, because I can never tell with you,” Whizzer responded, letting out a breath he didn’t realize had been trapped in his throat. Marvin’s mouth twisted as he fidgeted with his hands trying to get his thoughts in order. Whizzer tapped his foot on the floor, “I haven’t got all the time in the world to wait for you.”

 “I know just give me a second at least,” Marvin said, holding his hands up and taking a deep breath in. “God you never make it easy do you, Whizzer to me, you’re everything. As much as I might hate to admit it, I need you, you light up every room you walk into and never fail to make me smile. I know I give you a lot of shit and argue with you all the time, but you have something that I could never find in Trina or any other woman I was with. You thrill me like no other, make me feel smart, and make me feel like nothing else matters when it’s just you and me in each other's arms.”

 Whizzer let everything Marvin said sink in, not expecting an actual genuine answer from him. Marvin was looking everywhere but Whizzers eyes, as he felt his filling with tears, the silence making him think the worst.

 “Marv, you okay? I don’t hate you, I’m just processing.” Whizzer stated, bringing a hand up to the shorter’s cheek and brushing away the stray tear that had fallen. Marvin nodded, trying his best to not be overcome with emotions, pulling away from Whizzer to wipe his face on the sleeves of his shirt. It was a brief moment before Whizzer spoke again, “Thank you for saying all of that really, it means a lot coming from you.”

 The two met each other’s gaze, giving soft smiles to the other, joining their hands together.

 “Can I kiss you?” Marvin asked, pulling one of his hands away to anxiously fix his hair.

 “Of course,” Whizzer answered, Marvin pulled Whizzer in by his hips and they met together for a soft kiss. A few seconds passed before they pulled apart, Marvin held Whizzer close in his arms taking in his scent, and letting his heart calm down. Begrudgingly after a minute or two Marvin pulled away smiling sweetly.

 “Want to play chess?” He asked Whizzer, squeezing his hands.

 “Is that even a question?” Whizzer questioned, smirking at Marvin with a knowing look in his eyes.

 “I’ll let you win.”

 “Don’t let me win.”

 “I’ll let you win,”

         Marvin’s eyes opened slowly to be met with his cold and dim room. He looks at the small digital clock on his nightstand blaring the numbers 4:09 AM. A pit forms in his stomach as he takes both of his hands and wraps them around his stomach feeling nausea hit his body. It doesn’t take long for him to begin to break down sobbing, his wails echoing in his empty apartment, once made for two. Marvin wishing for nothing more but Whizzers hands around his torso rather than his own as he feels himself crumbling to pieces.

 “I feel as though you’ve ruined my ability to function properly Whizzer,” Marvin croaked, “But lord knows I would do it over and over again just to have you with me again.” More salty tears ran down his face, some slipping into his mouth as his sobs poured out of his mouth.

 “Just one hour more, I just want to hold you for one hour more, God please.” Marvin mourned, clutching his pillow to his chest.

 Somewhere deep inside Marvin, he felt guilty. Guilty for how he treated Whizzer, how he treated Trina, how he felt he failed as a father to Jason, how he seemed to ruin every good thing that happened to him, and part of him blamed himself for Whizzer dying.

 Even sometimes he finds himself wondering if things would’ve been better if they had never met, or never kissed. That first kiss of theirs had started it all, sneaking out early in the mornings to see him, late at night, having lunch with him during his work lunch break. Whizzer’s kisses were his addiction, they made him feel things he’d never felt kissing Trina. He knew after the first time he kissed Whizzer that he’d never be sober again and he’d be happy that way. But now his supplier was gone, leaving Marvin eternally in withdrawal.

 Tonight was quieter than normal, not much seemed to be going on, and it seemed that even the villains had laid down to rest tonight. Something that Hawks craved but remained out of reach. It’s not as though he hadn’t tried sleeping, but every time he felt too restless to stay still and allow himself to relax. Over the past week, he maybe got a collective 21 hours of sleep if he was being generous, lately, the commission had been on his ass with more missions and patrols barely leaving enough time for him to take care of himself. Not that he had the energy to in the first place.

 Hawks sighed, boredom seeping into his bones accompanied by a familiar sense of loneliness. The usual mind-numbing feeling that tended to follow him with these flights seemed to be absent as his thoughts continued to berate him. He felt his insides shake and decided he needed to find a spot to land before he lost control of himself. He landed on the rooftop of a building, unaware of a familiar figure sitting on the opposite side of the roof as his mind seemed to blur out the rest of the world around him. Hawks’ breathing started to rapidly increase as his emotions overwhelmed and enveloped him.

 His knees buckled and he ungracefully knelt down on his knees before hunching over and wrapping his arms around his torso. His body shook as his wings wrapped around himself, Hawks could feel the tears pricking at his eyes. As much as he tried to keep them within the confines of his eyes they fell and continued falling like rain onto the concrete roof. Shallow sobs left his mouth as his mind went into hyperdrive.

     Imagine if your handler saw you like this.  

     What would the commission say about this behavior?  

     Pathetic really how little it takes to break down like this,  

     I thought you were supposed to be a hero.  

 Thoughts continued to swarm him and rally up against him, but before falling into even more of a hyperventilating panic the sound of footsteps approaching him caused him to halt his sobs. Hawks tried to hold himself as still as he could while quieting his shallow breaths to the best of his ability. How long had they been there? How had he not noticed? Hawks cursed his lack of sleep slowly catching up to him, this wouldn’t have been a problem for any other hero, why is he faulty?

 “Hawks?” A familiar voice asked quietly, he would’ve described it as gentle had he not recognized who the voice belonged to. Hawks felt physically unable to give a verbal response back, and when he tried all that left his mouth was a pitiful whine.

 Hawks flinched as a hand lightly touched his wings, but slightly relaxed at the warmth it was emitting before quickly tensing again as he remembered who he was dealing with. Although Dabi had not given off any hostility so far, Hawks still felt on edge. He briefly forgot about the hand on his wings until it moved away, he held back a whimper as the hand was retracted and his breathing began to pick up once again, not realizing how the hand had been grounding him.

 Noticing this Dabi put his hand back on Hawks’ wing and began to pet it trying to comfort the other. Hawks’ feelings were conflicting with one another as he couldn’t tell if it was safe to relax. Safe. When was the last time he felt that, infancy? More treats began to pour from his eyes as tremors ran through his body.

 “Shhh, breathe birdy,” Dabi whispered, trying to get the other to calm down. Hawks’ hands moved from around his waist to clenching his pants as he tried his hardest to stifle the never-ending cries leaving his mouth. Slowly he got his breathing back to normal and all that remained of his tears were hiccups.

 After some time he managed to pull his wings away from his body, no longer shielding himself from Dabi’s gaze. Dabi repositioned himself in front of Hawks carefully noting the noticeable eye bags that weren’t as prevalent the week prior when they met for information exchange, well more Hawks giving information and Dabi giving nothing in return. He carefully swept Hawks’ hair out of his eyes and wiped a stray tear from his face before bringing his hand back. Dabi didn’t miss as Hawks slightly leaned into the light touches. After observing the other Dabi opened his arms for Hawks inviting him into his arms but not moving forward leaving the choice entirely up to the other.

 With slight hesitation Hawks crawled into Dabi’s arms, tears immediately brimming in his eyes as he now realized in full force just how touch-starved he was. Feeling the tremors emitting from Hawks, Dabi wrapped his arms around the other and began to comb his hands through the blond's hair.

 “It’s okay baby bird,” Dabi whispered to the other, Hawks whined in response and grabbed at Dabi’s shirt holding onto him as though he was a lifeline. The two sat there together in silence that was broken apart by sniffles every so often. Dabi hummed a song his mother once sang to him when he was young, a song he had almost forgotten but remembered in the moment.

 “Don’t wanna be a hero, just wanna be a kid again.” Hawks meekly spoke, his voice cracking slightly as he hadn’t used it in hours.

 “You don’t have to be a hero right now birdy,” Dabi replied, his humming coming to a stop. “I’ll take care of you, you need rest more than you need to be a hero right now.”

 Had it been colder that night Dabi might’ve been a bit worried about the other falling asleep on him, but the cold night air was gone now, replaced with air that felt like a light blanket surrounding the two. Not soon after Hawks’ cries died down, soft snores followed, his hands no longer clutching at the others' shirts. Dabi let a genuine smile adorn his face as he held the other now propped up against the wall of the ledge.