#fhot7

It was bizarre how difficult it was.

Because it both was, and wasn’t, a pain.

And that was all down to, in the grand scheme of things, they had to be slightly sadistic to even consider this as their job, their life, what they wanted to do and who they wanted to be. It was a contradicting monster that led them all to where they were now - stuck in an abandoned warehouse with only a handful of tatty seats scattered about the place and a half broken mini fridge that was almost all alcohol and hardly anything of substance.

They’d hit the ground running but were fast losing balance, it wasn’t easy to establish yourself in the ins and outs of crime in Los Santos, not when there were already so many well established gangs that couldn’t afford anyone running into their turf, taking their pickings and leaving them to claw back the slippery slope that was respect.

It was dangerous business. You didn’t want to be in anyone’s pockets because once you were in there, you wouldn’t get back out.

The Funhaus Crew, unfortunately, were in a fair few people’s pockets as of late.

Or rather, they should be, but refused to compensate a rat race full of other gangs that felt more than a little fragile over having a new crew rush in on their jobs, full of enthusiasm and an almost psychotic passion for what they did. Fuck, they weren’t even doing it well, but it was something about their drive that was making the other’s uncomfortable.

Though the crew would argue that, currently, they were the most uncomfortable.

Especially considering James was laid out on the couch clutching at his bleeding arm, though it was leaking a lot more sluggishly than before it was still causing him agony all the same. Adam was sat in front of the beaten up sofa, legs aching from running so fast for so long and the unforgiving concrete floor, bruised to the nines and trying to ignore it in favour of comforting the other, which essentially boiled down to them both bitching about the situation and leaving Matt to do the actual nursing. If it wasn’t for him, half of them would walk around with bullet wounds, bruises and cut up skin hoping that if they complained enough they’d disappear out of thin air.

One thing was for sure, they weren’t getting any kind of revenge in the state they were in. Not quite yet.

More and more of their acquisition of illegal goods, theft, and the odd elimination task were being absolutely ruined by another gang turning up to either steal the inevitable pay or teach them a lesson, and they weren’t exactly ever equipped to go head to head with them and win. It was only their headstrong attitude keeping them together these days but even that was fading fast.

 “Every fucking time-” James spat, shifting to try and get comfy and failing miserably. He wasn’t sure if it was the bitterness of the situation making him suffer more, but this particular bullet wound was giving him serious grief, to the point where he hung his uninjured arm down if only to squeeze Adam’s bloodied hand to distract himself. Adam ignored his own aching and sore knuckles to let James indulge in the small comfort whilst Matt did his best to clean the damage up.

 “We can’t keep letting this happen,” Matt mumbled softly, addressing the fact that he was sick of seeing what may as well be his family hurt all the time, whereas Lawrence went for a more materialistic view of it all.

 “We’re never going to get anywhere if this keeps happening. It’s like running up against a fucking avalanche of douchebags.”

Elyse sniggered a little, but the sound was hollow and not half as amused as she felt. She let herself slide down against the wall to settle on the floor, exhausted and bruised like most of the others. They were genuinely lucky to be alive this time, and though they were pissed off it had also left that all too familiar fire burning in their stomachs - nothing but an addiction they couldn’t quit even if they knew it was eating them inside out.

As much as they wanted to do this by themselves, as a family, they knew that their only real option if they wanted to stay in the race and better yet, stay breathing, was to find help, someone that’d see their potential and offer their hand out without stripping them of the few achievements they’d earned as a unit. They knew they had merits but when other groups were out there, established, connected, kitted out with both the materials and the drive they also shared, it was useless to even try unless by some stroke of luck they made one score that was colossal enough to turn heads.

And honestly, with the amount of time it was going to take to lick these wounds they’d have better luck returning to the normality of living on the straight and narrow.

They spent the night in that warehouse, their buzz of the fight dying down as the early hours crawled in and they shared out whatever booze was knocking around the place, not caring if they were caught in such a state, if anything it’d only serve to bolster them even more, letting the gravity of their journey, or lack of it, weigh on them all individually and as a unit.

James was already feeling a lot better after Matt had managed to pry the bullet out of his arm and close it as best he could, sharing the couch as he always did with Adam by his side, not too subtly running his fingers up and down the side of Adam’s neck, the rest of his arm resting across the other’s back. It was innocent, for the most part, just another reminder that they were still in one piece and not blown up and scattered over half the city. Out of all of them, Matt and Adam were the ones to get most wound up about injuries and mishaps, knowing their dumb luck wouldn’t hold out for as long as they needed, leading to the others offering those small bits of physical affection a little more often to the pair if only to reassure them in their stunted ways. That was the other’s explanation, frankly James simply just loved Adam to fucking pieces.

The day that man passed up the chance to shower Adam in affection was the day hell froze over if all of them were being honest.

As the night dragged on, their insanely potent drive seemed to return. They were no longer licking their wounds, rather laughing the whole thing off and lazily contemplating what their next goal would be once everyone was back on their game. Not knowing they’d wake up that morning to an offer they couldn’t refuse, not knowing that their name was going to grow tenfold over just a month. No, as they all napped, uncomfortable, aching and cold, but somewhat content, they had no idea that the Hunters were working on tracking, finding, and offering them the hand they really needed.

Bruce all but shit his pants when he saw Geoff and Jack creeping through the near broken doors of the warehouse that morning, many of the other Hunters following suit. You couldn’t blame him, not when they were all geared up to the nines. James admitted to himself, silently, that aside from panicking like all hell he was a little bit proud they saw them as a threat enough to come armed...though he’d prefer not to get another bullet hole anytime soon, especially after the way Adam all but blocked James from view, like he was preparing to take a shot for him right off the bat. James filed that knowledge away for later, if there’d even be a ‘later’.

In the end, it was Gavin’s slurred, accent-laced rambling that let their shoulders relax and their few weapons to be lowered to negotiate. Honestly, he could have been telling them they were going to look like colanders once they were done and they wouldn’t have had a clue, it was mainly Jack’s apologetic look that solidified that they weren’t there to blow their brains out. Or at least, not for a while.

The following month was a blur.

Not because it was forgettable, but because it was hectic. If anything, that month was burned into their memories for the rest of their lives, defining their work, making them razor sharp and part of an even bigger family that was becoming a force to be reckoned with.

Neither group was the best at what they did. They had their talents, but there was someone out there that was faster, more accurate, had more flair. But one thing they all had was guts and that was what made them terrifying.

They’d get beaten, stabbed, shot and kidnapped and still be back the following month with a glint in their eye that near enough doomed whoever decided to fuck with them or their patchwork family.

Soon enough, they’d bought out fancy and modern apartments to crash in instead of warehouses that were rotting from the inside out, had first dibs on the best of the worst jobs, trading drugs and dead men for cash and finding themselves never in want of anything. They’d got what they wanted, all of them, after years of trying and failing and having salt rubbed into the wounds. Perhaps it was stupid how persistent they’d been, how close to being put six feet under they were, but if life was going to continue how it was as of late, well.

The beginnings of their relationship were weird, with no clear cut shift from co-workers or friends to lovers. Of course, James and Elyse were already together, and Adam and Matt had been a thing on and off since their college days. Then different people ended up hitting on other members of the group, and they gradually formed one huge web of relationships. Which was fine, honestly, only it left Matt in a bit of an uneasy state, because he hadn’t sat down and told any of them. When he and Adam got together, when Adam had admitted his feeling, Matt had blurted out his secret like some kind of disclaimer he had an obligation to provide. He was so used to it being a deal breaker, couldn’t take it if Adam found out later and hated him for it. It was easier to get it out of the way then, before Matt got too close. Only Adam hadn’t cared, had shrugged like it was no big deal and told Matt that it made no difference to how he felt. Matt spent that night with his head buried in Adam’s chest mumbling how grateful he was.Matt didn’t get to do that with anyone else, because the nature of their relationship evolved so slowly. Before he knew it, Matt was suddenly dating seven other people, and six of them had no idea that Matt was trans. It made him nervous, made him worry that some or all of them wouldn’t be okay with it, and this amazing thing that they had would be ruined, all because of him. One night, as he lay with his head in Adam’s lap, watching his boyfriend play GTA, he brought the issue up.“Do you think I need to tell everyone?” He said suddenly, out of the blue, and Adam’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Matt was talking about. Adam’s character died onscreen, then he looked down at the other man.“Tell them what?”“That I’m trans,” Matt sighed, reminding Adam of how much he hated talking about this, even with him.“Oh. I don’t know. Do you want to tell them?” He questioned gently, respawning in the game and averting his gaze back to the TV.“I feel like I have to.”“I know you do,” Adam replied patiently. “But that’s not what I asked. You’re not obligated to tell everyone just because we’re dating.”“I just feel like I’m lying to them,” Matt mumbled, a reel of bad experiences playing through his mind.“You’re not lying about anything, Matt. They think you’re a guy, and you are a guy.”“Yeah, but not a real—”“Matt,” Adam cut in sternly, stopping the words and the train of thought before they got too far. “Don’t say stuff like that. It’s not true.” Matt heaved another heavy sigh, appreciating Adam’s attempt to dispel his sudden outbreak of dysphoria.“Not everyone thinks like you do, Adam. I’ve had more people call me a liar than welcome me with open arms,” he pointed out, sounding tired. Adam hated being reminded of people who were rude to Matt, who dismissed this man despite him being so kind and caring to everyone else. Adam knew their partners weren’t like that.“Nobody’s gonna call you a liar, or be mad at you if and when you tell them.”“You can’t know that,” Matt protested.“I can, because I know them. And you know them too, you know they wouldn’t do that to you, they’re not that kind of people.” Matt shook his head, still not convinced.“In my experience, making that assumption leads to bad things,” he said in a small voice before pushing himself up out of Adam’s lap and off the couch altogether. “I’m going to bed. See you tomorrow,” he called as he walked from the room, leaving Adam sat in a shocked silence, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with that. Matt clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but Adam couldn’t leave it like that, not when Matt was clearly so stressed about the others finding out. He’d let Matt sleep for now, but they’d have to have a discussion about it sooner or later.

Later ended up meaning two weeks, as Matt was an expert in subtly avoiding questions and topics which he didn’t want to talk about. Adam could only ever bring it up when they were alone, and it was clear that Matt was avoiding him, probably because he knew Adam would want to talk. Matt didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want to distance himself from Adam, and so eventually he had to agree to go around his boyfriend’s house when Adam proposed a Netflix date night with Chinese food. Adam was tactful enough not to bring it up right away, waited until they were comfortable, Matt curled into his side and munching on lo mein until Adam said anything.

“I know you’re still worried,” Adam stated casually, feeling Matt tense for a moment against him before the smaller man let out a heavy sigh, setting his half-eaten carton of food on the coffee table.“I’m just scared of losing them, or of fucking all of this up,” he admitted, knowing that Adam wouldn’t let him run from this any longer.“Matt, they love you; nothing’s gonna change.”“That hasn’t stopped people in the past,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Adam to catch what he’d said. Adam finally turned his attention away from the TV, looked down to see Matt hadn’t done the same. He gave his boyfriend a comforting squeeze, pulling Matt in a little closer.“You wanna talk about it?”“Not really,” Matt admitted. “You don’t need to hear about my shitty childhood right now, I… I just don’t want to ruin anything.”“You thought that about me, remember?” Adam replied lightly, managing a small smile. “You thought as soon as I knew that it would mess everything up for us, but that didn’t happen. And the guys, they’re really not gonna think any differently about you.”“That was different,” Matt tried to argue. “If you didn’t like it then I could’ve just found a new roommate. If this backfires, I still have to work with everyone, I still have to see them and have them hate me and—”“None of us will hate you, Matt,” Adam insisted. “I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. I’m not saying you have to rush out and tell everyone right away. But when the time comes, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”“You really think they’ll be okay with it?” Matt finally replied, after several long moments of thinking over what Adam had said.“I really do,” Adam answered confidently, pressing a kiss to the top of Matt’s head.

Matt decided to tell them all in stages. A part of him still worried about the potential rejection, and if any of them did lash out at him, he would rather it not be all at once whilst everyone was there. He started planning in his head how he would do it, thinking of the best times, the best things to say. He wasn’t sure if he had the courage to reveal this information about himself, but a part of him knew it was something the rest of his partners would find out eventually, and reasoned that he would rather it be on his own terms, when Matt was in control of the situation. He couldn’t run from this forever, and really, he hated having to hide himself from the people he loved.

He decided he would tell Bruce first, simply because they shared an apartment. Out of the group, Bruce was probably someone Matt spent the most time with, and so it made sense for him to tell Bruce before anyone else. Only Matt’s ‘telling Bruce’ was less telling and more showing. He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, hoped if he opted for the subtlety approach then it might have been easier.As well as Matt passed, there were still parts of his body which gave him away, and hiding these on a daily basis became tiring. Matt would be glad when he didn’t have to worry about it any longer. So he just stopped worrying. He stopped being cautious of his roommate, stopped overthinking everything he did. Matt stepped out of the bathroom one morning after having taken a shower, towel wrapped around his waist and his mind void of any self-conscious thoughts for a change. Usually he tried to avoid being around Bruce when he was this underdressed, as even though he was happy with his chest now, the signs of his surgery were still there, and he had never felt up to explaining them. He’d yet to get any further than kissing with anyone in their relationship, with the exception of Adam, and so he’d never had to be shirtless and up close enough to someone that they could see his scars. But Matt really was tired of running from this discussion, and the conversation he’d had with Adam a few days ago had instilled a new sense of confidence in him.He was making his way to his room when Bruce called to him from down the hall, and whereas before Matt may have told him to wait, would’ve rushed to get dressed and cover himself up, now he just strolled towards the source of the noise. Bruce was in the kitchen, brows furrowed as he leaned down and squinted at the coffee machine.“What’s up?” Matt questioned, amusement lacing his voice. The question prompted Bruce to stand up straight, to spin around and face his boyfriend. The surprised expression on his face at the sight he was met with made Matt chuckle softly. When Bruce didn’t respond, simply stood there with his mouth open, Matt moved in closer, investigating what the other man had been having trouble with.“Nothing!” Bruce finally answered when Matt was beside him, snapping out of whatever trance he’d gone into. “Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to ask if you wanted a coffee to go,” he explained quickly. Matt smirked, arching a brow at Bruce’s flushed cheeks and rushed words.“Sure you’re okay there?” He asked, teasing. Matt watched Bruce suck in a deep breath before he nodded as calmly as he could.“Yeah, just… You’re still naked. And wet,” he supplied feebly. Matt’s eyebrows shot up at the blunt statement, and he tilted his head up to meet Bruce’s eyes.“Sorry?” He tried, unsure if Bruce was complaining or just stating the obvious.“Don’t be,” Bruce said, barely letting Matt get the apology out. “It’s fine, it’s… More than fine. It’s a nice view.”“Is it?” Matt asked sceptically, looking down at himself. His confidence may have grown a little, but he hadn’t been overcome with vanity just yet.“Definitely,” replied Bruce, voice brimming with confidence. When Matt looked up, the space that had existed between Bruce and himself was no more. He could feel Bruce’s breath and the weight of his gaze. They weren’t quite touching, but Matt could still feel the heat radiating off the older man’s body. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something else to say as Bruce looked him over, but Matt never got the chance. “Matt?” Bruce murmured, frowning again as he raised his hand.“Hm?” Matt hummed, holding his breath, waiting for the bomb to drop. His heart was hammering, and he began to wonder why he had thought this was a good idea.“What’re these?” Questioned Bruce gently, his hand hovering over Matt’s pecs, unsure if he was allowed to touch him.“They’re scars,” Matt replied quietly, trying not to shake from how nervous he was all of a sudden. “From surgery.” The next question out of Bruce’s mouth wasn’t the one Matt had been expecting.“Can I touch them?” He asked. Matt blinked, confused for a second before nodding, murmuring a soft affirmation which Bruce just about heard. Bruce’s finger was cold as it traced tenderly along the slightly curved and faded scars. Matt watched his expression, wondered what was going through Bruce’s mind. “Does this hurt?”“No, you’re fine,” Matt assured. “They’re old by now.”“How old?” Bruce asked, still not looking up. He seemed almost fascinated. Matt certainly hadn’t expected this. He drew in a long breath, trying to get over the fact Bruce was touching his scars and not freaking out.“Four years,” he replied, watching curiously as Bruce continued to stare at his chest. It was weird, but Matt didn’t feel uncomfortable.“I knew you four years ago,” Bruce thought aloud, still frowning as he finally raised his head, meeting Matt’s eyes. “I didn’t know you had surgery. How come you never mentioned it?”“Yeah, I didn’t tell anyone,” Matt shrugged, palms sweaty as he curled his hands into fists, waiting for this whole thing to collapse.“What was it for?” Bruce asked after a long silence in which he contemplated whether that was going too far. Matt blinked, trying to remember how to speak.“I had a mastectomy,” Matt breathed. Bruce was close enough that he just about heard it, tilted his head as he tried to put the pieces together. Matt saw he was confused, and sighed softly before speaking up again. “Breast removal,” he explained a little louder now. “I, uh… I was assigned female at birth.”“I can’t believe you had surgery and didn’t tell us,” Bruce mused, seemingly in a world of his own. Matt shifted awkwardly on his feet, wondering if he should repeat himself.“D-did you hear me?” He asked timidly, trying to get Bruce’s attention back. It worked, the older man blinking as he looked up suddenly, met Matt’s eyes and nodded his head quickly.“Yeah, I heard you. I just… I can’t believe you had to deal with that on your own.”“You’re not mad at me?”“Mad?” Bruce echoed, his face scrunched up in confusion as he looked at his boyfriend. “Why would I be mad?”“Because I’m different, and messed up, and I never told you,” Matt replied instantly, and he hated the way his voice wavered as he spoke. He couldn’t start crying, not now, no matter what. Bruce’s shoulders slumped as he heard those words, and he heaved a dejected sigh. Matt clenched his jaw, took deep breaths as he waited for the attack he’d been expecting. He was surprised, then, when Bruce’s next move was to rest a hand on Matt’s bare hip and pull him in closer. They were touching now, and Bruce used his free hand to tilt Matt’s head up so he could meet the shorter man’s eyes and hold his gaze.“You’re not messed up,” Bruce stated firmly. “And I’m not angry because you didn’t tell me about this. Please don’t ever think that. I’m just annoyed that I’ve been a shitty boyfriend and haven’t been there to support you when you needed it. But please, please don’t feel guilty or think that I love you any less now that I know.”“You’re not a shitty boyfriend,” Matt laughed, looking up at Bruce with wet eyes.“Oh thank God,” he replied dramatically, grinning as his arm snaked around Matt’s waist, keeping him close, pressed up against Bruce. Matt laughed again, giddy with how stupidly fucking accepting Bruce was, and the sound made Bruce’s face break out into a grin. The look on Bruce’s face was making Matt blush, and so he curled in on his lover, nuzzled into Bruce’s chest. The older man wrapped his other arm around Matt too, holding him in a comforting hug. “Thank you for telling me,” Bruce murmured into Matt’s hair before kissing the top of his head.“’S’fine,” Matt mumbled into his T-shirt, returning the hug by looping his own arms around Bruce’s lower back. “I figured I’ve kept you all in the dark long enough.”“Does anyone else know?”“Only Adam,” Matt confessed, feeling a lot more up to speaking now his nervousness and fears of rejection had gone. “He knew me when I started T. Hormones,” Matt clarified quickly, doubtful that Bruce would know what he was talking about.“Yeah, you guys have been together forever,” Bruce hummed, giving Matt a gentle squeeze before pulling back to look at him again. “So you’re gonna tell everyone?”“That’s the plan,” Matt nodded.“Well, I’ll be right there holding your hand if you need me to,” Bruce assured, giving Matt a huge grin. “Or if you don’t then I’ll just be in the background silently cheering for you. Whatever you want.” Matt couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have people as incredible as this in his life. He didn’t deserve Bruce and all his supportive enthusiasm, but by God was he grateful for it.“Thanks, Bruce,” he replied sincerely. “That really means a lot.”“So, you want that coffee?”“Coffee would be great,” Matt agreed, watching Bruce go back to fiddling with the machine for a moment before heading back down the hall to get dressed.

In honesty, Matt hadn’t figured out the logistics of telling the rest of the group yet. He was scared to come out to them all at once, but he also didn’t like the idea of anyone being the last to know. He pushed the issue from his mind when he got to work, engrossed himself in his editing so he didn’t have to think about it for a while.

When lunchtime rolled around, James came up behind him, and Matt was startled as his headphones were pulled off suddenly. He turned to see James grinning over his shoulder, waving at him enthusiastically.“Lunch!” James declared, and Matt couldn’t help but smile at him.“You can go without me, I really wanna get this finished,” the smaller man replied, reaching up to try and reclaim his headphones. James batted his hand away and held the headphones up higher.“You can get it finished, when you get back from lunch.”“James,” Matt whined childishly, straining his arm in another desperate attempt to get his headphones back.“C’mon, Matt,” Elyse chirped from his other side, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and giving him a gentle tug. “You need to eat; you’ve barely stopped all day.”“I’ll get something from the refrigerator,” Matt tried to argue, but Elyse was already leaning over him to save his work. He sighed dramatically and she responded by giving him a huge smile and tugging at his shoulders again. “You’re insufferable,” Matt muttered playfully as he got to his feet, still smiling fondly despite his feigned annoyance at the pair.“Oh yeah, I can’t imagine how horrible it must be to have people who love you and want to make sure you’re doing okay,” James drawled sarcastically.“James, you know there’s nothing worse than people offering to take you out and buy your food for you,” Elyse replied cheekily, and Matt shook his head to himself.“Where are you going?” Bruce called from his desk as Elyse slipped her hand into Matt’s, ready to pull him out of the door before he could continue to complain.“Chili’s, you wanna come?” James offered.“Sure, hang on, I’ll drive,” Bruce replied, getting up and grabbing his keys. Nobody else made to come with them, so the group headed out and piled into Bruce’s car.As they sat around the table after having placed their orders they chatted amicably, having casual discussions about upcoming movies or games that they were playing. James tilted his head, studying Matt from across the table.“You’re super quiet today man; are you feeling okay?” He asked. Matt nodded his head, giving James a small but genuine smile to try and reassure him.“Yeah, I’m fine. Really,” he added with a laugh, feeling touched by James’s sceptical scowl.“I’m sorry I dragged you from your edit,” Elyse said, her straw in front of her lips.“I think you needed to, honestly,” Matt shrugged, sipping at his coke. Bruce shot him a sideways look, a little worried that Matt was feeling stressed or under pressure. He often got quiet when he was worried about something, so Bruce moved his hand and gave Matt’s leg a quick, comforting squeeze. James narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the pair, gaze darting between the two of them.“Seriously, what’s going on?” He asked again, trying to keep his tone light, but he was getting nervous. Elyse set her glass down and frowned, lost as to why James was suddenly starting to freak out. A groan came from Matt as he realised how obvious he was being, and he silently chided himself on not having a better poker face.“So, I told Bruce something earlier,” He started, feeling the hand return to his knee under the table. It was surprisingly helpful in keeping him grounded.“Are you guys breaking up with us or something?” James interrupted, managing to keep his voice at a reasonable level so as to not attract any attention to their group and its unorthodox relationship setup.“God no,” Matt said quickly, at the same time as Bruce declared:“No way!”“Then what’s wrong?” Elyse prodded, her curious tone a contrast to James’s mildly panicked one. Matt took a deep breath, looked at the table for a few moments before he could bring himself to raise his head and look at the two of them again. He hadn’t planned on doing this here and now, had no idea what he was going to say, but James was worried, and Matt couldn’t be responsible for that.“Nothing’s wrong, I… I told Bruce this morning that I’m trans,” he said softly. “And I wanted to tell you guys too.” His hands stayed clasped around his glass, gripping it to try and stop himself from shaking. Matt looked nervously between the two, watched them process his words and waited with baited breath for their reaction. Yet again, he was expecting the worst. Instead, Elyse’s face broke out into a huge smile.“That’s so cool!” She exclaimed, and Matt’s jaw went slack with shock. Before his brain had a chance to take everything in, Elyse was sliding onto the bench seat beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.“What?” Matt murmured, blinking as he tried to figure out why Elyse was suddenly hugging him. James was grinning at them across the table, and it wasn’t until he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the couple that Matt really reacted. He shook his head before turning it to look at Elyse, confused. “Why are you so happy about this?” He asked, bewildered.“I’m happy that you told us!” She exclaimed, the grin on her face the most infectious thing Matt had ever seen. He couldn’t help but smile back at her.“Sorry it took me so long,” laughed Matt nervously, causing Elyse to roll her eyes.“I don’t care,” she assured. “I’m just glad that you felt like you could tell us now.”“Sorry if we seemed like huge, judgemental assholes who you had to hide from,” James joked, only Matt took it a bit too seriously.“No, that wasn’t why I—” he started, but James cut him off again.“Hey, it’s fine,” the blue-eyed man interrupted, reaching across the table and pulling Matt’s hand off his glass so he could put his own over it. It was a small gesture, but it settled the nerves in Matt’s stomach. “I understand, man. It’s a big deal for you. But it makes no difference to us, really.”“Yeah, I still love ya, Matt Peake,” Elyse agreed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder. Bruce watched the three of them with a smile of his own, catching the way that Matt’s cheeks flushed from the kiss, how James was rubbing his thumb over Matt’s knuckles in a comforting motion. Bruce pressed himself closer to Matt’s side and slipped an arm behind his boyfriend’s lower back.“I love you guys too,” Matt confessed, feeling a little overwhelmed by all the attention he was receiving right then. The moment didn’t last, however, as they were interrupted by their waiter coming over, plates of food in their hands.“Um,” they said, glancing around at the odd group who seemed to be having some kind of weird romantic moment. “Mango-Chile Chicken?”“Oh, that’s mine!” Elyse replied cheerfully, raising her hand. She disentangled herself from Matt and moved back around to her chair, not at all embarrassed about having been caught hugging one of her awesome boyfriends. Matt really was fucking lucky to have these people in his life.

 Matt was pretty quiet on the car ride back to the office, and Elyse responded by making sure to hold his hand or keep her open palm rested on his leg. He shot her grateful looks for the concern she was showing, and she beamed back at him, still way too happy about Matt being so comfortable and trusting of them. Even when they climbed out of Bruce’s car, Elyse linked their arms together again.“They’re all gonna think that Matt proposed to you or something,” Bruce teased her as he fell into step beside the pair.“I already beat him to that!” James pointed out. “But seriously, you two look like you’re on your honeymoon or something.”“Shut up, I’m allowed to love my boyfriend,” Elyse replied defensively, pulling Matt in a little closer, away from James on Matt’s other side. James poked out his tongue to her in response and made a silly face before he looked back at Matt.“Does everyone else already know, or did you just tell Bruce this morning?”“Bruce and Adam knew before you two. I’ll tell all the other guys today; I don’t wanna leave them out or anything.”“You don’t have to do it all right now, Matt,” Bruce reminded him gently, knowing how stressful Matt had already been over talking about the issue so much in one day.“I want to,” Matt replied with a quiet confidence. “You’re all important to me, so you should all know. Plus it’s not fair to only tell like half of you.”“If you’re sure, then that’s great,” nodded Bruce, reaching out and opening the door for the group to head back inside“You wanna tell ‘em right away?” Elyse asked him quietly from where she was practically pressed against his side. Matt replied with a casual:“Might as well,” and a shrug of one shoulder, to which Elyse gave a confident nod.“I got your back,” she told him, right before they entered the office. “Okay, listen up!” Elyse called, waiting for the others to stop working before she continued. “Matt Peake has something important to tell you.”“Thanks,” Matt laughed, comforted by Elyse’s enthusiasm, her arm through his own as all eyes fell on him. “I just wanted you all to know, that—” he stopped for a moment, trying to compose himself, to find the words. James rested a hand on the small of his back, and Matt took a deep breath. “That I’m transgender,” he said finally.Adam grinned to himself and gave Matt a quick thumbs up from across the room, feeling extremely proud of his boyfriend. The other three were quiet for just long enough for Matt’s worries to start creeping in again, but then Spoole spoke up before they could amount to anything.“So you’re a girl?” he asked, pushing away from his desk and wheeling his chair a little closer to Matt.“Do you have a new name yet?” Joel added, roused out of his brief moment of shock and trying to be as supportive as he could. Matt frowned deeply, looking between them both.“What? No, I’ve already done the whole name change thing,” he explained.“I’m confused,” Spoole complained. “You changed your name and didn’t tell us?”“No Spoole, he’s saying he changed his name to Matt,” Bruce laughed, but Spoole still looked lost.“Matt wasn’t born with a dick, Spoole,” Adam chimed, not looking away from his screen as he spoke, clearly not as interested as everyone else seemed to be now. He tapped away at his keyboard, having gone back to work.“Oh,” said Spoole, dragging the sound out as understanding came to him.“Do you have one now?” Lawrence asked as soon as the thought came to his head, realising too late that that probably wasn’t an appropriate thing to say.“Lawrence!” Elyse chided, finally detaching herself from Matt and crossing her arms over her chest. “You shouldn’t ask stuff like that.”“It’s fine,” Matt assured, smiling at how quick Elyse was to defend him, at the fact he had only been met with curiosity and not aggression. “I’ve had people I know a lot less ask me worse questions. And no, I don’t,” he added, directing the answer to Lawrence, who was still looking a little sheepish about having been intrusive.“How come Adam isn’t reacting to any of this?” Joel questioned, wanting to change the subject as much as he wanted answers.“Uh, because he and Matt were high school sweethearts who’ve probably been banging since they turned twenty,” James supplied, speaking as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.“We didn’t go to the same high school,” Adam argued, glancing over his shoulder and just catching James’s grin. “And we haven’t been banging since we were twenty either.”“Do I need to go higher or lower?” James replied wittily.“Can we talk about Kovic losing his virginity when we don’t have work to do?” Bruce interrupted before the two could bicker any further. Lawrence was smirking at the whole exchange, and Elyse rolled her eyes as she caught sight of his expression when she sat back down beside him. Everyone seemed to fall back into routine then, getting back to their desks and pulling their headphones on. Joel walked over and wrapped his arms around Matt, pulling him into a tight hug before the smaller man could get back to work. Matt returned the hug with a soft laugh, feeling his boyfriend’s face nuzzle into his neck.“You know we love you, right?” Joel murmured beside Matt’s ear, and the latter nodded against Joel’s shoulder, grinning so much his face was starting to hurt.“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”“Thank you for trusting us.” Joel pulled away and smiled fondly down at Matt, pressing a kiss to his forehead before releasing him and heading back to his desk. Matt sat back down and opened up the edit Elyse had pulled him away from earlier. If anyone glanced over at him for the rest of the afternoon (which, of course, they did), they would’ve seen the soft smile which remained on Matt’s face as he sat, relaxed and content whilst he worked quietly.

The fact that Matt was trans didn’t come up again for quite some time. Matt seemed a lot more relaxed around everyone now, more open, especially at home with Bruce. It was only a subtle change, but everyone noticed how he was that little bit happier, less stressed than he had been before. It was nice, and Matt felt a huge weight lifted off his shoulders now that he had nothing to hide from anyone.

The sting of abandonment was not one which quickly subsided, and for a while some members of the Fakehaus crew wondered if the gang would even hold it together. There were doubts about trust now, about what they went through together and if it was worth it the risk, since it was apparently so easy to walk away from it all.  Well, they said easy. Nobody actually found the whole process smooth, not even the stoic Matt who was renowned for keeping his cool, for remaining somewhat emotionally detached.

Bruce was never technically their leader. Nobody was, in fact. They had a strange dynamic, one which arguably separated them from the other crews in Los Santos. The members of Fakehaus recognised each other’s strengths, knew that nobody among them was good in every single situation. As a result, none of them were necessarily in charge; there was no hierarchy, no one person to make the final decision. Joel had once joked that they were a group of democratic criminals, and that was probably the best description one could come up with. Their heists were planned together, everyone had some sort of input into what they would do, how they would do it. Of course, some of them (namely Adam and Bruce) were naturally better leaders, had a better knack for reigning people in if they got too distracted, too sloppy. But these people had no greater standing in the crew. So it wasn’t that they’d lost their crew leader, and maybe that was why they were hit so hard. In theory, Bruce was just another crew member, a different finger to pull the trigger, different hands on the wheel of a getaway car. In practice, it was like each of them lost a part of themselves, and nobody could bring themselves to replace it. Their crew fell from eight members to seven, and their response was to live with the loss.

Nobody was surprised to watch Lawrence descend deeper into the pit of alcoholism in the days following Bruce’s departure. He was borderline dependent at the worst of times, and it was no secret among them that it helped Lawrence cope. He’d confessed that it made his brain shut up, and nobody could begrudge him a quiet reprieve, even if his liver ultimately paid the price in the long run.

After they’d all dispersed that night, Lawrence had been itching to reach for something to calm him down, to numb him for a little while. He’d tried to postpone the inevitable by turning on the TV, but within 30 minutes of sinking into his couch he’d gotten right back up again. He started out with beer and then moved onto stronger stuff, the alcohol not taking too long to kick into his system. He then retreated to his work, threw himself into coding and hacking, seeing more of a computer screen in the first three days than any of the people he called his friends. Adam eventually grew worried about the lack of contact, the texts he’d sent which Lawrence had completely ignored. There was a knock at his door, and Lawrence debated ignoring it in favour of getting this job done and out of the way. However, another insistent knock and the muffled yelling he could just about make out from his desk told him that wouldn’t be possible. He rose to his feet, drained what liquor had been left in his glass and poured himself another drink before heading to answer the door. “Adam,” was all he offered in greeting, leaving the door open and retreating back into his home. Adam followed, closing the door and taking a look around. Lawrence’s apartment was hardly the neatest place usually, what with the computer parts and various gadgets which were scattered about the place. Now, however, the tech was accompanied with scattered bottles which had once contained alcohol. The curtains were drawn shut, doing a great job of blocking out any natural light, and Adam didn’t doubt that Lawrence hadn’t left this building since that night, as Adam had started to refer to it in his head. “Have you eaten?” He asked, clearly concerned, and Lawrence rolled his eyes at his friend’s typical mother hen attitude. “I think I had a bag of pretzels yesterday,” replied Lawrence, falling onto the couch and rubbing his eyes. Adam appreciated his honesty, but sighed nonetheless. Lawrence really couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself when this sort of thing happened, when his own emotions became too much for him. “You need food. And some fresh air, man. It’s obvious you’ve been staring at a monitor for way too long; you could do with a break. C’mon.” Lawrence regarded the other man, eyes slightly narrowed. Adam met the sceptical look with a stern one of his own and eventually Lawrence’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “You’re buying,” he warned, pointing a finger at Adam and swallowing back the neat whiskey before disappearing to take a cold shower to help wake him up a little. He emerged in clean clothes and they silently agreed Adam would drive, both of them knowing Lawrence was practically dead on his feet, not to mention his blood alcohol level was probably through the roof. Adam ended up getting him two cups of black coffee and a breakfast of corned beef hash, eggs, toast and hash browns. He looked like he needed the caffeine; the bags under Lawrence’s eyes were more pronounced than usual, and Adam hated that he wasn’t even surprised by his friend’s lack of sleep. Lawrence, in turn, hated that Adam looked so normal given the circumstances. Their conversation topics stayed clear from anything work-related, and for a short while, neither of them thought of the friend that wouldn’t be there next time the crew got together. Adam thought maybe they’d be okay. Sure, Lawrence was struggling right now, as was the rest of the gang, he was sure. However, right now they could almost pretend things were normal. So he had hope, sue him. He knew, in the back of his mind, that once he and Lawrence parted ways again his friend would inevitably turn back to something stronger than coffee. He knew Lawrence well enough that he didn’t doubt his friend’s ability to empty that bottle of whiskey he’d been making a dent in just a few hours ago. Adam tried to stall for this reason, knowing Lawrence needed to do something else besides sitting in the dark drinking himself into numbness. Maybe Lawrence didn’t realise this, but he wasn’t about to complain about Adam’s company either. His mind was sufficiently distracted for now, and that whiskey would still be there when he finally got home. “You know you don’t have to find comfort in the bottom of a bottle,” Adam said softly, his words more of a gentle reminder than a question. “It’s a lot easier though, isn’t it?” Replied Lawrence, daring to meet Adam’s eyes over his coffee cup. “I’ve always got some vodka lying around.” “We can always be lying around. You just won’t let us.” “You say that, but yet you’re still here, right now. With me.” “Yeah, because I dragged you away. I’m never here because you ask me to be, I’m here because I know you need someone,” Adam explained, his patient tone and his lack of anger feeling like a punch to Lawrence’s gut. He was used to disappointment, to people snapping and lecturing him on his self-destructive coping mechanisms. To have Adam seem so caring was always a shock, like ice water poured over his head, and Lawrence was left wondering how to react. “Not that I don’t appreciate your concern, but you really don’t need to trouble yourself, just for future reference.” “Fuck, Lawrence,” Adam sighed, frustration finally creeping into the edges of his voice, but he sounded more upset than he did angry. “When are you gonna realise that this isn’t a chore for me? For any of us. You’re not an inconvenience, and the sooner you realise that, the better off we’ll all be.” “I’m more of an inconvenience to you than I am to liquor. And the alcohol stops me from—” “Stops you from thinking too much, I know,” Adam interrupted. “I don’t care if you feel like you need to drink. I’m just saying, you can still talk to me, or to any of us, as well as keeping your mind quiet.” “My mind isn’t quiet now that I’m with you. It’s telling me that we’re only having this conversation because Bruce left. It’s reminding me that usually we all pull together when someone takes a hit, but now we’re all fucked up, and nobody knows how to handle it. It keeps wondering how you’re the one comforting me through this when you should be hurting too, and it’s thinking about how everyone else is probably doing just as badly as I am. It’s questioning how long this whole thing is gonna last when apparently loving people isn’t enough to stop you from walking away from them for the rest of your life.” “Don’t you drink to stop all of that?” “Do I really need to answer that?” Lawrence shot back, his eyebrow arched. “Not really,” shrugged Adam. “But if you drink on your own because you think like that, then I don’t see why you can’t reach for us when you think like that too.” “I guess I’m not used to anyone caring,” replied Lawrence, and it broke Adam to hear those words leave the other man’s lips so casually. There was no hurt or anger in Lawrence’s voice, only a calm acceptance. It just drove home how used to this Lawrence was, how long he’d had to cope on his own, how he hadn’t been with them forever, hadn’t always had friends around to look out for him. “Well I care,” Adam stated, voice firm. “And you know everyone else does too. Just… Think about calling me the next time you drink yourself into oblivion, okay?” “Oh, you’re gonna regret that offer when you start getting calls from me every night,” he laughed. “I’ll never regret offering to help someone that I care about, Lawrence,” Adam replied seriously, making Lawrence pause, his fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, his chest feeling funny at the utter concern Adam had for him. Adam wanted Lawrence to be okay, wanted to be there for him at three in the morning when Lawrence was long passed sobriety and well on his way to crying himself to sleep. Adam would be happy to go around to Lawrence’s apart every goddamn night like clockwork if it meant Lawrence felt even a little bit better about himself. Lawrence never did take Adam up on the offering of calling when he needed him. So, Adam made a point to stop by frequently and check up on him, to spend time with Lawrence and pull him away from his computer. Lawrence never vocalised it, but he was privately very grateful for Adam’s company. Sure, he felt guilty when he woke up the next morning and realised Adam had wasted his night babysitting a drunk Lawrence, but whilst he was actually drunk, Lawrence loved every moment Adam spent with him. He liked feeling as if someone cared for him, liked that he didn’t need to ask Adam for anything, but Adam still came and made sure he’d eaten and talked to Lawrence about whatever the hell the hacker wanted to ramble on about. Mostly, they both liked trying to have a good time despite the fact Bruce was no longer a part of their lives.

James didn’t want to admit how much the whole situation had hurt him, not even to himself, let alone anyone else. Even Elyse only got glimpses of his emotions, because James didn’t want to admit they were there. What she did notice was how much James had come to dislike their home now. He couldn’t hide how much he hated being there, had no control over the subconscious repulsion of the place that he was supposed to feel safe in. Every second he spent in his living room was one in which he was reminded that there was one less person here now. James dealt with this by not staying in more than he needed to. Elyse didn’t mind being at home, but she understood why James felt the way he did. She too missed Bruce’s presence, and although the house felt even emptier with James gone too, she was comforted by the fact he’d at least be back.

James thrived off adrenaline, got reckless and desperate to throw himself into frankly stupid situations, because at least then he had some form of control. He couldn’t think about his best friend deciding to walk out of his life, out of all their lives, not when he was surrounded by danger. James was breathless, could feel his heart hammering, and heard the blood pounding in his ears. The smells of a shoot-out; petrol, blood, copper and dust, clung to him and it was more soothing than jarring. He was used to this. Watching as the LSPD tried (and failed) to do something, emptying magazines into police officers and rival gang members alike. James was good at this, confident and, most importantly, not emotionally invested. It was about as close to relaxed as he was going to get, and he thrived off the rush he got from wreaking havoc on the city. When he did eventually get home, he was tired from exertion, crashing now that his body had stopped pumping adrenaline through his system. His clothes were often bloodied, or torn, or would bring the smell of fire and smoke back into his home. He never had the energy to was them, and found himself eternally grateful for the contacts they had which allowed him to send in blood-stained clothes to a dry cleaners on a semi-regular basis, no questions asked. Where James was once strict about making his own meals, he now avoided the kitchen as if it had some sort of infectious disease. Elyse knew he wasn’t himself when James came home one night and ordered Chinese takeout from the first place he found a menu for. Briefly, she realised, she should probably be more concerned that James was getting involved in gun fights every other night, but in their line of work, that wasn’t too out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary, however, was James slacking on his fitness because he couldn’t stand to make food which wasn’t full of grease and God knows what else. He still went to them gym, if anything more so now than before, but she knew this was just an excuse to be away, something else that could calm James without attracting police attention.  “You can’t keep running away forever,” she mentioned casually when there was a lull in their conversation, both of them sat cross-legged on their bed, cartons of food spread around them and some old movie playing on TV that they’d both seen a hundred times before. “If I don’t run, then the cops shoot me,” James quipped back instantly, witty as always with a playful grin on his face which looked just a little too forced. Elyse gave him a small smile, but rolled her eyes at his attempt to dodge the real issue here. “That’s not what I meant. You know that,” Elyse responded, caught James’s gaze for a moment before he looked down at his food, shrugging one shoulder. “He ran. I can do the same.” “You’re not running from people, James, you’re running from emotions. I don’t care if you wanna go out and settle turf wars or whatever, but you can’t keep doing it just so you don’t have to deal with your problems.” “You done with the lecture?” He prompted when Elyse stopped talking, and she sighed heavily, knowing she wasn’t getting through to him. James had already decided that he didn’t want to have this conversation, and trying to get him to listen now would be nigh on impossible. “I’ll stop the lectures when you stop trying to avoid the situation,” she explained patiently, didn’t rise to the challenge he’d presented because she knew they were all hurting enough already, that they were just emotional and tense and searching for some kind of outlet for all the pent up pain and anger. “You don’t wanna talk about it now? Fine. But this isn’t something that will go away with the more people you kill. You’re gonna have to face this eventually, James.” “Thanks, but I am an adult. I can handle it,” James insisted, clearly indicating that he was done talking about this. Elyse didn’t miss the way his eyes avoided hers, how James suddenly seemed interested in the movie. He knew that seeing the mixture of sadness and disappointment on her face would tear open that wound he’d been trying his best to heal, and Elyse understood that. So she didn’t push James any further, at least not that night. She just trusted that he would talk eventually, and wouldn’t get himself blown up in the meantime.

Joel’s initial reaction was one of stress, along with the obvious sadness. He worried about his friends, about their crew, about how they could move on. He wondered if they’d even recover from such a monumental blow, both as individuals and as a group of people whose livelihoods depended on them co-operating. He felt somewhat responsible for the rest of his crew, but he had no way to console them over this, besides offering physical comfort. Given the lack of communication between them over the last 24 hours, he doubted that anyone was looking for that. He supposed they were all too raw, still trying to come to terms with the fact Bruce just walked out on them. Joel’s stupidly poetic brain comes up with some lines which hit too close to home for him to actually write them down. They’re lines which lament of their own mortality, the irony of getting shot at regularly and yet when they lose one of their own it’s not because of a death, which they’d all expected. The suspension of belief that this would last until they all went down, fighting and together had shattered. Bruce had defied all of their expectations, and Joel felt cruel for thinking it, but perhaps that’s why this hurt so much. Nobody had seen this coming.

Fakehaus dealt with death on an all too regular basis; it was the nature of their work. They made their money through the strategic use of bullets and explosives, and they all knew, in the back of their minds, that it was only a matter of time before it came back around and bit one of them on the ass. Then they lost Bruce on a quiet night, no guns besides the ones they kept on themselves for personal safety, the sirens in the background not a result of their antics for a change. Bruce hadn’t gone the way they’d expected, had ran from the fight instead of going out as a martyr. Somehow that made things worse, at least in Joel’s eyes. As far as their business was concerned, he had no idea what their next move was. They were usually on top of jobs, preparations, doing supply runs and planning for their next big task. Now Joel wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to get everyone back in for another operation, let alone come up with a time frame. He knew they couldn’t be idle for too long. After all, they had a reputation to uphold, and whilst he understood this was a difficult situation, taking an extended break to deal with the fallout of Bruce’s departure wouldn’t do them any favours. He read over an email from one of their arms dealers for what felt like the fiftieth time before giving up, locking his phone and setting it down on his kitchen counter. Joel leaned down, elbows propped on the granite as he cradled his own face in his hands, rubbed his temples in circular motions to try and ease the tension headache he could feel brewing behind his eyes. “This whole situation is fucked up,” he mumbled to himself. His phone buzzed again, the familiar chime that signalled a new email which was followed by a low groan from Joel, who still had his eyes closed. He decided to ignore whoever was sending him work related messages, feeling he could take tonight off, at least. Tomorrow he’d start trying to put the pieces of their crew back together, but he knew he was too swamped with his own emotions to do anything productive for the remainder of the evening. Joel opted instead to run himself a bath, knowing he would be able to lay down and not feel completely stressed out for the duration of his soak in the hot, soapy water. He turned off his business phone to make sure he remained undisturbed, bringing his emergency cell into the bathroom, on the off chance one of the guys needed him. They were the only ones with the number for his backup, so if something was really wrong, they’d still be able to contact him. You could never be sure what issue would suddenly arise with the lifestyle they led. He took painkillers to soothe the dull throbbing in his head, and played his favourite calming music to really help him settle down. Let it be known that Joel Rubin didn’t do things by halves; if he was going to have a relaxing night wherein he indulged himself, then he was going to go all out on the indulgent front. That, of course, meant he ended up drinking two expensive bottles of pinot noir by himself, but really, he didn’t care. Not even when the alcohol got to his brain, when he started to get emotional and less detached from the situation than he’d intended. Because goddamnit, he’d loved Bruce, and losing him so suddenly hurt and Joel was allowed to feel upset about this. He was allowed to be angry at someone who treated him, who treated their whole crew like they weren’t important, like none of them had ever meant anything to him. Joel was allowed to wonder how Bruce could give it all up so easily, and he was allowed to have one night where he let this get to him. And it really was just for the night. Joel awoke the next morning, his headache now completely self-inflicted and slightly more bearable because of that fact. His hangover wasn’t too pressing though, and he honestly didn’t regret anything he’d done yesterday. Turning his phone off had been a wise idea in hindsight, as it meant he hadn’t drunkenly called anyone, and he could now spend the day having normal conversations without the involvement of any alcohol. Unless he ended up speaking to Lawrence, of course. His first port of call was Adam, since Joel trusted him to be one of the more composed ones out of them all. Joel was right in that assumption. He also wasn’t surprised that Adam hadn’t been able to get through to Lawrence, but was comforted by Adam’s determination to get their resident hacker at least talking to him, even if he couldn’t be coaxed out of his apartment just yet. He learned from Elyse that James seemed to be handling things in his own way, and whilst Joel was pretty sure that meant James was avoiding the issue altogether, he knew that Elyse would take care of him and pull James back in if things went too far. She was probably the best person to get through to him anyway, he reasoned. Also, Elyse herself seemed largely unaffected by the whole thing, and so Joel trusted her to take hold the fort on that front. Joel had already decided that he’d visit Spoole later that day, since he was sure the younger man would want to talk things over. Spoole was the one Joel was most concerned about, the one he didn’t trust to handle this completely by himself. They all joked about babying him, but Joel’s protective instinct really did run deep when it came to the young man. So, Joel called Matt before heading out, wondering if he’d be there, if they could all go somewhere together. The phone went to voicemail. That was odd, though it wasn’t completely unheard of. Matt was probably busy. So, Joel left a message, wishing Matt well and promising to call him back later.

All of Joel’s following calls also went unanswered. Matt knew that Joel wasn’t calling because he sought comfort over all of this, and so he didn’t bother answering or returning the missed calls. He knew that he needed to be there for the rest of his crew, that some of them wouldn’t take the loss of one of their members as well as the others. Joel was one of the ones he trusted to remain level headed, and the multiple voicemails on Matt’s phone confirmed that Joel was trying to placate Matt, not seeking comfort himself. And so, Matt saw no need to rush back to the city. Right now, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Like the absence of his younger companion.

Matt had left to restock some supplies, not knowing how much longer they’d be out here. When he got back, Spoole and his bike were both gone, and Matt sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. He didn’t care if Spoole had felt the need to get away, he just wished that he’d told Matt he was going. Spoole had been a mess for the past four days they’d spent out here, and that was putting it politely as far as Matt was concerned. He’d been there for his friend, though, and that was what mattered. He’d managed to keep his own feelings locked down, had been there for someone he loved when they needed him the most. That was the important thing here. He listened to the new messages from Joel, found out that he’d been trying to get hold of Spoole too, had been round to visit them, found the apartment empty and was growing worried. He sent Joel a simple text which simply read ‘Got away for a while. Sean’s with me, no need to worry.’ He didn’t need to know where they’d gone (after all, they’d left to escape everything for a little while, their crew included) and he trusted that Joel wouldn’t track them down now he knew what was going on. He was pretty understanding, and Matt could be trusted to care for both Spoole and himself, after all. Though Matt’s self-care right now only extended to meeting all of his physical needs. He kept himself clean, fed and hydrated, made sure Spoole did the same. The difference between them was that Spoole was open about his emotional issues. He was upset, rightly so, and Matt supported him through it. This meant Matt had to be strong, couldn’t let Spoole down and crumble like a part of him wanted to. He had someone relying on him, needing him, and as usual Matt put the needs of his friends before his own. Matt learned very quickly that his stoic, deadpan nature coupled with his quiet demeanour meant people assumed he was largely nonplussed when it came to emotional issues. Of course, he never challenged this assessment, since being perceived as cold-hearted worked in his favour when it came to doing his job. To some extent it was true; Matt had no qualms about taking his sniper rifle and putting bullets in the heads of strangers. Eliminating threats or taking out corrupt people was something he could do without a second thought, but there were people he cared about, people he loved. The members of his crew were people who Matt would protect with his own life, people he’d killed for and with, people who Matt wanted to keep safe.  Bruce had been one of those people. Granted, Bruce was often the one who tried to keep Matt safe, especially during their downtime. Matt couldn’t bring himself to think back on nights spent together, jokes shared between them, the wounds they’d tended to and the way their skin brushed so frequently, casually. He knew he’d miss Bruce more off the job than on one. They could bring in another gangbanger; this city was full of criminals, some of them almost as talented, and guaranteed to improve with experience. Only their crew ran deeper than that. They weren’t just crooks who ran together, yet that was all Bruce had seen, apparently. He’d walked out on them like he was leaving a dead-end job, like he didn’t care about any of them, like nobody cared for him. Matt cared. He cared more than he was willing to admit. He hated how quiet he was, berates himself now for allowing Bruce to go without saying a damn word to him. Matt could’ve screamed, could have cried, accused Bruce of so many things and questioned him like they’d pulled him in for an interrogation. As always, though, Matt kept quiet, and his resolve hadn’t broken yet. The anger and the pain he felt hadn’t subsided as such, but he’d shoved it to the side-lines, because he had responsibilities, and he couldn’t let his emotions get in the way of that. He’d managed to keep quiet up until now, could supress the urge to shout or to cry when he was distracted, when he could focus on Spoole, on making sure that his boyfriend was okay. He could offer comforting smiles, wrap his arms around Spoole’s shoulders as they shake and hold him until the sobs subsided. “I know, it’s okay. We’re gonna be okay,” Matt had murmured over and over, the rhetoric a comfort to Spoole and to himself, though it was mostly for the benefit of the former. Matt would rather that, would rather take a deep breath and push away his own worries and help someone else through this mess, because that was more beneficial. Ultimately, his happiness wasn’t as important as the happiness of the people he cared about.

Given that James could barely tolerate to sit on their couch because of the connections his mind made, the responsibility of clearing out Bruce’s belongings fell to Elyse. The first morning she woke up without him in her life, she set to work gathering his things he’d left in the house. It was mostly clothes, casual things that Bruce would wear on lazy-days, shorts which were well-worn in and t-shirts whose colours had long ago faded, the designs faint and obscured. Things that wouldn’t be missed and were easily replaced, and so hadn’t been high on Bruce’s list of priorities. Elyse recalled James leaving last night, sat on the edge of their bed, her hands clutching a pair of Bruce’s socks which had been rolled into a ball.

“I can’t be here,” James had said, springing up from the bed that neither of them had been sleeping in, already pulling on a pair of jeans. “James, it’s four in the morning,” Elyse had tried to reason, sitting up but making no move to pull James back to her. “I don’t care. I can’t be in this house, not now, not that…” He had trailed off, Elyse’s chest going tight as she caught the way his voice cracked. He was hurting, and pretending things were normal was only making it worse. “I need to get out and do something, to be someplace where I don’t have to think about any of this.” Elyse understood that. So, she had let him go, sat up in the dark watching him dress, grab his gun and his keys and disappear into the night. She didn’t want to think of what he was going to do, she just hoped it would help him. She went back to sleep and when she woke she knew that she needed to get rid of Bruce’s things, for James’s sake. If he could feel his absence just lying in bed, then the shorts strewn casually on their bedroom floor or the CDs which neither of them would dream of buying for themselves would only serve as a more poignant reminder of their loss. Everything was packed into garbage bags, and Elyse wondered briefly if she should put them in the garage, in case Bruce came back for them. She then immediately chided herself for her optimism, for allowing herself to believe that he wasn’t gone for good. Bruce had made it perfectly clear that he was cutting all ties. Elyse reasoned that burning his bridges was a two way street. Neither she nor James should have any false hope about seeing him again, and keeping those bags wouldn’t be fair on either of them. So the bags were loaded into her car, and Bruce’s old clothes were donated to a charity store. They’d be more use there than sat waiting for an owner who wouldn’t come back for them. She couldn’t bring herself to be angry at Bruce, even when she saw how hard James was hit. Elyse couldn’t resent him for walking away from all this, because their lifestyle was fucked up, and no matter how much it hurt to lose him, Elyse could never hate someone for wanting a better life. Especially not someone like Bruce, someone she loved, somebody who deserved better than all this. She was sad, sure. She missed him singing in the mornings as he made breakfast, and she missed waking up to see his face. She missed watching him and James yell at each other as they played video games, missed curling up with the two of them to watch movies and eat pizza. But at the same time, Elyse knew that what they did was dangerous and stupid, and not at all sustainable. Their lives were more than sweet domestic moments, and as far as she was concerned, the cons could easily outweigh the pros when you were in this game. Your life was a big price to pay, and honestly, Elyse was glad that she lost Bruce when his heart was still beating. She didn’t voice this to James, of course, as she knew he couldn’t believe what Bruce had done. James couldn’t understand why he would walk away from the money, the adrenaline, the people he loved. Elyse could, and hoped James would come to see Bruce’s side of things in time, when the blow of losing him wasn’t so fresh. However, when a week had passed and James was still spending a minimal amount of time in their home, Elyse started worrying a little more about how well he was really coping. She hadn’t heard from anyone but Joel, who had apparently been keeping tabs on everyone and then providing a stream of updates to the whole crew, confirming that nobody had disappeared or gotten hurt. Which was only mildly reassuring, given that she still couldn’t remember the last time all of them had been apart for this long. Some action was required on her part, she decided. Elyse sent out a group message to everyone, telling them nothing but. ‘Our place, ASAP. We need to talk about this.’ She had hope that all of them would actually show up, it was just a matter of when everyone would be here. In the meantime, she mulled around, cleaning up bits and pieces in the house, just so she wouldn’t have to sit on the couch in silence, waiting for somebody to arrive. That first somebody was James, letting himself in and stopping at the kitchen to look around for his girlfriend. “Elyse?” He called, and heard a quiet: “In here,” coming from the bedroom. He wandered down to find her making the bed, and it hit him how much James had been neglecting her. He’d forgotten that he wasn’t the only one missing Bruce, that Elyse had lived with him and laughed with him and loved him just the same way James himself had. Elyse was just better at dealing with it, he supposed. She always was stronger than him. “Hey,” he muttered eventually, after a long silence, and Elyse looked up from the runner she was adjusting, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “Hi there,” she replied calmly, and if it weren’t for her actions, then her expression and her tone would’ve fooled James into thinking that she wasn’t stressed. Before he could comment, ask if she was okay, Elyse wrinkled up her nose and looked over the man. “You need to shower and change before anyone else gets here,” she told him flatly. “You smell like a bonfire.” “Yes sir,” James replied sarcastically, giving her a mock salute that had Elyse rolling her eyes and throwing a pillow at him. Her small grin stretched into a smile at the laugh that action managed to pull from James. He caught the pillow he tossed back to her. She went back to making the bed as James stepped into the closet, pulling out clean clothes to put on when he got back. “Elyse,” he murmured, his quivering voice causing her head to shoot up immediately. Elyse’s eyes fell on James’s deadpan expression, a clear attempt to keep whatever was in his head off his face. Then they dropped to his hands. She sighed apologetically, instantly recognising the suit James was holding as one which had once belonged to Bruce. “Fuck. I didn’t think to check your closet, I’m sorry,” she apologised, voice soft and sincere. “I thought I’d got everything,” she thought aloud, moving around the bed and taking the suit from James’s hands, which remained there for a moment, poised stiffly in mid-air, before falling limply to his sides. “It’s fine,” he assured, brain running on autopilot. Elyse thought he looked very many things in that moment, but fine was not one of them. In fact, ‘shocked’ was the one word which jumped out at her when she took in her boyfriend’s wide eyes (which were still staring off at the space Elyse had previously occupied). “You’re not,” Elyse argued gently, dropping the suit onto their neatly made bed. She placed her hands on James’s forearms, tilted her head until her eyes met his. “It’s okay. You miss him. You’re allowed to miss him.” “Elyse, I—” “You still need to shower,” she interrupted. “Go. We can talk about this when everyone gets here. From what I can gather from Joel, you’re not the only one who has some stuff he needs to get off his chest.” James took a few moments to think about this before nodding slowly. Elyse moved her hands away from his arms, watched him walk to the master bathroom and waited until the door closed, until she heard the water start running before she heaved a heavy sigh. Elyse moved to the closet which had been left open, sorting through the clothes and taking out the odd item which wasn’t James’s, depositing them on the bed along with the suit. She knelt and checked the shoes in the rack on the floor, finding only one pair which had belonged to Bruce. She picked up the well-worn grey and yellow sneakers which Bruce had worn so frequently, and tossed them onto the pile of clothes. She gave them a sad smile, about to look for a bag she could put them into when she heard muffled noises coming from upstairs. “James, I think some of the guys are here! I’ll meet you up there,” she called through the door before dashing off to investigate the source of the noises she’d heard. As she reached the top of the stairs she could make out the sound more clearly; the familiar pounding of impatient fists at her front door, accompanied with the muted yelling of her name and James’s. She dashed over and pulled the door open, smiling apologetically. “Hey, sorry, we were downstairs,” she explained, stepping back and holding the door open by means of an invitation. Lawrence immediately entered and made himself welcome, Adam right behind him as the hacker walked on to the living room. Elyse looked around outside, wondering how far off everyone else was. “Joel was right behind us, he should be here soon,” Adam called, almost as if he could read Elyse’s mind. She nodded and stepped out a little further, getting a better view of the winding road outside their house. Sure enough, she caught Joel walking up not two minutes later, and smiled as he approached. “I parked further down; figured you wouldn’t want fifty cars outside here.” “You’re always so smart, Joel!” She exclaimed, only teasing him slightly, and he chuckled at the compliment. The pair retreated inside then, Elyse assuming that Peake and Spoole might take a while, depending on where they’d ran off to. “I always say, I have to have something to offer, or you wouldn’t keep me around.” “I’d keep you around for that great ass alone!” Lawrence chimed in as they approached, and Joel rolled his eyes despite the grin gracing his features. “And I thought I was more than just a pretty to face to you,” Joel sighed, shaking his head and feigning sadness. “Obviously you are, because everyone knows I have the prettiest face around here,” interjected James as he came up the stairs behind them, now dressed in casual sweatpants and a baseball shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. He took a look around the room, taking note of everyone who was here. “Where are Peake and Spoole?” “Matt said they took off some time last week,” Joel offered, switching almost instantly from light-hearted and playful to serious. “He didn’t say where. They could take a while.” “If I know Matt, they’re as off the grid as you can get around here,” Adam contributed, leaning on the kitchen counter. “But, he’ll also get back as quickly as he can if you ask for him.” “We can always count on Matt Peake,” Joel agreed, his statement met with solemn nods from everyone else. Elyse was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one to think of a certain crew member they couldn’t count on, not if the crestfallen looks on everyone’s faces were anything to go by. She sighed to herself, looking around the group and noting how the joy from their teasing had gone already, leaving no trace. All she saw in that moment were her boys, broken and trying to hold themselves together without Bruce to help them, the looks of contemplation or grief, of men who were deep in their thoughts or trying to keep their emotions at bay. She hated seeing them so upset. “You guys wanna help me make something to eat until they get here?” She asked, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the awkward tension that had settled over them. They all took the opportunity gladly, responding with nods and eager affirmatives. They were all happy for something that would pass the time without much need for conversation.

When Elyse had sent the text, Spoole had been out again. He was glad that Matt had taken him away from the city, but he sometimes found that even sitting around in their temporary residence was too much for him. Initially Matt had worried when Spoole disappeared, sometimes for hours at a time, but before long he stopped shooting Sean concerned glances and instead welcomed him back with offers of food and cuddles on the couch. Matt never once asked him where he went or why, and Spoole was eternally grateful for that. He had enough going through his mind already, without having to feel guilty about worrying Matt too.

Matt not demanding an explanation of him was a huge weight lifted off Spoole’s shoulders. It meant he could take his motorcycle, disappear into the mountains and just forget about everything for a while. He found comfort in the wilderness, felt under no pressure at all when the only other sentient life around him was the occasional deer. Spoole tended to avoid beaten tracks when he could, not wanting to encounter any hikers whilst he was out wrestling with his own emotions. Rarely, he would go right up to Mount Chiliad, most of the time when it was late at night and no other people would be out and walking the mountain paths. He rode his bike so far and the walked to the peak, looked down at lights from the city below. The wind was cold, more prevalent up here, and Spoole would pull his jacket tighter around himself, let the tear tracks dry stiff onto his cheeks. He would look and wonder where Bruce was, if he was amongst the bustle of the city that Spoole had been so keen to leave behind. Or had he had similar thoughts, had he ran from them and anything that would remind Bruce of the life he had given up on. Spoole wondered, hoped deep down, that Bruce was missing them as much as they missed him. He had to, Spoole convinced himself. On nights when such thoughts filled Sean’s head, he would scream and let the winds carry his voice away, shouts which would fall on no ears but his own. He was free to cry here, didn’t have to worry about Matt’s concerned glances, about judgemental looks from strangers. He could yell and sob and cry at the darkness and nobody would know or care about how broken Spoole was over this. Eventually he stopped crying, but he still ran. Whereas before he would get away and be hit with his feelings like a freight train, now it was just habit. He wasn’t overcome with tears for no reason, wasn’t plagued by that sinking feeling in his chest when he realised he would probably never see Bruce again. He was moving slowly towards acceptance, or maybe he’d just become numb to his own sadness. He wasn’t sure, and didn’t want to dwell on the matter for fear of tugging at a thread which would unravel a plethora of other issues Spoole didn’t want to deal with. So instead he embraced the silence of his mind, sat on a rock looking down at the faint outlines of civilisation and tried to appreciate what he did have. He had Matt, always ready to pull Spoole into his arms as soon as Spoole got back. Down there, among the distant, blinking lights of Los Santos he had five other people who cared about him, who were all dealing with the same issue, in their own way. He had the choice to get away from it all, had room to breathe or scream or do whatever else he needed to make the whole thing easier. He felt more grateful when he was out alone, the stars overhead making him and his problems feel insignificant. The winds still blew around him, biting at him through his jacket, but they were quieter when they didn’t carry his shouts with them. He took deep breaths, remembered that he still had plenty of great people in his life, despite the one he’d lost. Spoole lost track of the days, forgot how long it had been since Bruce left, since they came here, since he got a decent sleep at night. He wasn’t sure how many times he’d cried or how often Matt had pulled him in close to console him. He didn’t take note of the hours he spent out in the forest, on the mountains, the time he wasted doing nothing but thinking. He never took his phone with him (after all, he was trying to get away from everything and everyone), so by the time he saw Elyse’s message, it was pointless anyway. He got back from one of his outings, and Matt was packing up the small amount of stuff they’d brought with them. “Are we going back?” Spoole asked, surprised that Matt had sprung into action like this without even warning Spoole that he intended on leaving. “Elyse text everyone; she’s called a crew meeting at her and James’s place,” he explained, looking up from the rucksack he was packing T-shirts into and giving Spoole a sympathetic smile. “I would’ve told you, but…” “It’s fine, don’t worry,” Spoole assured, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ve probably been away long enough, right?” “It’s enough when you say it is,” Matt shrugged, not glancing at Spoole as he spoke now, focused on getting everything packed so they could get going. “Unless Elyse demands us back,” he laughed, managing to quirk Matt’s lips up into one of his precious smiles that Spoole never grew tired of. “Unless Elyse demands us back,” he agreed, zipping up the rucksack and picking up the other one he’d apparently already filled. “Which she has. So… Ready to go?” “Ready,” Spoole nodded, trying to feign confidence as he stepped forwards and took one of the bags off Peake. If Matt could see right through Spoole’s false composure, he didn’t make it obvious.

“I’ll get the door,” Adam said quickly, though all of them rose to their feet when they heard someone knocking. They had made dinner together, sat down and ate most of their food when they were interrupted by the soft thudding of a fist on wood. Nobody was concerned with finishing their food now, and the group moved, standing around the couches in the living room. Adam returned with Matt and Sean in tow, glancing around at everyone and then moving to clear the table, since he figured they wouldn’t be getting back to their meal now that they were about to start talking business.

~ It was Joel and Adam that founded the crew. Joel, a rich mans bastard and forcefully estranged son who didnt feel right using his child welfare and 1000$ birthday cards on anything but illegal things and Adam the exact opposite, willing to do anything for money so the loan sharks will stop going after him for student debts and the rent for his one room shoebox place. Then it was James, then Bruce & Matt, Sean, then Elyse when James got married (she was from Los Santos famous Girl Crew) then Lawrence and Omar just showed up at some point and no one remembers how he got there. 

~ They dont really have a “relationship” persay, other than the Willems’, but they at some point realized they had in one way or another slept with/kissed/held hands/cried on each other with out thinking and it just became something they didnt hide or feel ashamed of. 

~Matt is the first one to get seriously hurt. On a job to take out a scummy rival crew who was starting to stir up pointless trouble, a machine gun ended up targeting the van Matt and Omar were in, Matt obviously prioritized Omar over himself and ended losing a leg from the knee down. Chaos ensues as the less level headed members of the crew annihilating the rival crew without really thinking of civilians.

~Benson was the last dog to be brought to the bunker (the three subway cars they call home base ala Person of Interest) because the girls from Elyses old crew had grown attached and let’s say lots of trades and negotiations went down before Elyse could even introduce Benson to Billie and the others. 

He spent the night tucked away in the very back bedroom with James, while the others had split between the other two bedrooms. Spoole remembered spending that night curled between Lawrence and Adam, his face pressed half into the pillows and hands idly picking at stray strings on the old shirt Adam wore to bed. And he remembered the next morning, when all of Bruce’s things were gone, every trace of him just vanishing from the apartment. None of his clothes hung up in the closets, all of his shoes were gone from the entryway, the shelves were missing the games he had bought and owned before he ever met any of them. It was such a small thing, Spoole knew, that, really, nothing felt all that different. It had been different enough that it had Joel rearranging cups and dishes in the kitchen pantries three different times, that it had Adam sitting at the bar tilting his favorite shot glass back and forth. It was enough that James’ didn’t leave the bedroom that whole day, and Peake had been the only one he let back there with him. He remembered Lawrence eyeing the bottle of liquor on the coffee table, Bruce’s favorite. Spoole remembered he just tried not to feel anything, to ignore the antsy feeling under his skin that one of the guys were gone, just gone.

Spoole was the one who found the note.

It had been tucked into one of Bruce’s favorite books, which had been confusing because all of his other books were missing. He had picked it up from the shelf, when an envelope fluttered out from between dog eared pages and onto the clear tile below. It had “Guys” written in Bruce’s handwriting on the front, sealed in the back with one of those Valentine Card stickers, from the sheet of them they still had tucked away in a desk somewhere. He had opened it without the others, curiosity taking the better of him like it always did, and in hindsight, he wished he had told them about it. At least before he had opened it. He wished he had someone with him when he did.

Inside was a piece of ripped paper with “No need to say goodbye” written on it in Bruce’s chicken scratch, with the little woven friendship bracelet bearing his name stapled to it. They never took those bracelets off, no matter what. They never had.

James found Spoole crying in the corner hysterically.

They put Bruce’s green friendship bracelet in the bowl in the entryway.

Adam left next.

He left his bracelet with a note on the dining room table a week after Bruce. He took the only empty bedroom the night before, so no one had been disturbed when he left the next morning. It was like deja vu, waking up to all his things missing. The Pacific Rim poster hanging in the living room was gone. The collection of Evangelion DVDs weren’t on the shelves. The flannel jacket Spoole loved curling up into on the couch was no longer hanging off the back of the barstool in the kitchen. His note had said the same thing, in equally messy handwriting, and Spoole spotted tear stains wrinkling the paper. The closets felt more empty. Joel paced the living room that morning, not rearranging or touching a thing, his feet wearing a path into the plush rug. James sat in Adam’s favorite armchair, and Spoole caught Peake taking a shot from Adam’s favorite shot glass before his morning cup of coffee. Lawrence was the only one who didn’t seem wrapped up in his own mind, and he sat with Spoole, holding his hand silently. Spoole just wanted to stop feeling numb.

Joel broke hours later, after his pacing left a permanent path in the carpet, and he wandered off into the bedroom Adam had stayed in the night before. James watched him go. Spoole couldn’t bring himself to get up. None of them had the heart to coax him out. None of them could stop his crying. Joel didn’t come out the entire night.

They dropped Adam’s red bracelet into the bowl.

James left in the middle of the day.

He didn’t give them the middle of the night bail like Bruce and Adam, to let them work through it in the morning after he’s gone. He packed up his things in the midst of a screaming match with Joel, nine days after Adam left, going to and from rooms to collect his things. Joel followed him, hysterical and begging him not to leave like this, his voice cracking and raw. Spoole sat on the couch, curled up to block them out, with Peake rubbing soothing circles in his back to help, but he could feel the shake of Matt’s hands, and hear the choke of Lawrence’s voice. He covered his ears and ignored the venom Joel and James spat at each other in the heat of the moment.

It climaxed with James slamming his orange bracelet into the bowl on his way out, breaking the ceramic and not bothering to shut the door behind him. Joel stopped in the threshold, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he cried, and Spoole choked back a sob and held his knees to himself, with Lawrence pulling him close.

Later that night, Spoole sat with Joel and helped him glue the bowl back together, before they put it back onto the table. They put up six hooks and hung the bracelets there, instead.

The apartment was void of weights and protein shake mix. The orange shirt that Joel always wore doesn’t hang between Peake’s flannel and Lawrence’s hoodie anymore.

Peake found the note James wrote tucked in the armchair in the corner.

“No need to say goodbye”

He cried into Joel’s arms in bed.

Joel tried to make it easy on them.

He didn’t ditch in the middle of the night, didn’t make a dramatic, heartbreaking show, either. He told them the morning of, over coffee and cereal, two weeks after James. He tried to let them down easily, being upfront but gentle, and Spoole wasn’t sure what was worse; being left in the aftermath to pick the pieces, or standing and watching the pieces fall down around him. Peake helped him pack his clothes away, while Lawrence tracked down miscellaneous things laying around. The movie posters hanging in the living room disappear. The fancy drapes over the master bedroom window get taken down. The flower arrangement that’s been sitting on the dining room table since they moved in is put away. The apartment started to feel empty and lifeless.

Joel spent his time with them. He sat and watched anime with Lawrence, happy smiles and bitter jokes between them. He had leaned against the railing of the balcony with Peake as they shared a cigarette and talked, for hours, about whatever they can think about. Joel slow danced with Spoole in the kitchen to their favorite song, and Spoole tried to ignore the pain in his chest each time Joel dipped him and they erupted into laughter.

He left that night, bags in his hands as hung his purple bracelet on the next hook, and tried to hide his tears when he told Lawrence he didn’t want to hear any goodbyes, when Lawrence started to speak.

Spoole clung to Peake’s shirt the whole night and wished it could be easier.

Thirteen days later, Peake left.

He never had much around the apartment, just guns and clothes. They went missing the night before alongside his jeep in the garage and a bag at the back of the closet. He woke up that morning with Spoole sitting on the couch, bags deep under his eyes. He fixed him coffee and sat with him, talking and drinking, brushing against him every so often, before Peake got up for his morning jog. He left his mug on the table, kissed Spoole’s hair, and left out the front door. Spoole watched with tears in his eyes.

Matt never came back. His forest green bracelet hung on the hook next to Joel’s, a tag attached to it, and Spoole knew what it said already, so he threw it out without reading it.

It was just him and Lawrence, then. They sat on the couch watching TV for most of the day. The apartment was silent; no Bruce and James yelling at each other from the back, no Adam and Peake calmly chatting away at the dining room table over tea, no Jeol singing in the shower to the overplayed pop music on the radio. It was just Spoole, and it was just Lawrence, and it was just the TV playing reruns of the same soap opera to fill the void left by the five men that weren’t there anymore.

Spoole broke first, that night after dinner, crying and screaming into Lawrence’s shirt that it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t fair, that it shouldn’t have been like this at all. Lawrence just rubbed his hair, and let him get the emotions out. By the time Spoole was done, his throat was sandpaper and his head was pounding, and all he could do was whisper pleads that Lawrence wouldn’t leave him, not alone, not like the others. He didn’t note Lawrence’s silence as he carried him to the bedroom. He didn’t think of it when their lips lock and their hands room, and everything became a haze of heat. He didn’t want to think of it between the gasps for air and teeth biting marks on his shoulder and his nails on Lawrence’s back, between the pleasure and the ache in his chest. He didn’t bother thinking about it after, when they’re curled together, breathing the same air and holding the other tight and close.

Lawrence was gone the next morning. The rest of the anime and manga disappeared off the shelves. The gun with the Gurren Lagann sticker wasn’t in its place. The Hatsune Miku figurine didn’t sit on the desk anymore. All Spoole was left with was Lawrence’s favorite shirt and his deep blue bracelet hanging off the last hook.

Spoole didn’t know why he was acting like this.

He knew this was coming; they talked about it, planned it, had backups for their backups, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t a surprise, shouldn’t have been a surprise, them all leaving the apartment and fleeing Los Santos because their luck had to run out and it finally did. Spoole shouldn’t have reacted the way he did when Bruce left, when Adam left, when James and Joel and Peake and Lawrence left. He knew it was coming. He helped plan it.

His chest still ached when he thought of them.

He gathered all he had left of them; Bruce’s favorite book, Adam’s shot glass, James’ Psychonauts plush, Joel’s blanket, Peake’s pillow, Lawrence’s shirt. He set them all down in the living room and slept on the couch, alone. He doesn’t want to lay in the beds.

He kept their bracelets on the hooks in the entryway.

It was a year after Bruce left.

Spoole came back to the apartment with his pitiful excuse for dinner, a couple of gas station hot dogs and a large Mountain Dew. The first thing he noticed is that there was a bracelet missing. The second was the music, coming from one of the backrooms Spoole hadn’t stepped a foot into in a year. He set his stuff down on the coffee table, grabbing his switchblade off the bookshelf, and made his way back. The music was coming from a radio, the DJs voice interrupting the ending of some song Spoole didn’t recognize, and he heard the buzz of an electric razor.

He didn’t say a word as he got to the bathroom connected to the bedroom, holding the switchblade tight and resting his hand on the cracked open door. There was a figure moving around inside, dark and moving to the music as it’s shadow was cast across the wall. Spoole thought something like this would happen. He was about to push it open and go for the kill, when the figure started singing and he knew that voice. He knew it.

The blade clattered to the floor as Spoole pushed the door open quickly, rushing in and wrapping his arms around Joel with a soft sob that got choked up in his chest. His shaking hands grip Joel’s shirt, and he holds him close, so close.

“J-Joel,” he said quietly, felt Joel’s arms wrapping around him. “O-Oh my god, it’s you…”

“Shit, Sean, I thought no one was here…”

They pulled apart at that, and Spoole laughed at Joel’s half shaven face. Joel joined in, and he felt right again, for the first time since Lawrence left. They put up Joel’s posters and drapes and the flowers, clean the living room and split the hot dogs between them and share the Mountain Dew, and for the first time in a year, Spoole slept in one of the beds.

Peake was a week after that.

Spoole ran into him at the convenience store down the street from their apartment. He had been standing in front of the over priced apology cards, holding a cheap bottle of wine and a bouquet of wilted roses. He was wearing a camouflage hoodie Spoole had never seen, but he knew it was Matt by the beard, and the way he worried his lip between his teeth. Spoole approached him, tapping his shoulder as he picked up a card, noting how much he had truly missed him when he jumped and turned quickly. His face shifted into surprise, brown eyes wide.

“Sean, he breathed.

Spoole smiled shyly. “Hey.”

He was pulled into a hug, warm arms around him and that deep-chested rumble of a laugh he missed so much in his ear. Spoole hugged him back, pressing his face into Peake’s shoulder, but he pulled back, taking the card from his hands and looking over it. “Cats?”

“The joke is that we're all dog people.”

Spoole laughed at that, putting it back. “Roses and wine will do fine,” he told him, before they went up to pay, giggling at Peake’s “could have robbed them for the card” comment. They got back to the apartment to the smell of pasta and the sound of Joel cheerily singing in the kitchen, dancing as he cooked. He turned to look at Spoole when he came in, dropping the dish he held with wide eyes and an open mouth. The apartment stood still for a moment, and Matt shifted nervously, before Joel was jumping over the kitchen island to run to him, picking him up and spinning him around.

“Matt!” He cheered happily, laughing and setting him down. “Oh my God! What are the coincidences! I'm making your favorite meal tonight!” He said with a wide smile, kissing him, before pulling back with a gasp. “Oh- Fuck the bread!”

He rushed back to the kitchen, Matt chuckling and setting his bag down as he pulled his bracelet off the hook. Spoole moved to kiss his cheek. “We're glad you're back.”

None of them complained about the burnt garlic bread at dinner, and the bed felt less empty that night.

Adam waltzed in a couple of weeks later.

Spoole didn’t know what to think of his nonchalant attitude toward it all. He had his bag on his back when he opened the apartment door, nodding at Joel and Spoole as they sat dumbfounded on the couch, before he set down his bag and slipped his shoes off. He slipped his bracelet off the hook and onto his wrist, before turning around to look back at them, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You just-” Joel started, pointing at him with the TV remote.

“Came in… Adam what the-”

At the mention of his name, a door slammed in the back. Spoole and Joel turned on the couch to see Peake standing in the threshold of the back hallway, fists clenched at his sides as he stared Adam down. The room was tense for a moment, before he walked over to him silently, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a kiss. “You’re an asshole,” he told him, letting go of the fabric so Adam could stand up straight again. “You’re the biggest asshole.”

Adam didn’t look hurt, or offended. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.”

Peake hummed, pulling him back down for another kiss. “Spoole’s making omelettes for dinner,” he told him. Joel’s face cracked into a smile. “And we’re bingeing Pretty Little Liars, if you want to join us.”

Adam grinned. “That sounds fantastic.”

He fell back into step with them easily, effortlessly, sitting between Joel and Spoole, propping his feet up on the coffee table and stealing popcorn from Peake’s bowl. Between scenes and important lines, he added his own brand of commentary that made Joel groan and Spoole choke on his water. That night, over omelettes, Spoole gave him a quick peck between bites, smiling fondly at him.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Bruce’s motorcycle woke Spoole up at midnight.

The others were still sleeping, Joel fast asleep with his long limbs wrapped tight around Peake, and Adam had taken the night alone in another room. He didn’t hear a single noise from the rest of the apartment and he rose from bed, grabbing some shoes and a hoodie, before heading down to the garage, heart thudding in his chest at the prospect of seeing Bruce, who he hadn’t seen longer than anyone else, and they were almost all together again.

His feet froze on the steps at the voices. He rested a hand on the wall and looked around the corner, stepping back out of view better when he saw Bruce and Adam. Bruce was slipping off that stupid leather jacket James had given him, and Adam had his arms crossed, his stance defensive. “Adam,” Bruce started slowly, setting his jacket over the seat of his bike. “I know you’re upset-”

“I’m more than upset.”

The tone of his voice made Bruce flinch. Spoole shifted to sit on the bottom step, still looking in. “You have every right to be, but-”

“We were all fucked up about it.” Adam’s voice rose. “You just left, in the middle of the night, and you didn’t even leave a note out for us to find.”

“I left it in th-”

“But we didn’t know it was there!” He was yelling. Spoole held his arms close to himself, pulling back from the corner. “If Spoole hadn’t seen that book on the shelf, we would have never had found that note!”

“And what was I supposed to do, throw myself a going away party! We didn’t have the fucking time for explanations, Adam!”

“You should have fucking made time, Bruce, we’re your boyfriends!”

Bruce goes quiet. A beat passed were neither of them say anything, and Spoole felt his heart shatter in his chest, before there’s the muffled squeak of rubber soles on the slick floor. Spoole flinched at the hit he never heard, peeking around the corner at the numbing silence, his chest thudding at the sight of Bruce pulling Adam into a hug, holding him tight and close.

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. “I know…”

“James was so fucking upset…”

“I-Is he back?”

They pulled apart, and Adam shook his head. “No, not… not yet. Peake told me what happened, though. It was… really messy.”

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t think this will be any less messy…”

“I’m sure they all forgive you by now,” Adam told him quietly. “Right, Spoole?”

He could help the indignant squeak that came from his mouth, before he slapped his hands over his mouth, listening to them both laugh. Spoole stood, going around the corner, walking over to them and looking between them. Bruce’s bracelet was hanging off his wrist. “I know I forgive you,” he said to Bruce with a smile. He was pulled into a hug, with a kiss pressed into his hair.

Joel tackled him the moment he entered through the door.

James’ bracelet went missing one morning.

It was ten days after Bruce came back, and the morning after Joel and Peake spent the whole day cleaning the apartment top to bottom. Adam had noticed the hook had been empty on his way back from getting milk, which sparked a day long panic between the five of them. While Peake and Adam looked between all three bedrooms at least five times over, Joel and Bruce checked the rest of the house, and Spoole slipped out to go check in the garage. He had seen both Adam and Bruce go down there a lot, both of them taking the bracelet with them, probably to think alone since the apartment was always loud between him and Joel. When his search had ended empty, he made his way back up, jumping every other step, before opening the door.

He was met with the sound of a vase crashing to the floor. “You fucking asshole!” Joel yelled, standing in the center of the living room. A pillow laid against the wall on top of the broken glass. James was standing in front of him, his orange bracelet hanging loosely on his wrist. He didn’t say a word. Joel’s fists clench at his sides. “I c- Oh my g- Just- Fuck!” he settled for, finally, face red and splotchy, his eyes wet and his chest heaving. Adam and Bruce stood to the side, faces unreadable and arms crossed over their chests. Peake stood in the kitchen, making eye contact with Spoole through the chaos. “You made this big fucking statement about you fucking leaving, and then you just sneak in here and try to blend your way back fucking in!”

“Joel-” James started, taking a step forward.

“No, fuck you!” Joel yelled. James took a step back. “You don’t even know how much it fucking hurt!” That’s when the tears start. Adam’s composed facade breaks a little. “It hurt worse than Bruce and Adam leaving while we were sleeping! Because at least with them I didn’t have to listen to them call me a fucking baby for being hurt and upset that the men I love all had to leave the city, and we’d be apart for God knows how fucking long!”

“Joel-”

“What, James?” Joel asked, hands shaking at his sides. “What!”

They both fell silent. Spoole shifted uncomfortably at the door, watching them and worrying his bottom lip, before James stepped forward, pulling the zipper up on Joel’s jeans. “Your fly was down.”

The emotions that shifted onto Joel face made Spoole legitimately worried that Joel was going to swing at him, punch him right across his jaw, or right against his eye, but then it settled on something like mock anger, lips twisting up into a smile. “Are you kidding me?” he asked.

“Well, no, I mean, I didn’t just unzip your pants,” James explained, casually. “I’ll do that later.”

Joel laughed and pushed him. “You fucking dick,” he said with a grin. “God I fucking hate you.”

“Love you, too, babe.” James winked, then turned to Spoole with a smile. “Oh, hey, Spoole! Nice hat!”

Spoole just laughed back.

It had been a year and a half since Lawrence left.

Spoole pulled his scarf around his face more, pressing his hands deep into his pockets and trying to protect himself from the cold, Los Santos wind. He sighed, the plastic shopping bag hanging off his wrist as he walked, weaving in and out of the occasional person like he had done all his life. Joel had been so adamant that he go out to get them more cigarettes, even though Adam had a full pack tucked in the trunk of his car, and Spoole ended up slipping a couple of sodas for him and James and a package of popcorn for their movie night. He looked up at the snow, humming and not paying attention to where he was going, before he ran into someone, letting out a soft oof and blushing. “O-Oh sorry,” he said quietly, looking up, and his heart stopped. “L-Lawrence?”

Lawrence turned, dark coat and dark scarf shielding him from the cold, eyes wide behind his glasses and fuck, Spoole’s hands shook in his pockets. “Sean,” he breathed softly, pulling his hands from his pockets. “L-Listen, I-”

Spoole didn’t give him a chance to finish. He pulled his hands from his coat, dropping the shopping bag and throwing his arms around Lawrence’s shoulders, holding him tight and closing his eyes when Lawrence wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m not mad,” he said quietly. He had over a year to deal with how he felt. He couldn’t stay mad like Joel did, angry like Adam. He just didn’t have the heart. “I’m not mad, I… I’m so glad to see you.”

He was pulled closer against Lawrence’s chest, feeling his warmth and his heart beat. “I’m glad to see you, too.”

When they came into the apartment that night, it was a chorus of cheers and shouts from the five others, a tangle of limbs from Joel and James, back pats from Adam and Peake, a long, hard hug from Bruce. And Lawrence smiled the entire time, eyes shining and face red as Joel chattered on about the fish they got as a pet, as Bruce tried to take bags from Lawrence and Adam worked off his winter gear.

That night, as they all laid together in the master bedroom, Peake curled up against his back and Bruce’s snores from the other side of the bed, Spoole pressed a soft kiss to Lawrence’s lips, smiling. “I love you,” he told him softly.