#miles.commissions

It was different than the way Joel had grown up, amongst illegal trading and a drug business that he inherited because his last name was Rubin, and he was the only child his parents had. Crime ran in his blood, he didn’t choose it. Elyse chose her destiny, chose the beers at fifteen, the early mornings sneaking out with her father’s rifles in heavy plaids and boots at seventeen, the zero-to-eighty speed of her street bike when she was twenty-two. She chose the wind in her hair, the weight of a gun in her hands, the taste the illegal on her tongue, and the slicing cut of a switchblade over the safety of her mansion and her revolving door of fake friends. She chose Adam Kovic’s merry band of misfits over all she had known in her life, by showing up at their door with a rifle slung across her back, a butterfly knife twirling in her fingers, and a smirk on her lips.

She wasn’t bad at what she knew, not by a long shot. Bruce had commended her skill with a blade the moment she was given a chance to show she knew more than showy flip tricks. Matt, their resident sniper, had nodded in approval when she got behind her scope on Mount Chilliad. Even Adam, pack leader and a tough nut to crack, had pride gleaming in his eyes the first time he took her out for real gun training, to give her targets to shoot at that weren’t empty beer bottles and birds. Elyse had proved her worth, time and time again to them. She could tell they accepted her, with their smiles and jokes, the way they taunted and teased her, how hard they pushed and pressed her during trainings and their “fake heists”. It was just jokes, just words with no stab or bite or malice behind them.

“So, Elyse, think you’re up to running with us?” Bruce had asked her with a smug grin on his face, his tone cocky and self-assured as he took a drink from his beer. They were sitting around Adam’s living room, resting back on plush couches and drinking the alcohol Lawrence had stocked up in the apartment.

“Of course,” Elyse fired back, snorting and rolling her eyes. “I can handle it.”

James and Adam chuckle from next to her. “Oh, really?” James asked, leaning in and having her swat him away.

“Spoole said that when he joined,” Joel said with a smirk, taking a sip of his wine, and Spoole gave him a dirty look. “Then he ate shit the first time we were out on a heist.”

“I didn’t know there was a curb there!” Spoole fired back.

The others dissolved into laughter while Elyse rubbed Spoole’s back, before the focus back on her. Even Matt looked amused. “Well?” Bruce asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees and watching her. “Think you really can?”

Elyse let the room go silent for a moment, before she smiled. “Of course I can, Greene.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Still think you can handle this, Elyse?” Bruce had asked her over the comm, voice rough under all the static. “You can still back out, you know.”

He was taunting, again, voice cocky and smug, like she couldn’t handle being a sniper for a heist, a practice heist, nonetheless, were everyone was paid off and no cops would be notified. Matt was below, with the others, while she took his normal perch on top of a building, knees pressed awkwardly into gravel and hands tight on her rifle. She smirked. “Of course I can, Bruce. I’ve got this. How many times do I have to tell you?”

There had been no more words exchanged, just a quick hum as everyone got into position. Elyse double checked, then triple checked her clip, her scope, her trigger, making sure everything was right, before taking a deep breath. Fake heist or not, she wanted to leave nothing but good impressions on the guys. She wanted to be part of their group, officially, more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life, and she was up to doing anything it took.

They’re half way through getting money out of the vault when Elyse hears sirens roaring from down the street, and Lawrence comes over her comm, suddenly, his voice not as steady as usual. “Someone called the police?” he asked.

“Fuck,” Adam cursed, panic in his tone. She heard a rustle, then the sound of the vault door shutting, Bruce yelling in the background. “We need to get out of here, but-” He hesitated. Elyse imagined him standing in the lobby of the bank, eyes wide and nervous watching outside the windows, and she tightened her grip on the rifle.

“I’ll cover you,” Elyse said quickly, keeping the tremble from her words and her shoulders set straight, like Matt showed her. She looked over from the back, then down below her own perch, smiling. “There’s an alley around the side that doesn’t look like it has any other way in. You should be able to sneak around back there away from the cops. I’ll make sure none of them follow you in.”

Radio silence for a moment. “Okay,” Adam said, then he was shouting orders to the others, and she watched them, ant sized and frantic, following one after the other around the side to the escape route she told them. She took in a deep breath as the cop cars started pulling up, tires screeching against pavement and uniformed officers stumbling out with pistols tight in their hands, raised to aim at them. She lined up one in her scope, before pulling the trigger, watching his body fall to the pavement. Elyse tried to focused on taking them out, before they realized where she was, listening to the boys chatter in her ear about getaways, about cars, making a list of the voices she heard. It was all of them, thank God.

“Elyse?” Bruce asked as she heard the roar of Matt’s jeep. “Are you still-”

“I’ll get back to you guys,” she told him, voice still and steady as she continued to line the cops up and pull the trigger. Bruce didn’t say anything else. She heard the jeep on his end rumble, before the comm cut as they all got out of range. Alone. It was just her now. She pulled herself away from the edge quickly, pushing back and praying they didn’t see her, before making her way across the roof carefully and jumping down onto the fire escape. The metal rattled and groaned under her weight as she descended the steps, her rifle slung across her back. Her feet make contact with the top of a dumpster bin, before she slid off onto the ground.

It was a long and lonely walk back to Eclipse Towers. Elyse had stuck to alleys and back roads, not wanting to draw attention with her rifle on her back, having to stop to get her bearings with a landmark or street sign. Spoole could have done this better than her, make it back to the apartment from some random building, but she didn’t let herself linger on that. She nearly sighed in relief when she made it back, aching and tired, shoulders sore from recoil and from carrying her gun, pressing the button for the elevator and leaning back against the walls as it rose to the penthouse at the top. Elyse allowed herself a moment to slip her eyes closed as she listened to the soft music coming from the speaker above, hoping she did something right today, before there was a ding and the doors opened.

There was a lot to take in the moment she stepped out. Seven voices called out at once to her, hands pulling her into the apartment and fussing over cuts and scrapes on her shoulders and knees and elbows. “Are you okay?-” “Where have you been?-” “You were all alone for that long!-” “You’ve got more guts than, Bruce!-”

“Guys,” Elyse said, finally, the chaos around her calming down and settling. Voices went silent, the boys stepping back once. “I’m okay. I made my way back after I got down. I didn’t get hurt, nothing bad happened. I’m fine.”

“How did you make it back?” Joel asked quickly, his voice frantic.

“Yeah, Matt had a hard time driving back, we got lost,” Adam followed up, crossing his arms defensively, but his eyes looked worried.

Elyse gave a little shrug. “I kept to back roads and alleys,” she told them. Spoole’s eyes went wide. “Sometimes I saw a building or street I recognized, and I went from there.”

“Elyse, that’s-” James started, and she cut in immediately.

“I know, it wasn’t smart, telling you guys to go on without me, and putting myself in a position where I was all alone, with my rifle, to make it back. Especially since I’m new. But you guys were trapped, and I didn’t want anyone of you to get hurt and-”

“Impressive.”

Bruce’s voice makes her words stutter. There’s a weight of pride in his tone, and it’s given more meaning by the way he smiles at her. Elyse’s shoulders fall a bit. “Elyse, that was… really impressive, what you did.”

“I couldn’t have even done that,” Matt followed up, and she felt a bit brighter at the praise.

“O-Oh,” she stuttered, laughing nervously, before she was pulled into a hug by Bruce, smiling into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around him. “T-Thank you…” They pulled back, before James was offering her a dog keychain with a single orange key attached. She took it, gingerly. “Wh-”

Of course, Joel was one of his best friends, so any and all actual complaints he had with parties, and with crowds and with people, fell on deaf ears. He should have known this. Fuck, he did know this.

New Years was absolutely the last day he wanted to go to a party on, but Joel had pulled him out of his apartment without much of an explanation, and before Adam knew it, he was standing in the entryway of a house with a decorated plastic cup in his hand, and Joel nowhere in sight. He huffed out his frustrations as he quickly tried to scan the room for even a glimpse of those curls, but coming up empty. Great. Forced social interaction was the only way Adam would ever get any outside of his immediate friend group. Why did he not see this coming? He sighed and pushed his way through the crowd to the nearest door, heading outside and shivering. The back yard, it looked like. He could deal with that. He shifted to the side of the patio steps and sat down, holding his arms close to himself and taking small sips from his cup. At least whatever it was didn’t taste bad. There was something to look forward to.

The door opened behind him, and Adam turned a bit, expecting to see Joel there, ready to get onto him for ditching the party, somehow, but it wasn’t Joel it was- “Oh. Bruce?”

Bruce was kind of a friend. He knew Matt, since they were roommates their first year, was close with Joel and basically best friends with James, yet somehow had always danced around Adam, for whatever reason. Adam always assumed they’d eventually become good friends, considering they were already sharing a friend group, but that never really happened, and Adam wasn’t sure if he was indifferent or a little hurt. But there Bruce was, standing behind him with a bottle of beer in his hand, and a surprised look on his face, before he closed the sliding door behind him and stepped out to take a seat next to Adam. “Well. Honestly, you were the last person I expected to see here.”

“I didn’t even expect to be here,” Adam admitted. “Joel made me come. Figured I needed the social interaction, or something.”

Bruce chuckled at that, taking a drink from his bottle. “Funny, James said the same thing.”

Adam snorted, lifting his cup to his lips. “I think our friends are in cahoots against us.”

“Probably,” he said with a laugh. “James and Joel are pretty close, you know.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.”

That got another laugh out of Bruce, and Adam spared a glance at him with a smile. The only source of light was the soft yellow-orange glow from the Christmas lights strung up around the porch, and they casted gentle shadows across Bruce’s face, made his eyes glow amber. He looked… handsome. Not that he didn’t already, but there was something about the way his eyes seemed so soft, and his smile was small, and how Adam could see his every breath in the cold air, that just made him seem so much more attractive in that moment. He willed away the blush that was rising to his cheeks and looked down at his drink. Fuck, this was the last thing he needed tonight.

“This isn't so bad,” Bruce said softly, and Adam heard the liquid slosh in his bottle as he took a drink. “It's kinda cold but-”

“It's January,” Adam said with a laugh.

Bruce shook his head. “Not yet it's not!” He said with a smile. “Not until midnight.”

Adam rolled his eyes and took another sip from his cup. Whatever it was, he was almost out. He'd have to get more soon, if he planned on sitting on the back porch and getting drunk with Bruce instead of participating in the party for real. The former definitely sounded like a better idea, especially since Bruce wasn’t obnoxiously drunk. “I’m going to need more alcohol if we’re going to sit here all night.”

There was a chuckle. “Alright. What are you drinking?”

“Um,” Adam mumbled, looking down at his cup. “I’m not entirely sure. Joel sort of shoved it into my hand when we walked in.”

“Alright. I’ll grab you a beer then?”

Adam smiled and shrugged, looking over at Bruce as he stood. “Works for me. Thanks.”

Bruce nodded once and disappeared inside the house, Adam watching until he was out of sight before sitting back a bit. Well, this was the last thing he expected from his night. He wasn’t going to complain, though, because Bruce was better company than anyone in there. He was also attractive as hell, which was an added little bonus, Adam supposed. He just hoped he didn’t say anything super embarrassing after a few drinks.

The door opened behind him again and he turned, smiling up at Bruce as he stepped out, handing him a bottle and setting a case down next to him. “Did you just steal their beer?”

“There’s honestly more where that came from in there,” he said with a laugh, sitting back down. “Don’t worry, we’re not stealing anything from them.”

Adam laughed and took a drink, and it felt way too natural when they casually slipped into conversation about their lives, and it made him wonder how they had never talked before now. Bruce was attentive and polite, laughed when he needed to and threw in quips and jabs when it was right, but mostly just seemed understanding and kind. He really didn’t know when the last time he met someone so nice was, and he was barely keeping track of time after they had started talking.

There was a few shouts from inside, startling Adam and Bruce out of their conversation, and they turned, watching the glass door as someone opened it. “The countdown’s started!” Someone yelled at them, before they went back inside.

“I don’t think I want to go back in there,” Adam said with a laugh, looking to Bruce. “Do you?”

“No way,” Bruce answered, shaking his head. “We can hear it from here anyway.”

“Yeah, and we’ll get to see all the illegal fireworks, too.”

The crowd inside was at ten now, and Adam sighed, still looking at Bruce with a smile on his face and, wow, it must have been the alcohol in his system because he really wanted to kiss him. That would be dumb, he barely knew him and-

Fireworks start going off in the distance, painting the sky bright colors and making his chest vibrate with the pops, and Bruce was kissing him. His lips were cold and chapped from the wind, and his free hand had come up to rest on Adam’s shoulder. Adam sat there, frozen for a moment, before Bruce pulled back with a grin. “Happy New Year,” he said.

Adam’s cheeks went bright red. “H-Happy New Year,” he stuttered back, heart pounding against his ribs as Bruce started to laugh.

He guessed that was one way to start the New Year.

> Joel: Aren’t you glad you went to that party now? ;D

Joel Rubin, Funhaus’ resident romantic, was absolutely, undeniably, head-over-heels in love with one Bruce Greene. And what a coincidence of the best kind that said Bruce Greene happened to be one of Joel’s best fucking friends. He might as well add “a walking, talking, unrequited cliché” to the list of words used to describe him now.

Wait, did Joel say best? He meant worst. This was the worst kind of coincidence.

Bruce was absolutely his type, though, so really the revelation came with a grain of salt, because he knew himself well enough to have seen this coming the moment he laid eyes on him. Tall, fit, affectionate and appreciative, with pretty eyes and a prettier smile, and a laugh that made Joel feel like, God, he could just melt? Sometimes he wondered why the other guys weren't head over heels like he was. Bruce was so genuine and sincere and handsome and-

Well.

Bruce was currently kissing him.

Joel could have rewound his entire life, and never truly found an answer to how this happened, exactly. Had he been the one kissing Bruce, he would have wrapped it up as “Joel being Joel”, which is to say, “Joel being stupid again”, put a pretty bow on top, and called it a day after he drowned himself in wine to forget he ever thought that was a good idea. But he wasn’t kissing Bruce, Bruce was kissing him, so he could already set aside any self loathing, and just get down to the reason why, and maybe even how.

Bruce pulled back from the kiss, cheeks dusted pink and Joel just stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape slightly. “Uh,” he said, absolutely flexing his college degree there, before clearing his throat. “Okay.”

“I kiss you, and all you say is okay?” Bruce asked, chuckling slightly.

“Yes,” Joel fired back immediately, shifting a bit on his feet. “I… Did you actually do that or did I-”

He sighed, resting a hand on Joel’s cheek and leaning in, pressing their lips together again and- oh, yeah, okay. So yeah, Bruce actually kissed him, and was kissing him again. He pulled back after a moment. “That answer your question?”

“How- Why- I-”

“Because I like you, duh,” Bruce said, snorting and standing back, leaving Joel breathless where he stood. Bruce liked him. Holy shit. “Now, let’s go get lunch or something before the others get back.”

Joel blinked once and watched Bruce head back toward his desk, then return to his side and take his hand to drag him out of the office.

It’s been hours since the last bit of the crew hobbled back to base, everyone in various conditions of injured, although everyone walked away and there wasn’t anything life threatening (that Ryan could see). He wouldn’t have been so worried, in all honesty, because he knew Michael and Gavin liked to drive up to Mount Chilliad after heists and robberies and anything else they do in their free time. It was standard now, something they had been doing long before Ryan joined up with the crew, and despite Ryan’s relationship with Michael, he wasn’t going to step between that. But when Gavin came back, still sporting the bloodied nose he got by falling face-first into the concrete, alone and asking where Michael had run off to, it was time to worry.

“He wasn’t with you?” Ryan asked, arms crossed over his chest and eyes watching the Brit dab at his nose with a towel in the kitchen, Jack already fussing over him like the crew mom she was. He had his mask off and face paint cleaned from his face, and looked as unthreatening and demanding as he wanted to feel right now.

Gavin shook his head and let Jack take the cloth from him. “No, I figured he was with you or Ray?”

“Nah, I bailed off the roof the second you went tearing down the street. I never saw Michael on my way back,” Ray said from the couch, fingers pressing buttons on his 3DS, eyes not moving from the screen. “Try calling him? Maybe he got lost.”

Lost was the last thing on Ryan’s mind, and the last thing Michael would be right now. Michael knew Los Santos by heart, there was no way he was lost in a city he knew better than anything else. It was an absurd concept, and he wondered if Ray knew that too, Ray who had been with him since they were teenagers, but if he did, he never made any sort of indication. Jack looked up from where she was still cleaning Gavin’s nose, compassion in her eyes. “I'm sure he's okay, Ryan. He's not as fragile as Gavin.”

“Hey-”

“Yeah, I'm sure he's out there cooling off,” Jeremy added in cheerfully, legs swinging on the counter from next to Gavin, feet landing against him every so often. Gavin swatted at him as Jack slapped his knee, a scowl on her face. Ryan got a sinking suspicion none of them were taking his concerns seriously.

The apartment door opened, and Ryan spun around so quick, he thought he was going to fall over. But instead of his curly haired, loud mouth of a boyfriend, it was Geoff, eyes tired and hands in the pockets of his suit pants. Their leader perked up a bit at all the attention on him, brow furrowing. “What?”

Jack finally cracked into concern. “Was… Michael not with you?”

Geoff shifted. Ryan felt his heart stop. “No… I figured he was with Gavin or Ray?”

“He wasn’t with me. I lost sight of him after that police car blew up,” Gavin explained, eyes darting over to Ryan, and his stoic, unreadable face. “Ryan doesn’t-”

“He hasn’t been answering his phone,” Geoff said, voice deadly serious, “Ryan…”

Ryan was silent, fists clenched at his sides. “He hasn’t been answering my calls, either,” he said, trying to keep the scared shake from his voice, because, for fuck’s sake, he was Ryan Haywood, but his words wobble anyway. Jeremy’s feet stop kicking against the cabinet. “We have to find him.”

It’s all Ryan had to say.

Los Santos was a big city, with a lot of people, and even more places for Michael to be. It’s been hours since the fiasco at the apartment, and Ryan felt as though he had spent ages wandering through the streets, trying to find a trace of Michael at the most obvious places. He had gone back to ground zero for the heist, where the police were still trying to usher in city officials to help clean up the mess, a charred spot on the concrete a reminder of what had happened. That had been the last time anyone saw Michael, and Ryan can’t help the overwhelming guilt that rises like a lump in his throat, before he turned to leave.

He should have been watching his back.

“Look, I’m really trying to find some trace of him, but not even his phone is picking up on GPS,” JJ said through the phone, and Ryan heard the sound of his typing in the background. “Even if it was turned off, I should be able to find it.”

Ryan sighed, walking down the street and glancing around as he passed by restaurants he knew Michael liked. Nothing. Not even on GPS. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he mumbled into his cell phone.

JJ hummed. “Yeah, I know. Ray doesn’t either. He’s been halfway across the city by now, looking at places him and Michael used to go to when they were kids, and nothing,” he said. “Jack and Geoff are still interrogating another crew, and Gavin is… I’m not sure what Gavin and Jeremy are doing.”

“Thanks for the update,” he said.

“No problem. I’ll let you get back to searching. Good luck.”

They hang up, Ryan pocketing his phone and stopping at a crosswalk, his eyes up on the apartment building in front of him sucking in a breath. He had to push his pride back down a little because, really, this wasn’t a situation where he should be stubborn like he normally was. Michael could be out there somewhere, in a potentially dangerous situation, and the very last thing he needed to be doing was running around, turning down help from places he could use it from, and acting like a royal pain in the ass. He crossed the street, letting his hand linger on the door handle, before opening it and going inside.

“You want us to help find Michael?”

Adam crossed his arms and watched Ryan with concern in his eyes, feet fidgeting against the tile of the floor, while Lawrence sat on the couch on the other side of the room from them, focused more on his laptop than them. It was only them, the other crew members out celebrating a birthday, or something, honestly he hadn’t paid attention to the pleasantries. Ryan didn't know why he came here, suddenly, came right to Adam Kovic, of all people, to help him and the others find Michael, when there were so many others he could have turned to. But, Fakehaus was good at what they did, and considering how they all came together basically by tracking each other down, he figured he'd be going to the right people. At least, he honestly hoped he was.

“Yeah, I do,” Ryan said, his eyes not leaving Adam’s. “We're doing all we can, but we need more manpower. He could be anywhere.”

“And you guys have tried calling him?” Lawrence asked from where he sat on the couch across the room, his laptop resting in his lap and fingers frantically typing away at something on his screen. “And JJ tried looking at the GPS?”

Ryan nodded once. “Yeah. And nothing for both.”

Adam sighed and rubbed his face. “Okay. We’ll help you then. We don't make any guarantees, but… We’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Ryan said, starting to head to the door, his mind already feeling a little less panicked now that there were more people helping them.

Adam caught his arm before he could, though, eyes full of concern, and Ryan could only assume what he had to say was from personal experience. “Don't… Don't get your hopes up that we’ll find him without a scratch,” he said softly, letting go of his arm. “I have a feeling it won't be that pretty.”

Ryan went silent, before nodding, solemnly. “I won't. Thanks again,” he told Adam, before leaving the apartment.

The days were starting to feel like ages. Despite all the work they accomplished that first day after the heist, Michael still hadn't turned up. Bruce, James and Elyse went around to every smaller gang they knew of and scared some answers out of them, but nothing lead anywhere. Geoff got Griffon and her girls to help, and Caiti joined JJ and Lawrence in trying to find something they could trace from Michael’s phone. Meg, Ashley and Gavin went around trying to charm information out of suspect people, while Spoole and Tina took to the streets to just look. It had been so stressful, watching every hour tick by, and being no closer than they had been before. Time was starting to make him panic.

He had been out with Meg, taking over for Jeremy and Mica so they could take a break, when his phone rang. They stopped to the side of the busy Los Santos street so Ryan could answer it, and it felt like the world had stopped when he did.

“We found him,” came a breathless Geoff, he could hear his keys jangling, the echo of steps on stairs. “I have the address, I'm coming to get you. Everyone else already knows.”

True to his word, Geoff came speeding up the street, and Ryan jumped in after Meg insisted she'd get her way home, leaving him with a “good luck” and a kiss on the cheek. They went tearing down the street immediately after, Gavin and Jeremy in the back seat with Jack between them, who was frantically telling Geoff directions. Ryan tuned it all out, focusing on the fact that they found Michael, and they were going to bring him home, and he'd be safe again. He'd be safe, with him, and he would never let this happen again.

Ray was already at the location with Lindsay when they pulled up, both of them looking nervous and nearly panicked at what they could find on the other side of the doors. It was an old decrepit warehouse, probably one used for some kind of manufacturing back in the day, but now it had graffiti covering its rotting wooden walls, and rocks had been thrown to break the windows. Of course he'd be somewhere like this. Of course, because smaller gangs didn't understand how buildings like this would be more likely to kill them than anything else.

Ryan made a note to make them wish the building had gotten them killed.

Inside wasn't better than the outside, and Ryan was starting to worry about where Michael had to be, and in what condition, if it looked this bad. They had their guns with them, loaded and ready to go, and God, Ryan was never a nervous person in his life, but he was feeling the shake of anxiety in his hands, in his brain. He gripped his pistol, moving slowly and quietly, watching every corner for any sign of life, whether it was Michael or otherwise, before he heard Jeremy’s yell. “Guys!”

Ryan has never considered himself to be someone with a weak stomach, similar to how he’s never been a nervous person. He’s eaten things that made even Michael cringe, and the sight of blood, and gore, and anything else that would make others feel nauseous and sick, never did the same to him. It was a blessing, really, considering his line of work, and all; he couldn’t be throwing up every time he shot someone.

He saw Michael on the ground, and Ryan felt legitimately like he was going to vomit.

The moment his face color shifted, he was being pulled away from him by Geoff, while Gavin and Ray helped get him up. “Call Caleb,” Jack was telling Jeremy, while Lindsay helped the boys. Geoff still had a grip on Ryan, who shook silently in an unnameable emotion.

“I'll kill them.”

“We'll let you, buddy.”

Caleb was always two steps away, and thankfully, this was no different. They pulled back up to Geoff’s house, and Caleb was waiting with his stuff at the door. And thankfully, he was quick. He got to work the moment they laid Michael out in a free room, and hours passed before he reemerged. Lindsay and Jack had coffee going in the kitchen, while Ray tried to distract Gavin and Jeremy with the game on his 3DS, and Geoff and Ryan paced restlessly. They nearly jumped on Caleb at the sight of him, who threw up his hands. “Guys, he's okay!” He said quickly. “God, he's fine. It wasn't as bad as it looked. There wasn't anything life threatening that I saw.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from the crew. “Can we see him?” Gavin asked from the couch as Ray closed his DS.

“Not yet,” Caleb said, then glanced at Ryan. “He… was asking for you, though. I think I should make an exception for you.”

Ryan doesn't move for a moment, frozen at the idea of seeing Michael laid up in bed, hurt and out of the game for however long. Michael, who's usually a firework wrapped in leather jackets and red curls, with bright smiles and freckles that dotted his cheeks like stars. He has to see him though, Ryan knew that, even if the idea made him want to disappear off the face of the planet. He nodded, once, before following Caleb down the hall to the guest room, stuffing his hands into his pockets and shuffling quietly. Caleb opened the door, silently, and Ryan stepped inside.

The room was barely lit, just whatever was flooding in from the city outside of the window. Ryan squinted his eyes a little before his vision could adjust, blindly moving forward so Caleb could close the door and hearing Michael’s quiet cough from the other side of the room. “Fuck, it’s bright out there,” he said, his shadow on the bed reaching over to turn the tableside lamp on.

Michael looked terrible. One eye was black, his lip was busted, cheek painted every shade of color between red and blue, and his wrist was in a hastily put together cast. His forehead and arms were covered in bruises and scratches, and god, Ryan could only process himself as feeling absolutely sick again. Michael was scowling at the lamp a little, before looking over to Ryan, his expression softening a little. “Hey, Ryan…” he said quietly, voice hoarse.

Ryan offered him a little wave, before moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. “Hey,” he replied awkwardly, before taking in a shaky breath. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Michael asked, frowning a little. “It’s not like you’re the one who kidnapped and beat the shit out of me. Speaking of which, I hope you got ahold of those fuckers and made ‘em pay, because I’m sure you’ll be more merciful than I think I would-”

“No, I’m sorry, for…” He started, trailing off quickly. It got Michael’s attention though, and he looked over at him, eyes concerned and God it was like he wasn’t sitting in bed, beat to hell with a broken wrist, or something. “I should have watched your back, Michael. And I didn’t.”

Michael went quiet, something he hardly ever was, and it uneased Ryan, before he spoke again. “You think it’s because you didn’t watch me?” He asked. “Ryan, I-”

“I should have, Michael. I should have been watching your back out there, and I wasn’t, and this is what happened,” he said, quickly. “If I had, I would have seen them drag you off, or-”

“I can handle myself, Ryan,” Michael said, voice raised slightly, before he lowered it again. “I don’t expect you to keep an eye on me all the time during heists, and that last one was a fucking disaster anyway. I don’t blame you for what happened, I’m… I’m just glad you found me, alright? That’s all that matters.”

Ryan nodded, sighing and taking Michael’s hand, holding it tight. “Alright,” he said, smiling gently. “And, by the way, we haven’t found the guys yet.”

“Damn! Guess I’ll try them down myself and get revenge,” he said, and it was like a flash and he was back to fiery, trouble making Michael without a problem. “Should be fun.”

“After you heal, though,” Ryan reminded him. “Speaking of which, you need to do that.”

He huffed. “Right,” he said, before leaning over and pressing his chapped lips against Ryan’s gently. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Ryan smiled, gently, and nodded. “Yeah. I will.”

Michael returned the grin, before shifting to properly lay down in bed, and Ryan reached over, turning off the light and pulling the desk chair over to sit in it, still holding Michael’s hand. “Hey, Ryan… I love you.”

Joel pulls the seat belt over himself. “Yeah, I know. Now, where are we going, James?”

James drives them to their usual place, or, had been when they weren’t split up for a year, and they park on the well used gravel, crossing the street to the public park. There’s fireflies lighting up around them as they walk, and they struggle as much as they once did to get up to the top of the playset, squeezing between bars and laughing as they do. They finally settle in the top most part, sitting back against the railing, their feet bumping against together. Bruce sat between them, hands resting in theirs, James leaning into him a little, and Joel’s head on his shoulder. “I really missed this,” Bruce admits quietly.

It’s been a year since Bruce has seen them, since he moved out of California with his parents, before coming back when his dad’s job didn’t work out there. A year of texts and video calls with terrible reception, with their dates centering around playing video games together around James’ hectic work schedule, and Joel’s classes. A whole year of talking about what they’d all do together when Bruce came back. James said get drunk, go out to a bar, party until they couldn’t stand. Joel wanted fanfare, a nice dinner, a movie, a romantic night in. Bruce, however, wanted this.

The stars are hard to see, there’s too many street lamps around, but it’s peaceful. It’s not too hot, there’s a slight breeze that ruffles Joel’s curls a little so they tickle Bruce’s cheek, and he pulls away with a small laugh. Joel huffs. “I can’t control the wind, Bruce.”

“Aw you can’t?” James chimes in, his laughter rumbling against Bruce’s arm. “I thought you could? I thought you learned that while Bruce was away?”

Joel leans over Bruce. “I thought you learned to stop being so sarcastically annoying while Bruce was away.”

He makes a kissy face. “Love you, too, babe.”

Bruce pushes them both playfully. “Both of you are ruining the moment,” he says, amusement in his voice. He gets an eye roll without the malice from Joel and a wet kiss on his cheek from James. “I love you both. Argue some other night.”

They settle back into silence, and not long after, Bruce hears James’ snoring, feels Joel’s head slip down onto his shoulder again, and squeezes their hands gently.

It seemed like every shred of bad luck that they had been accumulating decided to cash in all at once, and where Matt was sure they would have succeeded, it was only failure. Every last word of the plan that they had all put together had fallen apart, and nothing at all had gone their way. Guards they paid off decided the risk wasn’t worth the reward, and ratted them out, Adam’s car had stalled during a getaway, explosives went off too close to the ground team for him to be comfortable, and his own position was nearly blown. All of that, though, he could handle. Matt had learned in years of working in the crime business, that chaos is unavoidable. You cannot expect everything to go well all the time, and it was bad situations that gave him the courage to leave IG and join up with Adam and Bruce in the first place, anyway. Matt Peake dealt with disasters.

Matt Peake didn’t deal with watching his boyfriend get hurt.

It was the closest call he’d ever be able to handle as a person, and he had handled a lot. One bullet had grazed Spoole’s cheek, before the other had hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back onto the concrete, and drawing Lawrence and Bruce’s attention away from the firefight. Matt should have been down there, down there to pick Spoole up off the ground and carry him out of the danger zone, but he wasn’t. All he did was watch through the scope of his rifle with his breath held and hands shaking, before he turned his attention to picking off cops to give Bruce a way out, heart shattering in his chest and anger boiling in his blood all the while.

When all was said and done, and they all made it out of the danger zone with their tail between their legs and a defeat resting on their shoulders, Adam’s apartment is where they all come back to once things have cooled down. And Matt barges into the place, sure he swung the doors open hard enough to break the hinges, stomping as he charged into the living room, where everyone sat. Adam’s the first to look up, standing quickly, his pacifist nature coming through in his body language. “Matt-”

“Where is he?” Matt demands. He sees the tint of blood stains on Bruce’s dark grey shirt, the shake in Lawrence’s hands, and he can’t help how he defaults to worst case scenario immediately. “Where is Spoole?”

“He’s okay,” Adam tells him, trying to remain calm and composed, to counter Matt’s panic and frenzy. “He’s fine, Matt, but I really think you-”

Matt doesn’t listen past the confirmation that Spoole isn’t dead. “I want to see him.”

“He’s still hurt,” Lawrence chokes out, past the lump in his throat. “He-”

There’s a soft rustle from the hallway, and Matt turns, seeing Spoole wander out from the back bedroom, shoulder wrapped firmly in bandage and a healing cut on his cheek. The room goes silent as he looks between them, before settling on Matt with wide, worried eyes, making a soft sound. “Matt,” he said quietly. “I’m okay.” Matt hardly considers having bandage taking up most of your chest and shoulder “okay”, but Spoole’s alive. He’s breathing, and he’s standing right in front of him with color in his cheeks, and Matt can consider that “okay”.

Too many eyes are on them, suddenly, and Matt starts to feel a little self conscious about how open the conversation is, and just sighs. “Are you up for a ride?”

Their normal place is the top of the mountain, Mount Chillad. A lot of them used it as a chill out spot, given how far it was from the rest of Los Santos, and how most people weren’t up to making the drive or trek it took to get to the top. Spoole had shown it to them after James joined, since it had been his favorite place as a teen to cool off, and figured the rest of them could get some use out of it. It’s a bumpy ride, and Matt wished he could somehow smooth the dirt roads out, because every time he hit a bump Spoole would make a pained noise from the passenger’s side. Maybe he should have just taken him to get food, instead.

Matt parks and pulls the cloth top of his jeep down, before turning in his seat to look at Spoole, getting wide eyes back. He probably looks intense, looks like the anger still shimmering in his veins, but he doesn’t feel that way. “Matt-” he says softly, in that small, concerned voice he was so good at, the one that made Matt feel like his heart was breaking all over again.

“Don’t do that again,” Matt tells him softly, quietly. It’s just them. He doesn’t have to prove anything, doesn’t have to show the world how much he loves Spoole, how much he’d do for him, because Spoole knows, already. “I thought… I thought the worst, Sean.”

“I won’t,” he tells him. He shifts in his seat a bit, before glancing away and his eyes look spacey, like he’s looking at something far away. “You were the last thought in my head before I hit the ground,” he admits quietly. “Like, I felt the bullet hit my shoulder, and I heard Lawrence and Bruce scream, and as I was falling backwards, I looked up toward where you were, and… I just thought about you.” He shifts, in that way that tells Peake that he’s nervous, and Peake wishes he could scoop him up and hold him. “I mean, I blacked out right after that, so I don’t know what that says about me,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

Matt exhales something similar to a laugh, and appreciates his attempts at defusing the situation with humor. “Nothing bad, I’m sure,” he replies, reaching over and knocking his hand against Spoole’s, feeling him lace their fingers together. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m glad I’m okay, too.”

He looks over at him then, watches him in the dim lighting, seeing the street lamps and headlights from the city below blur against his silhouette, the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks under the neon glow from the dashboard. The wind blows strands of his hair in weird directions, making it look messier than it normally does. Spoole always looked best with Los Santos as the backdrop, always looked at peace against the lights and the noise, among his hometown.  And Matt realizes, while listening him let out content sighs at every brush of his thumb across the back of his hand, that he’d do anything for him, absolutely anything. He’d put stars in the sky, make the sun rise or set, quit the crew and pack up and leave the Los Santos tomorrow, if he asked. He’d tear this city apart and burn it to the ground if he had to. Anything to keep Spoole alive, and happy, smiling that big goofy smile, to keep those eyes sparkling and looking at him like he was his world. Anything to keep him breathing and safe, next to him in the apartment, or on a helicopter, or in his jeep, away from anyone else. Matt always had a lot to repent for his past, for the way he left his home when he was younger, for all the mistakes he made that landed him in IG, for all the times he put Adam in the sights of his scope, and almost pulled the trigger. He was working a lot of them off, the load getting lighter with each passing day. But looking at Spoole, he never felt like he had to repent for much.

Spoole catches his eyes as he comes out his reverie, a smile on his lips. “You alright there?”

Matt doesn’t answer. He leans over the console and presses a kiss to Spoole’s lips, holding his hand tight and sighing. He moves his free hand to cradle his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his skin, before pulling back. “Sean, I love you.”

He blushes, cheeks bright red, even in the darkness, before he returns the kiss with a little more enthusiasm, and Matt feels his heart burst. “I love you, too, Matt,” he says softly against his lips.

Matt wants to stay here, with Spoole, where no one could find them and hurt them, forever, just stay here watching Spoole against the city lights, hear him laugh and see him smile. Matt’s so in love, it hurts. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

Spoole giggles, in that way that makes him seem so innocent, like he’s not a criminal, and hasn’t been nearly all his life. “That’s my line, isn’t it?” He asks.

“Maybe,” he says, pressing a kiss to his lips again, before glancing at the clock on the dash. “Crap. We should probably get back,” he says, pulling away carefully, so he didn’t accidentally hit Spoole’s shoulder, and starting the Jeep. Spoole keeps his hand laced with his, humming along to the radio and watching out the window at the street lamps during the quiet drive home. When they do get back to Adam’s apartment, Bruce and James are curled up on the couch, Joel’s snoozing in the armchair, Elyse is sleeping on the loveseat. Lawrence is sitting at the kitchen island with Adam, drinking coffee, and they look up when they walk in. Adam gives them a small smile and waves them back toward the quest bedroom, and they take it.

A few weeks later, Bruce and Lawrence find out the name and face of who betrayed them and sold them out to the police. Peake makes sure to send a message when they retry the heist, and puts an expert shot through the guy’s skull as he passes in front of an upstairs window, and ignores the way he hears Bruce and James tease.

Things might have… changed, between him inheriting this underground company from his parents and when he joined up with Adam Kovic and his thrown together little group of criminals, sure. Namely, his patience might have waned a bit, because between the seven people he was now working with (coworkers had felt too formal, and these people were not formal, then or now), he couldn’t afford the patience he was granted since a young age. He still wasn’t sure what happened, when they all started worming their ways into his heart, and became less of those “idiots he dealt with for work” and more of those “idiots he’d tear up the city for”, but it happened, and Joel couldn’t rightfully say he hated it, because he didn’t. He, honestly, didn’t. His patience suffered for it, but he would say some of his saintly patience for seven amazing people that showered him in love was a fair trade.

Joel, despite it all, was a patient person.

Joel, at the moment, couldn’t have given a fucking damn about being patient.

His arms are pulled back behind him, tied with a few zip ties, and then down against the chair with rope. He’s got a nasty bruise blooming on his cheek, and his ribs are aching, but this wasn’t that bad, it could be worse. Lawrence is tied behind him, in a similar way, but he saw him take a pretty nasty punch to the mouth, and was sure he’d be nursing a busted lip for a while. And Joel was worried about him, about both of them, he honestly was, but goddamn if he wasn’t fucking pissed off. He shouldn’t even be in this situation right now. “This is all your fault, Sonntag.”

Their attackers-slash-kidnappers are standing off to the side, talking to themselves, and Joel could see them glancing back at them, irritation written on their faces. “You’ve said that six times in the past thirty minutes, Joel.”

“Because it’s still fucking true!” Joel said, voice raising. His arms hurt, his shoulders hurt, he just wanted to go home. “If you had just-”

“God, Joel, I know,” Lawrence cut him off, shifting in his seat. He sounded exhausted, and frustrated, but not angry. Joel didn't know how he wasn't angry. “I fucking know, alright?”

“Do you really? Because we wouldn't even be-”

“Will you two shut up?” One of the kidnappers snapped, throwing his hands in the air. He was holding a gun in one, but even the sight of that couldn’t bring Joel out of his anger. “You've been arguing like this for a fucking hour now! You're supposed to be kidnapped, not using this as couple’s therapy!”

Lawrence snorted. “We're not arguing,” he countered. Joel was a little less mad at Lawrence, he decided.

“We’re bickering, there’s a fucking difference,” Joel followed up.

“Yeah. Bickering is over petty shit. This is as petty as it gets.” Nevermind, he was still fucking pissed.

“What the fuck ever,” the man said. “Point is, you two won’t shut the fuck up, and you’re supposed to be the scared hostages, not bickering-” Joel found himself strangely satisfied at that. “-like an old married couple.”

Joel felt Lawrence’s hand on his wrist and- oh. He had wiggled himself free. Joel’s mad again, for an entirely different reason now, that Lawrence was the one who managed to pull himself free before he did, but then he’s brought back to how he’s spent the past hour, and he can’t really be angry at Lawrence for that, at least. Lawrence needed a distraction, though, and distractions are what Joel did best, right after drinking all the wine in Adam’s apartment, and right before being able to make Spoole blush the most. “We’re not an old married couple, thank you very much.”

The man groaned. “Oh God-”

“Just fucking give up,” another one of the men called out. “We’re never going to get them to talk about Kovic.”

“I’ll get them to talk about Kovic!” he fired back, facing his friends. Lawrence subtly worked on Joel’s ropes and zip ties in the meantime. God, he couldn’t wait to be done with this shit. “Just- Fucking watch me alright!” the man yelled, turning back to them and stomping over to Joel, and Joel felt his heart bottom as he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and pulled up out of the chair. The ropes fell off his arms, but his kidnapper didn’t even notice, raising a gun and putting the barrel to his temple. Fuck, Joel was not anticipating this. “I’ll give you to the count of fucking ten until you tell me where the hell Kovic’s been hiding you and your friends, before I blow your goddamn brai-”

A gunshot stalled his statement. Well, more correctly, a gunshot to the forehead stalled his sentence. Joel’s ears rang as he fell back and away from the now dead body of the kidnapper. There’s a few more gunshots, well placed, before Lawrence’s hands are pulling at the zip ties still snug around his wrists. Joel laid there, before he felt the plastic fall away, and he sat up, rubbing at the reddened, sore skin, and huffing. “Warn me next time you want to blow someone’s brains out when they’re right in front of me.”

“You’re welcome, you know, for saving your life,” he mumbled, standing up and offering his hand to Joel, and even though Joel’s irritation at him was slowly mounting, he took it.

“I could have saved my own life,” Joel snapped, standing on his feet and brushing off his suit pants, staring at the blood on his shirt. He’d need to get them dry cleaned, again. Great. “I’m not a damsel in distress, Lawrence. I can handle myself.”

Lawrence rolled his eyes, and Joel glared up at him, getting a better look at the damage done; definitely a busted lip, and his cheekbone looked a little bruised. He could see a future in which Adam was showering kisses over his wounds, but that would have to be later. “Sure. You would have saved yourself while tied up.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Joel said. “And you’re fucking derailing, because you know I’m still mad at you.”

“God, Joel can we plea-”

“No! We would have never even gotten into this situation, if you had just remembered our anniversary!” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lawrence groaned, running a hand down his face and grabbing their phones off a table nearby, popping the batteries back in. “You just had a gun to your head and you’re still hung up over that?”

“Of course I am! It was our first anniversary as a group, all eight of us, but you completely forgot, and since I came out looking for your dumb kidnapped ass, I got myself kidnapped, too!” “At least we were kidnapped together.” Always the fucking optimistic in the worst times. His phone jingled as it turned on, and immediately begins buzzing with texts he’s missed. Joel could only imagine how bad the others could be at the moment. He wondered how bad the city was going to suffer for it.

“Wow, how romantic. Really setting the bar high.”

Joel got a half-hearted glare in return, as Lawrence dialed Adam’s cell phone. He crossed his arms, watching and listening to him to talk to a nearly frantic sounding Adam. It took nearly no time at all for Adam and Bruce to show up to get them, pulling them into hugs and showering them with worried kisses, fretting over the bruises and cuts as they ushered them into the car. Between the four of them, no one mentioned their missed anniversary, the reservations at some fancy restaurant Elyse had made that went to waste. Bruce had put his arm around him in the backseat, running his fingers through his hair and lulling him into some kind of relaxed state, while Adam and Lawrence talked quietly in the front. Joel couldn’t call himself mad anymore by the time they pulled into Adam’s spacious garage, and by the time he walked into the apartment, greeted by the other four and their worried kisses and hugs, Joel was just tired, and feeling the effects of being kidnapped and tied up and angry for so long. His shoulders were sore, his wrists hurt, there was a dull ache in his chest that wanted him to still be mad, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Lawrence let him shower first, and after he flopped down on the bed, face in Adam’s too-fluffy pillows and letting himself melt into the mattress, Lawrence slipped into the bathroom. He could still hear the others talking in the living room, especially Spoole’s squeaky worried voice, and the entire apartment still smelled like the coffee Peake had brewed for everyone. He sighed, closing his eyes and shifting around in bed to get more comfortable, before the bed dipped next to him, and he groaned. “I swear to God, just let me sleep.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Lawrence asked, wrapping his arms around his middle, pulling him back against his chest carefully.

Joel made a soft sound. “No,” he mumbled, resting his hands on top of Lawrence’s. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“I didn’t mean to mess up our anniversary.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t forget either.”

Joel frowned, rolling over in Lawrence’s arms and looking up at him. His hands go to his back. “What do you mean you didn’t forget?”

Lawrence sighed. “Exactly what I said. I didn’t forget about our anniversary,” he told him. “When I left the apartment before, I was going out to get flowers, or something. Look, I didn’t have an idea in mind of what to get, so I was winging it. As while I was trying to make it up on the spot, I got kidnapped.”

Joel watched his face; he wasn’t lying. He looked sincere and maybe even a little upset at himself? He hummed. “Well… I guess that’s a fair enough excuse,” he said, picking at a stray string on Lawrence’s Superman shirt. “Sorry for… getting so mad at you, then. Kidnappings aren’t stress free environments.”

He got a chuckle at that. “Yeah… They’re really not, huh?” he asked, looking at him. “Also, you know how mouthy I can get when I’m stressed. Trust me, none of what you said bothered me.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Joel said with a smile. They fell into silence, after that, nice, comfortable silence, listening to the conversation their partners were currently having float into the bedroom, as Lawrence rubbed circles into Joel’s back, soothing him into sleeping. Joel sighed, curling up closer to him, before pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips. “I love you, Lawrence.”

Lawrence smiled and returned the kiss, moving his hand to Joel’s still-wet hair. “I love you, too Joel. Get some sleep, alright?”

Joel hummed and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep, with Lawrence’s fingers working out tangles in his curls.