Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lorenzo never really liked the cold.

He avoided it whenever he could, though he'd never admit it out loud. For now, though, he was far from it—in the thick, tropical heat, walking out of a temple with his best friend at his side.

Trace, tall and lean with the kind of face that belonged on billboards, was grinning stupidly as vines clung to his shoulders. They'd been combing through these strange jungles for months now—an entire rainforest sprouting out of nowhere was too much of a mystery to ignore.

“Need a hand there, vine boy?” Lorenzo called, cracking his knuckles in that slow, deliberate way he always did when he was trying not to laugh.

Trace scowled, tugging harder, only to yelp as the vine snapped back and whipped him across the chest. “Ow! What the hell, man? That’s not funny!”

Lorenzo grinned, the sharp edges of his humor cutting through the suffocating humidity. “Relax. You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Trace muttered, brushing himself off. Then he smirked, that infuriating, self-satisfied grin that always made Lorenzo question how he’d ended up friends with him. “Besides, I like living on the edge.”

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed him. There was something infectious about Trace’s confidence, even if it was the kind that could get them both killed in less than a heartbeat.

The jungle stretched endlessly in every direction, a living, breathing wall of green that pulsed with sound: the chirp of distant birds, the rustle of leaves as some unseen creature darted past, the low hum of insects so numerous they almost sounded like a single, throbbing note. That was when Lorenzo's phone rang—that ringtone. He groaned, already plastering on a false cheer before answering.

"Hi babe. Just wrapped up. Heading back with Trace now—he's a little... tied up. Might take a minute."

Trace perked up at the tone in his voice, brows raised.

On the other end came a sharp exhale. "Just make sure you're back before dark. If you're late to dinner again, Lorenzo, I swear—" The voice cut off as the call ended abruptly.

Lorenzo shoved the phone into his pocket with a groan. "I'm the worst, huh? Honestly, I appreciate you and Rian pushing me to actually date someone. But after this, I'm pretty sure Veronika hates me."

Trace finally yanked the last vine free, brushing himself off before clapping his friend on the shoulder. "She won't stop talking about you, man. You've got this in the bag."

Lorenzo chuckled half-heartedly. "I hope so. Do I even look decent?"

Trace smirked. "You look like crap, don't you wanna look good before seeing your girlfriend? Change before dinner."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"You just called her 'babe.'"

"I was... taking a chance."

Trace shook his head, still grinning. "Just hope she gives you a chance too."

Lorenzo punched him lightly in the arm, and the two made their way back to the jeep.

The sound of distant thunder rumbled through the trees, though the sky overhead was an impossibly bright blue. Tropical storms were fickle things, sometimes arriving with almost no warning. Lorenzo tightened the straps of his backpack, the metal of his tools rattling softly with every step.

The path narrowed as they descended further into the jungle floor, roots twisting like snakes underfoot. Lorenzo’s boots slipped occasionally on slick moss, each misstep a reminder that one wrong move could send him tumbling into the undergrowth. Trace, predictably, seemed oblivious, hopping from root to root with the ease of someone who had absolutely no fear of falling.

“Careful,” Lorenzo called, catching the tail end of a branch before it snapped under Trace’s weight.

“I’m fine!” Trace said, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. He wasn’t fine. None of them were, not really.

A sudden rustling to their left made them both pause. Lorenzo instinctively reached for his SMG, pressing himself against a tree as his eyes scanned the dense foliage. Two glowing eyes reflected back at him from the underbrush, then darted away. Probably nothing, he told himself. But the tension had a way of latching onto him, sticking there like the humidity.

The temple behind them loomed like a silent witness to their journey, vines curling over carved stone faces that seemed almost alive. Lorenzo studied the inscriptions on the walls, momentarily forgetting the heat and fatigue. Stories were etched there, tales of gods, kings, and warriors long dead. He wondered what it must have been like to live in a world where temples like this weren’t just relics to explore, but places of real power and danger.

I mean then again, there was enough power and danger on this island.

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"You're late again."

The fluorescent lights of Durrr Burger were almost blinding after the muted greens and browns of the jungle—or, more accurately, after the last few hours of whatever kind of chaos Trace had dragged him through. The smell of fried food and synthetic syrup hit Lorenzo like a wave, sharp and nauseating, but familiar in a way that made him almost relax. Almost.

Veronika sat across from him, half a bottle of Flowberry Fizz gone. Her stare could cut steel.

"Sorry. Car broke down in the jungle. No Rian with us, so fixing it took longer than usual."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"What? No." He laughed nervously. Sure, he knew he was good-looking enough that it wouldn't be hard to find someone else, but he barely had time for one relationship, let alone two. And Veronika... well, she was the closest thing he'd ever had to a girlfriend.

But the look she gave him said she wasn't convinced. He cleared his throat and sipped his drink. "Enough about me. How was your day?"

Veronika leaned back, absently running her fingers up and down the bottle. "Spent most of it getting ready for tonight." Her eyes darted to the speck of mud on his cheek. "Didn't realize your standards were lower."

Lorenzo sighed and wiped it off with a napkin. "God, Veronika... this isn't gonna work, is it? Just tell me—why are you even still trying with me?"

"Because I like you." A sly smirk tugged at her lips. "And your mud."

It caught him off guard, his reply stalled on his tongue. Then his phone rang again—another special ringtone.

"Excuse me."

He slipped into the men's room before answering. "Trace, your ass better be dying. Now's not the time."

"Did you see the hotels? It's like they were built overnight."

Lorenzo lowered his voice as he noticed another man in the restroom, fixing his hair in the mirror. Dressed in a teal suit—overdressed for a burger joint, though Lorenzo couldn't exactly judge.

"What hotels?" Lorenzo muttered.

"Like the jungle, man. They just appeared. It's weird."

"Oh, so what—you want a hotel room with me now? Have me all to yourself?"

Trace cracked up. "Hell no. If I was gay, you'd be the last person I'd—"

"Spare me," Lorenzo muttered.

"No, I mean like the temples. We could rob the place blind, be filthy rich. Guy wouldn't even notice."

"And then what? We piss off his balcony?"

"Exactly."

Lorenzo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. When and where? What do I tell Veronika?"

"Eclipsed Estate. One hour. And tell her I'm paying next week."

"You're broke."

"You're unemployed."

Lorenzo hung up with a sigh, slipping the phone back into his pocket—only to realize the man in the suit was staring at him.

He had no idea how long he'd been listening. The silence between them thickened.

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The sound of an alarm dragged Nolan awake. He swiped it off the nightstand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Dark circles hung beneath them—not the best look for a first job.

It was already past two. He'd been up most of the night checking and re-checking his gear. Forgetful as he was, he couldn't afford mistakes.

He dialed a number. Antonia—former partner, reluctant ally, and the only reason this heist had a chance. She picked up, sharp as ever.

"What is it, Chance? I sent the details already."

"I know. Just... feels off. Shouldn't we test the waters first?"

"What are you suggesting?"

"Let me go in early. Signal you if it's good."

"You questioning my methods?"

"Gonna be honest, Yeah."

She hung up. Nolan groaned—until a text buzzed through.

One hour.

Good enough. He grinned, tugged on his suit, and killed time at the Durrr Burger. He slouched in a booth, mind running in circles. Long before he knew it, it was already time.

He headed to the restroom to fix his hair—only to notice another man already there, half-turned into the corner, speaking low into his phone.

"...what hotels?"

Nolan froze. His stomach tightened. He glanced over, eyes widening as the stranger's words sank in.

"...and then what? We piss off his balcony?"

"Exactly."

Oh, these idiots were going to die.

The stranger slipped his phone away. Their eyes met across the tiled room.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Lorenzo gave a short nod. Nolan returned it.

Lorenzo walked back to the table, guilt written all over his face. Veronika didn't even wait for him to speak—she groaned, already bracing herself.

"I'm sorry, but Trace said he'll pay next time—"

"I'm done."

Her chair scraped loudly against the floor as she stood. No speech, no second chance. Just the click of her heels fading into the night.

Lorenzo stayed where he was, staring at his half-finished drink. He'd seen this coming. Veronika had never really been his, not in the way he wanted. Still, it stung. He pushed the glass aside and muttered to himself, "Didn't even get to try the dessert."

Outside, the jeep greeted him with the rancid stench of Trace's abandoned shoes on the passenger seat. Lorenzo gagged, rolled down the windows, it was cold. The night air was chilly, making Lorenzo shiver momentarily. He pulled his spare jacket over his shoulders—the gaudiest thing he owned, collar stiff against his cheek. He groaned. The amount of shit that could happen in one night was impressive, and the fact that it all lead to Trace really showed something.

By the time he parked near the Eclipsed Estate, he'd worked up a rhythm of complaints in his head. If he weren't here to rob the place, he might've actually admired it—the glowing windows, the manicured gardens. But admiration wasn't on the schedule.

Two guards blocked the front gate, rifles raised the second he stepped close.

"Who are you and why—"

The rest of the question was cut short as Lorenzo's SMG barked twice. Both men dropped. He cursed under his breath and bolted for cover—but immediately ran into something solid.

"Ow!" a voice hissed, shoving him to the ground.

"What the f—" Lorenzo blinked up. Headlights from a distant car swept across the figure on top of him.

The teal suit. The sharp eyes. The man from the Durrr Burger.

"What are you doing here?" Nolan muttered, voice low and clipped.

Before Lorenzo could answer, another voice rang out.

"Holy shit, you're into dudes?!" Trace, of course, slamming his car door loud enough to wake the dead, strolling over with a grin.

Both men scrambled to their feet, brushing themselves off.

"No wonder you weren't trying with Veronika," Trace went on, clearly enjoying himself. "You were busy with Nolan Chance."

"Who the hell is that?" Lorenzo groaned, rubbing his temple.

Nolan's gaze flicked between them, guarded but sharp. "Did Slone send you? How else do you know who I am?"

"I used to work for her," Trace said smoothly, crossing his arms. He nudged Lorenzo's shoulder. "Heard about you a bit."

Nolan's jaw tightened. "So you're just here to steal. Nothing else?"

Lorenzo tilted his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Why not? I've broken into plenty of places and left without a trace. This won't be any different."

Nolan's eyes dropped briefly, almost involuntarily, to the tattoo curling down Lorenzo's neck and chest where the jacket had slipped open. The map gleamed under the estate lights.

Trace caught it instantly. "Stop staring at his tiddies," he muttered under his breath, smirking.

Lorenzo raised a brow. "Enjoying the view?"

Nolan didn't rise to the bait, but his voice was colder than before. "This isn't a temple. It's a fortified estate crawling with guards. You won't get in like this."

Trace tilted his head, smirking. "Big talk. How many people you even got with you?"

Lorenzo folded his arms, waiting. "Yeah—what's your number, Chance?"

The silence stretched. Nolan's jaw tightened, and he adjusted his collar like it might shield him from their stares. His mouth opened, closed, then finally—he exhaled sharply.

"...Three."

Trace repeated it slowly, savoring the sound. "Three. Huh. Guess that makes five of us walking in underprepared tonight."

Lorenzo didn't laugh. He just studied Nolan, eyes narrowing. Three wasn't an army. Three wasn't even a real chance. But the set of Nolan's shoulders, the sharp glint in his eyes, suggested he wasn't worried—at least not entirely.

Nolan pulled out his phone, glancing between them. "Antonia, wait. We can't pull this off on our own. I'll find backup—don't bother coming."

He hung up before she could respond.

The three of them stood there in the dark, the night thick with tension, adrenaline, and unspoken calculations. Not allies. Not enemies. Something murkier, held together by necessity and the faint flicker of mutual curiosity.

All of a sudden, the crack of gunfire echoed through the estate. Bullets pinged against stone and metal, growing closer with every heartbeat. Without thinking, Trace bolted for his car, and Lorenzo sprinted after him, adrenaline pumping. The jeep was too far to reach in time, and every second counted.

Something stopped him mid-stride. Nolan was still standing there, frozen, eyes wide, reloading his gun with a panicked precision. His ride wasn't coming. Not yet.

"Move!" Lorenzo yelled, skidding to a stop. He grabbed Nolan's wrist, yanking him into motion. "You're not going to fight all those fuckers off alone!"

Nolan hesitated, glancing back at the hail of gunfire, then let himself be pulled along. They jumped into the back of the car, yelling at Trace.

"Drive! Drive!"

Trace slammed on the gas, tires squealing against the asphalt. Relief was brief. Bullets tore through the windows, glass shattering over their arms and legs.

"Shoot back!" Trace yelled, fumbling with the radio. Lorenzo slammed at the button to roll his window down, only for it to stick. "Fuck!"

Suddenly, strong hands yanked him down. Nolan had him pressed against his chest, shielding his eyes, then kicked the window with brutal precision. Glass exploded into their legs, tiny shards embedding in skin, but neither man flinched.

Once Nolan released him, Lorenzo leaned out the window, gun up. "A little faster, Trace! I'm almost out of ammo!"

Trace finally managed the radio, blasting some chaotic rap track over the car speakers. The chaos made Lorenzo's pulse spike. At this point though, the thought of being shot in the head didn't sound all that bad to him.

Nolan finished reloading beside him, eyes flicking to Lorenzo with that smirk that somehow made the bullets less terrifying. "Hey, jungle boy, let me have a go!"

"Not a chance," Lorenzo shot back, ducking as Nolan shoved past him with a grin.

Nolan's shots were precise, each guard he hit falling silent. Then he pulled an explosive from his vest, tossing it with a calculated flick. The front gate erupted in a fiery blast.

Lorenzo glanced at him, heart racing—not just from the fight, but from the way Nolan's gaze lingered, measuring, amused. He ducked back into the car, breath ragged. "Show off," he muttered, more to himself than Nolan.

Nolan gave Lorenzo a lopsided smirk, then pressed a remote, detonating another charge. Flames and smoke roared up the driveway, scattering the remaining guards. Lorenzo looked at the man beside him in amazement, and maybe a bit of jealousy.

He shouldn't have saved his ass.

Chapter Text

Nolan Chance felt warm—too warm.

The drive after the gunfight was quiet, bullet holes letting streaks of night light cut through the car. Lorenzo and Nolan picked glass from their legs, wincing now and then. Trace eventually killed the radio, humming to himself instead.

"Stop there," Nolan said suddenly, pointing toward a barn just off the road. Trace swung the jeep onto the dirt shoulder, braking hard. They climbed out as quietly as they could, Lorenzo taking longer, still tugging at a shard in his leg. The second he put weight on it, he stumbled forward.

Nolan caught him by the waist, hauling one of his arms over his shoulder. "You good?" His tone was clipped but edged with concern. "Better than ever," Lorenzo muttered through his teeth, forcing a crooked smile. Trace slipped to his other side, slinging an arm around him.

"Well, shit. We'll have to be more prepared next time," Trace said with a laugh as they hobbled toward the barn. "Next time?" Nolan shot him a sharp look. "No way. You two dumbasses would be dead. Stick to your jungles." Lorenzo didn't have the energy to argue, though his brain spun with comebacks he swallowed down. Trace, though, wasn't about to let it go.

"If it hadn't been for us, you'd be toast back there. Besides, you're the one in a suit. We could actually use whatever valuables that guy's hoarding—"

"Kado Thorne isn't just some mark you can rip off, not just some person you could steal from willy-nilly." Nolan cut in, adjusting Lorenzo higher on his shoulder as they stepped into the barn. He eased him down onto a crate, Trace watching him like a hawk before heading back to the jeep for the med kit.

The silence stretched. Finally, Nolan muttered, "Thanks. For pulling me out back there."

"Don't mention it." Lorenzo replied, looking down at his wounded leg. Watching him do so, Nolan bent down in front of him, eyes narrowing.

"Take off your pants."

Lorenzo blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Unless you're planning on bleeding into them all night." A lopsided smirk tugged at Nolan's mouth.

Lorenzo shrugged—this wasn't exactly new to him—and unbuckled his belt, grateful his boxers were the modest kind. Nolan helped slide the ruined pants off and tossed them aside.

"Now, where's that idiot with the—"

"Med kit, coming right up," Trace interrupted, sauntering back in. He dropped it into Nolan's hands with a smirk. "Sorry to interrupt this precious moment."

Neither man rose to the bait. Lorenzo just grit his teeth as Nolan cleaned and bandaged his leg, eyes stinging with the burn of antiseptic.

Trace snapped a quick photo of the scene—Lorenzo grimacing, Nolan crouched over him—neither man noticing.

When Nolan finally finished wrapping the bandages, Lorenzo exhaled a shaky breath. "We should probably get out of here, yeah?" Trace stepped closer, hand landing on his friend's shoulder.

Nolan lingered a beat, then held out his hand. "Phone. One of you."

Trace was quicker; he plucked Lorenzo's from his pocket and slapped it into Nolan's palm.

Nolan typed without hesitation. "My number. I might know a way we can all leave this island with something to show for it."

Lorenzo squinted at him, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Care to enlighten us on your idea?"

"Simple," Nolan said, handing the phone back. "You bring people—muscle, supplies, whatever you can scrape together. I handle the rest. In return, you get a cut of the take."

Trace's eyebrows shot up. "That's it? No fine print? No 'oops, I tricked you'?"

Nolan smirked faintly. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have let the guards do it."

That was ironic for him to say.

Lorenzo leaned back against the crate, studying him. Exhausted as he was, he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just about the heist—Nolan's gaze lingered too long, sharp and curious, like he was weighing more than money.

Trace turned to Lorenzo with a look of reassurance. "Fine," he said. "We're in. But if you even think of stabbing us in the back, you'll wish we'd left you at the estate earlier."

"Fine by me." Nolan held out his hand, shaking Trace's first.

Then he turned to Lorenzo, whose tired eyes still caught the dim light of the moon. For a second, Nolan's breath caught in his throat. The warmth crept back, unwelcome and confusing, and he hated it.

He barely noticed how cold Lorenzo's hand was as their shake lingered just a moment too long.

"Meet me back here tomorrow. Noon," Nolan said, clearing his throat.

Trace was already heading out, not bothering to look back. Lorenzo followed, his limp lighter, the bandaging holding better than anything Trace had ever managed.

At the door, he turned, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. "See you soon, partner."

Nolan smirked in return, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. "Yeah. See you."

On the drive back to the safer island, Trace filled the silence with half-playful, half-irritated commentary about Nolan. Annoyed, impressed, skeptical—he cycled through it all, though underneath it was clear he was grateful the thief had thrown them a lifeline.

Lorenzo didn't bother chiming in. He'd slumped in the passenger seat, his flashy coat draped over him like a blanket. Sleep pulled at him, heavy and unrelenting, and before long he drifted off to the sound of Trace's voice circling around the same subject.

Nolan Chance. A guy he'd only just met. Funny how he was already in his head.

 

Trace and Lorenzo returned to the barn the next day, still running on the edge of last night’s exhaustion.

With a bag of late breakfast in hand, Trace tossed it onto the same crate Lorenzo had been bandaged on before. Across the barn, Nolan was slumped against the wall, fast asleep, posture far too professional for someone clearly out cold.

Lorenzo crouched beside him, a chuckle slipping out at the sight. That’s when a gunshot cracked through the still air.

Nolan jolted awake. Lorenzo stumbled back, startled, eyes darting to the source.

Framed in the barn’s entrance stood a woman—short, sharp, sleek. A crisp dress shirt tucked neatly into a skirt, her stance balanced between dangerous and refined. She looked every bit as lethal as she did composed.

“Chance,” she said coolly, eyes narrowing on the two strangers. “Who are they?”

“Our help,” Nolan said quickly, clasping Trace’s and Lorenzo’s hands to haul himself upright.

Trace’s eyes narrowed at the woman in the doorway. “Yeah? And who are you supposed to be?”

“Antonia.” Her voice was clipped, measured. She planted a hand on her hip, gaze sweeping over the two like she was already cataloging their weaknesses. “You look hopeless. Tell me—do either of you even have experience in this kind of work?”

Lorenzo opened his mouth, but Nolan cut him off before he could fire back. “They’re not muscle. Supplies, connections—maybe more people. That’s all.”

He brushed at the dust on his suit jacket with practiced precision, as though appearances might cover the fact he’d just woken up against a barn wall. The attempt at professionalism only made the contrast sharper.

Antonia exhaled slowly, the sound closer to irritation than relief. "Well good luck to you then, I'm going to try and scope out the area a bit more... Efficiently." She started for the exit, the men watching. Halfway through the doorway, she lifted a hand without looking back.

“And Chance—” her voice cooled to steel, “pull another one of your stunts on me, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Permanently. Something tells me these two wouldn’t complain if I put you down.”

After Antonia disappeared through the doorway, Trace let out a low whistle. “Damn, Nolan. That your girl?” A smirk tugged at his lips.

“No.” Nolan didn’t even glance up, too busy straightening his cuffs like he hadn’t just been threatened in front of company.

Trace leaned back against the crate, grin widening. “Mind if I shoot my shot, then?”

“Not at all.” Nolan’s tone was flat, almost bored, though the faint twitch at his mouth betrayed amusement.

Lorenzo groaned, dragging the crumpled paper bag toward him—the sad excuse for their breakfast. He pulled out a bagel, already cold, and tossed it across to Trace. Trace caught it easily, tearing open the plastic with the same grin plastered on his face.

“Nolan,” Lorenzo said, softer this time. “Breakfast?”

Nolan finally looked up, ready to decline, but the thought died the moment Lorenzo shoved the bagel into his hands. For a second, the thief just stared at it—then at Lorenzo, who was already leaning back with a faint, tired smile, like the gesture hadn’t meant anything at all.

“Thanks,” he spoke, stunned that they thought of him at all.

“That was Lorenzo’s idea. If it were up to me, I’d have let your ass starve.” Trace burst into laughter, giving Nolan a playful smack on the shoulder. The ease between them was disarming—like they’d already decided he was a friend. Warmth spread through Nolan’s chest again, though this time it wasn’t as unsettling. It almost felt… nice.

The cold bagels weren’t half bad, and soon the three of them were perched on the same crate, breakfast turning into half-serious talk about heist prep, which then unraveled into stories of past adventures. Nolan found himself surprisingly engaged, actually wanting to hear more.

“Once,” Trace snickered, “Lorenzo was talking my ear off about Lara Croft—pretty sure he’s got a fat crush on her. But you wanna know what this idiot actually did?”

“What?” Nolan smirked, glancing at Lorenzo, who was already burying his face in his hands.

Trace grinned wickedly and shoved his phone toward Nolan. On the screen: Lorenzo, fully crossdressed as Lara Croft, short shorts and all. “We explored like that for a whole day. Whole damn day.” Trace wheezed with laughter.

Nolan couldn’t help it—he laughed too, shaking his head. “He pulls it off pretty well, gotta admit.”

Lorenzo peeked out from behind his hands, groaning. “Anyway. Nolan. You must have some good stories from your heists. Got one for us?”

Nolan gave a noncommittal shrug. “Unlike you two, I wasn’t exactly best friends with the people I worked with. Funniest thing that ever happened was with some guy I was stealing from.”

Trace smirked, leaning forward. “Care to share?”

“Alright,” Nolan said, tilting his head back, like he was replaying it in his mind. “So, I was pulling a job with Antonia. Nothing major, just some rich guy’s house. I cracked the safe while she kept lookout. Easy. Only thing is, I missed a tripwire. I’m waiting, thinking the guy’s gonna storm in and call the cops… but five minutes go by. Nothing. So I leave, right? And there he is, standing in the hall, wearing—” Nolan paused, biting back a laugh, “—some kind of kinky leather getup. Holding a baseball bat like he meant business. Guy just stares at me and says, ‘Take the goods, leave, and we’ll both pretend this never happened.’”

Trace broke into loud laughter, nearly choking on his bagel. Lorenzo’s grin spread slow, fighting not to laugh as well.

“And?” Trace managed between wheezes.

“And I did exactly that,” Nolan finished with a shrug, though the corner of his mouth curved up.

Lorenzo, wedged between them, leaned back with a long stretch. He yawned softly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Alright, so—we should probably get to work,” he muttered.

Nolan cleared his throat, trying to sound sharper than he felt. “Yeah. Someone needs to get weapons, and another needs to start building connections.”

Trace shot up like he’d been waiting for his cue. “Well, I’ve got more charisma than the two of you combined. I’ll handle the connections, aight?”

Lorenzo smirked, the corner of his tired eyes crinkling as he nodded. “Okay, good luck, man.”

The two shared a quick bro hug—easy, familiar. Nolan caught himself watching too closely, the way Lorenzo’s smile seemed lighter in Trace’s presence. It did something strange to him, though he shoved the thought down before it could take shape.

Then Trace turned on him. “C’mere, Chance,” he grinned, dragging Nolan into the same hug.

Nolan froze, every muscle tense. He wasn’t used to this—warmth without conditions, touch without calculation. Still, he managed an awkward pat to Trace’s shoulder. Lorenzo’s quiet chuckle reached him over Trace’s back, and Nolan’s chest tightened before he could stop it.

Homies. That was the word Trace used. Nolan wasn’t sure when the last time he’d had one was.

Chapter Text

Nolan had decided to lend his car to Lorenzo—he trusted him more than Trace, just from first impressions. Chests with loot were scattered everywhere; Lorenzo just had to grab what Nolan instructed him to take.

Lorenzo pulled over to loot two chests, carefully placing the items he found into the trunk.

He continued like this for hours, occasionally brushing against others who reached for the same chests. Lorenzo was too polite to argue, often letting them take what they wanted. Once he had collected everything he could, he headed back to the barn.

By the time Lorenzo returned, Trace was already there—with Antonia at his side. The three were mid-conversation, heads close together, when they turned at the sound of his footsteps.

"My man!" Trace smirked as Lorenzo joined them.

"Where do you want me to put the supplies, Chance?" Lorenzo asked. Nolan looked like he was already third-wheeling. It wasn't surprising—Trace had a habit of getting girlfriends at record speed.

"I'll unload it, don't worry," Nolan said, hopping off a crate.

"Help him out, Lorenzo. Let Antonia and I... get better acquainted." Trace winked, waving him off.

Nolan was already waiting by the car, arms crossed. Lorenzo shrugged and followed, falling into step beside him.

It was evening now—the sun hung low, painting the sky in deep oranges and pinks. Against the glow, Nolan's teal suit caught the light in a way Lorenzo couldn't help but notice. He hummed at the thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Lorenzo tossed Nolan the keys, and Nolan slid into the driver's seat to pop the trunk. Together, they began unloading the weapons, stacking them neatly into crates. It was quiet, but not in a bad way—an easy, comfortable silence.

"How'd Trace do?" Lorenzo asked suddenly, breaking it.

"Great. We got two potential recruits," Nolan said with a small smirk. "This heist should work out beautifully."

"Good to hear." Lorenzo grinned, slamming the trunk shut once they were done.

"You did good," Nolan muttered, eyes lingering on the stacked crates. The words were awkward, but genuine.

He climbed back into the driver's seat, turning the key just enough to lock the trunk. His elbow bumped the radio, and a syrupy pop slow-dance song filled the air. Nolan groaned and immediately reached to turn it off.

"Hey," Lorenzo said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Turn that back on for a sec."

Nolan raised a brow but obliged. The music swelled again, and before he knew it, Lorenzo had tugged him out of the seat—pulling them both into a loose slow-dance hold. The sunset bathed them in gold.

The beat was a little too fast for a slow dance, but Nolan let Lorenzo guide him, stumbling through the rhythm. Confusion gave way to grins, and soon enough, they were laughing like idiots—spinning clumsily, stepping on each other's feet, not caring.

Nolan even dipped Lorenzo dramatically, catching him with surprising ease.

"Damn, bro! You know what you're doing?" Lorenzo laughed, half shocked, half delighted.

"You can thank my mom for that," Nolan said with a smug grin. "Bitch thought I was gonna be getting girls every other day."

Lorenzo flinched slightly at the jab, deciding not to pry. Instead, he let the moment carry them forward—another spin, another stumble, another burst of laughter.

When the song finally ended, they pulled apart, breathless and grinning.

"You sucked!" Nolan teased, nudging Lorenzo's shoulder before leaning back in to flick the radio off.

Lorenzo couldn't even think of a comeback. His chest hurt from laughing too hard, and the smile on his face wouldn't fade.

"That was fun, Chance," Lorenzo said as they headed back toward the barn.

"Nolan. Just call me Nolan," he corrected. "Chance isn't something I like to be called when I have a choice."

"Nolan," Lorenzo repeated. He'd called him that before, but somehow, it felt different this time.

The next few days followed the same rhythm: Trace and Lorenzo brought breakfast, they saw Antonia occasionally, the three men made casual small talk, and then went their separate ways to work.

Today, though, Nolan asked Lorenzo to check on one of the crew members. Trace was busy with the other two recruits, and they could take a break from gathering supplies. For the first time, Lorenzo drove to Slappy Shores, pulling over when he saw someone waiting on the side of the road.

Lorenzo stepped out of the car and approached the blonde woman in a pizza delivery uniform.

"Piper, right? I was sent here by Nolan," he said.

She looked him up and down. "You're working for Nolan Chance, huh? Haven't heard that name in a minute."

He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Piper broke the silence.

"Well, if the pay's good... I'm in. Could sure as hell use the money right now."

Lorenzo smiled slightly. "That's great."

She sat on the curb, motioning for him to join her. He did, watching her expression closely.

"I used to work for the guy, y'know. Real prick. He was fresh out of high school when I met him—always causing a fuss with his mama," Piper said.

Lorenzo rested his chin on his fist. "What was he like?"

"Wild—talk of the whole damn town. Always getting into trouble, but only out of spite. Before that, I heard he was a good kid. He's got a sister, did you know?"

Lorenzo's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Piper smirked. "Yeah, sweet thing. She came along on a heist once—absolutely adorable. We failed because she was whistling and the guards found us. Nolan got shot in the leg. Never let her come again after that. He wasn't exactly the ideal older brother."

"So when did you all... stop working together?" Lorenzo asked. "I've only heard bits and pieces."

Piper sighed. "Wasn't all that long ago. There was this big crime boss in Mega City—Nolan heard he was loaded. We went in to do the usual: steal and dip."

Lorenzo perked up. He hadn't been on the island long, but he'd been to Mega City a few times. Not really his thing.

"Nolan and Antonia went in solo. He went straight to the guy himself," Piper continued. "Thank God the man was forgiving."

"What happened?"

"The guy let Nolan take what he wanted without a fight. Nolan assumed it was a trap and fled without Antonia. The man saw what happened and let her go too. Nobody knows why."

Lorenzo tilted his head. "What was his name?"

"I don't know. Only Nolan does."

Lorenzo made a mental note to ask about it later.

Piper stood, stretching. "Nice meetin' ya—?"

"Lorenzo."

"Lorenzo. Nice meetin' ya, Lorenzo."

Somehow, Trace still hadn't recruited anyone else—and always for the same reason. Nobody wanted to work for Nolan Chance. His reputation really was that bad.

"What are we even doing? This guy's gonna stab us in the back. That's why nobody wants to work for him," Lorenzo groaned, trudging through the jungle with Trace beside him.

They weren't exploring today—just walking for peace of mind. The vines, ruins, and wild air felt like home. Lorenzo told Trace everything Piper had said the day before. Nolan was working on a "project," and told them he didn't need help today.

"C'mon, Lorenzo," Trace said. "We're not much better. We steal too. Some people have it out for us."

"We'd die for each other, Trace. Neither of us would ever betray the other for our own benefit. It's disgusting."

"What if he had a reason?"

Lorenzo scoffed. "He's a kid. He doesn't do anything unless it benefits him."

"A smart-ass kid who's stolen from some of the richest people around. You hear he was the mastermind behind the Slap Factory heist? Not just anyone could pull that off."

Lorenzo hopped onto a ruin, crossing one leg over the other. "I'm not saying he isn't smart. I'm just saying—"

"You look gay when you do that," Trace interrupted.

"The fuck? I don't."

"Yeah, you do. Your dick must be small as hell."

"Okay, shut up. That's enough." Lorenzo uncrossed his legs, now manspreading.

"Y'know, have you ever had those thoughts?" Trace asked suddenly, his tone shifting serious.

"Do you have something to tell me, Trace?" Lorenzo smirked.

"No, not at all. I love the community and all, but I'm straight."

Lorenzo hummed. "Yeah, same here. I haven't really had a chance with anyone, so I don't know what I am. But I liked Veronika, so I guess I'm straight."

Trace tilted his head. "It's pretty easy to tell if a guy's gay. I've been right every time I asked."

"What? Do you just go around asking gay-looking dudes if they're gay?"

"Had to ask my ex's guy best friend once. Turns out he was. I got my answer, and at least I knew he didn't want her. Pretty sure he wanted me actually."

"Which girl was that?"

"You think I remember?" Trace sighed. He got girls often, but he wasn't exactly a player. They'd usually dump or cheat on him before things got serious. Trace was just a hopeless romantic.

"Heh, whore."

Trace shifted. "You think Nolan's gay?"

Lorenzo froze for a moment, blanking on who he was even talking about. Nolan did seem pretty damn gay—but he also acted like the type who'd make a slur under his breath.

"Yo, Lorenzo." Trace snapped his fingers, breaking his daze.

"Oh, yeah—uh. He's not exactly an open book, so I don't know."

"Took you a minute to come up with that answer. That a sign you were daydreaming about your new little crush~?"

"It's not." Lorenzo hopped down from the ruin, brushing dirt off his hands. "And to answer your question, he's not the type to get close to people. Can't imagine him dating anyone."

"You sure about that?" Trace teased, following close behind. "The guy's got mysterious loner energy. People eat that shit up."

Lorenzo shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. "Little crush though? What makes you say that?"

"Joking," Trace said, smirking. "Why'd you dance with him, though?"

Lorenzo tilted his head, balancing on the ruins. "You saw that?"

"Antonia pointed it out."

He laughed softly. "It was just to get him more comfortable. He looked as stiff as a stray cat, I'll tell you."

"Huh. That makes sense."

"We're such good people."

"Totally."

The words had barely left Trace's mouth when a familiar ringtone cut through the air—the one Lorenzo had saved for Veronika. His heart jumped. He thought she was done with him.

Without a second's hesitation, he answered. "Veronika?"

A loud sigh came through the speaker. "Yeah, it's me. You got a minute?"

 

It was wrong.
It was all wrong.
It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

“Miss me?”

“I showed mercy to you. I never do that.”

“Are you going to fuck up a second time?”

Nolan’s eyes shot open. The ceiling came into focus above him.

Just a dream.
The same bad dream he’d been having for weeks.

He’d gone almost a week without it—long enough to almost forget how it felt.

Everything had been going too smoothly lately. Too quiet. Too stagnant.

He groaned, sitting up in bed, staring down at his hands. His mind drifted until a voice jolted him back.

“Are you going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself?”

The tone was sing-songy—cheery, even—but unmistakably masculine.

Nolan froze, then let out a dry chuckle. “Damn. Am I schizophrenic now?”

He glanced toward the corner of the room. Of course. There he was.

A figure—half machine, half man—wearing a skull-like mask. The rest of him looked robotic, though the voice didn’t match what Nolan remembered. It was younger. Smoother.

“You come out of my dreams just to haunt me while I’m awake,” Nolan muttered. “Real considerate.”

The robot clasped his hands behind his back and stepped closer.

“How familiar are you with actors?” he asked, his tone casual—almost curious.

“I’m aware of the concept,” Nolan said dryly.

“An actor is a liar—a liar everyone knows is lying. So does that make it morally right?”

Nolan frowned. “What are you on about?”

“Do you manifest your role when you act as a character? Does it influence who you are afterward?”

“I'm not doing this.”

“Why do we act? To sacrifice our own mindset for the entertainment of others?”

“Stop.”

“If we act as a morally corrupt character, then—do we become morally corrupt?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Nolan snapped, leaping to his feet. They were only a few steps apart now.

The room went silent. The robot tilted his head slightly.

“Do you like exploring?” he asked after a beat.

Nolan blinked. “Exploring?”

“Yeah. Like exploring the jungle.”

“Are you friends with that one guy—Trace, by chance?” Nolan scoffed, crossing his arms.

“I was.”

“Oh, so you do know who I’m talking about. What about the other guy?”

The robot leaned lazily against the wall. “Other guy? Who’s the other guy?”

“Lorenzo.”

“Describe him.”

Nolan sighed, uncrossing his arms. “He’s got, like… map tattoos.”

“Yeah, that really narrows it down.”

“Couple inches shorter than me. Black hair.”

“Is he attractive?”

“Yeah, sure,” Nolan said flatly. “You want his number while we’re at it?”

The robot walked over to the window and opened it. “I should probably get going. And no—none of that rings a bell.”

Nolan just stared as the figure gave a casual salute and fell backward out the window.

“Real smooth,” Nolan muttered, rubbing his eyes. When he looked again, the window was closed.

He exhaled slowly. “I never would’ve tried stealing from that bastard if I knew he’d haunt me months later.”