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The first time it happened, Phoenix was yanked out of a deep sleep.
An electrified, faint zap was struck lightening in his soundless room, where dimensional static skittered over every surface. Eyes cracked open, a layer of non-existent fuzz tickled his satin bonnet and over cheekbones. He was barely awake to comprehend reality, much less reach for a weapon to defense. If he died in the one place he felt most safe, then so be it.
A hunched ball was sprawled two feet from his bed. Radiance drew blue ribbons over its form and the energy fell like fireworks, humming a tune into the vicinity. An ambient-like sound —similar to the buzzing of a fridge— that was quiet surrounded by noise and loud in the silence and went unnoticed until the sound was gone, and ears had to retune to a different quiet.
Phoenix refocused his squint, no longer able to see any strikes of light, but the energy was still potent enough to raise the hair on his arms. He listened close. Sharp pants whistled through the air, and vocally leaned on the side of deep.
Alright. So, blue. Chaotic entrance. More blue. And. Uh. Blue.
“Yoru?” Phoenix called out, voice groggy. Eyes snapped towards him, and the flash of cyan into darkness confirmed it.
Inaudible peace deafened his room. Not a word was spoken in response to confirm. Phoenix shifted in apprehension. The power of radiance thickened, and was lathered on his skin, with no way to brush off the familiar yet strange tingle of it.
Now, how likely was it for Legion to procure a specific hit in the Protocol HQ? While numerous agents were dispatched for missions, it still left quite a few stationed at base. Such a move required thorough information and planning. Their schedules worked in rotation with unpredictable time periods, sometimes in the ungodly hours of morning, sometimes in the middle of lunch, others right before bed, and Phoenix would appreciate if criminals could always pick afternoons, and blah blah blah. Too much thinking. In other words, too risky, too outnumbered, too many factors, yadda yadda yadda.
Less likely to be his enemy, and more likely Yoru forgot which room number he was.
“Yoru, bro. Wrong room.” Phoenix plopped his head back onto the pillow in a rapid loss of will. “Unless I’m in your room, which would be a bit weird.”
Their rooms weren’t far apart. Not too impossible to misplace a gate or two.
Yoru grunted. He refused to look at Phoenix. Which, a bit rude, considering he was the one who came here by accident and woke Phoenix up. Maybe he was embarrassed? Then why not use an ID like a normal person if he’s too tired to be jumping dimensional rabbit holes?
“Yoru?”
The Riftwalker inhaled sharply, stumbling back up on his feet to do what Phoenix assumed another teleport out. He clenched and unclenched his fists. No rapid exit. No blue. Yoru stood motionless. In the dark, Phoenix wasn’t sure what he was thinking.
Did he come here on purpose, then? How did he get a teleport in his room? Phoenix never sensed anything. Why even save one here in the first place? Didn’t Yoru hate wasting energy?
Ugh, too many questions, too little sleep. If for some weird reason Yoru couldn’t go back the way he came, then it would mean Phoenix had to get up from his very comfortable, warm spot under the cover to unlock the door. There was only one solution to this.
“Okay. I don’t know—” Phoenix yawned— “why you’re in here, but I can’t be asked to let you out. Come.”
Yoru froze his restless ministrations. He idled for a bit, stole glances all over the place like they were in the middle of an operation. The agent came closer once he comfirmed no immediate threat.
Once his friend was in better view, Phoenix assessed his ungelled, loose hair skewed behind his widows peak, save for a few strands framing his gaunt face. So the slick back was still natural while down. Oh, he’s also not in work clothes. Perfect.
Stood motionless again, Yoru shifted on his feet.
“I said come. You’re so slow.” Phoenix, in typical reckless fashion, snaked a hand out and jerked the intruder into bed. Yoru made a disgruntled noise as he hit the mattress. His flight-or-fight response struggled beneath Phoenix’s hold.
Phoenix may be tired, but he was aware enough not to pull too close. He simply withdrew, readjusted the blanket over his coworker, and turned to the other side. He might’ve laughed at Yoru’s shocked face if he had the energy, but sleep was too inviting.
And if he heard Yoru sigh and fall asleep next to him for the rest of the night, he didn’t mention it the next morning.
---
On the second gatecrash, Phoenix was dreaming about a chess game.
“You bastard,” Phoenix hissed, vehemently soft. He threw a pillow in the direction he heard the teleport. Cypher was almost in checkmate. “Did you have to come right before I won?”
Like the previous night, Yoru doesn’t say a thing. He approached the bed with the pillow he somehow caught and placed it back next to Phoenix. Sat on the edge, Yoru stared into space. That was somehow worse than if he had dodged. Did this guy even hear what he said?
But Phoenix couldn’t hold onto his glare — the irritation trickled out of him. He was too tired to ask questions. This behavior was odd, completely out of left field for someone like his rigid teammate who hated making the same mistake twice. And Phoenix, while brash, was not about to call him out. He knew when it was a time to have a laugh and mess around; 01:24am was not that time.
“Wanna come in?” He lifted the cover. Yoru jumped, almost as if he forgot where he was. Phoenix raised a slow brow, a tiny smirk on his lips. “It’s warm,” he teased, because he couldn’t help himself.
When Yoru’s expression twitched into a half scowl, Phoenix wondered if he scared him off. In that case, he would get off his ass and open the door. Sure, he was lazy, but he wasn’t a complete dick.
However, much to his surprise, Yoru slipped under the blanket, pointedly facing away from the other occupant. He remained at the very cusp like he was playing the floor was lava except the rest of the bed was off limits, and he’d get kicked out if he took any more space. Phoenix chuckled, unable to stop himself. His company stiffened, broad shoulders squared and tense.
“Relax,” Phoenix told him and felt a tinge of guilt. He spared Yoru some mercy and kept a safe distance. It was awkward enough. “Just get some sleep, yeah?”
Hearing a small grunt, Phoenix gave Yoru most of the blanket. Two people overcrowded in a single bed already spelled double the heat; a shared the cover would make him sweat a river. Phoenix sighed as cool air hit his exposed leg and arm. Darkness laid a mask over his eyes.
He fell asleep next to soft snores.
---
Alarm blaring, Phoenix woke up to an empty bed.
As expected. It was empty the first night too.
His stretch cracked his spine and he got up to get ready. The girls insisted to join them shopping, which was inevitable code for ‘carry our bags’. Being away from his family, he thought he escaped from so-called designated man duties, yet here he was, getting pushed around by women. The cycle went on.
Sighing, he slipped on fresh clothes. At least training was first before long hours of waiting and boredom.
“Oh, Phoenix,” Neon greeted as she fixed up her shoes. Phoenix entered the locker room, agents scattered about. In one corner, KJ and Raze were messing with some monstrosity of a contraption. They both acknowledged him with a nod. KAY/O, his partner for the day, was missing. “Ready to get right into it?”
Ready? To get right into it?
Phoenix stood there dumbfounded. No hi, hello, or how are you, just a oh, Phoenix, like he came at the scheduled time they agreed to. Which was supposed to be later, not now.
Then Gekko and Jett stormed in.
How did they even know he was training with KAY/O today? He glanced at the engineering couple, who were cackling as they chatted about mechanics. Did his training partner get dismantled? Tinkered into nuts and bolts?
“Phoenix?” Neon repeated, a glimmer in her eye. Wow, not terrifying at all. “Should we start capture the flag, or a deathmatch?”
In the end, Phoenix resigned himself to his fate. He knew Jett would treat him afterwards. She always did.
Warming up, KAY/O joined them 5 minutes later, unsurprised by the extra company. They split drills before switching into joint exercises, where KJ concocted up another devastating training dummy. The massive eldritch thing, born mere hours ago, did 360 spins as it wheeled across the grounds like a swivel chair. Phoenix believed KJ’s genius stemmed from frankensteining wires and metal together until it formed some semblance of being, and it would work every time.
A lot of screaming was involved. The team managed to defeat the bot in time before the scheduled trip. KJ may be good with robotics but nothing compared to their machined dynamic, well-oiled by routine and constant yelling. As a plus, Gekko decided to tag along, so at least Phoenix wouldn’t be the only dude carrying a million items.
The ride and long venture was overall more fun than expected. A good day off well spent. But Phoenix had to ruin it, because he was always a tad loose lipped.
“Guys, you won’t believe this but,” Jett giggled into her food, leaning in like she was relaying some big secret, “I saw Yoru early this morning.”
“Yoru?” Raze questioned, “what’s so weird about that?”
Phoenix paid half attention, the hot pot stirring a drowsy food coma in his stomach. God, he loved Asian dishes.
“What do you mean? That guy never comes out of his room until like, what, 3pm? Maybe he’s finally fixing that weird sleep schedule of his.”
“3pm’s not that bad,” KJ piped up. She earned many stares.
The whole table spiraled into an argument about what was a good time to fall asleep. One round of guilty confessions were exchanged. Gekko admitted to playing video games until 4am and received astonished gasps.
“What about you, pretty boy?” Jett tossed the debated topic to him like a hot potato. She quirked a fond smile. “What time do you get your beauty sleep? You look like you’re about to get some.”
The answer was obvious. How much sleep everyone and he had depended on the status of Mirror Earth and the workload their alternate-selves felt like dumping on them. Sometimes it’s radio silent. Sometimes it’s non-stop. Speaking of sleep, Phoenix would kill for a nap right now.
He huffed and stroked his chin as if he had to think about it. “Probably ten, eleven-ish.”
A little white lie. Phoenix did try to pass out before midnight but truthfully it was either sleeping like a rock or nothing at all, no in-between.
“That’s so early!” Gekko gasped.
Neon nodded in agreement. “I didn’t know you guys slept so late. You have to look after your health.”
“Yeah, don’t wanna be another Yoru,” Jett laughed, pointing at their scandalized late-night gamer. “Otherwise, you might never sleep again. He’s definitely got insomnia, or something.”
Insomnia? Phoenix stared at the ceiling, tired, and imagined closing his eyes and feeling the dip in his bed. Yoru laid next to him, pliant, immoveable and just as weary.
“He sleeps pretty deep, though,” Phoenix recalled offhandedly. Sure, it was past midnight, but that so-called insomniac got to snoring real quick.
Eerie silence washed over the group. Why was it so quiet? Phoenix perked up and found ravenous eyes lasered in. Sweat froze on his neck. He stumbled into a wire trip of his own making, and Cypher wasn’t here to take the blame.
“And how do you know that?” Jett watched him with a wide gaze, a pack leader who’s caught the first scent of blood. Shit.
Phoenix awkwardly cleared his throat. “Sorry, know what now?” He proceeded to get up, call over a waitress, praying he had enough hush money to escape (he doesn’t, she won’t be letting this go). He felt more awake than ever. “Y’know, I think you might be right about the whole beauty sleep thing. I’m gonna head back first.”
“Ah wha— Phoenix! Hang on! Wait! Where are you—” Jett knocked the table, unable to stop his quick maneuvers through the crowd. Everyone was left bewildered and stuck in their seats. “Did you just pay the whole ass bill?”
He wasn’t far enough away to not hear Neon’s buckled laughter, and KJ choking on her food. Gekko’s saying something in Spanish, he doesn’t know what.
All he knew was his face was hot. Mega hot. Super duper hot. And he’s hot, but not this kind of hot. Like his fire was a blast furnace ready to implode. If he had to shut the hell up for a hot fucking minute to save the world, he’s taking everyone down with him.
This was Yoru’s fault. All his.
---
The third time Yoru came over, Phoenix didn’t hear him at all.
He was too caught up in drowning out his own mind, his heated skin cooled on the frozen floor. His breaths steadied in tandem with the obnoxious but consistent beat of music. Phoenix fluttered his eyes open as one dramatic song ended and found his night lurker staring from above, upside down from his perspective.
Everything he was going to berate Yoru for: constant know-it-all grins, nosy glances their way when alone together, unsubtle teasing from Jett — it disappeared in an instant. He wished Yoru wasn’t here to see such a weird position, but dignity had gone far out the window the first night Yoru invited himself in.
“Welcome back,” he whispered, almost closing his eyes as the next song played. If the bed was taken, Phoenix wouldn’t have minded. However, it seemed the silent man had other plans.
“You’re awake,” Yoru stated. He glanced at the strewn sheets and pillows, his face at the right angle to illuminate the ghost of exhaustion haunting his gaze and the home it made beneath his eyelids.
“I fell off,” Phoenix explained. “Couldn’t be bothered to get up.”
In reality, his nightmare made him slip out and fall, but he wasn’t about to admit that too.
Yoru hummed. Humor crept into his eyes, or maybe it’s just how the dim light caught in his irises, like shooting comets in a black sky. “Can’t stop moving even when you’re asleep. Typical.”
Phoenix twitched, about to snark back how someone couldn’t stop barging into his room, then noticed the slight tremble in Yoru’s hands.
Insomniac. Always comes around -he checked his phone- after midnight, and it’s currently 2am. Phoenix was a simple-minded guy. He did simple things. An embodiment of creative liberties. What he didn’t do were waiting games. Schemes. Tactical plans. Emotions. They’re complicated, brittle, and required too much thinking and too little action.
The Yoru he knew was the complicated-minded guy. An aggressive, proud bastard who thought about no one but himself. He did the plans, did the waiting games. Used and worked people to his standard, discarded those who didn’t. Yet here he was, repeating a previous mistake and making it a pattern, horribly vulnerable and sought for Phoenix’s warmth of all people. Phoenix, the guy hired for fire-power and flaring will and not exactly known for support. More Sage’s department than his.
Then again, Phoenix hadn’t always been Phoenix. Any advice he’d taken from the other half his life, it was how to think with emotions and how people think with emotions. If his heart said to rush in then he would rush in guns blazing, or if it said to help Yoru in these sleepless nights, then he would do so without a second thought. Trouble was, Phoenix understood how his emotions worked and how it affected him (some may argue he doesn’t think enough without them). It didn’t necessarily mean he knew how to deal with someone else’s, especially out of character.
But Phoenix could make an exception. For a friend, he’d take a creative liberty. Maybe that was what Yoru needed — a creative liberty. A simple mind. Someone who didn’t care about all the details, the plans, the waiting game.
What did Yoru have to be scared of anyway? He had noses to break, skulls to crack open, and he should be shamelessly sure of himself as he always had been. Nothing should hold him back. Nothing should make him this skittish.
Phoenix sat up abruptly and pretended Yoru didn’t flinch. He avoided sudden movements afterwards and took off his red hoodie in a slower fashion, though the reactions were a bit funny. First, he’d have to sort out the shakes. Someone cold in his room was kind of ironic.
“Do me a favor. Sit still, yeah?”
Yoru already inched away, arms defensive like a cat with its hair raised. Phoenix snorted. He kind of was like a stray cat, wasn’t he? An animal that left unannounced, but showed love by coming back.
He shook head. What was he on about?
Phoenix ignored himself and like casting a net, captured Yoru with his hoodie. The victim thrashed in his hold, fabric abused and stretched to lengths Phoenix didn’t know were possible. He puffed his cheeks. Convulsions fought in his chest. He absolutely couldn’t laugh. Absolutely.
But the hoodie was on backwards, and Yoru wouldn’t stop cussing muffled words he’d say in the middle of defusing a bomb. Phoenix had to wrestle for his life to get the clothing on right. When he finally straightened the article to see Yoru’s flushed snarl from the scuffle, the pressure exploded and he ruptured like an air tank.
The laughter leaned on the crazier side of hysterical. The more you tried to stop, the worst it got. But he had to control himself, for Yoru’s sake. Sucking in a sharp breath, he gripped the edge of his hoodie, and looked up.
Only to meet a deadpan glare. Phoenix lasted 5 seconds before doubling over. He laughed for another minute.
The high died down after what felt like years and only halted because Phoenix ran out of oxygen. He raised his head from where it crashed to lean upon Yoru’s chest, something he didn’t notice he did until he saw the guy’s face inches from his own. Phoenix hitched a breath. Yoru appeared less cranky than earlier, calm even, if he dared to describe this mood. How he hadn’t teleported away yet remained a mystery.
Instead, he sat still, stubborn arms dormant and unbothered to thread through the sleeves. Phoenix could’ve, should’ve made jab at Yoru’s pride. A throw away line about how he’s scared the hoodie was a size too big for him. It stayed locked in his throat.
The hem crumpled in his grip, something like fuzz tickling his knuckles, his cheeks, his brows. He’s frozen, arms at Yoru’s sides. Silence crackled in the space between them. They’re close enough that his knees pressed against Yoru’s ankle, and noses almost touched.
Keen eyes raked down and the gaze dragged friction on skin. Yoru landed on his lips, and Phoenix leapt.
He barreled into Yoru’s frame, his senses alight as if zapped by static electricity. Nerves snapped at his brain and in a seizure of movement, he hauled his friend up and thrown him unceremoniously onto the bed. Yoru squawked with indignation.
Arms entrapped, Yoru was helpless to Phoenix’s grandmaster plan, which was titled ‘Operation 1: Man Burrito’. The glares were sharp enough to kill and make Phoenix a statistic, but were much less threatening when every roll it disappeared into the mattress along with angry, muffled Japanese to curse his name. The result was a successful victim; a corpse wrapped up in a carpet.
Phoenix admired his work. He scrubbed the earlier moment from his mind and shoved it into a corner. Whatever it was, he had to focus. To help.
Yoru glared harder, like he was aiming a bullet in the middle of his forehead. Phoenix sniffed in a laugh. He had to stop messing with this guy, otherwise he’d really learn how people died by laughter.
“Anybody order minced beef? Extra spicy?” Phoenix snickered. He balanced his creation in one hand and grabbed his dropped bonnet with the other. It had flung off somewhere in the struggle.
Phoenix retied his hair protection, reassured Yoru would make no attempt to escape and patted the poor guy’s stomach (at least where he thought it was).
“Have a good nap, burrito boy.” There. Mission complete.
“You can’t be thinking I’ll sleep like this,” Yoru barked, but his lack of bite and resistance spoke louder volumes.
Phoenix shrugged. “But you could,” he yawned and went boneless on the floor. Phoenix wasn’t going to stop Yoru from leaving. His energy was all spent. “Night, Yoru.”
“Ridiculous,” the lone wolf muttered, yet no movement was heard for the next minute. Soft, gentle snores bounced off the walls. Phoenix did a mental fist pump in victory.
On the ground, he also noticed how whatever was wound up inside him had oddly loosened. Like scrunched up paper that was opened and smoothed out. His lungs inhaled deep, relaxed to the very core, eyes drooping closed.
Huh, maybe Yoru wasn’t the only one benefitting from this. But it’s not like the stray that petered in one night would come back after this, right? It’s got adventures of it’s own to go on, so Phoenix was only providing shelter for a while.
In the morning, he’ll wake up in bed under covers, with no memory of how he got there. In the morning, he’ll challenge Yoru like usual to see whoever could get more reps in.
In the morning, he’ll pretend his hoodie wasn’t missing.
---
The fourth time Phoenix woke up was to knocking on his door.
He groaned into his pillow, rolling over and tapped his alarm. The hologram flicked on and Phoenix squinted to read 2:54am. Whoever the fuck woke him up, it better be either Sage or Brimstone for emergency deployment.
He flung his legs over, bones creaking, and stumbled over to his door. The lock required a couple taps, two a near miss and one rejected. Phoenix tried to wake himself up, shake off the grogginess. He prepared for a rundown once he finally hit the scanner, but the effort turned all for naught when he recognized who knocked.
“Yoru,” groaned Phoenix, the tiredness hitting all at once as he almost slid off his door frame. “Fuck’s sake, it’s almost 3. What’s going on?”
When he got no answer, Phoenix scrubbed his face. He swept over Yoru again, who took a loud step back, that tall nose of his bunched as he resolutely glared into another direction.
“Yoru?” Phoenix asked. That look on Yoru was sobering. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” So it was an emergency. Shit. “Is the big man calling? Just let me get dressed real quick—”
Reality slapped him awake and Phoenix retreated. He hasn’t done laundry yet, but extra work clothes were always hung up on the side. It does mean wearing mismatched socks, though. A sacrifice he’d take.
“Wait, you idiot,” Yoru hissed, punctuated by his violent yank to get Phoenix back outside. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Phoenix blinked, staring at Yoru and back at the open door. His brain worked at a hundred miles per second. Every environmental detail honed. The situation pieced itself together.
Not an emergency. Yoru’s at his door. It’s past midnight. He’s in casual clothes.
Exhaling, his muscles untensed. So it’s one of those nights. A night where the stray cat’s looking for somewhere to hide. He can deal with that. That’s easy to deal with. It’s been a while, though, and he thought Yoru’s gotten whatever he needed.
Why does he keep coming back?
And why doesn’t Phoenix mind it?
“Let me close the door,” he said and stepped aside. It’d be smart to not get caught lacking when Jett had just calmed down. He’d rather not deal with another round of interrogation and probing.
After he swiped the lock screen, Phoenix turned to deal with what the night had in store for him. A burrito joke to clear the air, then hoard the sleepless man to bed. But Yoru was a statue, limbs locked in the place where Phoenix had left him.
“Yoru?” Phoenix scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Uh, I didn’t mean to sound pissed off. When you wake a guy this late, he’s not gonna be all sunshine and rainbows, you get me?” He drew himself close to place one hand on a shoulder. Yoru still refused to look at him. “Oh, c’mon man, I’m sorry. You can take the bed and I won’t wrap you up Mexican style, promise.”
The pointless apologies hit Yoru’s cold shoulder and flop onto the floor, his silent treatment withstanding like a brick wall. They lingered in an awkward stalemate at the entrance. He was clueless on what to do.
Inevitable impatience took over. He’s not known for delicacy.
Phoenix shook Yoru, groaning. “Ugh, could you at least look at—”
“Where’s your shirt?” Yoru blurted as he crossed his arms.
Phoenix bluescreened.
“My what?”
“Your shirt!” Yoru yelled. Hesitant eyes flicked to Phoenix’s face, downwards, back up, then lugged toward to the farthest corner. In the dark, ears were flushed pink.
Phoenix peered down at his bare chest. He forgot he wasn’t wearing one when he answered the door. Not that he cared much, he’s got nothing to be ashamed of showing. It’s decent enough to not go full commando.
“I took it off somewhere. Don’t know where it’s gone.” Phoenix shrugged, and squinted at Yoru. This was what this was about? His shirt? “What do you expect? It gets hot for me at night.”
Yoru sighed and massaged his temples, “Put something on.”
Phoenix narrowed his eyes further. “So…we cool, yeah? You’re not upset?”
“Phoenix.”
Phoenix watched as Yoru’s blush bled from his ears down to his neck like blotchy watercolour. He reached for it without a second thought, his fingers brushed against pink as if it could leak into his own skin and turn his palms the same pretty shade. Yoru shivered and flinched away.
“Someone’s shy,” Phoenix teased, eyes and smile softening. “Didn’t think the infamous Riftwalker would get nervous seeing me half-naked, but here we are.”
“I am not shy.”
“Then get on the bed.”
“Hah?” Yoru was beet red. He stumbled away like a cornered animal, his expression a battlefield for fight or flight instinct. Phoenix took the reaction in for a moment before a laugh bubbled up from his throat.
“No, no, wait. That’s not—” he cracked up again, stuttering his sentences— “pause. Huge pause. Pause on that. I meant just, just take the— If you’re not—” he crumpled into a fit of high-pitched cackles, knees and head on the floor as he hugged his clenched stomach. Whenever Yoru’s around, Phoenix always seemed to fold.
Fold like a garden chair. Fold his annoyances whenever he showed up late at night. Fold into giving company and a bed however it was desired.
Phoenix could only wonder how much he would give what Yoru would ask for, where it would end. He’s not as scared about it as he should be.
Calming down, Phoenix reiterated what he was explaining in breathless words, “Take the bed, if you’re not shy. I’m gonna sleep on the floor.”
He picked himself up and dusted off his shorts. Stretched.
Phoenix caught it. The way Yoru followed the movement with a muddied gaze.
He’s not self-conscious. He’s not.
“You’re still not wearing a shirt?”
Phoenix shrugged. “Nah. Too hot.”
Yoru scrutinized him and gave up, heaving another sigh. He uncrossed his arms to walk over to Phoenix’s bed. Phoenix followed him two steps back.
A pillow hogged, he was about to get on one knee until his wrist was grabbed. Yoru’s eyes were hardened, steel conviction.
“Get on the bed,” he echoed with secured grip and a low, husked voice.
Phoenix swallowed, stock still like a deer in headlights, and wondered what switch was flipped.
“Uh.”
“There’s no way you’re sleeping on the floor shirtless. How much dumber can you get?”
Phoenix felt his eye tick. Had this guy forgotten how his radiance manifested, or what?
But Yoru pulled him harshly. He’s serious.
“I told you I’m fine, Yoru,” Phoenix repeated, raising the other hand in surrender. He slowly peeled the cold fingers off of him. “Like for real, don’t worry about it.”
“I said get on the bed, Phoenix.”
Okay, time for plan B. Burrito time.
Phoenix had a small advantage: the lower ground. Yoru’s upper body jolted forward as his grip was used against him, while Phoenix swept the man off his feet at the same time. Momentum carried them over as Yoru was startled and imbalanced, suspended horizontal and landed in prime sleeping position. Perfect! Get the wrap!
Phoenix aimed for the edge of the duvet, but a yank of his shorts and one knee to the gut flung him across to the opposite side. He had forgotten a crucial detail — Yoru still had his other arm. Breathless sounds punched out of his chest as he made impact, and Phoenix realized it was the echo of him laughing in dazed shock, limbs entangled and whole world tossed into a barrel roll.
“You—” Yoru panted and pinned his bicep to the mattress— “you did not just try to burrito me. Again.”
Pheonix gulped a lungful of oxygen, voice hiccupped, and scrapped for any form of coherency he could get. “I would never.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Yoru accused vehemently. His towering form casted a fearsome shadow. Phoenix doesn’t test his luck, hip nailed by a leg.
They’re a mess. Yoru’s a mess. Dyed hair stuck to his forehead. Challenge set his in lidded eyes. Phoenix had caught his breath, but he couldn’t catch a break.
He knew that there was no end to what he’d give him.
And he’s not as scared about it as he should be.
“I’m innocent, your honor,” claimed Phoenix, already recalculated Plan C: Reburrito The Burrito Man. Cover wasn’t far. If he twisted and used his right arm to reach—
A glacial palm pressed flat against his abdomen. Phoenix gasped, his scheme for the upper hand interrupted, and arched away from the contact.
“Yoru, where, where are you—” Phoenix yelped, another cold touch slapped onto his collar bone. His neck recoiled and his shoulder jumped on reflex, the frigid hand instead clamped under his chin when he meant to break away. “You dickhead! Are you a snowman? Why the fuck are you so cold?”
“Because it’s been winter since forever. And it’s fucking freezing, if you haven’t noticed.” Yoru shivered and swiftly drew the blanket over them. He propped himself to lay diagonal across Phoenix’s chest and dragged an exhale, as if this was what he was waiting for the whole day. His chilled cheek pressed flush, and the touch sizzled.
Phoenix felt his temperature rise, both body and face growing warmer by the second. Yoru soaked it up like he was a radiator. “I’m gonna get sweaty, y’know.”
The stray cat hummed, shamelessly curled up.
“I’ll stink. Like a lot. Plus, you’re hella heavy.”
He doesn’t move. Limp and knocked out as he snored.
Fuck. Phoenix dragged a hand down his face. This was gonna kill him. For sure.
“Cheeky bastard,” he muttered, careful not to wake Yoru up. God knows if Yoru got any sleep these past weeks. “So much for being shy.”
His head slumped onto his pillow and Phoenix softened his glare at the ceiling, resigned to his fate. He circled his arms around the lump on top of him. It took a while for sleep to grant him mercy.
Fuck, it’s hot.
---
When he woke up, the bed was empty, and Yoru left his ID card behind.
Phoenix scanned it onto the accommodation lock and watched the access key load as his mind swarmed with thoughts too early for the morning. He planned to return it, tell Yoru he had door permissions, then that was that. Whether Yoru used it or not was up to him.
But when he slipped it across the table, impersonal and quick with few words exchanged, he doesn’t mention a single thing. Not what happened last night. Not the lock. Not the key. They’re back to being teammates again and ready up for the next dispatch.
There was never anything more to their relationship. They bickered and traded come backs and fought to get the last word in. He’ll say ‘you left this in commons’. Hand over the card like the shape of him didn’t ache in his empty arms.
You also left a curse, an empty bed.
Left me waiting every night.
Can’t you at least tell me when you’re done?
Phoenix didn’t do second glances. He doesn’t linger. If his room was needed for shelter, he could leave the door open one more time. And if he couldn’t, well, Yoru always had the key. Even if he didn’t know it.
---
The fifth night was the night Phoenix realized this might not be a one, second, third, fourth time thing, but rather a fifth, eighth, nineteenth, possibly even thirtieth time.
Yoru came crashing, a dimensional storm thundering into the space in a taut snap, feet rocky as he made a beeline to where Phoenix slept, which was, unironically, the floor. Seeing Yoru shouldn’t make the relief taste as bittersweet as it does. The fact he was here should be enough. Everything else: his own sleeplessness, the ache — irrelevant.
“Get up,” Yoru ordered. He grabbed the back of Phoenix’s collar like he picked up a misbehaved kitten. Radiant energy faded from the Riftwalker’s eyes and it reminded Phoenix of bioluminescence in ocean water. He wanted to toe the line, if only to watch the life light up again and again.
“Don’t wanna.” Phoenix hung his head. It wasn’t smart to plunge without testing the depths. “Just take it.”
“Stop being difficult, Phoenix.”
Yeah, it wasn’t smart, but Phoenix was always about high risk, high reward. And if he drowned or broke his legs with the fall, so be it.
“Why? I’m perfectly fine here.”
“You can’t keep sleeping on the floor. What’s the point of a bed if you don’t use it?”
“To put you in it,” Phoenix answered without hesitation. “May as well be yours, at this point.”
Silence ticked the clock forward, surely at a time hours after midnight, yet so long before dawn broke. Phoenix was dropped back onto his pillow, but doesn’t hear the bed creak, or the soft snores to lull him asleep.
So this was it. This was where it ends. The open doors. The invitations. And it’s when Yoru stopped asking.
Phoenix squeezed his eyes shut and scrolled through playlists in his brain. What was loud enough, which ones could block everything out. Iso’s late night track was somewhere in his chaos of a library.
Yoru had other plans.
Phoenix near-jumped out of his skin as his full weight was scooped up into lean yet stiff arms. He’s hurled onto the bed, appendages flailed on the bounce. Yoru wasted no time. He flopped over to make himself comfortable. Phoenix tried to lift him off with his legs but Yoru was wedged in-between them, making it impossible to move as he sunk heavier into his full weight.
“Yoru, what the fuck?” Phoenix croaked. He wrangled his pulse to beat at a slower pace. “What is this? What are you doing?”
“Putting myself in it,” Yoru said with finality.
The man was content to pass out there and then, and he did. Still dressed in his signature punk jacket. The stink of iron, sweat and mineral oil burned Phoenix’s nose. Was he on weapon cleaning duty before he came here? Did he come back from a mission? Just now?
Phoenix glanced at the work boots on the side. He took those off. In the time Phoenix thought he left. All so he could…throw Phoenix onto the bed and pass out on top?
He sniffed. That scent. Definitely blood. So a mission and cleaning duty. Poor guy. Though, Yoru probably would have done it regardless of who’s turn it was. He was meticulous like that.
Phoenix sighed then stared at the ceiling, wondering what had become of his life. This had to be a dream or he’s in a different timeline where Skye hated animals, KAY/O became human, and Yoru actively looked for Phoenix after work. The whole broody loner attitude was Yoru’s whole schtick. Yet here, he had his wrecked, dumb face smushed against his heart. Phoenix ran fingers into damp hair, stroked Yoru’s cheek.
Stupid. He looked stupid. Phoenix wanted to snap a picture, then use it for blackmail, or for material he can look at when he needed a good laugh. Shame he couldn’t do that, though. Phoenix didn’t break his trust then, he wouldn’t break it now. Not worth the risk.
On the other hand, while he appreciated the faith Yoru had in him to preserve his dignity, the guy would be more insulated under a duvet, and Phoenix might boil alive and set the whole quarter on fire the longer he’s held captive. Then no one would have a place to sleep.
Escape attempt number one; Phoenix wriggled and scooched up bit by bit. Movement so small it could be on a microscopic scale. He took it from Sova to not wake up a sleeping beast.
But Yoru stirred and captured his waist. His lower back squeezed as he’s held like a sloth on a branch. Except, sloths are more cute. And can’t maul three people at once.
How was Yoru holding so tight, anyway? Was he really asleep? Enter escape attempt number two; Phoenix squirmed in the hug to test his theory. He latched onto the restraints and did his best to get the clingy thing off, only to have the hold go rigid. How was that even possible? Boundaries tested, Phoenix figured Yoru wouldn’t wake up and put more effort into it.
He froze once zip teeth brushed against his exposed stomach and Phoenix recoiled. Yoru grumbled a protest, probably to stop the warmth from disappearing, and nuzzled further as if his power was to melt into the fire agent.
Phoenix shivered. He hated how it worked and steam was rolling off of him in waves. Is this what Yoru was aiming for? To secretly travel back from a dimension in the ice ages and use Phoenix like a campfire in an igloo? Someone had to do a reevaluation of everyone’s abilities because they had an ice agent, and it sure wasn’t Sage. Wait, was Sage’s powers even ice? Or were they crystal?
Giving up thinking and moving altogether, Phoenix embraced the sleeping polar bear. He cradled the tired head with far more care a friend would. His fingers eased into gelled hair. Various strands stuck in odd directions. As someone who knew a thing or two about haircare, Phoenix would feel sorry, but another part also believed Yoru deserved it. Or that Phoenix at least deserved this. To spoil himself for earning the stray cat’s trust, save only for hours beyond midnight.
He combed through Yoru’s hair again and scratched his scalp, the way his mother used to do so. Yoru slackened his grip and went completely limp. Phoenix stayed where he was. He couldn’t recall a time his friend ever looked so at peace.
The next morning, and there always was a next morning, Phoenix woke up to his sheets smelling like warzones. But what he hated more than anything, more than the blood, the sweat, the oil — he hated waking up to an empty bed.
---
“Ugh, shit! I almost had him!” Phoenix cursed and stumbled out of the aircraft in tattered and singed clothing. He dusted himself off before stomping into the hangar, ready to shuck off the weapon and fireproof uniform to tear up some barbeque ribs or whatever was on the menu.
“Quit your whining.” Yoru rolled his eyes, retracting his comb in one butterfly spin. “It worked out exactly how it was supposed to.”
Phoenix eyed his victorious sneer. “And how’s that?”
“You bait the shots and I do all the work. Save your ass and the mission.”
“Oh, fuck off. Like you did anything. The other one managed to get away. All you did was finish the last guy off and kill my momentum.”
Yoru elbowed Phoenix as he put away his gear. “And had your six.”
Phoenix grumbled, rubbing his shoulder and glared at his stoic teammate, who emphasized their point with an unimpressed look. But Phoenix wasn’t the type to back down.
“So you’re saying you admit you lost her?”
“I’m saying I told you before you rushed in that we might get ambushed, and I was right.”
“Like hell, man. I had it all under control,” Phoenix insisted, stubborn as ever.
He sped walked along the halls to get away from the conversation and into fine dining. Yoru frowned while he followed next to him, his exasperation clear from the antics, until his face lit up. An idea.
“Yeah, had those warning shots on Harbor under great control.”
Phoenix winced at the sarcasm. If he defended himself when he and Yoru knew fully well he aimed for the kill, then this would become material for Yoru to wring out for the next week and a half. The excuse of the turret and having to resurrect would backfire too, as it didn’t make sense timeline wise and left why he missed his shot a bigger mystery. It was a lose lose situation.
“Of course. Had to get the bomb before it got planted, you see,” Phoenix tried to play into it as nonchalant as he could, but his lips couldn’t help twitching. “All under control.” As they stormed into the kitchen, Phoenix took the chance to distract. His friends looked up from their meal in their noisy direction. Dozens of bags were grouped on the island. “Oh, is this take out? Any grub for me?”
Yoru kept glaring at Phoenix’s face, a blatant refusal to let go of the subject. Phoenix could try his best to forget what happened, but his friend’s insistence served as an annoying reminder.
Without permission, his memory rewound. It’s a habit to review past missions, and at the end of the day Phoenix was an agent. He remembered Harbor. He remembered chasing the mirror version of his friend into an open area, how they both taunted and quipped at each other.
Phoenix knew well of their positions. He knew he shouldn’t interact with Legion in such a manner, and his actions could compromise the safety of earth and his loved ones. Venice was proof. But sometimes he couldn’t help it. Sometimes, missions just felt like running into old friends and catching up. If he didn’t have the run down from Brim and fly all the way to Los Angeles, he’d think he and Harbor were in a training sim, bantering throughout.
He remembered almost cornering Harbor as he talked shit. He remembered throwing up a fire wall. Then he remembered Harbor sliding into cover in a panic, ass on fire. Phoenix doesn’t know if he could look at their resident water agent without a smirk. He had to keep this to himself. He was a professional, and took his work very seriously.
“Not hungry, walker?” Phoenix prompted. Yoru still glared. He rolled his eyes. “I told already told you, man. Had to revive.”
“Fuzakenna, why don’t you tell me what really happened, you bastard?” Yoru caught on to his diversion right away. Phoenix pretended what he was smiling at was the abundance of food and not echoes in his head of Indian curses screamed from the rooftops. “You think you can hide like I don’t know you turned off your comms. What did you do?”
“I’m not,” Phoenix paused to smother a laugh with quesadilla in his mouth, “I’m not hiding anything.”
Yoru crossed his arms. “Then tell me.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I don’t remember too well before you knocked me over. Adrenaline and all that, yeah?” Phoenix shrugged, gobbling another bite to muffle his fat gob as much as possible. There were better things to focus on, like chipotle and guacamole and cheese.
“So you did hit your head, then. You should have went to Sage. She can’t heal your stupidity, but at least you would be less of an idiot.”
“Shut up, fam. I can heal myself. You didn’t have to push me.”
“Why? Don’t you find the floor more comfortable?” Yoru mocked. Something devious unfolded in his eyes. “And here I thought you missed it.”
Phoenix choked, a small gag on the chicken he was chewing, and almost dropped a piece of his wrap. A small reaction, but it was enough for Yoru to be smug as he cracked open a can in all his triumph and glory.
Neither of them had mentioned a hint, or a slither of their nightly ventures, except for the one time Phoenix let it slip in the hot pot restaurant. But that was to the others, not with Yoru. He hadn’t made a second slip after that, and now after all this time, the cat’s out the bag?
No. Not yet. Only Phoenix would get the insult, he knew the context. Ha. If Yoru wanted to play ball, he’ll play ball.
“As if. But hey, it must’ve taken all you got for a lil’ guy like you to push me over. Why don’t we eat some dinner?” Phoenix fixed on a lop-sided smile. He searched the table and grabbed what he was looking for. He beckoned it over to Yoru, his smile stretched into a playful grin.
Yoru, sensing the trap, hesitantly received the packaged object.
“Is this,” Yoru stuttered a laugh as he unwrapped it, “is this a fucking burrito?”
“Oh shit, sorry,” Phoenix apologized, not sounding a smidge guilty. “I didn’t know you were on the menu.”
Yoru looked at him with an unblinking stare. He was stunned. Deafening quiet filled the kitchen. Phoenix swore he could hear the crickets somewhere.
He folded first, as he usually did. The offended expression Yoru wore crushed any composure he had. Phoenix clutched onto his quesadilla for dear life, swallowing the tittered cackles that threatened to barge out. He did a poor job since it reduced his sound into a broken whistle, his high pitched noises barely muffled as he chewed.
“Was that a pick up line? Don’t think I’ve heard that one,” Skye whispered to Deadlock, and Phoenix broke. He choked on his food twice, more violent than the last. Right, other agents were here too back from their operations, watching this whole shit-show. How did he forget?
“I don’t get it either, Skye,” sighed Breach. “Like really? Right in front of my meal?”
Yoru cleared his throat, unamused, and whacked Phoenix’s back without mercy. He grunted after every hit and managed to eat the last bit of quesadilla, wondering where the hell it all went. Time for seconds.
“Don’t worry about it, Skye,” Phoenix chuckled roughly, opening a box of hot wings and stopped as he was about to eat one. “Hang on, the hell you mean by pick up line? It was a joke.”
“A joke,” Yoru grumbled. He took one piece of chicken and brushed fingers with Phoenix. Phoenix jumped to the side, the box cradled in his arms but it was too late. The chicken-nabber regarded his thieved food, and something clicked in his features. He shot Phoenix a sly grin. “Last time I remember, we were both the filling.”
Huh? Phoenix tried not to get distracted by that smile as his brain turned.
“What?” he spluttered, thoughts buffering as he finally caught on to the comeback. And it’s actual flirtatious implication. “Last time you— that wasn’t even last—”
Phoenix covered his mouth. He was getting too into this. Yoru was provoking him on purpose. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be reclusive, or whatever? Private?
Radiant steam evaporated from his face. Shit.
“What’s wrong, Phoenix?” Yoru drawled and planted his perfect ass onto the counter next to where he stood. He tilted his head. “Shy?”
Damned, stupid cat. Phoenix waved off the steam, cooling himself down and backed away. Who did this guy think he was? The audacity to come to his room whenever he pleased, just to leave in the morning like Phoenix was some random night fling. And gobble up a piece of his chicken. Greedy fuck.
“So we’re doing this, huh? You wanna play this game? Right here, right now?” Phoenix placed down his box of hot wings, and he never did that unless it was empty. This was getting serious. “It’s you who owes me, y’know?”
“I owe you nothing.” Yoru raised a brow, curious. But curiosity killed the cat.
He thinks he can out sass Phoenix? A guy who grew up with women?
That’s cute.
“Laundry detergent.” Phoenix jabbed a finger into Yoru’s chest. “And new bedsheets.”
Gasps and ‘ooohs’ echoed around the kitchen, but Phoenix paid no mind to their audience. If they wanted a show, he can put one on. He got a certificate for that.
Yoru watched with wide eyes, still confused but looking flustered at the blatancy. This for sure doesn’t disprove the pick up line allegation nor the flirting, and no doubt Jett will hear about it in less than an hour, since Breach was also a guy doesn’t keep his mouth closed. But it was worth it for his revenge.
Phoenix leaned into Yoru’s space, hand on his hip like a disappointed mother. “I had to throw them and my clothes away, you covered them in blood and oil. Mineral oil! That shit’s hard to get out!”
“Idiot, there’s a way to remove it!” Yoru argued back, ears as pink as it was many nights ago. The colour made his fingers tingle, and he’s washed over by a layer of static. “You have been an agent for how many years and still don’t know how to clean mineral oil?”
“I do! Maybe I just don’t like cleaning up your mess! If you’re gonna be like that, take a shower next time!”
“Maybe next time, look up how to do your fucking laundry! Don’t just throw it away.”
“Or what, Yoru? Did you want those clothes too?”
Another round of gasps and the tiny crowd flipped their heads in disbelief from person to person, back and forth, back and forth. This time, Yoru’s blush doesn’t just spill down his neck, it’s all over his damned, handsome face. He crossed his arms with a scowl.
“Shut up, Phoenix,” he bit out.
“Yeah, okay, burrito boy.” Phoenix tapped on his wrist and glanced at a metaphorical watch so none of the others catch his own embarrassed yet darkly satisfied state. He’s glad his blush would never be visible like that. “Listen up, if I don’t get that detergent in what, 3-5 business days, I’ll have to take very drastic measures. You understand me?”
Yoru’s hackles rose. “And what are you going to do? Give me warning shots? Show me your perfect aim and spray a love heart around my head?”
“Oh my days, let it go already! It was one time!”
Phoenix can aim. He’s trained and everything. But he wasn’t exactly trained how to remain calm while you watch a clone of your coworker’s mug eat shit, screaming like they were the last girl alive in a horror movie all while forgetting about their water powers.
“One time is too many.”
“It’s not my fault! I didn’t even know he could scream like—”
Phoenix coughed into his fist. Brim can’t find out about this, Brim can’t find out about this. He can’t.
“Scream?” Yoru egged on, amused by his slip up.
“Ice cream, I mean. I could really go for some ice cream right about now.” Phoenix went to grab his chicken box. He was going to retreat to his room and forget about this.
Yoru, however, had other ideas and snatched the box away to hide it behind his back. “I don’t think there’s ice cream in there, Phoenix.”
This thief. How dare he?
“That’s low, Yoru. Nobody steals another guy’s wings.”
“What wings?”
“You little—” Phoenix grabbed the thief’s collar— “What happened with Harbor wasn’t deep! Just lea—”
“Uh, what about me?” a familiar voice interrupted.
Phoenix and Yoru froze. Their argument died as Phoenix slowly turned around and saw the man who’s mirror counterpart was stirring so much chaos.
Harbor and Gekko stood side by side at the entryway, dumbfounded. Phoenix gaped his mouth open and closed like a fish, speechless and at a loss for what to do. What does he say? Don’t tell Sage? Whatever you do, Phoenix, don’t you dare fucking laugh. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t—
Phoenix locked eyes with Harbor, and exploded.
---
Cats were self-sufficient. They didn’t need people, love, or kindness. They’re creatures who only needed themselves.
So the moment you earn their trust, it’s gratifying. They become the loveliest things in the world because they chose you. They chose to love you when they didn’t have to. Maybe that’s what made them so complicated yet simple.
Phoenix wondered if this was applicable with people. Ever since the argument in the kitchen, he had started to notice a number of things he didn’t give a second thought.
First would be Yoru’s sudden presence in his life. He wasn’t exactly reclusive in the past, but the lone wolf wasn’t very open, either. Yoru always had an air of arrogance, even as he started warming up. It was always Phoenix who started conversation, and Yoru didn’t initiate often. Which was a fine dynamic, Phoenix loved to run his mouth whenever.
Otherwise, he didn’t realize exactly how big of a spot Yoru occupied in Phoenix’s mind effortlessly. Was there ever a day where he didn’t think about him?
From a newly discovered weird flavour of noodles, to new games, to movies, to branching into different genres of music. Hell, he’d go and stock up on self-care products and see a comb, and bam, Yoru was on his mind. What was supposed to be random, harmless thoughts turned into little grains of sand, piling up and up and up until he’s built himself a beach.
Phoenix wanted to face-palm a thousand times. How long had this cat been sneaking up on him? Was he screwed from the beginning?
He couldn’t even tell if he was imagining things. Like if Yoru just happened to be going the same way, or was in the same room by coincidence. But that was impossible. No way he was following Phoenix around, and this vague impression of being watched was nonsense. Of course they hung out this much. It definitely wasn’t more than usual.
There was one thing that Phoenix was sure of, though. In some shape or form, Yoru must’ve lived as a feline in a past life. Phoenix took it as a sign that this meant Yoru was better. That he could finally sleep in his own room. It was at some mental detriment, the kind where now it was Phoenix who was starting to get restless alone, but at least his company helped for a little while. He can handle sleeping on the floor.
Not two months later, Yoru proved him wrong a sixth time.
Phoenix was exhausted. Two weeks of ceaseless pursuit of illegal activity involving radianite, then another dispatch to fight off enthusiastic terrorists with his friend’s faces and his own. God awful missions. He’s covered in blood and hadn’t properly slept in a lifetime.
Ready to collapse the moment he stepped inside, Phoenix scanned his ID. The automatic door slid open in a hiss to reveal his room.
Only to meet Yoru, stood there, arms crossed and agitated.
Phoenix slow blinked. Looked at the room number. Checked his ID. Glanced back at Yoru. Checked the ID again. Stared at his own face.
This was his ID. The number read nine on the wall. Was he dreaming?
Phoenix scratched the back of his neck. Must’ve been a mistake. Even if he’s sure it wasn’t.
He turned to leave but was yanked by the collar and dragged inside. Phoenix allowed himself to be manhandled like a ragdoll.
“What took you so long?” Yoru asked in a begrudging tone. How was Phoenix supposed to know he was coming over? Wasn’t Yoru also busy? Like on-a-two-month-mission sort of busy?
But he doesn’t voice any of that.
“Sorry,” Phoenix replied, throat aching around the word.
Silence. Yoru twisted Phoenix around, and Phoenix was disoriented from the sudden movements. His eyes fluttered, trying to restabilize himself by focusing on Yoru’s grip.
“What’s with your voice?”
Phoenix shook his head then grunted, the weight of his brain too heavy to hold. He closed his eyes as he peeled Yoru off his shoulders. Without the balance, Phoenix swayed and folded his body in half. Yoru caught his torso in one arm.
“Phoenix,” he repeated. Phoenix cringed at the light from his desk lamp where Yoru shuffled them over to. His collar was tugged back.
Phoenix flinched and reorientated himself. He stood up too fast and almost tumbled. He made the effort to avoid Sage because he didn’t want someone so close to his neck so soon. Yoru squeezed him tighter.
Ignoring him, Phoenix forced his way to the bed. A headache pounded at his skull, and although it had lessened since he got off the ship, it’s still present even when his radiance was overworking itself. He barely made two steps.
“Don’t ignore me.” Yoru circled around and blocked the way. “And seriously? You yell at me for getting oil on your shit and now you sleep covered in blood?”
Phoenix scowled at Yoru, too tired to be angry at his remarks. At this point, he was astonished. So what if he was going to bed covered in blood? It was his bed, not Yoru’s.
“Speaking of shit, you smell like it. Take your own advice and go shower.”
Phoenix groaned then winced at how it vibrated in his neck. Yoru took advantage of his silence for a yes, making quick work of removing his ruined jacket. The movement jostled the shallow cut on his arm and he winced again. Yoru paused, observing his face, then slid the clothing down the rest of the way. Phoenix kissed his teeth. This guy never let anything go.
He was still stuck in the sleeves when he tried to skirt Yoru again, who flashed a warning in his eyes. Eyes that wouldn’t stop darting to his neck and arm. Yoru stilled his hands and dared Phoenix to make another move. Phoenix almost snapped his ID in half and looked away, adam’s apple stiffening as he swallowed dry.
“Fine,” Phoenix complied, the word almost inaudible. How dare this cat come into his room to order him around and tell him to look after himself? The audacity.
Huffing, Phoenix left Yoru with his jacket to go rummage for his things. Toiletries, clothes, towel, whatever. Even if it was irritating, Yoru was right. He could feel his mother’s disappointment from London to here.
“Hurry up.” Yoru smacked his back. “Don’t take even longer.”
Yoru was lucky Phoenix couldn’t even summon the energy to heal himself right now, or he’d be roasting the Japanese bastard into fine wagyu.
The journey to the men’s communal bathrooms was strenuous and long, as expected. He’d say it was needless, but the relief he felt as hot water poured over his sore muscles drowned out any complaints. He simply let the shower run for god knew how long, mind empty and heart numb.
Once he was done, Phoenix continued his normal night routine. He splashed his face after brushing his teeth and startled himself once he glanced at the mirror. Dull, bloodshot eyes stared back. He brushed a finger on his eyebags. Right now they were pinkish, and Phoenix couldn’t imagined how he looked back on the ship. They must’ve been freshly red.
Further down, he grazed his neck, the discoloured hand marks wrapped his column like a collar. Raw scratch marks decorated his collarbone, proof of his animalistic struggle.
Look at how weak you look. Phoenix rubbed at his injury, chest stuttering. Look at how you failed.
Splash. He washed his face again and lathered his cleanser over his eyes in hopes of avoiding his reflection. Face cream, hair moisturizer, durag. Follow routine. Don’t focus on mistakes. They’ll be fine.
Phoenix went back down the corridor more refreshed and expected to find his new apparent roommate to be asleep. Yoru couldn’t complain anymore right? Hugging that human icicle sounded perfect to end the night with.
However, upon his return, Phoenix heard nothing. He wandered in to find his empty bed changed into new covers he didn’t recognize, his white jacket folded up next to a single red hoodie on his desk.
He felt the texture. It’s softer than he remembered and smelled of fresh laundry and a different brand of detergent. His vision blurred.
Oh. So that was it.
This was the last night.
Phoenix screwed his eyes shut, smiling. So that’s how it was. Yoru didn’t need him anymore, and this was his thank you. That’s how it was. How it should be.
He tossed the hoodie away and knew he’d probably never wear it again. Phoenix marched away from the desk, and buckled before he made it onto his bed. He hung off the edge, limp and useless.
What’s another all-nighter? He’s had plenty after missions like these. He can deal with this. Do it as he’s done it before. First, review the mission. Assess what he’s done wrong. Assess what could’ve been better. Then take the following steps needed to improve. First, sleep it off and see his dead friends alive in the morning. Avoid Sage. Say hello to Yoru. Compete in the range for the most bots shot. Report to Brimstone.
Everything was good. Everything was okay.
Phoenix fisted the sheets and screamed.
Nothing came out. His crushed vocal cords ached, words and sentences and agony twisting knots in his airways. He’s screaming. He should be screaming. But nothing comes out.
He had words he wished he could’ve said. Wanted to say. When he gripped the new bedsheets, he thought of the hoodie on the desk, the one he held around him, and their noses close to touching. Ragged breaths scraped his tongue as he wheezed through the weightless weight of Yoru laid across his bare chest.
You had him in your arms, Phoenix’s broken ribs berated, because even if he wanted to stop remembering his body would never forget. Yoru looked good in his favourite colour. He wanted to see him in it again, and to rip out anything red from his closet. Phoenix didn’t even remember it was missing. Yoru could’ve kept it. Thrown it away.
You had him in your arms and now you don't.
He should’ve known. Strays weren’t the type to say goodbye.
Goodbye? Get over yourself. Yoru would be there in the morning. It’s not like he died too. They still work together.
He had to pull himself together. Get a grip. He’s not nineteen anymore. Not even twenty.
Get over it. Get over it. Get over it. Get over—
Something ghosted over his neck, and red, despite it being the last thing he wanted to see, was all he saw.
His reflexes unsheathed like a knife. He tackled whoever was about to ambush him from behind. They lashed beneath his waist where he straddled them, held the criminal in place. A gun clattered in the distance. He reached for his ghost. Belt came up empty.
Locate your blade. Go for the kill. Kill, kill, kill—
“Phoenix!”
The distraught sound of his name was a gunshot.
There, in all his glory, laid Yoru. Phoenix stared wide eyed and panted to the frantic rhythm in his chest. The discovery sunk through the adrenaline and into his bones.
He came back. Why did he come back?
And Phoenix was close to killing him. He came so close.
“Bastard,” he rasped, eyes grown wet. “Damn bastard.” Phoenix bit the cut on his lip as he reared his head back, unable to stop himself from crumbling. From feeling the bittersweet relief. “Didn’t you have enough? Took what you fucking needed?”
Phoenix fell forward, glaring daggers into brown eyes. He wanted to scream, screech every syllable out his mouth, yet the words had to fight to get past his teeth.
Yoru doesn’t resist, only scowling slightly when Phoenix shook him. He doesn’t know how to feel. What to do with the trust given to him even when he had him in by the throat. It shackled the resentment, the pain deep in his gut and all his anger wanted was freedom. To gnaw at the chains. To bear teeth and hurt.
“I should’ve kicked you out the first time,” Phoenix croaked, his pitiful, dying voice and hitched breaths the only sound in the deafening room. He could hear himself breaking. Hear the foolish desperation, the hopelessness bouncing off the walls. “Get over this and forget it.”
Memories flood through. Blotched cheeks. Bioluminescent eyes. Sizzled touches.
“Yet here I am,” Phoenix choked, “fucked up cuz’ I thought you left.”
His voice cracked at the end as he fell over the edge, their foreheads pressed together, vision swimming before weakness dripped from his eyes. How did he look to Yoru now? Someone pathetic? Someone unworthy?
Another tear fell and Yoru flinched. Phoenix mirrored it when he felt Yoru’s stature tense against his legs. He blinked away the bleariness and gasped.
Phoenix scrambled off like he was hit and met with the edge of the bed. Shame crawled up his back as his gaze couldn’t leave the angry red marks on Yoru’s cheek. His tears were at the boiling point because he didn’t control himself properly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Yoru was meant to stay gone, he was supposed to let go.
Stupid. He was stupid. Always ruined the good things.
Why can’t he do anything right?
“Fuck. Fuck—” the curse caught wrong in his throat, ripping out a guttural cough. A violent fit followed that Phoenix muffled the into the crook of his elbow, fingers scraping at his neck as he shielded his face. When he couldn’t even swallow, he had the visceral urge to claw it open. To let whatever was building up to spill out into a sweltering, regretful mess of crimson. Of red.
He never did anything right. It’s how they all died. How he got himself there in the first place.
Drool trickling down his jaw. Death tight around his throat. Flesh digging under his nails. If a bird can’t be hunted with a gun, it can be done with a pair of hands.
Phoenix. We need back up.
“Phoenix? Phoenix? Shit—”
His clumsy hand swept the floor, remembering through the fog that his card had fallen somewhere on the ground with his things. Yoru couldn’t, shouldn’t see this. It’s not what he came for, what he needed. This helpless gagging and lack of oxygen was familiar and too soon. If he didn’t get out and sort these emotions out, he might make things worse than they already were. Maybe then he could try saving whatever him and Yoru had left.
Suddenly, his radio echoed. They died one by one in his ears.
Phoenix, please.
He had to help. He had to get out there.
This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was meant to let go.
Let go—
“Phoenix, stop!” Yoru cut through the noise, the screams in his head, and Phoenix woke to a grip on his wrists, where he clutched the fray strap of his card. He’s watching with glowing eyes, it’s alarmed yet soothing blue piercing into the depths of his soul. The iciness of his touch poured into Phoenix’s veins, a coolant running a stream through the hazed system.
Yoru tugged his wrist, the hand at his throat. “Let go.”
The gruff conviction in his voice, a seriousness Phoenix only heard when the conditions were world-ending, was betrayed by the conflicted anxiety glossed in his irises. It left Phoenix enraptured, how the traces of the rift glimmered reflections on Yoru’s cheeks like a sea floor.
“Please,” Yoru pleaded, face turned desperate. And what a foreign, unbelievable concept. Yoru being desperate.
He didn’t realize his hold had eased until it was gently extracted from him. Yoru thumbed Phoenix’s palm before releasing it, exhaling a held breath and softening where his brows pinched. Phoenix peered to the side whereas the Riftwalker’s otherworldly stare didn’t leave, Antarctic fingers tracing his cheekbone down to the cut on his bottom lip. Yoru shuffled closer.
Phoenix resisted the urge to swipe his tongue to read what question Yoru was asking. As the touch dipped lower than his chin and Phoenix reflexively stopped it, he realized that it was permission. His grip trembled. Yoru didn’t go any further.
Phoenix wanted to question back. What was he doing? Why bother?
Yoru exuded sheer intensity as his jaw tensed with a silent plea to trust him. To let go.
Phoenix couldn’t help but fold.
Once freed, Yoru didn’t hesitate to continue his path. He slid down Phoenix’s throat and pressed against one side. Phoenix shut his eyes, almost expecting for the harmless hold to squeeze, to taunt him for being a coward, and Yoru would brag how he wouldn’t of been as helpless. He’d wring out every last drop of his vulnerability before actually leaving for good.
Yet none of it came. The freezing hand was a balm to his swelled injury, and Phoenix relaxed as it finally clicked. A cold compress. He must’ve made his neck worse when he was scratching it earlier.
Clatter. Phoenix startled. His ID was pried from grip, replaced by Yoru’s touch. When their hands interlaced, he prayed that Yoru couldn’t feel his thundering pulse in the other. It only got worse as Yoru pinned it to the side of his head. Blood rushing to his face, Phoenix swallowed. Yoru definitely felt that. And his blushing. And the sweat.
After a second, Yoru let go and pressed his hand on the opposite side of his neck. More tears escaped as they remained in tangible, delicate silence. Yoru adjusted his grip, and Phoenix’s eyes fluttered. Fuck. He’s done for. He could die right here, in the palm of Yoru’s hand, and he wouldn’t have any regrets.
However, just as he thought that, Yoru retracted his hands. Phoenix panicked and seized them back, hovering above the bruises. He looked wide-eyed at Yoru, who stared back dumbfounded with his radiant powers already faded.
The cat flashed a languid smirk. “Have you calmed down?”
Phoenix dragged his gaze away from those teasing lips, his now dried cheeks burning as he let go. He was about to splutter some sort of defense, but Yoru nudged his jaw, clicking it shut.
“Don’t talk. You already made it worse,” Yoru scolded and held his chin tighter. Phoenix frowned but dipped his head in a mild nod. “Good.”
Yoru stood up and left Phoenix to sit on the floor in a dazed state. A tap and Phoenix heard his door slide shut. He rubbed his neck, the ghost of coldness freezing the blood in his arteries, and got a sense of strange deja vu. He looked up, confirming it.
Yoru held a glass of water to his mouth. “Drink.”
Phoenix stared at the glass and immediately did as he was told. Once done, Yoru rummaged through a small first aid kit, and ordered him to lift up his arm. He watched skilled hands at work, disinfecting his cut.
Stubborn, Phoenix thought as Yoru finished bandaging but lingered on his arm longer than necessary. When he retrieved the glass to place back on the desk, Phoenix admired what Yoru was wearing under the light. Then he glanced at the closed door. His ID sat beneath his leg. And never lets anything go.
Ah, he’s been wrong the whole time. Phoenix couldn’t kick him out even if he tried. Strays always come back, don’t they?
“Yo,” Phoenix began to Yoru’s disgruntlement. “So that’s my shirt, right?”
They stared at each other. Yoru said nothing, and abruptly picked him up. Not a hint of struggle showed in his expression, even when Phoenix flailed in shock as the smugness was wiped from his face, and threw the both of them onto the bed like he weighed a feather. They landed with their legs tangled and Yoru’s arm over his stomach.
Phoenix groaned, the dull ache of his injuries and exhaustion hitting him at once. He opened his eyes to chaotic whisps of hair and blew a few strands from his chin, then sighed before adjusting his arms to embrace Yoru’s head. Threading fingers through hair, the Riftwalker became boneless like a pet on his owner’s lap. Not that Phoenix would ever own him. Yoru was better off on the streets — menaces like him belonged there.
“You better not move from here,” the stray mumbled in a faint voice and fell asleep in record time. The audacity.
Every night he came here, Yoru was getting so shameless that Phoenix was beginning to forget how he used to be at the start of this. Did he even realize that this was outright cuddling?
But Phoenix resigned to his fate. He’d take what he could get if it meant he could listen to the soft snores rumbling against his chest.
His body heat would be hot enough to keep both of them warm.
---
Next morning, his throat hurt like hell.
Phoenix grumbled, since it was rare to wake up in pain, and woke himself up. What time was it?
But as he turned to his side to check his alarm, what he met instead was enough to jump-scare him into next year. Rested on his bicep was a peaceful, sleeping Yoru. The loose arms from last night, the same ones that had effortlessly held his weight, still circled his body. His reclusive coworker stirred.
Meanwhile, Phoenix was busy trying to get his heart into working again. What the fuck was Yoru still doing here? It had to be late morning, or early afternoon by now.
Phoenix fumbled, careful to not wake up the sleeping beast. Right, his phone should be on his night stand. But Yoru was laying on his arm, so how does he go about this? Does he reach around? Phoenix gave the limb a tug, testing.
Yoru groaned, shifting with it, because of course, he just had to be sensitive to movement. Can this insomniac not choose between deep or light sleeper? Phoenix lifted his head off the pillow, squinting at the clock. He could barely read it above chaotic bed hair.
Giving up, he winced as he craned his neck back. The painful throbs came in waves and Phoenix frowned as he tried to focus on something else. He’s tired yet too rested to fall back asleep. Yoru just happened to be a perfect subject to concentrate on. Waking up in pain was rare but waking up with company was rarer. May as well relish in what he could get.
Yoru, as if hearing his thoughts, pinched his brows. The soft snores stuttered to a stop and Phoenix cracked a wobbly smile. Gentle orange illuminated Yoru’s complexion since they forgot to turn off the back drop, and Phoenix flushed as he studied the faint marks. Shit, he didn’t know if he should be embarrassed or relieved that Yoru found him as he was.
Then, an impulsive thought entered his head. One he tried to ignore yet the more he did the louder it was. Phoenix was never a guy who asked questions before taking action. He happened to enjoy taking risks.
Brushing his knuckles under closed eyes, Phoenix laser focused on the burns, how they looked on Yoru’s panicked expression as he told him to stop, to let go. Antarctic fingers sliding down his chin. Gentle and cautious as it asked for permission. His writhed pulse fighting against the cold. Bioluminescent eyes.
Phoenix peeked at teasing lips, wondering if he kissed them he’d get another smile. He settled for the cheek instead. The one he burned.
He pulled back. Fought the blush creeping up his neck. Stared at that defenseless mouth again. What was he doing? He had to get up to eat, not take advantage of Yoru while he was sleeping.
But a firm grasp at his side caused his eyes to jerk up. He met a surprised gaze and watercolour flush, dusted peach beneath the night screen. Phoenix’s heart stopped and reality settled in. He wasn’t awake for that, was he?
But the snores stopped a long time ago.
“Mo-morning, Yoru,” Phoenix stammered, his voice wrecked by both sleep and pained swelling. He wrenched his arm free and turned to the other side, unable to face what he had done, steam radiating off his body to make a sauna of the room.
Phoenix didn’t test the waters and the waters were shallow.
“Should we, er, go eat—”
Like a bear trap, the arms around his waist snapped shut. A tiny noise squeaked out, one that Phoenix refused to believe he made, and he’s squirming as something slipped under his shirt.
“Wha—” Phoenix yelped. He twitched as chaste lips press against where his shoulder and neck meet. Then another. And another. The peppered kisses were feather-light and fleetingly abundant and left behind a lasting tingle that startled a scratchy laugh out of him. “Yoru, wai—”
Callouses stroked along the bumps of his abs. Phoenix made a strained noise, high-pitched and wrangled that could hardly be called a laugh and more a shriek, but it had to be a laugh because Phoenix decidedly does not giggle. He doesn’t giggle, and if anyone told him otherwise, they were dead wrong. Men don’t giggle.
Yoru didn’t seem to agree. Phoenix could feel his lips curve, how his satisfied smirk made a home against the back of his nape, kissing its shape deep like it could engrave a memory into bruised skin. With his touch sizzling now, Phoenix could almost forget how it left frost in his veins last night. He wanted this to go on forever.
Forever stopped the moment Phoenix cried out in pain. He flinched as the smirk dropped into a frown, stomach recoiling as Yoru retreated back over that specific rib. Phoenix muffled another groan, able to catch himself the second time.
Yoru readjusted their positions. He maneuvered Phoenix on his back in an instant, caging Phoenix in and lifted the hem higher to get a better look. Phoenix clutched at his wrists in a futile struggle. Too late.
Yoru’s frown morphed into a scowl. “Get up. We’re getting Sage.”
Phoenix quickly yanked half his shirt down. Yoru narrowed his eyes and kept his hand where it was. In the heat of the fight, it was a clean break and Phoenix managed to heal it in time, but the skin was still sensitive.
Yoru had to know that. Which was why he, being the prick that he was, decided to press onto it. Phoenix hissed at the flare up.
“No.”
Yoru applied more pressure. “Yes.”
Phoenix screwed up his nose, leg jumping as the pain increased. His twisting made it worse.
“Healin’ on it’s own,” Phoenix bit out and reworked his jaw. That was the truth. His voice, although ruined, was way better than yesterday. So what if his neck hurt and itched more? That meant his radiance was doing its job. “Just give it time.”
“You should have went as soon as you came back.”
“Can heal myself. Don’t need Sage.” She didn’t need a higher workload than 3 people to revive. Phoenix could handle himself, yet Yoru was determined to prove him wrong. One skillful dig, and his mouth fell open in a soundless shout.
“Ow, fuck!” Phoenix swatted at Yoru, pounding at his arm. “S’not gonna heal if, if you keep—” he groaned— “if you keep doing that! You tryna’ break it again?”
Yoru was unperturbed by his reactions, nonchalantly adding his weight to it. Phoenix cursed. His eyes watered.
“Okay! Okay, okay!” Phoenix gave in and squirmed where he was pinned down. “You win! You win, alright?”
Yoru relented. Phoenix sighed relief, damaged ribcage rattling. Yoru rubbed circles into Phoenix’s side and watched under a murky gaze of his minute shudder.
“Phoenix,” Yoru muttered, eyes dark. His name sounded right in Yoru’s mouth.
“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix replied, breathless. “Let’s go.”
---
Sage was not happy.
Phoenix thought he’d be there the entire day with how she chewed him out. Drilled it into his head on and on about how strangulation can cause loss of bladder control, dizziness, and even be fatal enough to cause memory loss and brain damage. The more she unraveled the symptoms and completed studies, the more Yoru was also giving him the stink eye and mirrored her disbelief. What a hypocrite, that guy was. Acting like Phoenix hadn’t caught him hiding his injuries sometimes.
“Lucky you, Phoenix. I guess you can’t have brain damage if you don’t have one.”
It was a close call, but Phoenix didn’t hit him. Yoru was lucky himself, since Phoenix respected Sage too much and they were in her territory: the medical office.
They left the sector and headed to the kitchen. It was around 10am, way past Phoenix’s time for gym, but he was never a consistent kind of person anyway. Routine could get boring, and a spontaneous breakfast never hurt anyone. Especially if it’s with a guy you have an ambiguous relationship with.
“Look.” Yoru placed a tea spoon next to Phoenix’s bowl. “It’s you.”
Phoenix raised brow. He picked up the object in a ginger grip. “Me?”
Yoru’s smirk was so wide that Phoenix wondered if it was permanent. The mischievous cat didn’t reply, opting to watch the toaster until it dinged.
What did Yoru mean? Why didn’t he just give Phoenix a bigger spoon?
Wait.
“Seriously?” Phoenix grumbled and rubbed his eyes. “Disrespect first thing in the morning?”
Yoru pulled on a shit-eating grin. “In the morning, but far from the first thing we’ve done.”
Nevermind. Spontaneous breakfasts were banned. They hurt everyone, and Phoenix was everyone. Why didn’t he just take a protein bar and leave? Wherever his pride and heart had went, it had gone onto the wrong rollercoaster.
“Shut up,” Phoenix snapped, tucking half his face into his shirt collar. He tossed the spoon at Yoru, who threw his head back and laughed.
“Don’t cry, Phoenix.”
The ceiling had to be covered in smoke. “I’m actually gonna kill you.”
“You can try.”
That next morning, Phoenix almost wished he woke up alone. Had never let in the cat who always had something to say. But with Yoru sliding into the seat next to him, bumping shoulders, he couldn’t say he regretted it.