Work Text:
When Clove opened their eyes, the first thing they noticed wasn’t the familiar glow of purple in their ceiling, illuminated by the numerous crystals they possess. Nor was it the familiar scent of old papers from the collection of books they tucked safely beneath their pillow.
Definitely a hint to their preference for a firmer choice for pillows.
But right now, all they noticed was how the room smelled faintly of lavender. The pillows felt plush as their head sank right in. It seems there was something sweet lingering in the air, something soft, clean, and warm. The scent clung to the sheets beneath their cheek, lingering on the pillowcase. It didn’t seem like perfume, it was closer to a scent that lingered after being exposed with it for too long.
Clove opened one eye, grimacing at the bright light shining from the window. They adjusted their view before opening the other, eyes staring at the room in question. None of the evidence points to the fact that this is their room.
They sat up for a bit. Just across from the bed was a small desk, neat with a knife laid beside a stack of reports—a camera sitting just at the corner. A familiar white hoodie folded over the back of the chair, and a half-empty glass of milk tea sitting on the coaster.
Realization dawned on them hard, Clove almost stopped breathing.
Oh.
Oh no.
They sat up so quickly the blanket fell from their shoulders.
They were not in their room.
A soft snore snapped them out of their train of thoughts. Their head snapped to the spot beside them on the bed. And there he was—Iso.
Iso laid on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, his dark hair slightly nestled from the friction. His eyes were soft by sleep, in ways Clove had never seen outside of their private hours. In the field, Iso had always exhibited a frown—concentrated, perhaps—and that made him look untouchable.
But now, in the unfamiliar yet familiar room, Iso looks human. Gone was the traces of a radiant soldier, only a man who rested in the comfort of his bed.
Clove stared at him a second longer. Then their gaze shifted towards the door. “Shite.”
The word came out in a whisper, low enough to not disturb the man still asleep. But with his training as an assassin, it felt almost impossible for him to rest if there was any small noise.
Iso’s eyes opened, gaze sharp and focused, already reading the room for danger. As if he was never asleep the whole time. But when he saw them sitting upright, frozen beneath his blanket, the tension immediately eased from his shoulder.
“You okay?” His voice carried the fatigue from his rest, unlike his eyes. “What is it?”
Clove pointed at the door and his gaze followed. Silence fell between the two, just enough for the hustling outside of the door to seep into the room.
Iso understood immediately. There was a faint shift of expression in his face. Not panic, he doesn’t really seem like the kind who does. But his eyes moved towards the window—where the light was shining through then towards the clock on his bedside table.
07:15AM.
As if on cue, a booming voice laughed from somewhere down the hall. Probably Raze. Then another answered and footsteps passed by.
Clove felt their stomach drop so hard it might have gone through the mattress.
“No, no, no.” They threw the blanket aside, then froze again because their top was nowhere to be found, lost somewhere in the not so neat or dignified pile. One sock was near the door. Their jacket was hanging on at the end of the bed. Their shirt—
Iso reached down beside the bed and handed it to them without making any comment.
Clove snatched it from him. “This is bad.”
“I know.”
“This is very bad.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Do not just agree with me, Zhao Yu.”
His mouth twitched slightly, a laugh almost escaping despite the lack of amusement in his eyes. “Would you prefer I lie?”
“I would have preferred I woke up in my own room like a responsible adult.”
“You are a responsible adult?”
Clove shot him a look.
Iso lifted both hands in surrender, but there was something careful in the gesture, in the way that he moved. As amused as he is, there was gentleness threading lightly behind the seams—as if he knew one wrong joke might make the relationship fracture.
That was the problem Clove had with him. Iso noticed too much. Whether it was habit or just instinct.
The two of them have established very simple rules. One they made after that one mission in Abyss when things between them had taken a strange turn and neither can go back to the way they were. They had come back bruised, exhausted, still carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Iso had pulled Clove out of a line of fire. While Clove had come back from death with a laugh that was not as funny to others, it shook them too hard knowing the pressure.
Yet, afterwards, they had found each other way too easily.
The first time had been a mistake, they made sure to clear that out.
The second time, however, had been an agreement.
Casual, they had said. Something private, no expectations, no staying overnight, no bringing feelings into, and the most important part: do not let anyone in the Protocol know. Not even Cypher, one notorious for knowing things people swore they’ll bring it to the grave. Because the second someone knew, it became something other people could put a label on.
And if there was a label on them, Clove would have to let it sink in and admit the feelings they tried so hard to deny.
They scrambled to gather their clothes from the floor, steps wobbly. “I have to go.”
Iso sat up now. “Not yet.”
“I have to go now.”
“But the hallway is full.”
“I know the hallway is full.” Clove ran both hands through their hair, making it worse. “That is why I am panicking.”
Another set of footsteps passed outside, slower this time. Someone yawned, then someone else asked about coffee. The Protocol was alive.
This was—and still is—a disaster. This was exactly the kind of thing they had sworn to not let happen. Clove could already imagine it. Phoenix grinning. Jett making some comment that would make Clove want to die properly for once. Killjoy’s eyebrows rising in terrible interest.
Worst of all, people would look at Iso. People would look at Iso and Clove and see something they have yet to admit out loud.
Clove could feel their chest tightening.
“I can sneak out.”
“No.” Iso stood up, taking a step closer to the Controller. “If you go now, you will be seen.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“You’ll be obvious.”
“I am never obvious.”
This time, Iso looked amused.
Cloves pointed a finger at him. “Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You thought of something.”
“I think of many things.”
“Oh, brilliant! That helps.”
Iso stepped closer now. “Ollie.”
Clove hated it when Iso called their name. It sounded different when it fell out of his lips. Maybe it was the fact that he only said it in the comfort of their privacy. But it does things inside of their stomach that felt like they just did backflips.
“I know,” he said. “You don’t want them to know.”
Clove laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Aye, because there is nothing more relaxing than having a secret arrangement exposed because I took an accidental nap.”
Iso’s voice did not change much, but his gaze softened. “Is that all this is?”
The room went still.
Clove looked away first. There it was. The thing underneath the panic. The thing they had been beating around the bush for months. It was never just the jokes or rumors or the awkward questions at breakfast.
What they were concerned about was the comfort of waking up in the lavender scented sheets, where they had properly slept. No jolting awake from the memory of dying over and over again. No reaching for their own pulse to find proof they were still alive. No laughing too loud to cover the fear screaming inside of their mind.
They had slept in Iso’s room because some part of them found comfort in the space—a place safe enough for them to forget the rules of their own lives.
Somehow, that comfort terrified them more than the bustling in the hallway.
“I can’t do this,” Clove said quietly.
Iso did not ask, he probably already knew. He only leaned back against the desk, arms loose at his sides. “Sit down for a moment.”
“I don’t need to sit.”
“You are shaking.”
Clove looked down at their hands. Indeed, they were shaking.
Traitors.
They curled them into fists to stop the shaking. “I’m fine.”
“I have seen you say that with a bullet in your ribs.”
“Exactly. Reliable statement.”
“Not necessarily.”
Clove wanted to snap at him. Wanted to throw a joke sharp enough to cut through the concern from his face. Maybe then there would be a distance between them and he would stop looking at them like that—like they were something fragile as if they were not immortal.
But instead, Iso stayed silent. His gaze followed their movement but his body didn’t move.
They were grateful for that. Since, if he had placed his palm over theirs, closing around their wrist with maddening gentleness, they might have cracked open right there on his bed.
Then, Iso moved to the small counter on the corner of his room. Clove had teased him about it before. How his room was organized like he had prepared for a siege and breakfast at the same time. On the counter sat a rice cooker, a small electric pan, a kettle, and a line of tea tins. Everything is neat and placed intentionally.
“What are you doing?” Clove asked.
“Making breakfast.”
Clove blinked. “Zhao Yu, this is not the time for breakfast.”
“You have not eaten.”
“We are one bad door opening away from becoming Protocol gossip for the next six months.”
“A crisis, I noticed.” He pulls out a pan. “I am making breakfast.”
Clove let out a short, incredulous laugh. The absurdity of it hitting them all at once. The hallway outside, their broken rule, the fear pressing against their ribs—and Iso, calm as ever, preparing egg fried rice like nothing was happening.
Iso heard the laugh. “That’s better.”
“Oh, is that your strategy? Feed me until I stop panicking?”
“It has worked on you before.”
“It has not.”
“You become less annoying after snacks.”
Clove gasped. “I am delightful at all times.”
The pan hissed softly as he added oil, then rice, then egg. The smell filled the room, warm and simple, mingling strangely with the lavender. Clove sat on the edge of his bed because standing suddenly felt like too much effort. They watched him cook.
Iso in combat was beautiful in a terrifying way. All clean lines and quiet violence, a man who could turn focus into a shield and drag an enemy into a duel they would not survive.
But Iso making breakfast was worse—in a good way.
His movements were still precise but it lacked the coldness compared to the one in the field. Just care hidden in routine. Clove had fallen first. They knew that now. They had probably known for weeks.
Maybe it happened the first time Iso waited for them after they died on a mission, his face unreadable but his hand reaching for their wrist the second they came back.
Maybe it happened when he started carrying their favorite candy in one of his pockets and pretended it was coincidental.
Maybe it happened when they realized his room smelled of lavender because sleep did not come easily to him either.
The worst part was that they had thought they were alone in it.
Then Iso handed them a bowl.
“Eat,” he said.
Clove accepted it with both hands. “Bossy.”
“You are welcome.”
The rice was simple. Egg, leftover rice, a little soy sauce, some scallion. Nothing fancy. But it was warm, and Clove had not realized how hungry they were until the first bite made their chest ache with relief. It was good. Annoyingly good.
For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. Outside, the hallway remained alive. Doors opened and closed. Someone complained about training. The world carried on, unaware of the disaster sitting in Iso’s room with breakfast in hand.
“I don’t know how to be with someone,” they admitted.
Iso’s chopsticks paused.
Clove forced themself to continue before bravery left them. “Not properly. Not when I’m like this. People say immortality like it’s some gift, but it’s not clean. It’s not pretty. I die, and I come back, and everyone laughs because I laugh first. But it still happens. I still feel it.”
Iso said nothing.
“If I let someone love me,” they said, voice softer, “then I’m asking them to watch that. Over and over.”
Iso set his bowl aside.
Clove braced themself for reassurance. For some well-meant line about how it was fine, how they were fine, how death did not count if they came back.
He did not give them that.
“I know.” Iso set his spoon down, voice solemn. “I hate it,”
Clove’s breath caught.
His hands rested loosely between his knees, but his shoulders were tense. “In Abyss, when you went down, I moved before I thought. I knew you could come back but that did not matter.” His eyes lifted to theirs. “I still wanted to reach you before death did.”
A beat. Clove forgot how to function.
Clove set their bowl beside his. “I’m scared,”
“Ollie,” he said, quieter now. “I am scared too.”
That surprised them more than any confession could have. Iso, who had walked into gunfire with calm eyes. Iso, who had killed before the Protocol ever gave him a mission. Iso, who moved like fear was something he had cut out of himself years ago.
But there it was. Honest and raw.
I am scared too.
Clove looked at him, and suddenly he seemed less like a locked door and more like someone waiting on the other side of one. They reached for his hand before they could think better of it.
Iso looked down as their fingers touched his. For a second, he did not move but then he turned his hand over and held theirs. No teasing. Just warmth.
Clove stared at their joined hands. “This is breaking another rule.”
“Yes.”
They wanted to say a dozen things. That they had fallen too fast. That this was supposed to be simple. That they were terrified of wanting him beyond closed doors and late nights. How the scent of lavender that lingered from would they associate with safety.
Being trapped in his room in the morning should have felt like the end of the world. Surrounded by evidence of everything they had tried so hard to deny. But instead of panic, something softer settled inside of their chest.
Iso stood first. “I’ll check the hallway.”
Clove lifted their head. “And if someone sees you leaving your own room?”
He gave them a flat look.
“Right,” they muttered. “Less suspicious.”
He took his phone from the desk and paused by the door.
“Lock it after me,” he said.
Clove smiled faintly. “Careful. Anyone would think you care.”
Iso’s expression stayed perfectly calm but the tips of his ears turned pink. Then he stepped out.
Clove locked the door and stood in his room, fully dressed now, their heart beating far too loudly. Their phone buzzed.
Iso: Hallway is clear. Turn left. Do not run.
Iso: You are bad at looking innocent.
Clove snorted despite themself. They gathered the last of their things, opened the door, and slipped into the hallway. At the far end, Iso stood near the corner, phone in hand, expression unreadable to anyone who did not know better.
But Clove did know better now.
As they passed, his hand shifted just enough for their knuckles to brush. Clove made it to the next hallway before their phone buzzed again.
Iso: Safe.
Iso: Eat properly later.
Clove leaned against the wall outside their room, trying and failing to smother their smile.
Clove: Bossy.
Iso: Dramatic.
Iso: Stay next time, if you want.
Clove stared at the screen for a long moment, their smile shifting softer now.
There it was. Not a demand for a label. Just a door left unlocked for when they were ready.
Their fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Clove: Only if you make breakfast again.
Iso: Deal.
Iso: And lock the door next time.
Clove laughed, soft and helpless.
Maybe they were still scared. Maybe he was too. But as lavender clung faintly to their clothes, Clove wondered if fear did not always have to mean running.
Maybe sometimes, fear was only the first step before staying.