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Yoru and Phoenix, two duelists with too much pride and not enough breaks to rival their gas, are constantly in a horrific push-pull of false confidence and an impossible feat of admitting to themselves or the other that their counterparts might have had merit in their existence.

But, the separation between their lives wasn’t always like that.

Their relationship wasn’t always a push-pull of hate and annoyance. It had blossomed over the years from mutual arrogance between the two, subtle jabs, and glares from across tables or during poker nights. It sprouted from seething arguments that always amounted to a sour taste in both boys' mouths.

Everyone in the agency, no matter how involved they were with others, knew the rivalry between Yoru and Phoenix. It was a known fact, a mutual understanding between all people involved not to let the two be too close together for too long.

When they needed an aircraft to get them to and from a spike site, Yoru and Phoenix were at separate ends of the vehicle. When they were picking rooms, Yoru’s room was the furthest down the hall it could be from the other duelist’s. It was even to the point that their designated chairs around the communal table were far enough apart from one another that they wouldn’t be able to hear each other during meal hours.

It was an undeniable fact: Yoru and Phoenix simply didn’t mix - their personalities being similar enough to repel one another like water and oil trapped in the same container, and it had been like that for over two years.

And the other agents were tired of it.

Just as much of a fact was Yoru and Phoenix’s horrendous distaste of one another, it was a fact that walking around eggshells when it came to something as simple as a seating arrangement for the pair was far more exhausting than anyone wanted it to be. Everyone was sick of it, most of all Jett, who was forced to watch the two bicker like cats and dogs over things as simple as dish duty like their horrendous prides would be ripped right from their souls if they dared to wash the other person’s plate.

It was painful for anyone and everyone involved, watching Yoru and Phoenix swear to hate each other like nothing else. At the same time, they both sought out their rival just to have someone to argue with - Yoru’s excuse was that Phoenix was too annoying for his own good, meaning that it would ‘simply be a disservice to not use that fool as live entertainment’ while Phoenix would permanently deny the fact that he was looking for a fight; quote - ‘I wouldn't want to talk with him if I was suffocating and there was oxygen in that asshole’s words’.

Yoru and Phoenix couldn't get along if lives depended on it, and considering their jobs, lives often did rely on it. When it came to their minor spats, it was nothing more than background noise most days, but they weren't always spats. Sometimes they were arguments that would come at the worst times. Sometimes they were Yoru and Phoenix screaming at each other over coms while under heavy gunfire to the point that no other agents could even hear Sova’s attempted callouts. Sometimes their differences caused enough issues on the field that it put not only themselves in danger, but their entire team at the risk of death from a singular disagreement.

Their little rivalry had gotten out of control in the eyes of the other agents, and considering they were the ones on the field with the pair while they squabbled like insolent toddlers over sharing toys, it was their call to make. The agent that had reached their limit first with the pair was Brimstone, at least he was the first to act on his annoyances, the other agents mostly keeping to themselves; null Jett who had, on serval occasions, yelled at the pair to stop their squabbling before she stopped it herself. That outburst had caused peace between the two for all of four days before Phoenix went into Yoru’s room (he didn't) and broke one of Yoru’s pens (he did, but it was on the counter in the kitchen, which Yoru had argued wasn't a valid excuse. Neither of them were right, and no one heard the end of it for several weeks.)

The first to truly act on it was their commander, however, instead of pulling them into one of his usual meetings to discuss their behaviours he had decided to do something more drastic. Brimstone wanted the two to get along, or at least learn to tolerate being in a room with one another without one of them storming out of it in a huff.

It was a classic idea Brimstone had learned via his time in the army, an idea that he planned on using to get the two duelists to learn to accept the other’s presence: a little bit of forced quality time.

Brimstone wasn’t simply going to lock them in a room and force them to not argue with each other (much to Cypher’s disappointment), he wasn’t an animal, but he didn’t plan on making their lesson all that tolerable; they wouldn’t learn if they were in their element.

It was rare for duelists to be put on recon missions, let alone with each other, but no one was going to stop Brimstone from sticking the pair into one - if they had a complaint, they could always bring it up to Brimstone.

And did the pair have complaints.

“You really wanna put me and him in the same room? For two weeks? You’ve gotta be crazy or somethin’, Brim.”

Phoenix angrily paced around Brimstone’s office as he ranted, hand flying rapidly as he spoke, huffing about the entire situation. Yoru, on the other hand, was clenching his jaw hard enough to cause a migraine to start to build in his head, hand gripping the file given to the pair at the start of the meeting. He sat in the chair across from Brimstone’s desk, the chair beside him was empty, meant to be sat in by Phoenix before he had decided that walking around frantically would fit the situation better than simply sitting down like a normal person to have a conversation.

“I hope you wrote the wrong names on here,” Yoru’s tone was seething, but his face was surprisingly calm, the veil of smugness it always had still lingering as he spoke. “Or else I may start to think that the dementia is finally kicking in.. commander.”

Yoru tacked the tag on the end of the sentence with little finesse, and he would have grinned if he wasn’t livid with the arrangement. Phoenix was still busy pacing, mumbling to himself, though neither of the other men could understand it with how thick Phoenix’s accent could get when he was upset. After a few moments, Brimstone sighed heavily before standing up from his office chair, leaning over the desk with his palms flat on the hardwood.

“I'm sure the two of you were smart enough to piece it together, but I didn't choose you both to go on this mission simply by coincidence.” Brimstone’s voice was gruff and loud, unsurprisingly shutting up Phoenix’s ranting and getting him to sit down in the seat he was meant to take.

“You two have been causing issues, and it hasn’t just been lately, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re both aware of the headaches you’ve both been causing everyone.” At the accusations, Yoru huffed under his breath and averted his eyes while Phoenix looked at his lap where his hands were pulled into tight fists. “Several agents have told you to get this little feud over with, and since you both ignored their warnings, consider this karma.”

Brim took the files from Yoru’s arm, earning an indignant squawk from the younger agent, which Phoenix had snickered at before getting a glare from the other two men. Brimstone set the file on the desk and opened it, showing the entire layout of what would be their next mission together. As Brimstone spoke, he pointed across the page, highlighting where each section was.

“If you both had bothered to read the briefing, which I doubt,” Brimstone slid Phoenix a poorly hidden, disapproving look before continuing. “Then you would both know that his mission isn’t particularly hard. It’s a simple recon mission, and I’m sure you’re both smart enough to work on it; though, that’s only if you can figure out how to work together.”

Brimstone pointed to a small map on the page, looking at Yoru. “And, for the record, working together does not mean ordering Phoenix around.” The criticism got a huff from the riftwalker, grumbling something under his breath angrily while Brimstone continued. “You’ll be stationed in Hungary, where we’ve been getting radianite spikes for the last few days. If we are getting them, so is Omega, and I’ll have you both stationed there to ensure that there isn’t anything critical happening.”

“Our job is to play guard dogs? Really? We have to be stuck there for two weeks to do some lookout?” Phoenix’s voice was light, a small smile on his face as he realized just how easy the mission really would be for a moment before it dropped. “But I gotta do it with him, don’t I?” Phoenix nodded to Yoru, who gave Phoenix a glare in return.

“Well, if you bother to read the file I gave to you, you wouldn’t have to ask those questions.” Phoenix shrunk in on himself slightly at the jab, looking at his lap again, and Yoru would have teased him for looking like a kid in the principal’s office if the principal wasn’t right in front of him. “But yes, it’s a straightforward mission, one that I trust both of you to do well with. Consider it a two-week paid vacation at this point.”

“Two weeks stuck with an idiot.” Yoru’s voice was harsh, glaring directly at Phoenix as if he was the reason for their mission. Phoenix glared back immediately, kicking Yoru’s shin before grimacing as Yoru kicked back. After a few seconds, the pair had begun another catfight, and the only reason they had broken it up was Brimstone’s gruff throat-clearing. Phoenix looked guilty, immediately taking in a deep breath to calm his body temperature while Yoru only scoffed softly, crossing his arms with a poorly-hidden roll of his eyes.

“You two need a mental check with how you treat one another, and if forcing you two into a recon with each other for two weeks is the only way, then you’re packing bags.” At how angry Brimstone sounded, a rare thing to happen especially if genuine, Yoru shrunk into himself slightly as Phoenix did the same. Phoenix opened his mouth to defend himself, maybe apologize or beg Brimstone not to force him to go before shutting it at the pointed glare he got from both of the other agents.

After a moment, Yoru sighed sharply and reached over the desk, closing the file and dragging it under his arm again. He didn’t bother saying goodbye, something he picked up after so many years of simply leaving when he felt like it, only nodding curtly to Brimstone and walking out. Phoenix followed a moment later, opening his mouth before sighing and standing up, looking dejected. The agent grumbled something under his breath as he walked out, but Brimstone didn’t bother with reaming him out for the tone of it, knowing he would be throwing a fit if he had been in their positions.

The rest of the base was tense, all the other agents either overhearing the conversation or overhearing others talk about the conversation they heard, and without Phoenix’s usual chipper additions to morale, it felt almost dull in the base. The other agents were sure to steer clear of the pair, specifically Phoenix, who looked half-ready to burn down the whole protocol if someone dared to look at him wrong. It was weird without their usual banter, if the agents thought about it, as most of the background chatter consisted of Yoru and Phoenix’s bickering. Now that they were walking on eggshells around both of the agents, it was beyond odd, and it made the base feel stale and tension veiled the air.

Yoru and Phoenix came to their realization that, no matter which way they complained or fought, there was no getting out of the joint mission. They were going to have to stay in the same country - worse, in the same room as their multi-year rival without any time away from one another apart from spending their days watching a spike site with no one else there. It didn't need to be said out loud, as they both knew it as they stormed into their respective rooms to begin their anger-filled packing process: if they weren't able to figure out how to tolerate one another soon, there would be a body bag somewhere in Hungary before the end of the first week.

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The two packed in relative silence, huffing to themselves as they did so. No matter how far away they were, a full hallway apart, both Yoru and Phoenix couldn't help but feel like the other was glaring at them through the wall. It put the pair more on edge than they already were, something they were both surprised by, Phoenix even had to take a few breaks while packing to leave his room if only to take a breath before he set his bedsheets on fire by proxy.

They were, admittedly, both messes. For all the bravado and anger, many of their disputes came from not understanding how to communicate with the other well enough to have anything more than a nod to one another on their good days. Phoenix was always great at conversations, being able to trail one and keep it as high energy as he was whenever he wanted, but Yoru never seemed to reciprocate it. It was always hums of indifferent scoffs when it came to their first interactions before the rivalry started; Phoenix attempting to start a conversation and Yoru never even responded with words, let alone energy.

Over time, it caused a rift, and the distance between the duelists was easier filled with glares and petty arguments than attempting to mend the break. From there, it blossomed, leaving them both with a rivalry that had gotten bad enough that Brim put them into the mission equivalent of a timeout.

The pair were scheduled to head out the next morning at some ungodly hour, so they had the entire afternoon to do nothing but pack and loathe, which they both did solemnly. After some convincing, Jett was able to drag Phoenix from his room to socialize with the other agents instead of angrily sulking in his room.

In reality, all Phoenix did to ‘socialize’ was sitting in the community room with a stale glass of slowly warming water in his hand as he listened to other agents ramble and rant to fill the silence Phoenix usually would. It was tense in the room, mostly due to how the firebird still had a furrow in his brow and a small frown on his face, but no one paid it much mind beyond not bothering him too much - only to recount a story or clear up confusion with a memory.

Yoru, however, didn’t get the same treatment. As much as the others tried to befriend him, he was cold, no matter how joyful and bright his attempted conversation partner was. He was rarely invited to events after the first few months of attempts, as they were tired of him never showing up, eventually deciding not to bother with the trouble. The same happened now, none of the other agents bothered to go through the usual song and dance of inviting Yoru and getting nothing but a scoff or stale silence. So, they left him to his own devices, letting him loiter in his room as he so often did.

The rest of the night went fine, the morale feeling low and the air unusually thick with tension, but nothing that caused too much of a damper on any agent’s moods for the evening. Phoenix was eventually able to finish his packing, after several hours of procrastination and angered grumbling, and slept fitfully in his room for the night. Yoru did the same, saying goodnight to no one other than a passing thought to his reflection as he brushed his teeth.

The next morning the pair were exhausted, dust bunnies and peeking rays of sun over the horizon being the only things awake at the same hour as Yoru and Phoenix. Usually, it would be a bickering match if they were the only ones awake, over food or coffee or noise or whatever thing could be argued over, but they came to a silent but mutual agreement to just shut up and keep to themselves. At least for that morning.

They silently made themselves food, Phoenix making a fried egg with a strip of ham for himself and Yoru was content to only have a sliced apple with a protein bar. They both had the temptation to pick a fight with the other’s meal, but kept their mouths shut, only a disapproving look followed by a glare passing between them as the two ate in their silence. They later packed their bags into the cargo section of their small airliner plane, being piloted by a Kingdom worker neither had the energy to remember the face of, and Yoru convinced himself that he misheard the mumbled sorry when Phoenix bumped into him.

They sat in their seats, far away from each other for their sanity, and watched the sunrise as the engine warmed up. It was finally spring, the snow shedding itself off the trees and forest floor as the days passed, and the pair watched the ice glitter under the morning’s rays as they started the flight.

Unsurprisingly, Yoru immediately put on his headphones and closed his eyes, letting his head loll back with a muted thunk and a heavy sigh. Phoenix let himself look the other up and down with something other than a glare, taking in just how exhausted the riftwalker looked.

It was easy to forget that Yoru was still a human even behind the coldness, anger, and pride. He got tired and annoyed and drowsy, he felt hunger and heartbreak, and Phoenix seemed to conclude that Yoru was just as much of a human as he was as he looked over the other’s broken posture. How weird it was, to realize your rival felt as much as you do. Phoenix looked away, casting the thoughts away as fast as they came, and put his headphones on with a huff only he heard.

The flight was just short of 9 hours long, the duelists sleeping through a third of it, Phoenix only woken up after 3 hours by Yoru’s upset mumbles. The older man was paler than usual, frantically rummaging through his backpack that was stored by his feet, a grimace on his face to match the sickly look. Phoenix opened his mouth before shutting it, realizing in his post-sleep haze that his speaking would probably stress Yoru out more. Usually, he would speak anyways, just to see Yoru get pissed off, but he didn’t have the energy to.

And, looking at how Yoru looked half a second away from losing the protein bar he had eaten only a few hours beforehand, Phoenix would feel like he was kicking someone when they were already down. That wasn’t his style.

After a few moments, Yoru sighed heavily, holding a small packet of pills in silver foil. He stood, both duelists ignoring how he stumbled and reached a shaky hand to his water. He took two of the pills, drank the rest of his small cup, and sat back down in his chair. Yoru rested his head in his left hand, elbow on his fold-out tray, and Phoenix found himself with a small smirk on his face.

Yoru looked painfully human like that, Phoenix realized, nursing a headache and holding anti-motion sickness medication with a shaking hand. Yoru could walk through realities themselves, rip and tear and mold the fabric of the universe, kill without hesitation, insult anyone or anything he deemed idiotic without a second glance but he couldn’t go on long plane rides without feeling sick.

If Phoenix was any more awake, he would realize that not only was he still staring at Yoru with a smug smile, he would realize that Yoru was glaring back at him. But he wasn’t any more awake, so he only came to the realization when Yoru hissed a scoff and looked away sharply. Phoenix tensed, eyes trailing to his lap and clearing his throat awkwardly, playing with his fingers like a guilty kid.

Wasn’t that humbling, Phoenix thought, immediately looking away when Yoru dared to catch him staring. Now they both sat there, feeling stupid and mildly embarrassed, doing everything to avoid another awkward bout of eye contact. Again, Yoru sighed and rested his head on the back of his seat, eyes only open slightly to look at his phone as he scrolled up and down it. Phoenix watched, making sure to not make it clear that he was, and Yoru either didn’t notice or didn’t have the energy to care.

After a few seconds, Yoru pressed something on his phone with a huff, putting it down on his pullout table and shutting his eyes. Phoenix wondered what it was to himself, thinking about the possibility of Yoru being the type to listen to podcasts, but he got his answer when he glanced back to Yoru mouthing the words to something softly.

Phoenix let himself smile again before looking away, not liking how incriminating it would look for him to be staring at his rival's lips and putting his headphones back in. He listened to whatever happened to play when he let his song list shuffle, finding it entertaining when there was a sudden mood shift in the songs and finding himself mumbling along to a few just like Yoru did.

It was an odd moment of vulnerability between the two, even if they didn’t bother opening their eyes to realize it. The rivals sing their songs, in their tune, in their beat, letting the other look if they wanted to. Letting the other watch them live. Letting the other see something over than a duelist or an asshole or a prick. Neither of them bothered to look, though, so they did nothing but sing to themselves under their breaths. And that was fine.

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Yoru and Phoenix continued like that for another few hours, letting themselves drift from song to song, in and out of consciousness as the time ticked by. They were trying their best not to cause an issue, not because they didn’t want to, though. Phoenix wanted to comment on Yoru’s unstyled hair, and Yoru wanted to make fun of how Phoenix’s jacket was more wrinkle than cloth, but they both understood that they were 30 thousand feet above solid ground. After so many small fires in the base, the pair had learned to only set Phoenix off when there wasn’t something flammable around him.

Though, they only had so much self-preservation. It was 6 hours into the 9-hour flight when Yoru had cracked, looking Phoenix up and down with a scoff before looking away again. And that was all it took. Within a minute, they were arguing, their mutual stress over the situation being vented out with an insult-filled bickering match. They were just glad that the plane had insulated walls, though that was more so for the sake of the pilot and not them.

Oddly, it felt calmer than their usual bickering. Maybe they were too tired to do much other than toss insults back and forth, maybe they didn’t want to start the trip in a sour mood. Or maybe, they found comfort in it. Maybe they wanted to bicker and spat and grumble at each other.

Maybe they were just tired.

Either way, it had an odd sense of comfort around the air, laughing at the other before getting glared at. After a bit, they hushed their voices, knowing that being loud during this long of a flight would cause headaches for not only them but the poor staff as well. Slowly, the insults began to drift further apart, from a constant battle of wit to the occasional rude comment tossed across the aisle. And it was comforting.

When Phoenix didn’t respond to a jab, something about his sneakers, Yoru glanced over subtly. He glared for a moment before dropping it, blinking at the other before an amused scoff came from him. Phoenix was asleep, head lolled over his shoulder and his usual grin replaced with nothing but a tranquil look, lips slightly parted as he rested. Yoru looked the other over, finding himself thinking Phoenix didn’t look as bad when he wasn’t glaring, and immediately looked away. He wouldn’t be caught dead complementing Phoenix, even if it was just in his head.

When a kind-looking stewardess came out from behind a deep red curtain holding the handles of some large box, the top of it carrying several bottles of water and (what Yoru could only guess was) a few packages of pretzels, he sighed softly and took his earbuds out. She had begun walking down the aisle towards them and Yoru glanced over to the still-sleeping Phoenix, deciding that it would be nothing more than an annoyance to wake him up; the man still being asleep meant less insults.

When she got to where they were a second after, she had asked the usual ‘water, soda, coffee, cookies, pretzels’ they’re trained to. Yoru got himself a cup of black coffee and a packet of pretzels. As she began to walk away, Yoru sighed and got her attention again begrudgingly.

When Phoenix woke up 20 minutes later to Yoru with his eyes closed and listening to his music again, this time nursing coffee, he found himself having to fight a smile. It didn’t work, Phoenix still too dazed to stop the small chuckle that left him, and took a small sip of the Earl Grey tea that was left on his tray table. It was cold, painfully sweet with too much cream, and Phoenix smiled wider to no one but himself. The asshole even remembered how he took his tea.

Phoenix knew it was probably more of a jab than anything, glancing at the tea biscuits left on his table as well, but he couldn’t bother being mad about it if he tried to be. Yoru was a bastard, only getting Phoenix something to pick at where he was from, but he couldn’t help but admire that he even went to the trouble of getting the staff to put a lid over the cup in case it spilled in his sleep.

He was an asshole, but he was a careful one, and Phoenix found himself having to look out the window in fear of Yoru opening his eyes and seeing the stupid smile on his face; covered only when Phoenix sipped on his tea. Phoenix wondered if he would have done the same if Yoru was the one asleep, and he had decided he would if only to order him white jasmine tea. If Yoru wanted to make fun of his heritage, Phoenix would back.

Probably. Or he’d just get the other duelist a black coffee. Depends on how Phoenix felt at the time.

There were only a few hours left of the flight, give or take 3, and for as often Phoenix poked fun at Yoru during the trip for his motion sickness, he was feeling nothing but sympathetic then. He could handle flights just fine, but not ones like this. Not when the hours ticked by like molasses and the occasional turbulence made his head hammer.

So what if Phoenix didn’t like heights?

All he did was rest his head back on his chair’s headrest and take slow breaths. He was doing fine so far, reminding himself of the unlikely statistics and convincing himself it was all in his head, but he couldn’t just ignore the nausea-inducing fear that did nothing but build. He tightened his hands into fists before letting them go, a desperate attempt to calm his body temperature.

Yoru noticed, of course, he did. Even with headphones in, he had always trained himself to hear every shift and change and switch in whatever room he happened to be in. Since there was only one other person than himself, he picked up the ragged, shallow breathing with ease, and opened his eyes to check what was wrong.

He had expected it to be a nightmare or something or the sort, all agents being victims to the occasional bad dream, and sighed when he realized what it really was. Phoenix was pale, and Yoru could practically hear the other man’s heartbeat from across the aisle, though that might have just been his imagination. The firebird’s breathing was shaky, eyes screwed tightly together, and Yoru huffed a laugh to himself.

“How hypocritical.” Yoru’s voice was cold as it usually was, mirth in his tone and a smirk on his face, though Phoenix usually would have responded with a glare or something along the lines all he could manage was a soft hum of confusion. Phoenix opened his eyes slightly, eyebrows still furrowed, and was met with the usual smug look he was expecting.

“You make fun of me for motion sickness, but here you are..” Yoru leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees with a tilt of his head, grinning like a fox at the other, “Can’t even handle being on an airplane, hm? Poor Phoenix..”

Yoru finished his sentence with a sickly sweet tone and false pity laced between the words, and despite how blatant the attempt to get Phoenix to fight back against the teasing was, all the other duelist could manage was a shaky sigh before closing his eyes again. Yoru blinked, admittedly a bit confused, before realizing just how sick Phoenix looked.

It was easy to forget that their rival was human, and even easier for it to pass over Yoru’s mind considering Phoenix always did everything in his power to hide the fact. The firebird always made it look like he had no weaknesses, and the ones he did have, he hid. Yoru glanced away when he pieced together that, for once, Phoenix was too human to hide it.

Phoenix was sick, and admittedly, he was scared. It was childish to him, still being scared of heights and flights well into his twenties, but he couldn’t change the fact that even going on bridges during his and Skye’s usual hikes made his hands shake. Phoenix hated it, and wanted to do everything to hide it, but Yoru was already looking at him as he fought back nausea. Already looking at his hands shaking. Already hearing his unsteady breaths. It was too late to hide, and Phoenix didn’t know what to do.

He opened his eyes again when he heard the crackle of foil on his tray table, and if he wasn’t already on high when it came to his anxiety level, he would have jumped at the sight of Yoru leaning over his chair. Phoenix hadn’t even heard the other man shift, let alone get up and walk over to his seat, and he distantly wondered if Yoru hushed his footsteps subconsciously.

“Take two and try to fall asleep.” Yoru’s voice was gruff, and Phoenix looked at him with confusion. The shorter of the two rolled his eyes, tapping Phoenix’s tray impatiently, right beside the silver-lined packet of anti-nausea pills that Yoru had taken earlier. “And stop looking like some kicked puppy.”

Phoenix blinked at the other as he walked away and sat down, eyes trailing back to the pills. Maybe it was the pit of ice in his stomach making him think slower, the turbulence frying his brain too much, but nothing was processing in Phoenix’s mind other than Yoru’s slight smile and how there were hints of blue in the other man’s irises. It wasn’t until another shake of turbulence rattled the duelist’s already-shaking body that he blinked, finally sifting through his nausea and fear to shakily pop out two of the pills.

Phoenix took them quickly, head swimming and breathing unevenly, desperately grasping for what Yoru said to do next. Right, try and sleep. He took a stuttering breath, closing and opening his hands into fists and back out again, body temperature finally calming down from the previous heat that had started to radiate in the cabin. He was shaky, nervous, wound up and his hands shook like a child trying to do a presentation; but he knew that, if worse came to worst, Yoru would be there.

Or maybe he would leave him to suffer. Who ever knew what Yoru was going to do?

Within minutes, Phoenix’s nausea seemed to almost disappear completely, allowing him to clear his mind more and more as time passed. He realized that the entire time, Yoru had been looking at him as he calmed down. Phoenix’s eyes weren’t open, but he knew the cold gaze on him like he knew the heat of his flames. It was Yoru’s glare, but for once, Phoenix found himself not minding his eyes.

“Either I’ve got somethin’ on my face, or you’re treatin’ me like eye candy.” Phoenix’s voice had a layer of mirth to it, but he couldn’t manage a smile, voice trembling. “Tell me which one so I can either get a cloth or glare at you.”

All Phoenix got in return was a scoff and a mumbled insult, unsure whether it was just Yoru’s accent being strong or if the words were genuinely in Japanese, Phoenix decided not to try and sift out the words; instead, he smiled, albeit shakily, and mumbled ‘ouch’ under his breath.

“Don’t act like I wound you with a language you don’t know.” Like always, Yoru’s voice was cold and rough, and Phoenix convinced himself that he imagined the smile behind the words. Yoru never smiled, and if he did, it was all teeth and arrogance; not the slight warmth Phoenix heard - not the slight warmth he had wanted to be there.

Phoenix pulled a small frown, eyebrows furrowing slightly. He opened his mouth to speak for a moment before another bout of turbulence trembled through the cabin, causing Phoenix to immediately close his mouth with a soft whine from the back of his throat. Yoru snickered softly, mean and cold, and Phoenix found himself missing the warmth he imagined.

“It’s so much easier to win an argument with you when you can’t speak.” Yoru’s voice held a painful sweetness to it, like scornful pity, and Phoenix would have convinced himself with every bone in his body that he didn’t like hearing the tone if he wasn’t feeling like a fish stuck in a whirlpool. “Who would’ve guessed?”

Phoenix didn’t respond with anything other than another shaky inhale before a pained groan left his throat. If there was anything Phoenix hated, really loathed, it was the feeling of vomit. It was like every sense was engaged in the worst when he got sick, one of his biggest weaknesses when it came to being off the field, and one he tried to ignore as much as possible; easy to do when he was able to just raise his body temp to kill any flu in his system.

But motion sickness wasn’t something Phoenix would burn away. He had a sneaking suspicion that, if he had attempted to burn away the motion sickness, the plane wouldn’t make it to Hungary; though, he wasn’t opposed to searing the entire cabin if it meant he didn’t have to hear another one of Yoru’s smug snickers again.

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The pair let 20 minutes pass between them with silence as Phoenix let himself settle. It was always weird to explain to others just how annoying his abilities could be, how they burned away any medicine he took unless he was completely calm. It was a hassle, trying to stay calm enough to let the pills work to reduce his nausea, but he managed; with only the occasional jab from Yoru. and, though Phoenix would never admit it, he found that the slight banter helped him calm down more.

By the end of the seventh hour, Phoenix’s nausea was gone and Yoru was subdued far more than Phoenix had ever seen. He always thought that the riftwalker was in his element in the field or fighting, but seeing the shorter’s breath so even was almost uncanny. With Yoru, it was always hushed steps and calculated ideas, mind games, and witty banter until Phoenix found himself dizzy with the ridiculous loopholes Yoru always seemed to have for any argument. But this – Yoru seated without being protected, no gun in his holster or sharp comb in hand, it was like seeing a different side of him. Or maybe that was hyperbole.

Of course, Yoru wasn't genuinely asleep; even if he wanted to be, with the way Phoenix was boring a hole into his skull with his burning eyes, he wouldn't have been able to get any rest anyway. Yoruu was tempted to open his eyes and catch Phoenix staring for what seemed the thousandth time during the trip, but he decided not to. It was an odd feeling, feeling eyes on him and simply not responding, something Yoru was far from familiar with. He was always the type to trust his gut and follow its lead, but it felt different now.

Maybe it was the way Phoenix’s eyes weren't a glare, but instead a gaze. Maybe it was the way even his eyes held a comfortable warmth in them. Maybe it was the way Yoru felt nothing but safe knowing that Phoenix was the other agent with him. For all their arguments, Yoru did have to admit that Phoenix was a damn good agent; if a bit abrasive.

Yoru just let Phoenix stare, letting his gaze linger, focusing on keeping warmth off his face as the other duelist looked his frame over. If it was any other agent Yoru wouldn’t mind being stared at - it was even a common occurrence. He was mysterious and he understood the desire to try and piece secretive people like himself together with a glare. Yoru really wouldn’t care if another agent was looking at him, wandering eyes are wandering minds, but it was different with Phoenix.

From the second Phoenix’s eyes land on Yoru, he’s always aware, always in tune with the fact that Phoenix was looking at him and only him. He knew where Phoenix was, he knew why he was looking at him up and down like Yoru was his last meal, but the one thing Yoru didn’t know was why his face felt like it was burning up every time.

Yoru had always assumed it was Phoenix’s powers somehow, the duelist did tend to heat things by proxy if he focused a bit too hard, but that didn’t explain the vague nervousness that always rattled in Yoru’s chest or the pit of his stomach. The urge to look away, turn away, get Phoenix to stop looking at him. Yoru felt oddly embarrassed with Phoenix staring at him, always finding himself in a fight with his own emotions, trying to get the warmth on his cheeks to never actually show.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Yoru would end up just glaring at Phoenix until he stopped. Sometimes Yoru would simply open his eyes and leave the room. Sometimes nothing came from Phoenix’s staring, both of them just letting the firebird’s eyes wander until something else happened that pulled them away from the one-sided staring contest.

And other times, like now, it didn’t work.

“Take off your jacket.” It wasn’t a suggestion, and Yoru opened his eyes curiously, quirking an eyebrow in hopes of further context regarding the demand.

“I’ve heard better pickup lines. Try harder.” Yoru’s tone was dismissive but his voice was quieter than usual, they both blamed it on the long flight and not the seeming embarrassment in the way his voice shook. “You know that’s not what I meant, prick. Take off your jacket, you look like you’re burnin’ up.”

Yoru opened his eyes again, eyebrows knitted in confusion, and touched his left cheek with his fingers. Burning to the touch. Yoru’s face got hotter, feeling oddly embarrassed that Phoenix saw him with a flush, but he tossed his thoughts away quickly with a sharp huff as he took off his jacket with slight difficulty. His jacket was big, holding tassels and puffy sleeves and a lot of fabric. Trying to squirm his way out of it without being able to move much due to the seatbelt was expected.

Yoru heard a soft snicker from Phoenix before sending a halfhearted glare his way and continuing his ongoing fight with the cloth. Eventually, he took it off, sighing gently. Phoenix was still just gazing at him, but Yoru was able to take a deep breath, shoving away the red tinting his cheeks with slight annoyance. Why did his face only burn up when it was Phoenix’s eyes on him? Why did he get nervous when it was just Phoenix looking at him?

Why did Yoru never want Phoenix to look away?

Before long, there was only an hour left of the flight, and neither of them teased the other for how they seemed to take a deep breath at that. Both duelists wanted out of the plane as soon as possible. Sure, they were (slowly) improving their patience but anyone would get restless with 9 hours of nothing but sitting and eating stale pretzels or sipping cold coffee. That, and they both hated flights, so it wasn’t a surprise that they were both itching to get off the plane.

The last hour of the flight passed quickly with nothing but pure silence. The air felt tense and stuffy, half in part to Phoenix’s temperature, half in part to neither of them wanting to break the fragile comfort between them. It was rare to have a day that they didn’t argue, didn’t start fights, and didn’t bet on random challenges like children. Of course, they fought during the flight here and there and spewed venom-filled banter, but they weren’t truly on edge; and neither of them wanted to lose that.

So, they sat in painful silence that made Phoenix’s ears bleed. If there was something Phoenix hated, it’d be spiders. If there was a second thing that Phoenix hated, it would be silence. It never failed to make his skin crawl, feeling stuck by nothing but the lack of noise. There always had to be music or a TV or a movie or a radio or something to kill the ringing in his ears and thoughts in his head that never seemed to slow.

But by God, Phoenix wouldn’t dare to speak. Not then, at least. So, he suffered in the silence he wanted to break, listening to his own breathing. He could have easily taken out his headphones and listened to whatever he wanted to, but it felt wrong. Even in silence, it felt like Yoru and him were in a conversation, and Phoenix would be ticked if someone just put in headphones during a conversation.

It all passed in silence, both sighing at the announcement that the plane would start its descent onto Hungarian soil. Neither of them knew what time it was when they stepped out of the plane, only that the air was warm and humid. It smelled like the sun outside despite the dusk that cascaded the field they were in. They couldn’t remember where they were, or what city the plane was stationed in, only that there was a small house in front of them.

Maybe the word ‘house’ was a compliment for the building the duelists stood in front of; a small, one-floor temporary-stay place with a small Kingdom logo on the mailbox. Not tacky at all. The place itself was nice on the outside, if a bit empty, the acres of meadow around the small home smelled sweet, and refreshing with the sunset breeze, and the colors of the paint for it were warm and inviting.

Phoenix watched the plane fly back off in the direction they had just come from as Yoru immediately started walking to the front door, opening the brass handle to be met with too much dust to take in much else. At the sound of the slight coughing fit, Yoru waving his hand in front of his face to try and get the dust away from his airway, Phoenix perked up and walked over to where the other man was clearing his throat repeatedly.

“What? Don’tell me you’ve never had to deal with a bit of dust, princess?” Phoenix had his usual teasing tone, slinging an arm around Yoru’s shoulders and grinning at the shorter man. Yoru realized his accent was thicker than usual, having to sift through his words a bit longer to fully understand what he had said.

“No.” Yoru shrugged the other duelist’s arm off his shoulders with a soft huff, “I’ve never lived in a place that I let get dirty enough to have dust. And don’t call me a princess while you have a crown on your jacket, hypocrite.” Yoru walked into the house, fighting the urge to wince at the amount of dust dots that lazily floated in the air. So what if he didn’t like things being dirty? Sue him.

Phoenix rolled his eyes and followed behind Yoru, closing the door behind the pair with a loud creak and the clanging of the metal lock snapping into place, both of them wondering just how long it had been since this place had gotten a renovation; ‘too long’ was the idea they both settled on as they walked into the living room after taking their shoes off.

The walls, floors, and ceiling were all made of wood, clearly sturdy. The house smelled like pine and vanilla, dust bunnies scattered under the small sofa, and an air of calmness was around the small living space. It was small, too small, Phoenix’s head almost grazing some of the doorways; but it was homey. It felt like a hug, apple spiced tea with honey, the feeling of menthol when you have a cold. It was, temporarily, home.

All the decor in the home was something they could find at a hobby-lobby shop; embroidered coffee table covers and hand-sewn pillowcases littered the space like the dust settled on the window sills. Yoru and Phoenix walked through the rest of the place slowly, half exhausted after the flight, the other half feeling like if they walked with too much force the floorboards might fall out from under them.

There were a few other things: a small kitchen, housing a tiny fridge, a few plates and other food tools, some pots and pans, a stove, a near-empty pantry, and a sink, complete with a rusted handle and no soap left in the container. Yoru found a linen closet beside a bathroom, filled with towels and medical supplies if they should need it along with shampoo and body wash. The bathroom was sparse, a shower and toilet being the only things it had other than a sink and a drying rack with a towel lazily hung over its railing.

Both Yoru and Phoenix found the bedroom at the same time, nearly bumping into one another with how close and sharp the turns were in the hallway. Yoru mumbled either a soft apology or a whispered insult when they narrowly avoided running into each other as they turned their respective corners, though Phoenix wasn’t sure which, how the hell was he meant to know what Yoru was saying in a language he didn’t understand?

Phoenix opened the handle to the bedroom, the door creaking loudly and slowly as the door lolled open to reveal their living space for the next two weeks. The room itself was rather small, not possibly being larger than a nine-by-ten space, with two bedside tables decorated along the walls, each with its own small lamp on them. In the corner of the room was a tall bookshelf, housing books as thin as any other picture book to novels and looking like they could rival a battering ram if someone chucked the brick of paper at a door.

Beside the shelf was a closet, relatively small, but big enough to hold both boy’s clothes for the two weeks with extra room to spare. There was a plush rug on the floor, splayed out welcomingly, the yarn a faded but deep red. Again, the walls were made of nothing but wood, though it smelled less like pine in their bedroom. The scent of sun and dust hung in the air like a blanket, one of the lamps being on with a warm glow, illuminating the room with its gentle light.

Though, Yoru and Phoenix didn’t really care about the rug or the closet. The books were a passing thought, the lighting was ignored, and the hand-crafted bedside tables were cast away to focus on something more important to both of them. Something that had caught their eyes from the beginning, the thing that caused Yoru to scoff hotly and Phoenix to gawk in shock and livid mirth.

“Are you kidding me?” Phoenix’s voice had anger behind it, a mix of bewilderment and pure malice for whoever had set up whatever cruel joke this was, shoulders slumping with defeat at the end of his sentence.

“This.. this is the worst thing they could do.” Yoru’s voice was shockingly soft, though not gentle like a hoarse whisper filled with annoyance that it had sounded scraped from Yoru’s throat. His hands balled into fists with a huff, shrugging a duffle bag onto the floor before walking out, left hand clenching and unclenching a fist as his right squeezed his nose bridge in hopes of stopping the headache that was rapidly building in his temple.

What had caused a sudden halt to all possible thoughts in either duelists’ mind? What made both Phoenix and Yoru agree to throw a fit the moment they got back to base?

What had made both duelists go red? What had made Yoru’s stomach flip and Phoenix’s heart stutter in his chest? What made them both realise that, not only were their lives on the line, but their sanity?:

Between the bed stands, under the warm light of the lampshade that had been so graciously flicked on for them, was nestled a bed. One bed.

One, singular bed, made to be shared between them.

Chapter Text

“Are you fucking serious?!” were the only words Phoenix heard before a door not too far away from him slammed, shutting down all possible eavesdropping that he would have been doing if not for how livid he was, wanting to have heard the ‘conversation’ Yoru was having with their commander in the bathroom.

It really was ridiculous, forcing them to share a bed after already sticking them together in the same place for two weeks straight. Fourteen nights spent together, side by side, trying not to reach over and suffocate the other with a pillow. It wasn't like they were going to come to a ‘middle point’ either, both of them knowing that the other’s arrogance wouldn't let them sleep on the floor or on a loveseat anywhere.

They were both going to sleep in the bed, neither duelist was going to back down, and they both knew it.

And Phoenix was fucking terrified.

Sure, he had slept beside other guys before, having shared a room with his younger brother until he was mid-way through high school, but this was different. This was a co-worker, this was a rival, this was a painfully attractive guy, and Phoenix was going to have to sleep beside him for the better part of a month.

Phoenix paced and unpacked while Yoru and Brimstone ‘talked’ a few doors down, flipping between walking around in aimless circles angrily and hanging his clothes up in the closet across from the bed. His mind was racing, understandably so, and it wasn't like he had anything to go off of for this situation. Had anyone else ever even been in this situation? Being stuck sleeping next to an annoyingly stunning co-worker, a rival, for two weeks? Phoenix hoped no one had ever had to go through that before.

Phoenix wasn't gay, he knew that much. He had kissed plenty of girls, had nights out where he left with some pretty blonde on his arm with doe eyes that he couldn't remember the next morning, and had moments that had definitely cemented his heterosexuality. Though, that's not to say that he didn't have moments of the opposite.

Moments where he could stare too long at guys who looked like models when they crossed the street beside him. Moments that made him wonder if girls were really the only thing he wanted in his dating pool. Moments where he admired a girl’s boy toy more than the woman he was meant to be eyeing.

Moments where, when the base is empty and the windows only showed blackness passed their sills and Phoenix’s room was stuffy with uneven breathing, Yoru would flash in his mind. Those fox-like grins and mean banter, how cold his skin felt when Phoenix would loop an arm around his shoulders as they walked, how his hair laid after a shower before he styled it. Moments were he imagined Yoru’s hands on his neck, his waist, how cold they would be trailing over his skin. And Phoenix’s breath would stutter, heart beating faster, and he would force himself to forget about his train of thought the next morning.

Before Phoenix could continue to think about his more private nights, the sound of a door slamming down the hall followed by an annoyed huff told him that it was time for his thinking session to be over. Yoru walked into the room silently, his energy tense and wrought with anger, and Phoenix could tell that every bone in Yoru’s body screamed ‘don’t fucking talk to me right now.’

“So..” too bad Phoenix never listened to warnings. “I’m gonna guess the call didn’t go.. great?” His usual smile was on his face, but it was intensely strained, voice more mousy than intended.

Yoru sighed through his clenched teeth, picking up his duffel bag and practically throwing it at the closet that Phoenix had given up on arranging while back in favor of pacing. “No. It didn’t go great.” Yoru’s tone was nothing short of livid, but Phoenix definitely didn’t want to poke the bear.

Phoenix only nodded, humming in acknowledgment before sighing. He glanced out the window to their room, the brown curtains framing the black night sky littered with stars. His eyes widened, walking over to the window and gazing out of it with awe in his eyes.

Phoenix was always in a city. He would never escape that light pollution that cast the stars away from the air so, seeing such a sight? It admittedly took his breath away. Phoenix rested his elbows on the windowsill, head tilted slightly like a curious puppy. He heard a hum from behind him, a question in its tone, and smiled wider even if Yoru couldn’t see it.

“The sky..” Phoenix’s voice was softer than he thought it’s ever been, and Phoenix heard his voice often. “It’s, uh.. yeah.” Phoenix’s mind was half blank with awe, resting his chin in his palm with a sigh as Yoru’s presence got closer. It was hard to tell, only knowing the other duelist drew nearer when his leather gloves squeaked; him and his habit of silencing steps.

“Very eloquently put,” Without much warning, Yoru was leaning on the windowsill beside Phoenix, arms crossed over each other as he used his elbows as an anchor to keep himself upright. “If you know what that word means, at least.”

“Can you stop being a pedantic asshole for a minute? It’s a nice view.” Phoenix rolled his eyes when Yoru whistled, low and drawn out, an overly sweet, impressed noise. The taller of the pair kicked the other’s shin softly and paused. It wasn’t meant to be soft.

It was basically an unspoken rule between them, never said but never broken, nothing was ever soft between them. No matter how well the other did, no matter how kind the other was, or how well they did their hair that day, nothing sweeter than a nod or approving hum would pass between them at any cost. Anything else was too close to being friendly. Friendship didn't work for them. They weren’t friends.

Phoenix stiffened, seeing Yoru out of the corner of his eye give him a glance over, the brit immediately pulling his foot away again without daring to cast his eyes over to the other. The soft nudge, it felt kind. It felt too safe for them, not enough edge to the words and too much warmth between their arms just barely brushing.

Phoenix continued to look at the sky, hoping that Yoru wouldn’t dare to mention it, and maybe wishing on bright stars worked, because Yoru just looked back out the window with him. The silence was terse, almost curt with a harshness that neither of them mentioned. Phoenix was kind, Yoru didn’t pull away when he was, and neither of them wanted to admit their weakness.

It was a few moments before Yoru spoke, accent thicker than usual and a smile on his face. It wasn’t as sharp as it usually was, and the only reason Phoenix didn’t know that was because Yoru refused to turn his face to him. “Do you know what pedantic even means?”

“Yes I know- I can know things, alright?” Phoenix’s tone bordered on sharp, but it was too tired to hold anything but vague annoyance at the accusation.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” The words were a mumble, followed by a breath of air that could pass as a tired laugh.

“Yeah, yeah.” The words were dry of Phoenix’s usual brightness, missing the spark that Yoru found himself wanting to be there. “So I’m gonna guess you weren’t able to get another bed from Brim’ or nothin’?”

The only response Phoenix got was a shake of Yoru’s head before the shorter realized that Phoenix probably couldn’t see that far into his peripheral. “Uh, no. Said something about bonding. I wasn't listening.”

“I guessed. If I ever saw you listening to authority, I’d shoot you then and there.” Phoenix only continued speaking after a curious hum left the man beside him. “It’d have to be a fake. Some kinda spy or somethin’. I might not like you, but I know damn well you’d rather bite led than take advice. And god forbid criticism.”

Phoenix finished his words with a chuckle as Yoru scoffed beside him. It felt odd to Phoenix, speaking and getting no words in return, but it wasn’t anything he was particularly mad about.

“It’s late.” Yoru stated it, tearing his eyes away from the night’s stars and back to their stay-home, sighing. A look passed between them, understanding that neither of them were going to sleep anywhere but a bed, and they both deflated slightly. This didn’t feel like bonding, both men getting ready slowly, more like an annoying inconvenience.

It was already late, they were both already tired, and it seemed like even the smallest movements from the other was setting off their tempers. From Yoru standing in Phoenix’s way as they tried to brush their teeth and wash their faces respectively to Phoenix being underfoot when Yoru was trying to get to their closet for his clothes, they were driving each other crazy and they hadn’t even been together for twelve hours.

It came to a head, literally, when a resounding slamming noise echoed a few doors away from where Yoru was slipping his large shirt on. It was followed by a multitude of British slang, clearly some level of cursing based on the tone, and Yoru wondered how much worse it would sound if he could discern the younger man’s accent when he was tired or pissed; or, like at that moment, both.

Yoru wouldn’t lie, he snickered at the sight of Phoenix nursing his head for a moment before he noticed the blood trickling over his eyebrow, down over his cheek, speckling his chin and jawline. Yoru pulled in a sharp breath between his front teeth, walking over to the taller duelist with a cold yet concerned expression. He didn’t bother making himself look unbothered, it was late and Phoenix probably had bigger things to worry about.

“Stupid fuckin’ door- who needs it that low anyways? Huh? Jus’so people can whack their fuckin’ heads on it, that’s what they need it for.” Phoenix’s voice was hushed but annoyed, and before Yoru could ask if he wanted a bandage, he was pulling his hand away from his forehead, nothing but dried blood and faintly red steam left behind.

Phoenix scowled at the flaking crimson covering his palm, huffing and beginning to walk over to the bathroom, already washing off his face and jaw. He was always texture oriented to an extent, several foods he refused to eat simply on the fact that the feeling of them made his skin crawl bad enough that he couldn’t bring himself to swallow them. That feeling, the feeling of dried blood, the flakes sticking to his skin, the smell of burnt flesh in the air? Phoenix couldn’t stand it.

“Always forget you can do that. Almost had me asking if you wanted a cloth or something.” Yoru’s tone was dismissive, walking back into their bedroom and grabbing a few packets and packages of things among his comb before walking back into the bathroom.

Phoenix was already almost done, using a towel to dry off his forearms and collarbone when Yoru slipped past him. It wasn’t something he liked to admit, but if Yoru wasn’t in the reflection of the mirror, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed Yoru was near him until he was in his eyeline. Stupid hushed steps.

Phoenix nodded to the containers, raising an eyebrow as he hung up the towel on the metal rod. “What’re those for?”

“Hair.” Yoru’s answer was, like him, curt and vaguely cold, but Phoenix didn’t have the energy to pick a fight over the bite in the shorter’s tone. Phoenix only hummed in lieu of a response, nodding slight enough that it was barely there.

“Kinda forgot that your hair isn’t always gelled up.” The words were quiet, Phoenix’s voice rough as he walked out of the bathroom, and accent too thick to really piece them together if Yoru had even heard him.

Only a few minutes passed before Yoru walked into the bedroom, a towel over his hair that his right hand was shaking back and forth as his left typed something with shocking precision and swiftness considering he only had one thumb and half his eyesight at his disposal; one eye being covered by the baby blue towel.

“Did you wash your hair in the sink, lunatic?” Phoenix asked the question in the general direction of Yoru’s presence, busy with his book. It was something he had read enough to know from cover to cover, but it was the only book he really bothered reading and enjoyed, God forbid he has a copy of it to pass the time.

The firebird only got an affirmative hum followed by a mumbled ‘so what’ before Yoru set his phone on the nightstand beside his side of the bef, face down obviously. Yoru was nothing if not weirdly secretive and private, at least in Phoenix’s eyes. Phoenix didn’t bother looking up as he spoke, half mumbling the answer between his attention being more so on the book and the exhaustion thrumming in his veins.

“Jus’weird is all. Use a shower like a normal person. Make the most of the warm water.” At the last statement, Yoru quirked his eyebrow but didn’t say anything about it, finally tossing the towel off to the side; hoping it made it into the laundry basket. Yoru was always a weird contradiction, messy but neat, knowing where everything in his general vicinity was but never bothering to clean much.

“It’s just to get the gel out. No use wasting water every night for a shower when all I need is a litre of it to get it clean.” Yoru shrugged as he spoke, flicking off the overhead light before turning his lamp on instead. It was a warmer glow, like a lived-in burrow, and Yoru felt out of place with the calm.

The shorter was too busy fussing to himself, trying to get his phone plugged into the wall tiredly, to notice Phoenix looking at him. False - it was staring, nearly unashamed if not for the fear in the back of the firebird’s mind that Yoru would look back at him any second. The fear that Yoru would see him, eyes slightly wide, in Damn-near awe.

Phoenix thought he had seen the most beautiful thing he could see on this trip when he looked out the window at the stars, seeing them glitter off each other, thrumming in gentle blue hues as the air cascaded around them. He thought he wouldn’t see anything better than those stars during his time in Hungary.

Poor Phoenix hadn’t considered his mission-mate when his hair was down.

It was such a small change, minuscule, minute in the scheme of their situation. They were in the same bed, about to sleep beside each other for two weeks, forced into close quarters, but Yoru having his hair down was the thing that had Phoenix’s mind blank and itching to run back to the Kingdom headquarters himself; or, at least, die trying.

But Phoenix would be a liar if he hadn’t admitted that he would give anything to stare just a second longer than he could, kill for the chance to yearn in peace. It wasn’t a crush, barely a likeness, his idea of Yoru only ever bordered on attraction. In a straight way, obviously.

This didn’t feel straight, the pulling in his chest as his eyes grazed and trailed over just how calm Yoru looked as he finished getting into the bed, hair falling over his face every few seconds before he pushed it away from his eyes with a free hand, the strands falling back down again after. None of this felt straight, felt normal, felt real. None of this was meant to happen, Phoenix knew it.

He wasn’t meant to look at Yoru like that.

With an annoyed scoff, Phoenix turned in the bed, facing away from Yoru. He knew he looked angry, but in honesty, it was to hide the rapid heat building in his face. This wasn’t normal. This definitely wasn’t fucking normal, and Phoenix ran through as list of excuses for what had just happened. It was late, all the tension with the situation had him pent up, it had been a while since he had been in the dating pool, reason and wishful thinking blurred in his rapid train of thought.

This wasn’t normal, was it?

Chapter Text

Phoenix turned his face fully away from Yoru, simply glaring at the wall as if it was the reason his mind was racing with nothing but thoughts of the man beside him. Phoenix wanted to leave, abandon the mission, go MIA if it would let him get away from the other for just a few hours. Just long enough for him to sort through his thoughts beyond the general idea that maybe he wasn’t straight.

Phoenix just wanted to ensure he didn’t look like an idiot in front of the other as his mind raced, knowing he’d fuck up at some point if his heart didn’t slow down and his mind didn’t get the clam it needed.

Since when did Phoenix start caring about what Yoru thought about him?

Before the firebird could dive more into that train of thought, he heard a scoff from beside him, the mattress dipping in weight as Yoru fully sat down on it. Phoenix perked his head up, turning face up instead of facing the wall.

“I'm not any more happy about this shit than you are, you don't have to act like a petulant child about it.” Yoru’s voice held its usual air of annoyance, but it didn't hold the same bite, half of the last words being muddled by a yawn.

At the accusation, Phoenix fully turned to Yoru, but made sure to not look at his face; instead hovering his eyes over Yoru’s shoulder. He felt like a kid with a playground crush - not a crush, he reminded himself, and he must have scowled subconsciously out of annoyance with himself because Yoru rolled his eyes. Phoenix could only tell from his peripheral that Yoru scowled at the same time.

“Don't act stupid. You have enough of it already.” Phoenix tried to scowl at that, but it must have come off as a pout because Yoru laughed under his breath. Phoenix would have loved the sound if Yoru wasn't laughing at him. “Facing the wall with your arms crossed? I knew you were childish, but that's pathetic, even for you.”

“I wasn't being childish. Sue me for not wanting to gaze into your eyes all night.”

“Don't think I wont. Kingdom had some damn good lawyers.”

“Of course you of all people know about the lawyers.”

It really was intended to be a friendly jab, but Phoenix guessed that it got lost in the translation of his rougher voice and how late it was, because Yoru suddenly stiffened and any warmth Phoenix saw in his eyes was gone. Phoenix looked away, feeling like he had fucked up. Which he had.

“What do you mean by that.” It wasn't a question, and it surely didn't feel like curiosity with the hastily placed veil of calmness that Yoru set over his tone. Sure, his voice hid his anger just fine, but the way his hands clenched into subconscious fists didn't.

Phoenix raised his hands, though it was lazy with sleep. His voice was low and easy, honestly too tired to sound as worried as he felt, finally looking at Yoru in his eyes as he spoke. It was easier to make eye contact when Yoru looked bitter.

“Hey, hey. Easy. I didn't mean anythin’ by it, jus’sayin that you look like the type to read that stuff about the contracts. Like Chamber or Sova.” Phoenix shrugged when he finished talking, letting his hands drop to rest on the bedspread before using them to push himself up into a sitting position. It felt weird to be laying down when Yoru was still sitting up. “Never a bad thing to be careful.”

Yoru blinked after Phoenix finished talking, seemingly trying to hide his surprise, and Phoenix tilted his head slightly. Yoru looked away quickly, reaching over to his lamp and flicking it off with a huff, and Phoenix wondered what could have made him upset enough to react with clenching his fists without a second thought to it. Phoenix didnt know what he said was wrong, but seeing the sour expression on Yoru’s face made him want to take it back.

But he couldn't, so Phoenix just sighed and laid down. Neither of them really knew what to say next, the room as dark as the night outside. They didn’t know what time it was, all they knew was that they had an alarm set for 6am the next morning, as per Brimstone’s orders.

Phoenix let the silence sit for a few seconds, maybe a minute, he didn’t bother counting. All he could focus on was just how cold Yoru’s skin was, their forearms and sides just barely brushing with how small the bed was. If they had to sleep together like this, the least the administrators could have done was get them something other than a twin size.

“Aren’t you cold?” Phoenix whispered softly, head turning slightly to face Yoru’s, even if he could only make out the edge of his side profile in such little light.

Yoru didn’t respond for a few moments, and even with the lack of sight available, Phoenix could feel how he stiffened before answering.

“Aren’t you warm?”

Phoenix hummed slightly, but shook his head. “Nah. My temperature and stuff is somethin’ I can control easy. Took a bit to get it down, but-..” He paused for a moment before continuing, voice still a whisper, but this time softer. “I’m gonna guess you haven’t done that yet?”

Phoenix could hear a scoff, but it sounded tired, and he distantly wondered if Yoru had ever sounded so defeated.

“So? Why would you care.” Phoenix didn't think he’d ever hear Yoru so calm, the lack of bite and hearness in his tone something Phoenix had no gauge for. “Gonna offer to be my personal radiator?”

Phoenix sighed softly before rolling his eyes, taking slow breaths. Yoru glanced over, slightly confused, before he felt warmth begin to trickle over the mattress. Phoenix continued to focus, taking slow and deep breaths, the same way Sage always told him to during his training. Phoenix felt Yoru shiver beside him, trying not to lose focus on his breathing, he only huffed a soft laugh before going back to keeping his abilities in check.

After a few minutes, Phoenix let out a heavy sigh, letting himself untense. Sure, fire was easy to make, but keeping that much control over it? That didn’t work very well. It was tiring, like doing a plank without reprieve. He turned his head to look at Yoru, expecting the usual cold indifference, and Phoenix blinked at what he saw in place of it.

Yoru was fully relaxed, body empty of any tension or anger from the previous days, and soft snores filled the room from the shorter man’s slightly parted lips. Phoenix couldn’t help but chuckle, seeing how easy it was to put Yoru to sleep, almost proud of himself for giving Yoru some time to rest. How often did Yoru miss sleep because of the bone-deep chill that came with his radiant abilities? Phoenix didn’t want to think about that for too long.

He hadn’t realized that they were closer than when they first laid down, the arms and hips that were barely brushing instead having been pressed to one another, until Yoru made a soft, complaint-like noise in the back of his throat and pressed closer to Phoenix.

Yoru was trying to chase warmth, even as he slept, and Phoenix couldn’t help the tired but equally stupid smile on his face, proud with the fact that his rival, the one person who hated his guts, was yearning and whining in his sleep about not being closer. Though, that didn’t mean that Phoenix pulled away.

The firebird only huffed a small laugh before turning onto his side slowly, not wanting to wake the other. The bed creaked slowly, and Yoru stirred but he didn’t open his eyes, so Phoenix considered it a success. Now that Phoenix was slightly on his side, his back mostly pressed into the wall behind him, there was nothing obstructing Yoru from continuing to slowly trail himself closer.

It felt weird, just watching one of the few agents who would pull a switchblade to anyones throat over trying to hug them slowly press into another person subconsciously. Phoenix couldn’t shake the feeling of being weird for not pulling away when Yoru didn’t, but before he could try and move, Yoru was already curled against Phoenix’s side.

He couldn’t help but find Yoru similar to a cat, the way he curled up in his sleep, head ducked into his pillow while his legs were pulled up towards his chest. The shorter man’s hands laid in front of his torso, just barely brushing against Phoenix’s ribs, and he fought the urge to squirm when he realized just how cold they felt against him.

Sparks swirled in Phoenix’s chest, feeling like his skin was prickled with electrical shocks, mind racing. This wasn’t normal, they weren’t friends, and even friends wouldn’t do this. Would they? If this was being friends with Yoru, would he have to deal with these sparks more - they aren’t friends, Phoenix scolded himself.

Before long, Phoenix’s train of thought began to randomize. Strange thoughts and starts of dreams sneaking into his mind, and Phoenix found himself drifting off quickly. He didn’t have the energy to try and think about why Yoru being pressed into his side made nervousness thrum in his veins, and even if he did, he wasn’t sure he wanted to figure it out.

And so, Phoenix let himself fall asleep, the occasional shiver running down his spine when Yoru’s cold hands would run over his waist where his shirt rode up, and dreamed of Hungarian stars and Yoru with his hair down.

And, when Phoenix was just barely on the cusp of sleep, he promised himself to forget about all of it when he woke up the next morning.

Chapter Text

Yoru was the first to wake up to the sound of the alarm, eyes immediately flying open at the noise. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep, only that Phoenix started breathing differently and the feeling of warmth seeping into his bones, pushing away the chill that had always been there since the first light - maybe even before then. Yoru never could remember what life was like before reality became a plaything. 

Yoru sat up quickly, left hand flying behind him to brace his weight as he groaned. Who made that alarm clock so loud? After a moment of listening to it blare, Yoru twisted to the side, reaching over Phoenix to slam his hand over the general position of the alarm clock. 

Reaching over Phoenix?

When did he get so close to Phoenix. 

When the alarm finally stopped its screeching, Yoru froze, leaning his weight on the mattress and windowsill where the alarm rested. He leaned over Phoenix, almost trapping him in with how close they were. Why was Yoru so close; more important, why didn’t he want to move back. 

Sadly, Yoru didn’t have much time to wonder why he only wanted to lean closer, Phoenix’s eyebrows furrowing with annoyance as he slowly began to wake up. He shifted under Yoru slightly, a soft groan leaving his mouth, unaware that Yoru was only a few inches away from.. what? Kissing him? Punching him? Both?

Without warning, Yoru practically sprinted away from the bed, stumbling in the dark before turning on his lamp’s light and making a bee-line for the door. He could faintly hear Phoenix say something, voice low and scratched and too accented to make out, and Yoru could help but scowl as he felt heat on his cheeks. 

Yoru left the room, basically slamming the door behind him and was met with nothing but the sound of silence and the smell of dusty sun rays that slowly began to creep over the horizon. If Yoru wasn’t so annoyed with himself for his brain short-circuiting the moment Phoenix was under him, he would have stopped to enjoy the sun rise. 

Instead, Yoru just scoffed like the bright orange hues offended him, walking a few steps into the bathroom and looking himself over in the mirror. For once, he looked well rested. His eye bags were lighter, eyes brighter than their usual darkness, and most surprising: his natural scowl looked like nothing more than a slight frown. It felt weird to not see himself looking murderous, but as Yoru looked at his complexion more, he realized that looking so upset all the time was more tiring than just letting his face rest in neutrality. 

He’d go back to scowling when they got back to the protocol, he told himself. It’s not like Phoenix would notice that he looked less mean. 

Yoru shook his head of the thoughts, giving himself a glance over before sighing and starting to brush his teeth. It was only a minute or so later, as Yoru was bringing his gel out from one of the drawers and starting to unscrew the cap, toothbrush hanging from his mouth limply, that he heard his roommate groan loud enough for it to pass through the walls of the house with ease. 

Yoru was going to ask if Phoenix was alright, but before he could open the door and pop his head out to check, Phoenix was already turning the knob and walking into the bathroom, eyes still half-closed. It was weird, Phoenix already knew the layout so well. Yoru guessed that years of never looking at mission briefs let Phoenix gain the skill of seeing a place once and knowing it front and back. 

Phoenix walked into the bathroom, and Yoru took a step back, letting the other walk in without getting in his way. It looked like the Phoenix hadn’t realized that Yoru was there with him, resting his palms on the sink’s counter with a sigh before trying to grab his toothbrush. His hand missed a few times, the brit sighing before opening his eyes to see it, grabbing it before nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of Yoru lurking in the bathroom beside him; hair sticking out in places and his toothbrush hanging from his lips limply, a vaguely guilty look on his face. 

Phoenix rested his hand on his chest, sighing with dramatics, but Yoru couldn’t tell if it was exaggerated or not; sometimes Phoenix was just ‘like that’, expressive enough to give a mime a heart attack. 

“Christ, do you gotta be so mousy all the time? Sneakin’round, givin’ people heart attacks. Unbelievable.” Phoenix rolled his eyes at the last word, and Yoru felt like he was getting scolded by a babysitter. “Why the fuck are you so quiet anyways?” The question had a bite behind it, but it was genuine, and Yoru just guessed that Phoenix was more upset about being awake early than him sneaking about. 

“S’rry.” The word was mumbled and slurred, the toothbrush blocking Yoru’s ability to speak significantly, but the word was at least decipherable even with the impediment. Yoru shrugged slightly in response to the question, simply going back to brushing his teeth while Phoenix muttered to himself annoyedly about Yoru’s silent habits. 

After a moment, Yoru walked forward, nudging Phoenix to the side so he could bend over the sick to spit out the fluoride infused foam. Phoenix huffed but moved slightly, not having the energy to complain past a small frown on his face. Yoru stood back up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, and neither of them brought up just how close they were standing to each other; the only proof of them noticing was the shiver that ran up Phoenix’s spine as Yoru’s cold skin pressed into his side.

Yoru moved to the side more at the shiver, not looking at Phoenix as the taller mumbled something about freezing to death under his breath as Yoru grabbed the container for his hair gel off the counter. He took the lid off, scooping some of the translucent, blue-hued gel onto a finger before wiping it onto the center of his palm and rubbing his hands together slightly. 

Phoenix watched in the mirror’s reflection at Yoru’s movements, impressed with how clearly it was just muscle memory, practiced movements that made it look like nothing more than ease. Sure, Phoenix was staring, but Yoru wouldn’t notice.

Right?

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Wrong. 

“Like what? I wasn’t looking at you? I never even saw you, you weren’t even here. I wasn’t looking at anything.” Phoenix looked away, cringing at his attempted save of his dignity which only dug its own grave. Yoru chuckled meanly, and Phoenix scolded himself for never learning how to shut his mouth sooner. 

“And you said that I used you as eyecandy.” Yoru rolled his eyes before shaking his head back and forth, getting his hair in his eye line before starting to card the gel through the messy strands. “Hypocrite.”

Phoenix wanted to huff and complain, but Yoru was right for once, he was being a bit hypocritical by accusing Yoru of looking him over during the flight just to turn around and do the same thing. So instead, Phoenix looked away, mumbling something even he couldn’t make out before leaning over the sink just as Yoru had a minute prior. 

“That wasn’t two minutes.”

“You’ll live.”

“I will as long as you don’t breathe in my direction.”

Phoenix rolled his eyes, finally standing straight to toss a glare at Yoru, who looked smug. Phoenix raised an eyebrow, taking in how Yoru looked different. It was hard to place for a moment, but he looked more alive than usual, Phoenix would know; he compared the man’s complexion to a vampire on more than one occasion. The most obvious thing, though, was that Yoru was lacking his usual scowl. It was almost odd, Yoru looking so different without his signature grimace and dark circles. 

“You look weird.” Not the way to phrase that, Phoenix chided himself, try again. Keep fucking up his words like that, and Phoenix was sure that the scowl wouldn’t take long to reappear. “Uh. No, that’s not- ugh. Different. You look different.”

Yoru puffed out a breath of air, shrugging, still trying to style his hair. “I would ask if I look better than usual, but I don’t quite care enough about your opinion to worry about the reply.” Yoru smiled slightly, his usual arrogance clear, and Phoenix found himself torn between rolling his eyes and smiling too. 

“Yeah, alright. Asshole.” Phoenix huffed, biting back a smile at how easy banter between them seemed. When it was Jett, it eventually just became jokes between them. When it was Neon, she got too hyper, attention eventually grabbed by something else. The other agents were either too quiet, too kind, or too mean for Phoenix to attempt to poke fun with them. 

But Yoru? It was sharp, it was quick, it was witty and as the hours passed by them, it seemed funnier than it had before. There wasn’t as much malice in the words, less cutting to the syllables, and Phoenix found himself looking forward to the few moments that he and Yoru had the playfulness behind the words. 

When did Phoenix start looking forward to talking with Yoru?

Phoenix shook his head slightly, not realizing that he had been doing nothing but staring at the sink with a wet cloth in hand, having gone through the motions of washing his face without even blinking. He only knew he had because Yoru was looking at him, eyebrows draw in confusion, and Phoenix hoped there was concern somewhere in the shorter duelist’s chest. 

“Didn’t think you were the type to zone out.”

“Anyone can zone out, yeah?”

Yoru stayed silent, looking pensive, and Phoenix decided that it meant the conversation was over. He’d have to bring that back up soon.

“And, uh. You do.” There wasn’t much context to the words Phoenix said, turning to open the bathroom door, only stopping in the doorway when Yoru turned around to face him with a confused look on his face. 

“You asked before. If you look better than usual.” Phoenix nodded slightly, a smile on his face that seemed too soft to be directed to Yoru. “You do.”

With that, Phoenix ducked out of the bathroom to walk to their bedroom as Yoru stood there, staring at where Phoenix was a second before, blinking like an owl as his face built a flush. How stupid, Yoru thought. Only Phoenix would be dumb enough to compliment him so sweetly, so genuinely, then leave before giving Yoru a chance to respond before looking at him like he was insane. 

How stupid. 

Chapter Text

Soon enough, both men were done with their morning routines. The sun was over the horizon now, 6:30 blinking in red lettering on their alarm clock, and both Yoru and Phoenix were exhausted. Yoru walked into the small hallway, able to see Phoenix in the kitchen, head down on the table and breathing evenly. 

The shorter chuckled under his breath before yawning, deciding not to wake Phoenix up then. Sure, seeing Phoenix upset was always a sight for sore eyes, but a grumpy Phoenix was a headache-inducing one, so Yoru decided to leave him alone. Just for a bit. 

Warm light trickled in from the window placed beside the fridge, dirt speckled on its rims, and everything had a slight glow to it. Yoru sighed gently, not bothering to hide his contented smile as the warm sun fell on his skin. After a moment, he walked to the fridge, taking out the few ingredients that had been placed there for them. 

Somewhere in their mission report, there was a day where some place-ins would be put to hold down the site while they were meant to go out and get whatever else they needed for the remainder of their stay; until then, though, the pair had to make do with what they had. Eggs, butter, some fruits, things that would make good food for a while until they were able to go and get what they wanted. 

It wasn’t hard for Yoru to make breakfast for them silently, moving with practised ease around the small kitchen as Phoenix occasionally mumbled something into his arm that Yoru couldn’t even begin to understand. Within 10 minutes, Yoru had made an omelette for them to share, and trusted that Phoenix wasn’t allergic to any of the items in it; Brimstone wasn’t cruel enough to stock the home with foods the pair couldn’t eat. At least Yoru hoped so - he didn’t have the patience to make a different meal. 

The ingredients were basic but fresh, whatever vegetables Yoru could find and some seasonings. It was topped with some melted cheese and hot sauce, and as Yoru set one of the two plates down on the table, he wondered if Phoenix could taste spice. He’d remind himself to ask later. 

At the muted clink of the plate’s rim colliding with the wooden table, Phoenix stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up. Yoru sat his plate where he had planned on sitting before sighing, rolling his eyes for no one to see but his shadow and the golden rays trickling into the kitchen. 

“Hey. Sleeping beauty.” Yoru took Phoenix’s fork, prodding at the firebird’s ribs with it, watching the other wake up and begin to squirm in his seat for a moment. As Phoenix’s head snapped up, glaring sleepily at Yoru as he placed a hand over his side, Yoru scoffed a laugh. 

“Don’t do that, prick.”

“Ticklish?”

“Allergic.”

“Allergic..” Yoru tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow, genuinely a bit concerned. “To forks?”

“To assholes waking me up by stabbin’ me for no good reason.”

“I thought making you breakfast out of the kindness of my heart was a very good reason.” Yoru huffed, reaching over and picking Phoenix’s plate back up, head held high. “But I guess if you don’t want it..”

Yoru smirked and Phoenix tensed, the man having realized he just lost his opportunity for a free, no-work meal from Yoru. The firebird reached out, trying to snag the plate from the other’s hand, but Yoru was quicker. He pulled the plate away, out of Phoenix’s reach, grinning like a sly fox at the pout he got in return. 

“C’mon, man! I didn’t mean it, honest.”

“Oh please, we both know you can apologize better than that.” Yoru’s voice was teasing, holding the plate above his head with ease, looking down on Phoenix with a smug grin. 

“M’ not gonna beg, just give me the plate.”

“Beg or starve.” Yoru tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “Pick quick, Phoenix. It’s getting cold.”

Yoru can calculate a lot of things. He had always been good at maths, at strategy, at reading others like they were billboards instead of closed books. Yoru knew things, could expect things, knew when and how people were going to act. 

But sometimes, Yoru was wrong. He got a bad read, a bad interpretation, a wrong answer on a test he didn’t study for. Like then, at the moment, Yoru got a bad read. 

Yoru could predict many things, but something he couldn’t predict was Phoenix’s defeated sigh, the younger of the two looking away as he wrung his fingers in his lap. Yoru tilted his head, more confused than taunting, unsure why Phoenix hadn’t already fired back some more banter. Yoru didn’t expect Phoenix to look so small; Phoenix never looked small. 

“Please?” Phoenix’s voice was meek, almost soft, rough with sleep as his eyes flicked up to look at Yoru through his eyelashes. “I won’t call you an asshole again, promise. Can I jus’ please have the food?”

Yoru could feel his face go red, eyes slightly wide, only humming a broken pitch before setting the plate down unevenly with the fork on its side near Phoenix’s hand. The younger of the pair opened his mouth to say something, closing it when he caught onto the air radiating off of Yoru. It was off, charged, almost sharp. It was like the sting after a paper cut - wound and ready to snap at something, nothing in particular in mind. 

Without another word between them, Yoru schooled his expression into an upset neutrality, pulling out the chair across from Phoenix and sitting in it heavier than he intended. Phoenix still hadn’t looked away from his face, eyebrows furrowed with confusion and a distant look of guilt - of course Phoenix was the type to blame himself for Yoru’s turmoil, and Yoru cursed himself for not hiding his frustrations. 

Phoenix opened his mouth for a moment before closing it, hesitantly glancing away and picking up the fork that had been haphazardly placed beside his hand. Yoru did the same, missing the comforting atmosphere that had been hovering over the pair just minutes before, and Yoru would have sworn that the sun rays burnt his skin instead of warmed it now. 

Everything felt too sharp, too present, too real - it made Yoru’s head swim with an unsureness he hadn’t felt in years. For once, he couldn’t predict or calculate. His mind was blank apart from the image of Phoenix’s warm eyes looking at him through his eyelashes, barely pouting, flecks of golden amber in his irises. 

Yoru stabbed his omelette with his fork sharply, huffing to himself. Stop thinking about Phoenix. 

“Sorry..” the word left Phoenix’s mouth hesitantly, and despite it being a statement, it sounded like a question. 

“For what?” Yoru didn’t mean to sound so upset. To be fair, he was upset, but that didn’t mean he had wanted to show it. 

“I dunno.” Phoenix admitted it quietly, shrugging and continuing to pick at his food. “I feel like you’re mad. Normally when you’re mad and I’m here, you’re mad at me.”

Yoru scoffed to hide the pang of guilt in his chest. 

“I’m not.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Not at you.”

Phoenix was about to speak again, but when Yoru glanced up, he quickly closed his mouth again. It wasn’t his place to ask questions - though, that had never stopped him before with others. Maybe Yoru was an outlier in that sense; boundaries and walls thicker than steel. Phoenix couldn’t help but wonder if the heart they were protecting was just as cold and hard as the vault keeping it hidden. 

Phoenix was roused from his thoughts when his plate shifted on the table, pushed slightly towards him, and he looked up to see Yoru’s fork sliding it closer to him. 

“It’ll get cold. Eat. Stop thinking so much, it’s weird.”

Phoenix scoffed as he used the edge of his fork to separate a bite-sized piece of the dish, tilting his head in the process. “Me thinking is weird to you?”

Yoru hummed, a soft, agreeing noise. “Mhm. Off putting.”

“How?”

“I always thought it was empty up there.”

Phoenix furrowed his eyebrows, his fork still holding a bite of the egg, hovering in front of his mouth. “Up where..?”

“Up there.” Yoru’s neutral expression become one of his usual smug smirks, using the handle of his fork to gesture in the general direction of Phoenix’s head. “Always thought it was just a single brain cell in there.”

Phoenix hissed a scoff, angrily taking the bite of the egg that had been suspended in the air, chewing on it with annoyance. If he wasn’t upset, Phoenix would’ve been surprised by the fact that Yoru could cook. 

“Very funny. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure if I yelled in there, it’d echo.”

“You’re such a prick.”

The only response Phoenix got was a smug grin, Yoru looking nearly proud of the title, and if Phoenix hadn’t been upset by the jabs to his intelectual capabilities, he would’ve found Yoru beyond pretty. Too bad he had to be such an asshole all the time - Phoenix wouldn’t have minded seeing that grin with softer edges. 

But, instead of acknowledging his train of thought, Phoenix simply rolled his eyes and took another bite of food. Phoenix really was going to complement Yoru’s cooking skills - they were far from bad, maybe lacking pepper - but Phoenix didn’t give praise where it wasn’t due. 

Phoenix promised himself to tell Yoru that his cooking wasn’t bad before the trip ended; if only in hopes of seeing Yoru smile with something other than arrogance behind it. 

Chapter Text

The rest of their morning was a blur of washing up dishes and packing water bottles for their day. The sun was fully over the horizon by then, occasionally suspended behind clouds, but both men could tell how hot the day would become. 

Phoenix walked around, taking full water bottles and putting them into a large duffle bag along with some sandwiches and protein bars for when the day got late enough for both of them to feel pangs of hunger - Phoenix would’ve thought he was packing for a picnic if not for the several weapons and magazines set beside their lunches. 

Yoru walked out of their room, then fully dressed in his usual mission attire. The man’s eyes seemed to wander around, thinking about whatever occupied his mind as Phoenix stared. The firebird had stopped trying to hide his staring mid-way through their breakfast, Yoru having to have paid no mind to his gaze, so Phoenix decided that it was probably fine. 

Or maybe it wasn’t. 

He didn’t care - Yoru was an asshole, but Phoenix would be a liar if he didn’t find the soft scowl on the other’s face more attractive than simply a platonic interest. 

Phoenix tore his eyes away from Yoru - from his co-worker, Phoenix reminded himself - face warm from the embarrassment of where his train of thought had trailed so quickly. Phoenix had always been sure of himself in any capacity - skill, social ability, humour, even his personality was honed to the point that he knew himself like he knew his abilities - but there were things Phoenix could get wrong. 

He knew everything about himself, sure, but things he was always sure of were never thought about; things like his name, or his family, his past was sure. You never wonder what colour the sky is, the same way Phoenix never wondered about his sexuality - always simply assuming it was a fact. But now, the way his mind couldn’t fight drifting to cool brown eyes and searing arrogance had begun to make him question the legitimacy of his thoughts. 

Phoenix shook his head, tossing the duffel bag over his shoulder, distantly convincing himself that whatever feelings - tension, infatuation, bordering attraction - were simply going to pass with time. Phoenix wasn’t quite sure what he would do if they didn’t, deciding to simply try to ignore them. 

“Phoenix, let’s go. If we keep making the driver wait, we’ll have hell to pay with Brimstone.”

Easier said than done when the guy who caused such confusing ideas would be the one sitting beside him on the drive, sue him for trying to stall his torment - and, admittedly, it didn’t help that they were in constant close quarters. Normally, if Phoenix was ever pent up like this, he’d simply workout until whatever extra energy was gone. Or, do what normal 26 year olds do when pent up and having free time. 

But this? The pack of privacy, constantly face-to-face with the man that was actively driving him insane, the consistent banter making him feel wound and ready to snap at any moment? It was nearly unbearable, and they hadn’t even gotten to noon. 

Phoenix sighed heavily, shouldering the duffle bag as he mumbled something akin to ‘fuck off’, jogging behind Yoru towards the front door. He slipped on his shoes, still shrugging his jacket on as he closed the door behind them. Yoru walked in long, confident strides, uncaring if Phoenix was keeping pace or not. 

They got into the car, beige seating dipping under them, the driver already starting to move the vehicle forward before Phoenix was even able to close the door; Phoenix couldn’t blame her, though. The sun was already unrelenting, the dirt roads scattered with dust and the deep scent of warmth swirling in the air. Despite the harsh sun, it really was nice outside; though, only because of the air conditioning. 

Yoru, however, couldn’t quite bring himself to enjoy the view. It was so hot out - too hot out for him - wiggling out of his bulky windbreaker halfway through the drive. Phoenix either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care, eyes still trained on the passing view. Hungary was a beautiful place, Yoru had to admit it, even as he could feel his shirt stick to his skin and prickle with building sweat under the harsh humidity. The view was impressive, comforting even, the plants and local agriculture clear with the fields of planted vegetables passed by them. 

The drive itself was, thankfully, short. Yoru didn’t bother counting, too busy watching the sunlight as it bounced in Phoenix’s eyes. Sure, it was just passion - nothing more than a passing infatuation of desire - and Yoru couldn’t believe that he was still telling himself the same thing after 8 months of grappling with the feelings rooted in his chest. If Yoru was a strong man, he would admit the feelings to himself. Maybe he’d even tell Phoenix, ask the other out if he was feeling particularly fiesty. 

However, Yoru wasn’t a strong man, instead opting to get out of the car after tearing his eyes away from Phoenix’s side profile like a lovedumb teen. How pathetic. 

The pair walked briskly, the duffle bag over Phoenix’s shoulder and Yoru walking beside him in tandem, his own jacket slung over his right arm carelessly. The sun beat down on them, summer then in full swing, and Yoru almost regretted not bringing sunscreen. 

“I know I have fire powers or whatever, but does it need to be this hot?” Phoenix’s voice was weary, tired from the short walk in such blazing heat, eyes tiredly scanning the site. “Talk about overkill.”

The only response Phoenix got in reply was a hum, not having noticed that Yoru had already pulled out his phone and was actively typing on it. The firebird adjusted his grip on the bag, feeling it start to slip with each step, trying to keep pace with the shorter man. Sure, Phoenix had a slight height advantage, but his 6’1 to Yoru’s 5’9 wasn’t giving him much leeway considering every step of Yoru’s had a determination behind it. 

The site itself was relatively small, and the layout reminded the pair of Haven. It was a three site map, the middle section converging into one large room with several boxes, the roof torn apart to allow the stinging sun to seep into the area. Yoru walked along the edge of the room, hand running along the dusty ledge of the baseboards as Phoenix took several pictures and sent them to whichever agents Phoenix thought would care about the layout. 

The other two sites, each small, were densely packed and nearly crowded with the  amount of debris in the area. Each section supported both a heaven and a hell section, though the A-Site heaven was far higher than the C-Site one.

After a few minutes of scouting the area, both duelists having been taking notes for the general layout to know where their Omega counterparts would be attacking - though, that was only if they even showed up, Phoenix reminded himself bitterly. Admittedly, he was looking forward to a fight, hoping to release some energy and get his mind off of cool blue eyes and sly grins for a while. 

It seemed that luck wasn’t in his favor though, Yoru dipping into his eyeline cleanly as an arrogant gleam shone in his eyes. 

“Congratulations, Phoenix. You caused such an issue with me that you got us sent to timeout!” Yoru had a scathing grin, full of molten sugar that left an ashy aftertaste in the words as Phoenix bristled. The younger scowled, subconsciously making himself look bigger like a stray dog defending its territorial pride. 

Phoenix knew Yoru was just trying to get a rise out of him, get a reaction, start issues as he always had. Maybe even feed off of the leftover, burning energy from a fight. Too bad it worked; Phoenix wanted to let go of some energy anyways. 

“ I got us here? Really?” Phoenix laughed, but it had no warmth behind it, stepping closer to Yoru as the other rolled his shoulders back. “Look at you, huh? You couldn’t go one day without startin’ shit with me! Everyday it was always something with you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean-“

“-You couldn’t just leave me alone, not for one day. It was always my aim or my tone or my outfit or something wrong that you just had to cause issues with!”

By the time Phoenix had finished his sentence, Yoru and him were face to face, bodies inches apart other than Phoenix’s hand that had somehow gravitated to Yoru’s lapel. Yoru could feel a wall behind him, Phoenix pushing him into it by the collar, glaring at him as if he hated him. ‘He does hate you’ Yoru’s mind parroted. He was too frustrated to convince himself otherwise. 

Yoru scoffed hotly, almost seething over the fact that Phoenix had the gaul to call him out for his actions; it wasn’t like Yoru was happy over the fact that Phoenix only gave him the time of day when they argued over the hour. That was always the way it was, Yoru conceded. Too long he gave Phoenix nothing but frigid replies and harsh wind, and now the consequences were staring him in the face. 

Yoru didn’t have a way to respond to the painfully accurate accusation, mind too cloudy with the fact that he could just lean closer. He could press a kiss to the other man’s scowl so easily, steal the contact, get what he wanted. Phoenix was right there, he could play it off as an accident, it would be so easy and Phoenix was right fucking there. But Yoru was a coward, so Yoru did was he had always done best:

He ran. 

Without warning, Phoenix’s hands were empty, the only proof that Yoru was even near him was the ice burn across his fingers where he had been gripping the other’s shirt collar. That, and Yoru was too frantic to grab his jacket before teleporting away, leaving the dust-covered windbreaker on the floor of the site. 

Phoenix hissed, dragging his hand to his chest as he cradled it with his other. The skin was flaring red, some of the flesh ripped away like he stuck it to a frigid metal pole and tore it away without waiting for it to thaw. Phoenix wondered if he was imagining the already-thawing frost. It was an easy fix, quickly healing it with a small ball of flame in his other hand, sighing as the freezing sting finally gave way to warmth. 

After a moment, Phoenix huffed, picking up both the duffle bag and Yoru’s bulky windbreaker from the floor, starting his walk to the site connected to the hallway on his right. He muttered to himself the whole walk there, upset that not only was he carrying the heavy duffle bag, but Yoru’s jacket as well. It was easier to direct the frustration to Yoru leaving his jacket behind and not himself where it should’ve been.

‘You should’ve just stayed quiet’ Phoenix’s mind supplied as he worried the skin of his cheek between his molars, distantly tapping an unknown pattern into the strap of the duffle bag. He fucked up - he knew he did. And now, he was dealing with the consequences of starting nothing but another fight with Yoru. If he wasn’t so distracted, he would have spent his time convincing himself that Yoru was the one to start it. 

Phoenix couldn’t get it out of his mind, heart racing as he sat on one of the boxes of A-Site, away from Yoru. Phoenix knew he saw it right, the way Yoru’s eyes drifted down. While it happened, Phoenix had thought Yoru was simply looking him over, sizing him up, maybe looking for his hip holster. But then? In hindsight of sitting in an empty, blazing warm site, away from the man that made his head spin? Phoenix was sure Yoru’s eyes were locked onto his lips. 

Phoenix rested his head on his hands, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes as he groaned. Maybe if he just shut the fuck up, kept his mouth closed, didnt push and push and push until Yoru left, just maybe Phoenix would’ve been able to double check that Yoru really was looking at him instead of through him. 

Maybe Phoenix would’ve been able to lean forward. 

Too bad Phoenix never knew when to shut up. 

Chapter Text

How easy it was, avoiding everything.

Sure, it wasn’t the way Yoru was meant to deal with things. It was his job to push forward, look forward, not run backwards where he knew safety was. It wasn’t fair to himself, he knew that, but uncharted territory was never a strong suit of his. It was easier to just leave when he felt like it, slip away from consequence, never look problems in the eye. 

And, as Yoru mulled over silence at C-Site, legs dangling over the ledge of heaven, he found himself loathing the way he ran. 

It was such a brief moment, seeing the rift swallow him, the icy blues of his abilities lick at Phoenix’s hand. Sure, Phoenix could heal himself. It really wouldn’t hurt too bad, ice burns barely being monumental enough to cause anything more than discomfort after a few hours, but he still hurt Phoenix. That’s what burnt. 

It wasn’t the fact that Phoenix could heal himself, not that it wasn’t intentional, not that Yoru had every right to leave the situation. The only fact that rattled in Yoru’s mind was that he hurt Phoenix. 

He’d hurt other before? Yoru had caused scars, burns, death, sorrow. He’d created holes in dimensions, caused enough pain and agony for his targets, why did this feel any different? 

Yoru scoffed, laying back on the dusty concrete structure of heaven, feeling his head collide with the harsh material and his gelled hair collect the loose dirt from the floor. Obviously, Yoru knew why it felt different, why guilt rooted so deep in his chest over something as simple as causing a light burn after Phoenix shoved him into a wall. 

It was always going to feel different if you hurt someone you love. Just because he knew the answer didn’t mean Yoru had to like it. 

Love was such a big word, and admittedly, Yoru hated using it. Even thinking about it made his skin crawl with a vulnerability that made him feel like he was on display, painfully in view of everything that made him weak. Yoru also hated the idea of lying to himself; he already hid everything from everyone else, why keep himself out of his own loop. 

He knocked the back of his heel to the wooden overhang of heaven, sighing. It had already been months of fighting with himself over it, over whatever feelings he had, over Phoenix. It was a mess in his head, so unaccustomed to whatever the warmth under his skin was when they happened to brush into each other in the hallways, the sparks dancing on his nerves when Phoenix would toss an arm over his shoulders as they walked before Yoru would push it off. 

Yoru couldn’t lie to himself much longer, nearly sure it was something akin to love. Maybe a strong like? A romantic infatuation, he decided the term was the huff, shaking his head around before sitting up again. This much thinking about something so abstract made his head hurt. 

Romantic infatuation.   

How sad. 

—

The hours went by like molasses, clinging to the humidity in the air and dripping from the dirt-dusted walls. Phoenix’s phone could only provide so much entertainment when cell service was nonexistent, especially considering that his headphones weren’t even permitted to be worn; ensuring he wouldn’t miss the blaring sound of the nonexistent hovercraft that carried the Omega agents who won’t even show up. 

This left him with nothing to do but walk around aimlessly, tracing his finger on the edges of patterns made from dust along the walls as he waited for something - anything to distract him from the painfully thick boredom that laid barren across the Hungarian sun or the racing thoughts of a specific duelist that he really didn’t want to ponder about. 

What a joyous mission this was. 

Phoenix had taken to a bouncy ball, one he had completely forgot that he had, wedged into some random pocket of the duffel bag he had packed. He distantly remembered getting it, him and Jett out in the city and having decided to go to a gym for the first time in a while. They had ended up finding a few machines that worked similar to gumball dispensers, able to put in a few coins for it to spit out whatever toy it deemed fine enough. 

It was pale green, a muted pink stripe in the center, and he wondered if it was more vibrant before not being used after so long. It was, he knew, but only because he remembered Jett giggling about how Neon would love it considering it was just as bright as she was. 

It was a good memory - one that Phoenix distantly found himself missing. 

Phoenix wasn’t sure when he had gone up the ramp to heaven on the site, duffle bag on his left as he dropped the ball over and over, catching it with practiced precision. It wasn’t the most enjoyable way to spend his time, but it was a way to spend his time, so Phoenix was far from complaining; even if he was going to whine about it, there would be no one to hear anyways, Yoru still at C-Site. 

Phoenix couldn’t get his mind off of the interaction, thoughts trailing back to the flick of the other’s eyes relentlessly, not letting him forget the dust of crimson on Yoru’s face before he vanished in a mess of wavering black ice and blue flames. 

How come Phoenix couldn’t remember a single mission report but his mind so easily supplied every detail of that moment? Why could he so easily remember how the sun looked in the other’s eyes, the cool blue holding the hues of the orange-yellow rays like they were meant to be shone into his irises. Where Yoru was, the exact location of his hands before he teleported, a small freckle on the left side of his collarbone that Phoenix had never gotten the privilege of seeing before that moment; the dot having always been covered by the relentlessly bulky windbreaker Yoru insists on wearing so often. 

“Stupid.” Phoenix mumbled to no one but himself and the empty site. 

Beside him, the duffle bag buzzed weakly, a muffled noise. Phoenix glanced over, confused for a moment before he had remembered his phone was in the side pocket for safe keeping. Setting down the ball, he fished through the pockets for a few minutes, eventually pulling out his phone to be met with an alarm on the screen. They had officially been on the site for 4 hours total, finally getting a break to meet up and eat something, giving them reprieve from the mundanity of bouncing rubber on hot stone and whatever Yoru had been doing during their time there - Phoenix’s guess was shooting practice. 

It wasnt until he had slipped his phone into the pocket of his pants, his blazer discarded and draped over his left arm with Yoru’s windbreaker, that Phoenix reaslized just how hungry he was. The sun was still unrelenting as it burned into the concrete, small heatwaves radiating from the hard stone as Phoenix walked. Of course they had to be sent here during the peak of summer.

Phoenix walked briskly to C-Site, the dufflebag slung haphazardly over his left shoulder, eyes scanning the area. Phoenix supposed that working in VALORANT really had affected the way he saw things, already mapping out where and where not to check when he was pushing, where to flash if someone was found lurking, mission tactics fanning out in his head as he walked. It wasn't until Phoenix was on the site, taking in the sheer humidity and harsh sunlight in the room, that his train of thought was interrupted. 

“Uhh.. Yoru? You good?” Phoenix’s voice was hesitant, slowing his near-jog to a slow walk, subconsciously hushing his footsteps. His mission-buddy was laying on the floor, unmoving, legs dangling over the edge of heaven carelessly.

As Phoenix got closer, finally able to actually see Yoru’s face, did worried truly pang in his chest. Yoru’s face was beyond sunburnt, his breathing choppy and a bit quick, like he had ran around the site a few times before holding his mouth shut. He looked near-feverish, goosebumps across his skin, the occasional shiver racking his body. Phoenix quickly caught on, cursing hotly under his breath and dropping the duffle bag and jackets in favor of kneeling beside Yoru.

“How the fuck did you manage to get heat exhaustion this quick.” Phoenix’s voice was barely a grumble, more worried than genuinely upset, but Yoru still tried to formulate a response. The only thing that left the older man’s lips was a mangled mess of slurred syllables, but at least it sounded annoyed enough to be Yoru’s voice, so he was definitely lucid enough to keep up his bad attitude. 

Phoenix pressed for a pulse around Yoru’s neck, wincing when the skin was hot under his fingers, Yoru keening at some semblance of cold. The beating was still strong but rapid - at least it wasnt weak. A weak pulse was basically no pulse when it came to heat-related illnesses. Phoenix of all people would know; there was a reason he didnt use his abilities more than he had too, heat stroke was a bitch.

“Don't hate me for this, please.” Phoenix moved closer to Yoru, the other agent mumbling in some form of a confused tone before he cut himself off with a sharp squeak, not expecting to be lifted into the air. Phoenix winced when Yoru weakly squirmed, being moved around surely making his sunburn flare up against his skin. 

Phoenix walked slowly and carefully, being sure not to jostle Yoru while he moved, the older man’s breathing still choppy as shivers ran up and down his spine. Phoenix was eventually able to find a small hallway with a roof, the only area hidden from the sun, sighing as he set Yoru against the wall gently. The riftwalker heaved a breath, mumbling something that Phoenix could only hope was thanks - he knew it probably wasn’t, but blame a guy for wanting some recognition. 

Phoenix gave Yoru a quick once over, making sure his vitals were fine before sprinting back in the direction of the sun-infested C-Site to heave the duffle bag and two jackets back over his shoulder. It had their water, ice packs, food, anything and everything they would need to get Yoru functioning again - at least enough to get him back to their house. 

The detour for the bag couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes, especially with Phoenix going about as quick as his legs would carry him. Seemingly, Yoru’s body had decided that Phoenix had taken too long for its liking though, as when Phoenix finally came bounding down the hallway, he was met with the sight of Yoru slouched over and out cold. 

Great. 

Chapter Text

The first time Yoru regained some semblance of consciousnes, he was on fire. 

At least that's what it felt like, feeling himself breath rapidly, body flaring with a burning pain that prickled across his skin and singed his nerves without reprieve. There was a cold too, pressing down on his neck, trailing down his shoulders, occasionally brushing his face. 

Someone was speaking, but it sounded distant, muddled as if they were underwater. Yoru’s throat burned when he tried to speak, only able to get out a weak hum. Whoever was speaking stopped, and Yoru could hear them move around a bit. Where was he? Was he underwater - getting boiled alive? It would explain the pain. 

“Yoru?” He knew that voice - who’s was it? His name wasn’t pronounced properly, at least he was pretty sure it was his name. It was something people called him, he knew that, and Yoru hated how his mind clouded too much to even know his own name.  

Something rested on his shoulder with a gentleness Yoru wasn’t accustomed to, slightly cold against his flaming skin, and he felt pride prickle his chest when his hum took less effort than it had prior. Whoever was there seemed to be happy with the fact Yoru was responding, sighing with a bit of relief in their tone. 

“Oh thank fuck you’re still alive.” The voice had an accent, and it took much more effort than it should’ve to place that the accent was from England, or at least somewhere near it. “Scared me half to death, it’s our first day here. Can’t have you dying that quick.”

First day where? Dying? Yoru tried to ask something, piece together what was happening around him as his head swam with blazing confusion, the heat that still dug into his nerves effectively melting his cognition with it. Everything was a blur, his mind wavering as his senses faded in and out with the lapses of pain. 

Another brush of something cool on his skin, running up his collarbone to his jaw, and Yoru was finally able to place that it was a cloth with water on it. A weary sigh left his lips, not having the energy or awareness to stop himself from lolling his head into the cold relief. The person chuckled, mumbling something - maybe they didn’t even mumble, Yoru’s hearing was too muffled to make out anything anyway. A broken hum left his throat when the cloth trailed over his jaw, brushing his cheek and forehead, something holding his head up; something warm, maybe a hand. 

“You’re alright, I’ve got you.” The voice was gentle, closer than it was before, and Yoru couldn’t do anything but lean into the cloth more - chasing the relief of the cool water. Whoever was near him laughed softly, still lightly pressing the fabric against Yoru’s skin. 

Yoru tried again to piece together where he was, deliriousness slowly fading the more the cloth brushed over his fried nerves. The knowledge came slowly, remembering where he was last - fighting. Fighting with someone, someone who had a grip near his neck. Brown eyes, his shirt feeling hot under the person’s hands, hotter than usual skin - Phoenix. Why was he with Phoenix? When did they fight? Over what?

Yoru’s wavering train of thought was cut short when the cloth was taken away from his skin, a soft whine leaving his throat. Yoru was still unaware, thinking too much was starting to give him a headache. The person laughed, mumbling something again before the cloth was back, colder than it had been before. A shiver ran over Yoru’s spine when the cloth soothed over his collarbone, trailing to his shoulder, Yoru’s head tipping to the side subconsciously as his eyebrows furrowed. 

Yoru’s bearings came back slowly as the cool water continued to move across his skin, finally aware of where he was - at least to an extent. He knew he was somewhere on the site they were on for a recon mission, aware that Phoenix was probably the person that was holding the cloth and talking over the past while. Why everything felt like it was on fire, skin searing, was unknown to him still. Yoru’s mind was still cloudy, but at the very least, he could finally feel the wall behind him and the hand keeping him upright. 

Yoru drew in a breath, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to open his eyes. It took far more effort than it should’ve, barely getting his vision to be half-lidded and blurry beyond visual snow before he closed them again. Everything was a blur of color, the most notable being Phoenix’s white jacket against the dark-brown color of the beige walls. 

It felt off being so unaware of everything, adrenaline immediately rushing to his veins when the concept of being attacked came to mind. He would be a casualty, a compromise, a target . Yoru’s breathing quickened before he had even processed that he was worried, a hand pressing on his chest with a gentleness that startled his spiraling thoughts. 

“You’re okay, it’s okay.” Phoenix sounded strained, the cloth pressing to Yoru’s neck softly. “Just breathe.”

Yoru didn’t have the energy to process the way his chest warmed at how worried Phoenix sounded over him, only weakly nodding before trying to stabilize his breathing; it wasn’t hard to do so, already forgetting why it had sped up in the first place. He heard a sigh, the hand on his chest moving away, and Yoru distantly missed the warmth it gave. 

The pain across his skin was finally - finally - beginning to dilate. The burning had progressed to a simple sting across his skin, only flaring when a muscle twitched or he shifted too much. It made breathing easier than it had been before, the weight of pain lifting from his chest. Yoru couldn’t help but relax slowly, finally getting some semblance of relief, head knocking against the back of the wall. He was tired, the waves of exhaustion no longer halted by the relentless burning. 

Yoru couldn’t hear anything Phoenix said as his head slumped forward again, shoulders untensing as his breathing became even. Yoru knew he was being shaken, warm hands on his shoulder, rocking him back and forth rapidly. It was annoying, why couldn’t Yoru sleep? The voice grew smaller and smaller as seconds passed, the hand stopped shaking him; at least, Yoru thought it did. 

It was within a moment Yoru was asleep again, escaping the stinging, burning pain that hadn’t left his skin. He hoped that, when he woke up, relief would be there to calm his nerves instead of the shaky sting of heat. 

And, distantly, he hoped Phoenix would be there too. 

Chapter Text

The second time Yoru woke up, he thought he was dead. 

And, no, it wasn’t some exaggeration. The only thing Yoru could recall from the last time he woke up was the blaring pain over his skin. This time, though, the pain had far lessened. He wondered if he really had died, the reason his nerves weren’t on fire being because they were burnt with his body. 

Then, he came to the realization that he could still feel the wall on his back, the heat in his skin, the cool cloth from before now placed over his forehead. Wall? No, Yoru realized as his cognitive function finally kicked in, the wall was a floor, distantly feeling the pull of gravity on his arms. He was laying down, the cool water dripping off his forehead and into his hair. 

Phoenix - where the fuck was he. 

Yoru opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the brightness after having them closed for so long, the hallway lighter than anything he’d seen in several hours despite the lack of sunlight. His head felt heavy, but Yoru managed to turn it slowly, belatedly taking in his surroundings. 

He was in the hallway between C-Site and B-Main, the duffel bag was open beside him, the wall he guessed he had been leaning on before was on his left side. Something under his head was soft, cradling it like a pillow, and he could tell by the rough noise when he tilted his head that it was his jacket. Yoru’s vision was hazy at best, eyes barely able to focus on anything for longer than a few seconds before his ever-present headache flared uncomfortably. 

Yoru tried to sit up, wincing as his skin protested, and he nearly flinched when he caught sight of just how red his skin was. Eventually, Yoru was able to sit up, resting on his palms behind him to keep him upright as his hazy brain processed the burning across his skin slowly. It felt like his entire body was covered with paper cuts, singeing every nerve with each jolt of his body. Yoru’s chest heaved unsteadily as he tried to breathe through the uncomfortable pain, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes closed. 

“Woah, hey-“ Phoenix was suddenly behind him, voice sounded equal parts amused and worried. Yoru’s eyes flickered open, looking over his shoulder to the younger agent. Phoenix smiled down at Yoru, kneeling down with a soft chuckle, pressing a hand to the riftwalker’s lower back over his black tank top. Yoru fought a shiver, his back untouched by the sun, still frigid despite the heat prickling his face and arms relentlessly. 

“Lay down, yeah? The driver’s gonna be here soon, jus’rest a bit.” Phoenix fully sat down, legs folded under him comfortably, and Yoru wasn’t sure if the red tinting the younger man’s cheeks was a sunburn or something else entirely. 

It was hesitant, but Yoru eventually laid back down, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth as his skin flared with goosebumps. Phoenix winced at the sight, fingertips barely brushing Yoru’s shoulder, gently feeling over the overheated skin; it hurt, but Phoenix was also the only reason Yoru’s little nap didn’t lead to his death, so he wasn’t about to complain. 

Yoru simply raised an eyebrow at Phoenix, the scowl left over from his grimace of pain before acting as enough of a deterrent for Phoenix to retract his hand. The silence felt charged, but not particularly uncomfortable, and Yoru found it somewhat calming - for the ten seconds Phoenix could go before saying something. 

“So.. what happened? I know it’s hot out but, y’know. How do you manage to get heat sick that quick?” Phoenix had his eyebrows raised, genuinely curious, and Yoru was grateful that the sunburn on his face hid the flush on his cheeks. 

“I was tired, alright?” Yoru held eye contact for about two seconds before turning his face away sharply, concealing the wince as a scowl. “A guy can take a nap if he wants to.”

Phoenix snorted a laugh, shoulders shaking in Yoru’s peripheral vision with a smile brighter than the sun had been that morning. Yoru would’ve loved the sound if he wasn’t busy feeling sorry for himself; and if the laugh was with him instead of at him. Oh well, he decided, at least he got to hear Phoenix laugh - beggars can’t be choosers. 

“You fell asleep ? On a mission?” The younger agent sounded surprised, maybe even impressed, which confused Yoru slightly. It wasn’t like Yoru was generally one for following the rules unless they were his own, sleeping during work being one of them. “You’re mad .”

Yoru huffed, barely passing as a laugh, trying to shrug before his skin flared from the movement. Yoru grimaced again and Phoenix winced, shifting onto his knees and reaching to his right, hand reappearing in Yoru’s limited vision with a white cloth. Yoru turned his face back to Phoenix with a raised eyebrow as the fabric dripped water occasionally and, before Yoru could even think to ask why he had a cloth soaked with water, it was pressing over his skin. 

Yoru exhaled shakily as the chilled fabric grazed over his shoulder closest to Phoenix, slowly trailing up his collarbone to his neck. A shiver ran over his spine, suddenly remembering that Phoenix was actively looking at him, Yoru immediately turned his face away as he tried to even his breathing - the task would’ve been easier if the cloth wasn’t actively running over his skin and giving him relief from the flaring pain he’d been desperately trying to ignore. 

Phoenix laughed halfheartedly at the reaction, pressing the fabric to the reddest parts of Yoru’s skin, namely his collar and the tops of his shoulders. Yoru’s face was also sunburnt, though, Phoenix didn’t much feel like getting a black eye from attempting to touch the older man’s cheeks or nose bridge without express permission. 

Silence settled over the pair again, Phoenix continuing to chill the riftwalker’s skin back down as Yoru kept his face turned away. They both knew Yoru was embarrassed, Phoenix could easily understand why, knowing he wouldn’t be particularly happy about Yoru touching him with a cool cloth if he was in that situation. Or maybe he wouldn’t mind it, having Yoru take care of him.

Phoenix disregarded the thought when Yoru shifted slightly, stretching his neck with a wince and a soft groan, face bitten with red accompanied with a grimace of discomfort. When Yoru spoke, his voice was rough, like sandpaper was lined on his larynx. 

“How long until the driver is here?” Phoenix shrugged slightly, looking away. 

“Within the next while?” The statement sounded like a question, tilting at the end with a nervous guilt that Yoru must’ve picked up on. 

“..how long is that while, Phoenix?”

The agent shrugged again, shifting where he sat nervously, knowing he had said ‘soon’ earlier just to soothe Yoru when he had initially woken up. Admittedly, Phoenix had hoped that Yoru would have forgotten about it by then. 

“Listen-“ and Yoru had immediately rolled his eyes; everyone knew Phoenix only said ‘listen’ when he fucked up and wanted out of consequences, “I know I said soon before but, y’know, you were tired and stressed and- well honestly I thought you would’ve forgotten about me saying that already so-“

Yoru sighed sharply, his short patience hitting its fuse as he glared at Phoenix, knocking his knuckle on the younger man’s knee. Usually, Yoru would’ve hit Phoenix’s side or tugged his arm - something more sharp and rough than the gentle tapping - but Yoru conceded that either way, Phoenix’s attention would’ve been caught. This way was less effort. Without fail, Phoenix paused his ranting, eyes flicking down with equal halves of confusion and guilt. Yoru would’ve had some pity for him if he hadn’t lied to his face. 

“How long?” Yoru said the question again, more force in his tone, and Phoenix sighed warily. 

“Three hours..?” Phoenix winced when he said the words, looking at Yoru with an unsure, nearly pensive expression. 

Yoru sighed sharply, scoffing with annoyance, but it wasn’t with Phoenix; not this time, at least. Despite that, Phoenix still looked away, hands pulled into tight fists in his lap, the cloth forgotten beside them. 

“Sorry. I tried to get them to come earlier, honest, but they said they couldn’t take us off the site early because Omega might be here so Brimstone gave them- I dunno, direct orders I guess?” Phoenix glared at the floor as he spoke, vaguely gesturing with his hands angrily, a rare scowl on his face. 

Yoru hated it. Sure, seeing Phoenix upset like this was usually a treat, but it felt wrong. Getting to watch Phoenix huff and pout over things Yoru did to make him mad was something the riftwalker thrived in - but this? Watching the younger man be so upset with others over Yoru of all agents? Even being mad with his commander? It made something uncomfortably cold twist in Yoru’s chest. 

Without thinking it over, Yoru reached over again, knocking Phoenix’s leg like he had before. It caught Phoenix off guard, having already started on another upset rant about the staff that he cut off with a confused hum, looking down at Yoru with a raised eyebrow. 

“Calm down.” The words were quiet, barely a command, a rare type of softness from Yoru of all people. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not your fault they suck.”

Phoenix blinked owlishly down at Yoru, who gave a slight nod before looking at the wall beside him again. After an awkward moment, Phoenix nodded, humming a pitchy noise and standing suddenly. Yoru looked back at him, watching as the younger agent walked a few steps down the hall to grab the duffel bag that Yoru had completely forgot about, carrying it back to where he had just been and sitting criss-cross beside Yoru again. 

“Hungry?” Phoenix tilted his head slightly, a smile on his face, and Yoru couldn’t help but find warmth on his face. How dare Phoenix look so goddamn happy about being near Yoru of all people. 

The riftwalker only nodded in response, sitting up slightly and bracing his hands behind him to stay in the position, waiting for the flare of pain across his skin to dilate with a scowl. Suddenly, there was a hand on his lower back, keeping him steady as Phoenix shifted closer. The younger agent looked concerned, his other hand resting on Yoru’s hip without a second thought, and Yoru could’ve sworn his heart had either stopped beating altogether or it was beating quick enough that his pulse was undetectable. 

“Jesus- at least wait a second before sittin’ up so suddenly. I could’ve helped.” Phoenix pouted slightly as he spoke, gently moving Yoru to rest against the wall across from him, hands moving with an ease and gentleness over the other man’s waist. 

The pain on Yoru’s skin was nearly completely forgotten, only the feeling of Phoenix’s hands moving him where he wanted registering in his hazy, disoriented mind. The older agent nodded dumbly at whatever Phoenix had said, not listening in the slightest. Between the sudden blood rushing to his head and the very prominent warmth on his cheeks, Yoru was finding it hard to really process anything. 

After a moment, Yoru leaning comfortably against the wall with wide eyes, Phoenix finally seemed to process just how close he was to the other agent, hands still on his waist and hip. The firebird blinked, taking his hands off Yoru with a stuttering movement as he looked away like any more eye contact would burn. 

The barely murmured sorry was met with nothing but a hum, pitchy and barely audible above the incessant pounding of their hearts - both agents wondered if the other could hear it, was it as deafening for them? Phoenix shifted back more, reaching into the duffle bag and pulling out the food he had packed earlier. All their water was already lined up on Phoenix’s right, away from Yoru, having been used to keep the older agent cool. 

Phoenix handed Yoru a sandwich, of which he took with a soft nod, a rare sign of gratitude from the duelist. Phoenix considered it a win, a mutual respect between the two; at least for the duration of their lunch hours. 

The pair ate silently, Phoenix occasionally reaching over and dabbing the damp cloth on Yoru’s shoulders or collarbone when he deemed fit - or when Yoru knocked their legs together, whichever came first. It was comfortable despite the tension in the atmosphere, though, by then, both agents had already begun to master making peace with the uncomfortable air around them. 

Making peace with themselves, their thoughts, proved to be more difficult. If Yoru’s eyes drifted to Phoenix’s more often then they should’ve, Phoenix said nothing. If Phoenix looked Yoru over one too many times, Yoru said nothing. 

It was tense, strained, a cruel cat and mouse game of emotion; but nothing is fun without an edge. 

Chapter Text

They sat and ate for the first hour, various snacks and fruits packed up courtesy of the firebird. The silence was thick but easy between them, only broken when Phoenix started to clean up the few pieces of plastic packaging around them when he had cleared his throat to get Yoru’s wandering attention. 

“You alright? Feelin’ okay?” The genuine curiosity Phoenix’s tone held seemed to surprise Yoru, who blinked a few times, though that could’ve easily been the fact that he hadn’t been expecting Phoenix to speak. 

“Mhm. Fine enough. Doesn’t hurt as badly. I’ll be fine in a few days.” Yoru nodded to himself, seemingly cementing the idea in his head, and Phoenix nodded in response. 

“You look good.”

Yoru tilted his head slightly, glancing to his side, as if he was looking for a hidden camera or something to pop out and scare him. Phoenix tilted his head too, confused about why Yoru looked confused until he had replayed the sentence in his mind. 

Phoenix blinked, shaking his head slightly, hands coming up to gesture rather wildly as he spoke. “Uh- no, sorry, not- I mean, you do look good just, uh, not what I meant.”

Yoru followed along about as well as he could, mind still clinging to the slight haze of rest that lingered relentlessly, nodding hesitantly. There was a smile on his face for about half a second before Yoru had covered it with his hand, but from what Phoenix could see for the brief moment, there was nothing but genuine mirth behind it. 

“Uh.. huh. So, what did you mean, then? And if it’s another attempt to get in my pants, try harder.”

“I wasn’t- I can’t stand you.”

Yoru only smiled wider, smugness glinting in his eyes easily, looking almost proud about Phoenix telling him that he hated him - he was only happy about it because they both knew Phoenix was lying when he said it. The younger agent cleared his throat, trying again to rephrase the words into something that sounded less uncoworker-ly.

“Your sunburn, it looks better than it had before. I think it only looked so rough ‘cause you’re so pale.”

Yoru shrugged, honestly agreeing moreso than being upset about the slight jab. He knew he didn’t get much sun, no point in being upset about the truth. The riftwalker took the last bite of his food, crumbling the plastic wrapping it had come in into a small ball before tossing it into the pile of trash Phoenix had made. 

The silence settled again, Yoru fully taking in what the area looked like. He knew where he was fully by then, bearings steady and disorientation waning as time passed. He could see B-Site from his peripheral, the spacey room still littered with the boxes that had been there before. 

The memory of their fight came back quickly, the feeling of Phoenix shoving him into a far wall and pinning him there, the way a dangerous amount of livid fire burned behind the other agent’s eyes. Yoru was honestly scared when it happened, fear layered behind his momentary fluster. Sure, Phoenix was good at controlling himself, abilities in check with little wiggle room for them, but Yoru couldn’t help but wonder how easy it would be to get that control to snap. 

A simple argument had got Phoenix to nearly burn a hole in his windbreaker, Yoru could still remember the disgusting scent of smokiness near his face when Phoenix grabbed his lapel, Yoru’s mind drifted to how quick Phoenix would harm someone if he wasn’t paying attention. 

‘How little hesitation will there be when he’s fed up with you?’

What a disgusting thought - too bad Yoru believed it. 

The time passed quickly between them, the pair bouncing between banter and questions, even pulling a few genuine laughs from the other (moreso Phoenix telling a joke and Yoru scoffing with a barely-hidden smile, but they weren’t complaining). It felt easy, a comfortability between them that, although new and unrefined, had a cleaner air than the smog of arguments. 

It wasn’t to say it was perfect of course, silences too long or jokes left unnoticed, still wading in the waters of how to communicate with someone so similar yet so inherently different. They were both ambitious, abrasive, abhorrent men - but they weren’t the same. 

Phoenix was confident in loud strokes, showing the fact that he had a right to be as confident as he was. Yoru was quiet in his superiority, simple shows of just how good he was at whatever he was doing, not bothering to showcase it - actions were enough to prove himself. 

The minor differences in demeanor caused such a drastic rift in how they communicated it was nearly palpable, neither being used to trying to actually talk to one another beyond dealing insults like punches. Despite this, the time passed surprisingly well. They shared stories and jokes, laughing at whatever stupid bit they could come up with in spite of Yoru not being able to get up or move too much. 

Neither paid mind to the slowly setting sun or the way the room changed from its burning sunlit brown to warm oranges. The hallway cooled slowly as they laughed time away, words simply being there instead of calculated or preconceived. Talking with each other felt like a naturality, like they were simply friends reconnecting after decades and not what they were - rivals. 

Phoenix was too invested in Yoru’s story, something about his life before the First Light at his retail job, to even hear his phone buzz the first time. The second time, though, the vibrations beside him were unmissable. Yoru seemed to notice as well, pausing his story as Phoenix took his phone and blinked with surprise. The driver was waiting at the entrance already. 

Yoru hummed softly, curious as to what made Phoenix look so shocked, shifting to lean forward - his skin barely hurt passed a stale pain. Phoenix glanced up, pocketing his phone with a smile, dragging the duffle bag and his blazer closer to him as Yoru grabbed his jacket; he had no clue why Phoenix was getting up, but he assumed that he should be following. 

“Driver’s here.”

“Already? It’s been- what, 40 minutes?” Yoru furrowed his eyebrows, mentality trying to guess how long they had been there, doing nothing but sharing stories. 

“It’s 6.”

Phoenix laughed under his breath at just how utterly confused Yoru looked, blinking rapidly like something absolutely earth-shattering happened and not simply them losing track of time. Phoenix reached a hand out, which Yoru took after a moment of hesitation, using it to stand. The older duelist winced sharply as he drew a sharp hiss between his teeth, the pain flaring against his skin relentlessly, eyes closed tight enough for patterns to dance behind his eyelids. 

Phoenix didn’t let go of Yoru’s hand, other hand coming up to rest on the other man’s forearm, steadying him as they waited for the pain to subside. It did eventually, Phoenix letting go of Yoru’s hand when he opened his eyes, the pair starting to walk to the entrance - Phoenix would have complained about being the one to carry everything as they walked if Yoru’s skin didn’t look like it had been crisped to near-sear. That didn’t stop him from pouting about it to himself, though. 

They made it to the car quickly, Phoenix helping Yoru into his seat, pity picking at him as Yoru winced - luckily, Yoru’s front was really the only part that got burnt, his collar, face, shoulders, and arms taking the brunt of the sunlight. This meant that his back was basically untouched, allowing him to sit semi-comfortably in the car. Phoenix got in on his side, buckling himself in and dropping the duffle bag along with their respective jackets between them. 

Phoenix didn’t bother busying himself with looking out the window like he had on the way there, instead finding a far more interesting view in looking at the agent beside him, who had fallen asleep within 3 minutes of the ride to their stay-house. Phoenix would’ve had to have been blind to miss the way Yoru had become exhausted throughout their time together, eyes occasionally closing on their own accord or head nodding forward as they spoke. 

Phoenix obviously didn’t blame the other agent, heat exhaustion was nothing to be toyed with, knowing first hand just how bad the fatigue could get after just a few hours in the sun. Yoru’s breathing was even, head leaned on the window beside him as the dimming sky framed his reddened skin, the orange hues blending all too easy with the agent’s burnt nose bridge. 

The ride was unsurprisingly peaceful, tension being hard to build when one of the two parties were snoring and the other was doing nothing but tapping an easily-forgotten pattern into their thighs. This didn’t mean Phoenix was complaining, though. A sense of calm during this mission had so far been few and far between, always busy with keeping his eyes to himself or making sure Yoru didn’t die on their first day. 

So, he simply basked in the serenity as the slowly-familiar fields passed by his window, breathing easy air. It took Phoenix too long to piece together the fact that, without Yoru in the car, there would’ve been half the calmness than there was. 

How dare Yoru - a man who worked like a ticking time bomb - make him feel so safe.

Chapter Text

Yoru awoke to a stinging, prickling feeling over his right arm, nose scrunching subconsciously at the uncomfortable feeling. His skin still felt uncomfortably warm, heat tingling across his nerves, and his mouth felt all too dry.

A hand was on his shoulder softly, rocking Yoru back and forth out of his rest. Despite how much Yoru simply wanted to go back to sleep, let the pain fade off into rest again, he begrudgingly opened his eyes. Phoenix stood beside him, and it was then that Yoru remembered where he was, the beige interior of the car greeting him - the driver’s sunglasses flickered in the mirror, and Yoru could tell that she was far from happy about how long he was taking. He didn’t really care.

“Yoru, mate, c’mon. We gotta go.” Phoenix tried to keep his voice soft despite the strained stress in it, and Yoru had to bite back a smile at how nervous he looked when his eyes flicked to the - very annoyed - driver.

Rolling his eyes, Yoru nodded, shifting to get out of the car with a wince - Phoenix immediately looping an arm around Yoru’s back to steady him, beginning to walk him to the door. Thankfully, the walk from the armored car to the door was swift and short, saving Yoru the annoyance of hiding flinches for longer than the minute-or-so it took to get there.

Their jackets and duffle bag were already set on the porch, the door ajar, and Yoru knew it was for him when it allowed Phoenix to simply push it open with his shoe without jostling Yoru. How thoughtful - it made Yoru upset, feeling like he was being pitied, but every time he moved it hurt; maybe pity is what he needed then.

Phoenix made a point of sitting Yoru down in the small living room, the dusty red sofa creaking under his unsteady weight as the firebird set him down, old springs nearly as wound and tense as Yoru was. Despite how the pair had grown close over the few hours of non-rivalry they had shared, Phoenix having spent his time taking care of Yoru out of nothing but the kindness of his heart, the riftwalker still grappled with the feelings he harbored. That ridiculous ‘romantic infatuation’ that refused to give him rest.

And it definitely didn’t help that Phoenix was so comfortable. The way his hands fell so easy around his waist when he helped him walk, arms slung around his shoulder or torso to keep him steady making Yoru’s breathing anything but, that stupid fucking smile that looked too genuine to be smug when Yoru mumbled a thank you; it all drove Yoru insane. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yoru hadn’t even realized Phoenix was back in the room until his blue jacket was tossed carelessly beside him, the dust from the site puffing out of the wrinkled cloth, melding into the sun-dotted particles that already danced around him. The horizon showed the orangey-yellow hues of dusk when Yoru looked outside the window behind him, hand absently toying with the hem of his shirt as his eyes scanned the skyline, painfully aware of how the colors reminded him of-

“Hey, I’m already standin’- want me to get you anything? Water? I’m a horrible cook but I’m sure I could find something..”

Phoenix.

Yoru glanced over to the younger agent, carefully covering flatter with a thin veil of fiend carelessness, shrugging slightly - to which Phoenix rolled his eyes. Yoru turned back to the window, biting back a worryingly-genuine smile as Phoenix got him a glass of water anyway. How fucking sweet.

Yoru hummed softly as he took the glass, the heat from outside already causing droplets to build on the outside of the clear cup as Yoru drank about half of it swiftly before pulling it away from his mouth to take a few deep breaths - it was only then that he realized just how dehydrated he really was. Phoenix seemed to notice is as well, laughing quietly as he walked to the sofa.

It wasn’t until Yoru felt a pull on the glass the was holding that the realized that Phoenix was near him, trying to take it from his hand. It was subconscious when Yoru’s hand had tightened on the glass, naturally tugging back when something tired to get an item from his hand - it came from years of combat, training, and being caught in too many situations where Yoru happened to have something someone else wanted. Phoenix’s eyebrows furrowed, trying again to pull it away, to which Yoru realized what he was doing and loosened his grip.

Giving Yoru a once over, Phoenix eventually looked away, walking back to the kitchen with the glass in his hand. Yoru kept his eyes on the younger agents this time, only casting a passing glance to the horizon for a moment, watching carefully as Phoenix walked around to the fridge. Yoru wasn’t expecting Phoenix to refill the glass, and Phoenix looked as confused as the riftwalker felt when he caught suspiciousness in Yoru’s eyes.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” The question was rhetorical, but Phoenix’s genuine confusion wasn’t - he knew there was nothing on his face, but he didn’t know why Yoru looked so unsure about him simply getting the other some water.

Yoru hesitated for a moment before reaching up, trying to take the glass with a mumbled ‘no’ before Phoenix pulled his hand away - taking the now full glass with it. Yoru’s eyebrows drew together as he tossed a tired glare at the younger, who only held the water away further.

“Give me my water.”

“Not before you tell me what’s on your mind.” Phoenix’s voice was light and playful, even in the face of Yoru’s annoyed scowl.

“You’re an asshole. That’s what’s on my mind. Now give me my water.” Phoenix smiled wider, still holding the glass away even as Yoru held out his hand.

“Nope. What’s actually on your mind?” Phoenix smiled as he spoke, knowing the entire situation was getting to Yoru, “You looked pretty confused when I was gettin’ you water- you looked ready to fight me over the cup, what gives?”

Yoru sighed sharply, scowling at Phoenix with a less than friendly glare. Despite the imposition of Yoru’s demeanor, Phoenix was honestly finding it hard to take him seriously. Between the sunburn that was still horrendously prominent on his cheeks and nose, the loose strands of hair falling in his face carelessly, and the way the angle made the scowl look more like a pout than anything else, Yoru looked far less sharp than he usually did.

“Just give me the glass.”

“Tell me what’s makin’ you act all weird.” Phoenix’s tone was slowly growing less playful than before - connecting that Yoru really shouldn’t be this defensive over something so minuscule, “The water is getting warm.”

“Then give me it.”

“No.”

Yoru hissed air between his teeth, genuinely looking fucking dangerous. Phoenix knew that glare, having seen it too many times on the other Yoru’s face - genuine malice. Phoenix fought a shiver at the implication that Yoru was as livid with him now as his Omega counterpart was.

It was subconscious, the way Phoenix tensed, backing up slightly - ready. Ready for a fight, ready for an attack, ready for something to happen because Yoru never looked like that without something happening after. Yoru seemed to catch on, glare lessening with a strained sigh, shifting - making himself look less murderous.

“Just—“ Yoru cleared his throat uncomfortably, glancing up to Phoenix’s still-stressed expression—“Just drop it, alright? Give me my water.”

There was condensation on the outside of the glass when Phoenix handed it over, giving the older agent a final look over before simply walking back to the kitchen. The air was bridled with tension as the sound of clanging pots and the fridge opening and closing repeatedly filled the uncomfortable silence. Yoru glanced up in time to see Phoenix slipping his headphones on, tapping something on his phone before putting it into his blazer pocket.

The duffel bag rustled when Yoru pulled it closer to him, wincing at the glare of pain across his shoulders and arm as he did so - the charged argument having allowed him to nearly forget about the burns. Heavy in his hands, Yoru’s novel was a simple black hardcover with silver detailing on the spine, the pages thick with dust. The riftwalker had read it over and over before, knowing it like the back of his hand, but the book had held a special thing he hadn’t had in years - emotional sentiment.

It was the first book he’d ever read front to back without needing a translation - sure, he had missed a few idioms or sentences that were too flourished to understand, but Yoru took pride in it. And so, he had kept the book, even years after he had finished it. Of course, like any book, it wasn’t the same after reading it for the first time - the twists didn’t have the same impact as when he was 14, sitting in a dingy motel room that he was able to sweet-talk his way into staying in for free, the cheap lamp’s light flickering weakly on his bedside table only adding to the atmosphere.

Regardless, Yoru still read it when he got the chance to, spare free time spent tracing the near-gray spine - faded with years of wear-and-tear that he didn’t mind. Where there would usually be a bookmark in the pages, there was nothing, Yoru having the ability to simply open the book to any point and read from there - the plot was confusing, but over a decade of rereading it had allowed him to memorize where everything took place and when.

The black exterior of the book shimmered slightly in the last rays of the sun, the outer fabric smoothed away from years of his calloused hands running over it - the tile of ‘The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde’ was barely able to be made out with how whittled down the silver engraving had become, barely glinting in the yellowed light. Dusk was always Yoru’s favorite time to read, watching the beautiful fonts on his pages shine under the warmth of the passing day.

The pages crackled as he opened it, reading from somewhere in the middle of the coffee-stained paper, the small Japanese annotations scribbled into the margins greeting him like an old friend. The story winded and turned down each road he knew, dialogue flowing with a familiarity that felt so incredibly precious to no one but him. Yoru wished that same familiarity came in other parts of his life - a sense of reliability that he’d only found in his shadow or reflection in a mirror.

Maybe that was all he could ask for. Maybe that’s all a mangy street cat like Yoru deserved.

Or maybe, Yoru was reading too far into it. He’d figure it all out - that, of all things, Yoru was sure of. He’d always figure it out. Eventually.

Chapter Text

Yoru read quickly, well over 40 pages by the time Phoenix had trotted over to the sofa, a bowl in each hand. Yoru glanced up, blinking in surprise to see that he was offering one, taking the dish with hesitation as his free hand set the book on the seat next to him. 

The food was simple, unsurprising considering Phoenix had mentioned not being able to cook, but Yoru was far from judgmental - he’d give him the benefit of the doubt, at least wanting to try the soup before calling it shit. The broth was surprisingly hot, Yoru hissing as he pulled the spoon away from his lip where it had burned him slightly, setting the bowl on the coffee table beside him to cook for a few minutes. 

Yoru had already reached to grab his book when he had heard Phoenix clear his throat - it sounded unsure even to Yoru, nearly nervous - a very uncommon thing from Phoenix of all agents. Yoru looked up, raising an eyebrow at the firebird, urging him to finish his sentence instead of simply starting it. 

“That bad?” Phoenix covered the worry with a strained smile, one that probably would’ve fooled anyone but Yoru. 

The older agent tilted his head, confusion clear as Phoenix nodded to the bowl, laughing under his breath - it sounded fake. It was. Yoru had then caught on, shaking his head with a huff that barely passed for laughter. 

“Don’t look like a kicked puppy, it burned me. I’m just letting it cool down.” Yoru rolled his eyes, tired mirth lingering in his tone as he picked his book back up and opened to a random page again, “And the other agents tell me I’m over-emotional.”

Phoenix blinked, glancing to the bowl with guilt dancing in his eyes, eyebrows furrowing - his voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled ‘sorry’, to which Yoru had glanced up again. Phoenix was never sorry for anything in regards to Yoru unless Sage or Brimstone told him to be. Yoru tilted his head, glancing to the side unsurely, confused. 

“I can’t tell when something is hot- too hot.” Phoenix muttered the words, almost sounding embarrassed as he spoke. “I can still get burnt and stuff but- I don’t know. Same with, like, spices? I used to not be able to do any kinda spice then the whole ‘first light’ thing happened. I can’t even tell if there’s pepper on something unless I smell it.”

Yoru nodded along slowly, almost hesitant, realizing that Phoenix felt bad because- what? He didn’t realize he made the canned soup too hot? Yoru really did try not to laugh, but it’s hard to accomplish that after hearing something so honestly stupid. Phoenix looked up from his lap where he’d been toying with his rings, raising an eyebrow at the older agent. 

“You’re sorry because.. you made soup too hot?”

“Well- I mean I should’ve warned you or somethin’ y’know? Like, I knew it could’ve burned you but I just-“

“-Phoenix. You made hot soup. Do you really think I’m mad at you because you made hot food actually hot?”

And it was then that Phoenix pieced together just how stupid he sounded. He was about to apologize, maybe make some offhanded joke to diffuse the horrendous tension in the room, but Yoru had simply held up his hand. 

It wasn’t an insult, not a demand, simply: stop. It wasn’t quite dismal, but it was barely recognition, and Phoenix followed the action despite its definition. The movement could’ve been an order, and Phoenix would’ve followed it to the ends of the earth; all because it was Yoru who gave it. Phoenix really was having a harder time convincing himself that the feelings in his chest were simply passing passion. This felt more soul crushing. 

Yoru opened his book again, falling back into the comfortable habit of his eyes scanning the pages and margins, analyzing line after line as he had so many times before, all while his soup cooled. Phoenix ate in silence, biting back anything he might’ve wanted to say. Yoru didn’t want conversation, it was clear in the barely-veiled exhaustion of his expression. 

It was barely ten minutes that had passed, Phoenix having finished his bowl, moving to stand before pausing. His eyes fell to Yoru’s, of which were fully closed as his head nodded forward slightly before steadying itself as he tiredly blinked. Phoenix wondered if Yoru even knew that his book wasn’t in his hand, instead sprawled on the floor. 

“Look who’s sleeping beauty now. Cmon, let's go.” Phoenix spoke quietly, huffing a gentle laugh as he bent down, picking up the novel and setting it on the coffee table beside Yoru’s untouched soup. 

In response, all Yoru did was sigh softly, mouth twitching in what Phoenix guessed was a poor attempt at speech - the only thing that came out was a mangled, muttered, mashed mess of English and Japanese syllables that even Yoru didn’t understand. The firebird couldn’t bite back the smile on his face, and the tired glare he got from Yoru only made it grow. 

Yoru seemed annoyed when Phoenix helped him stand, but didn’t say anything, only scowling with unbidden exhaustion as he leaned on Phoenix’s side for stability. Carefully, Phoenix’s hand roamed over the riftwalker’s back, grazing to the side of his ribs, holding him closer to the younger agent with a care that felt like deception to take - he never eared kindness from anyone, let alone Phoenix.

But that didn’t stop the man from chuckling when Yoru stumbled before holding him closer; it never stopped him from mumbling an ‘are you alright’ when Yoru accidentally knocked his hip into a desk’s edge; and it never stopped him from forever keeping his eyes on Yoru’s frame. His hands were slow when he led Yoru tiredly into the bathroom, muttering a story Yoru wasn’t paying attention to, and they both knew it was to fill the silence. 

“Brush your teeth and, y’know. Preferably don’t pass out.” Phoenix huffed a laugh that sounded oddly genuine - Yoru wondered if he really found himself that funny or if Phoenix was a better actor than he thought. 

Yoru mumbled a confirmation, peeling his eyes open and shuffling away from Phoenix with a hum, already starting to wet his toothbrush under the flowing tap water. Phoenix quickly took his leave, walking to the shared bedroom and fishing out a set of sleep wear for both himself and Yoru. It was tough fighting the urge to snoop a bit more, Yoru having no way to stop him, but he conceded that Yoru would probably find out about it somehow. One argument was more than enough. 

And, of course, Phoenix’s train of thought fell back to the argument. He really didn’t know Yoru could look so shaken, and he could feel it even as they spoke, the leftover tension from the brief fight - Phoenix really wanted to convince himself that Yoru was just spooked and never genuinely scared, but his eyes never lied. Sure, Yoru lied, and he lied often; he lied easily like it was nothing but a hobby, but his eyes were all too honest. 

Yoru was downright scared in that moment, even behind the red on his cheeks or his wandering eyes. Phoenix made a silent vow to himself then, elbows resting in his knees where he sat on the edge of the bed, the blankets rustling as his leg bounced - Phoenix would never scare Yoru like that again. Not if he could help it. 

Phoenix was roused from his thoughts at the sound of something clanging to the ground, already standing and walking briskly to the bathroom despite Yoru’s exhaustive voice from behind the bathroom door repeatedly telling Phoenix that it’s fine. The younger agent walked in anyways, met with the sight of Yoru picking up the soap dispenser from the floor - maybe it was how tired Yoru was that made him not bother to cover the guilt in his face, either way Phoenix hated the sight. 

“Sorry- you didn’t have to come in, I just knocked it over.” The words were slurred and mumbled, Yoru’s eyes already half-lidded. “Didn't mean to bother you.”

“Nah, it’s alright. Wasn’t doing anything either way.” Phoenix stood beside Yoru, taking the dispenser from his hand swiftly and setting it on the counter before handing Yoru a large shirt and flannel pajama pants. 

Phoenix would be a liar if he said he didn’t find Yoru sleep-riddled a sweet sight, half-styled hair hanging over lidded eyes, words slow and soft with the lack of energy. It was a different side of Yoru that Phoenix felt privileged to see, the older man swaying on his feet before steadying his hip on the bathroom’s counter. Yoru mumbled something, vaguely sounding upset, and Phoenix hummed questioningly. 

“What’d you say? You’re all..” Phoenix hummed, trying to find the right word, “sluggish-y. Can’t understand you for the life of me.”

“My hair. S’still styled.” Yoru opened his eyes and sighed, pawing at the half-styled stands, some of the gel already washed out by Phoenix pouring water over Yoru’s head while he was unconscious. 

Phoenix nodded and looked in the mirror for a moment before humming, looking at Yoru excitedly - Yoru hated that look. Phoenix only ever had that look when he had a bad idea and needed his help with whatever it was. Before Yoru could muster the energy to ask what he was thinking, Phoenix had already ran out of the bathroom with a barely-audible ‘be right back’.

Yoru sighed again, letting his head rest in the palm of his hand, his other tapping his thigh restlessly. This trip was definitely not the best time to have decided to quit smoking - especially cold turkey. He’d been on edge since the plane ride the day before, and now it was really catching up to him. 

And Phoenix was doing the exact opposite of helping. 

The hands that always gravitated to Yoru’s arms or waist, his strained jokes, his constant banter and laughter and pretty eyes and warm smile and ‘ stop fucking thinking ’ Yoru berated himself. He’s a coworker, it’s not his fault that they’re stuck on the mission. 

It was, but it was also Yoru’s fault, so it was unfair to be upset with Phoenix for being a pretty guy with too much charm for his own good - that fucking smile in the bathroom doorway that morning still whittled away Yoru’s sanity. 

Of course, Yoru couldn’t blame all of his problems on Phoenix, but he could try - especially if it meant he could ignore the feelings that were rooted in his chest for just a minute longer. 

Stupid fucking heatstroke - how dare it make him think such sappy thoughts. 

Chapter Text

Phoenix happily trotted back into the bathroom, this time with a chair under his right arm, about to tell Yoru about what he planned on doing before his eyes caught on the older agent. Yoru’s head was resting in the palm of his hand, his other tugging and tapping against his pant leg, and it didn’t take more than a glance to see just how on edge he was. 

Phoenix slowed his pace, and it wasn’t until he had stepped into the bathroom that Yoru seemed to finally notice his presence - head snapping up. Phoenix knew Yoru was out of it, but the riftwalker being so unaware of Phoenix being there of all people? It was unheard of. 

“You alright, mate? Your face is somehow both super red and super pale.” Phoenix tried to play the sentence off as a joke, huffing a laugh; it didn’t work. 

“Mhm. Fine.” The answer was short and curt, but Phoenix didn’t seem to protest, simply nodding in response. 

Yoru’s eyes caught on the chair Phoenix had hooked under his left arm, raising an eyebrow - subconsciously blowing a stray strand of blue hair from in front of his eyes. It was grotesquely endearing, and Phoenix pointedly ignored the vague sparks of something that flickered restlessly in his chest. 

At Yoru’s confused and somewhat annoyed expression, the younger didn’t do anything to answer the question in his gaze, instead simply nodding for Yoru to move to the side as he placed the chair on the floor - its back to the sink. Yoru, again, raised his eyebrow. Phoenix, again, didn’t respond. Phoenix just pointed at the chair as he walked around the shorter, picking up Yoru’s shampoo bottle from the bath’s edge. 

Yoru had rolled his eyes but sat down, though begrudgingly, wincing as his burns flared again. The pain was full but incessant, and Yoru really doubted he’d sleep well that night with how they continued to pinch his nerves each time he moved.

The chair’s legs squealed against the tiles as Phoenix walked back over, a smile on his face that seemed slightly bashful. Yoru hummed softly, not bothering to raise an eyebrow - the last few times he’d tried, Phoenix never responded, so the riftwalker distantly hoped that it would actually work if he hummed instead. 

“Is this shampoo or body wash?” Phoenix showed Yoru a bottle covered in Japanese characters, and the way Phoenix’s free hand toyed with his rings told him that he was serious. 

“It’s shampoo..” Yoru huffed a tired laugh, the exhausted smile on his face barely reaching eyes, though it felt mean all the same. “Why?”

And it was then that Phoenix’s nervous smile became one of near-mischief, setting the bottle on the sink’s edge and standing to the side of Yoru’s head, right hand resting on the faucet’s handle. It was only then that Yoru’s exhausted mind had caught up - and when it had, a sharp, disbelieving scoff was the first thing to leave his lips. 

“You’re not washing my hair.”

“Why’s that? Is your hair too good for me or something?” 

“Yes.”

Phoenix scoffed, raising a hand to his chest, faux offense written on his face as he spoke. “I’m gutted, Yoru. Really.”

“Good,” Yoru responded cooly, “next time bleed out from it.”

The younger agent only rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the sink, resting his hip on the granite lip as his left hand hovered over the faucet. Yoru tossed him a glare, but eventually sighed, letting his head loll back to rest in the small sink - he wasn’t overjoyed to have Phoenix of all people touching his hair, but he was also too exhausted to bother caring, not when he knew the firebird would be adamant. 

The riftwalker bit back a scowl at Phoenix’s proud grin, flicking on the faucet. The water was cold against Yoru’s scalp, immediately flinching away and sitting up, away from the stream. Phoenix mumbled an apology, right hand immediately under Yoru’s head to keep him upright as his left monitored the temperature. Yoru didn’t know why he didn’t think his hand would be warm, but it was far from expected, but he was also far from complaining. 

Muttering something under his breath, Phoenix eased Yoru’s head back into the sink, the now-warm water running through his scalp. It was a bit too cold for Yoru’s liking, but his mind was more focused on the feeling of Phoenix’s fingers carding through his hair, the chilled water completely not the most pivotal thing Yoru was thinking about. 

It wasn’t until Phoenix had laughed that Yoru realized he was leaning more and more into Phoenix’s hands, eyes having closed on their own accord minutes before. Phoenix must’ve noticed how he tensed, right hand drifting to rest on Yoru’s neck for the briefest of moments before warmth had begun to seep through the riftwalker’s spine. Fucking radiant abusing his abilities to calm Yoru down - where did he get the nerve?

At least, that went through Yoru’s mind for only a second before the warmth had really set in, the bone-deep chill Yoru had been grappling with since the first light finally dulled slowly. A weary sigh had left his lips, his shoulders untensing before he’d even realized they were tense, and Yoru could tell that Phoenix was smiling even through the haze of near-sleep. 

The hand left his neck, and thank god Yoru had the awareness to stop himself from complaining about it - though, he didn’t know why Phoenix had snickered under his breath. That was until he’d realized he hadn’t been paying attention to his facial expressions. 

Yoru’s face was always a masterclass in skilled neutrality, only ever falling in place of annoyance or fury at the worst of times, but when Yoru didn’t bother keeping track of his scowls? It was all too easy for the chilled exterior to bend into what he really felt. Yoru truly was an expressive person, even after a half-decade of monitoring his face daily, and it seemed that shined through when he was too exhausted to keep the veil of chilled apathy intact. 

“Didn’t know you could make an expression other than a death glare,” the firebird’s voice was light, teasingly friendly as Yoru heard the sound of the bottle cap opening, “let alone a pout.”

The riftwalker’s mouth twitched into a scowl, eyes tiredly opening to toss a glare at Phoenix, though it was fleeting as the younger agent began to wash through his hair. Yoru didn’t know when the last time someone has really cared like this - or taken care of him, at least. Every touch he’d gotten from someone else for longer than Yoru could remember was a warning - a hand in his collar before a fight, someone grabbing his wrist to pull him somewhere, a fist colliding with his jaw - something this gentle felt so foreign. 

It felt undeserved. Yoru had never worked to gain such soft treatment, especially not from Phoenix, and it felt all too similar to lying to take it in stride. Despite how guilt picked at Yoru’s mind as the sound of the shampoo’s suds popped near his ears, the feeling of sleep prickling his nerves felt far more prominent. Within moments his scowl was forgotten, again replaced with a warm look, barely edging on a smile in the corners of his mouth. 

Another huffed laugh sounded from the other agent, but Yoru’s eyes were already closed before he had the chance to see the smile he knew would’ve been there. The running water had drowned out most of Yoru’s thoughts by then, the only thing really registering beyond the lukewarm water being the even warmer hands, still carding and sifting through his hair, the gel that had hardened hours before finally being untangled. 

Everything began to meld together in an all-too similar feeling, exhaustion creeping through Yoru’s mind to his body. His thoughts slowly began to dissolve, everything passed warm hands and the sound of running water forgotten, and Yoru wondered if his brain was being washed down the sink as the lemon-scented suds were. 

Yoru was never a betting man, but in that moment, he’d bet the answer was yes - only because he knew that, if he had all of his brain cells active, he would’ve never dared to lean more and more into Phoenix’s hands. But they weren’t active, so all Yoru knew was that Phoenix had chuckled from above him and put more shampoo in his hand. Yoru would’ve berated him for wasting expensive products so carelessly if he could form a cognitive thought. 

All that made its way past Yoru’s lips was a strained hum when one of Phoenix’s rings had caught on the strands, reflexively jerking forward and away from the pain as the younger agent cursed under his breath softly. Whatever apology Phoenix mumbled was drowned out by the clinking of gold rings on the ceramic sink and the still-running water. 

Yoru could still make out the tone of Phoenix’s voice, and whatever he had said sounded more playfully annoyed than apologetic - Yoru didn’t care. Phoenix could’ve cussed him out and cursed his bloodline, the riftwalker wouldn’t have even batted an eye if it meant he wouldn’t stop. Maybe that was pathetic, but it was honest, and Yoru would rather be brutally vulnerable to himself than keep his pride - not like he had the energy to lie to himself, let alone the will to do so as Phoenix’s hands carded through the strands again. 

Within moments the calmness of before has returned, and Yoru didn’t even notice himself untensing as the minutes passed, not bothering to hide his contentment. Sure, he’d definitely hate himself in the morning - letting his guard down so easily? To a stranger? To Phoenix of all people? - but at that moment, everything felt too overwhelmingly soft to think about the future beyond a mere few seconds. Sometimes even the few seconds were too long, Yoru’s mind stuttered to form more than a few words as the minutes passed. 

They could’ve been there for hours, as far as the older agent was concerned. Everything felt more insignificant, time less important than it had been before he’d sat in that chair, his sand-covered clothes no longer a pivotal thought in his sluggish mind. 

The only thing that really mattered in that moment was the moment. Yoru wondered if this is what most people feel like normally - calm, tranquil, relaxed. Yoru didn’t have the energy to envy them, only leaning heavier into the firebird’s hands. Yoru didn’t bother caring that he had laughed at him - it was probably deserved. 

Yoru really didn’t want to think about how he looked in that moment, his carefully constructed apathy cracking under the weight of soft touches and gentle laughter, washed away with the gel and sand. How would Phoenix see him after this? After he was calm? Would the firebird make fun of him for the vulnerability Yoru was ungracefully parading? Yoru hoped so - it would make two, his reasoning having company in being ashamed. 

Yoru didn’t want to think about that - Yoru didn’t want to think.

Yoru wanted to breathe in the scent of lemon, hear nothing but warm laughter and running water, see nothing but the distant patterns behind his eyelids. Yoru wanted to feel deeper than he’d ever felt - give himself the ease he was never granted before. Yoru wanted to give into the feeling of unfiltered care , no matter how constructed. Yoru wanted nothing but that moment. 

And, despite how much Yoru yearned to stay in the time between, he’d fallen asleep within minutes. If the last thing he’d heard was a soft voice telling him to sleep well, then that stayed between Yoru’s exhausted subconscious and the one who murmured the words. 

Chapter Text

“Sleep well.” 

The words fell from Phoenix’s lips easily, watching as Yoru fully relaxed with a soft hum; it sounded like agreement. How weird it was, seeing the man Phoenix had always associated with thick walls and icy glares untense with such a small action - not only finding some calm, but he was relaxed enough to fall asleep . That kind of trust was rare, unheard of in the protocol, and damn near a myth when it came to the riftwalker. 

But, despite it all, there Yoru was: Asleep, lips parted and breathing slowly, the dead weight of his head resting in Phoenix’s hands. The firebird couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride - he was privileged enough to see Yoru like this. No one else had gotten this trust, not to his knowledge. Phoenix was lucky. He was exclusive.

Okay, maybe not that. But Phoenix was more than a stranger, and that was really all he could ask for. 

By the time Yoru was fully asleep, his hair was fully cleaned of the pesky, flaking gel. It was getting late enough that the sun was nearly set, the small window a few feet from the sink showing just a thin veil of green before it faded into the deep blues of the Hungarian skies. It was pretty, Phoenix realized belatedly as he turned off the faucet. 

The firebird cleaned up quickly but quietly, occasionally sparing a glance to Yoru, only to ensure he wasn’t awake - he never was. The most the older agent did was stir or shift slightly, maybe mumble a few slurred syllables if Phoenix accidentally hit something or bumped his foot with his own. The gentle silence persisted as Phoenix had finished cleaning everything up, now only left with a few towels, a set of clothes for Yoru to change into and, of course, Yoru himself. 

Phoenix hesitated where he stood, just a few inches from the still-asleep duelist, wondering how to go about waking him up - more so, if he should wake Yoru up. The riftwalker needed to dry his hair and get changed, that wasn’t deniable, but Phoenix was unsure as to whether he’d get a black eye for it. 

Eventually, the younger agent sighed, grabbing a towel - might as well try to do it gently. 

Yoru stirred as Phoenix’s hand went under his head, towel between his fingers as he had begun to slowly dry off the older man’s hair, squeezing the extra water from the strands - Phoenix noticed the small smudges of blue on the before-pristine towel, and it was really only then that he realized that Yoru dyed his hair. Sure, Phoenix never thought Yoru’s hair was naturally electric blue, but he’d also never thought about Yoru of all agents spending an hour every few weeks mixing bleach in his bathroom. It made him feel more human. 

Phoenix shook the thoughts from his head as Yoru shifted, forgetting where he was and what he was doing for a moment, Yoru’s head still in his hands. The weight lessened slightly as Yoru shifted, eyebrows knitting together as a yawn urged the older to cover his mouth with his right hand. It was only then that Yoru seemed to process that Phoenix was there - that Phoenix was actively drying his hair - his head whipping around to glare at the younger agent. 

Phoenix hadn’t done anything wrong, and Yoru knew that, but the feelings of hands on him as his exhausted mind couldn’t supply what he was even doing in the bathroom didn’t care. His actions were adrenaline filled, but instead of flinching and backing away like Yoru had expected Phoenix to, the younger agent simply tilted his head. 

It wasn’t accusation or malicious, simply confused - why was Yoru so on edge? After a moment of the silent, one sided staring contest, Yoru gave up as he sighed wearily. Slowly, his brain caught up, reminding him that Phoenix was doing him a favor.  

‘Not everyone wants to kill you.’ Yoru’s mind echoed, and he hated that there was pity even in the voice in his head, ‘sometimes people simply want to help.’ Yoru found it hard to believe. 

“You okay?” The worry was unmissable in Phoenix’s voice. 

Yoru felt the younger man’s hand twitch against his scalp, still holding the towel to the wet strands, and Yoru wondered if he was subconsciously trying to find his rings - Yoru wouldn’t have been surprised considering he’d never seen the firebird without the golden decor. In response to the question, Yoru just nodded, a soft hum leaving his throat. 

Phoenix didn’t seem convinced, hesitating before going back to carding through the wet strands, the water slowly soaking into the towel. Yoru’s breathing quivered for a moment but he said nothing, Phoenix simply giving him a worried glance before continuing. Was it from overwhelm or was it something else? This was the closest they’ve ever been. 

Well, apart from when Yoru had nuzzled into Phoenix’s side the prior night. 

Which Yoru didn’t remember. 

So it was the closest they’ve ever been. 

Phoenix finished drying his hair within just a few minutes, pulling back the towel slowly, to which Yoru sighed and sat up fully - his eyes were still closed. Setting the set of clothes from earlier on Yoru’s lap, Phoenix didn’t feel the need to speak, simply nodding to them before giving Yoru a quick smile. Yoru had nodded back, though slower, and Phoenix left. 

He shut the door behind him, a shaking sigh leaving his chest - when did he start to hold his breath? He needed to get whatever these feelings were under control. Simply doing Yoru a favor had his face burning and mind a muffled mess, what the fuck was he meant to do if something actually happened?  

If he was going to be that distracted if the Omega Agents were going to show up, he’d be nothing but a casualty, a sitting duck trying to grapple with how pretty Yoru looked when the light hit him right. Trying to grapple with that smug smile. Trying to grapple with how Yoru’s lips looked when they were parted in something other than a grimace. Trying to-

Jesus. Phoenix needed to get himself under control. 

Getting changed swiftly, Phoenix had opted to wait outside the door until Yoru was finished. As per usual, Yoru was efficient, opening the door as his free hand was tugging the hem of his shirt down. Phoenix guessed that Yoru wasn’t expecting him to be there, eyes widening as he caught sight of Phoenix before giving him a belated nod, still using the door handle to keep himself upright. 

Phoenix didn’t bother hushing his snicker as he stepped closer to Yoru, ignoring the glare he got in favor of looping an arm around the riftwalker’s waist. Yoru had tensed but didn’t move away, letting his hand fall away from the brass handle to lean on Phoenix more - his weight wasn’t particularly hard to support, so Phoenix didn’t mind. He walked both of them back to their bedroom, setting Yoru on the bed before trotting out of the room to brush his teeth. 

Just as Phoenix had closed the door, he caught sight of Yoru tiredly tossing his clothes across the room, landing strewn out near his bags before immediately collapsing onto the bed. It was endearing, seeing the usually-completely collected agent be so careless from exhaustion. It made him look younger, hair over lidded eyes and sunburnt cheeks, and Phoenix found himself admiring it. Maybe too much. 

Phoenix again ignored the thoughts, instead opting to berate himself into brushing his teeth - and if he did it for extra long, that was between him and his flushed reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

By the time Phoenix walked back into the bedroom, Yoru was laid across the bed. The entire bed. Asleep. Under any other circumstance, Phoenix would’ve just shoved Yoru over and got into bed. Phoenix would’ve shaken him awake and made him make room. Phoenix would’ve done what they’d always done when it came to each other - fight. 

But Yoru’s burns across his face and arms. Yoru’s barely-there scowl. The furrow in Yoru’s brow when he moved and jostled his reddened skin. The soft snores, the way he held the blanket like it was a life line. The way Yoru was just so human, just for that moment. 

It all told Phoenix that it wasn’t any other circumstance. 

And so, for once, Phoenix didn’t fight. Phoenix instead walked into the room quietly, pulling his pillow off the mattress without waking the other, and sighed and he turned off the light. He had then carefully made his way to the hallway, eyes wide as he used the fleeting sunlight to make his way through the area until he had found the linen closet Yoru had pointed out the day before. 

After fishing out one of the many spare blankets, Phoenix had walked to the cramped living room, creaking as little floorboards as he could in the process. Looking at the dull-red couch, Phoenix could already tell that he would wake up the next morning with a twinge in his back. Phoenix had almost walked back to the bedroom then and there. Almost.

But the flashes of Yoru - the flashes of who Yoru was when he wasn’t Yoru - came all too quickly to his mind. And so, Phoenix had sighed, dropping the blanket and pillow on the couch resignedly before plugging his phone into one of the spare outlets. Setting his alarm for the next morning - six AM, per usual - Phoenix resigned the rest of his evening to doing nothing in particular to pass the time. 

It was still early in the night, sun finally set as he stretched. Phoenix spent his time making himself - another - bowl of soup, cleaning already-clean areas of the not-house, dusting as he used a bill of flame as a torch light before immediately not doing that as he realized that the not-house was made of dry wood and dust. 

Once he finished the scare of nearly setting the curtains on fire by accident, Phoenix had gone on his phone for the remainder of the night, playing whatever no-service games he had hastily downloaded and listening to music - over all, though underwhelming, the night was nice. It gave Phoenix a chance to collect his thoughts, time away from the other agent if anything. 

Phoenix wasn’t sure when the exhaustion of the day had fully set in, but any trace of the sun was gone and the same beautiful sky was visible from the window. The springs of the ratty sofa creaked and squealed as Phoenix laid down fully, thankful for the summer heat ensuring he didn’t need a blanket. 

Phoenix found himself drifting off quickly, the energy that was seeed from him during the course of the day slowly seeping into him again. 

And if Phoenix dreamed of the night before, with Yoru curled into his side, that was between him and his subconscious.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt - not just his skin. 

Like ice burns flaring, everything hurt. 

Yoru’s eyes darted around the near-pitch black space, the expanse around him like a too-tight cocoon. He felt like he was dying. 

Things were moving, thrashing about, their black forms and unsettling eyes morphing around him. Yoru knew they were human, despite how they looked. Those eyes - he knew them. All of them.

His hits, his kills, his missions. Yoru knew them all - he never forgot a face, even when they were dead and mangled with shadow. And they were back - their talons trying to claw at his flesh. Pain blossomed across his body when they got too close. 

Yoru didn’t know where he was running - he didn’t even remember when he’d started. All he knew was that, no matter how fast he ran, they were faster. How hard he writhed, they writhed harder. No matter how furiously he fought against their frigid grips, their frigid grips would have more fury in them than Yoru could ever conceive. 

There was a wall - that’s what Yoru thought, at least, something blocking him. He couldn’t make it past, even as he clawed at the barrier. It didn’t tear under his nails, even as he could feel the skin fraying against the friction. 

They drew closer. Yoru wanted to scream. He wanted to kick and writhe and sob and beg and plead and do something beyond staring at death in the face like a deer caught in headlights. He felt like a street cat staring at the syringe of sedation. He was a poor cat trapped in his own kennel with ketamine. Yoru wanted to scream. 

All that made it passed was a muffled sob as the feeling of blood tore its way from his throat, the cold claws drilling into his skin, his bones cracking under the weight of his past. Yoru wanted to scream. Yoru wanted to cry. Yoru did both, and that was the last thing he remembered before hitting the hardwood with a loud crash. 

Hardwood?

Hardwood. 

When the fuck was Yoru ever standing on hardwood?

The floor was cold under him, skin flaring with a burning type of pain, and Yoru felt his neck crack as he whipped it around. Where were they - where did they go? They were just there. They must still be there; hiding. Ready. Waiting. They were just waiting for him to be weak. 

He already was. 

Yoru scrambled from the bed, barely visible in the moonlight. Shadows danced across the walls, swaying with the midnight wind, and Yoru couldn’t tell if his heart had stopped beating or if it was just going too fast for him to feel it. His hands shook violently as he used them to move further away - his back hit something cold. Everything still hurt. 

A door, the handle jingled from the bump - where the fuck was he? Yoru couldn’t see, his eyes were playing tricks on him, catching faces in his eye line. The dim lighting - he knew it was nothing more than a facial recognition glitch. Yoru still wanted to scream and run. Everything still hurt. 

A bang resounded down the hall as Yoru heaved himself up using the handle, not controlling his adrenaline-fueled strength, slamming the edge of his hip into the door frame. He couldn’t feel the bruise starting to form - all Yoru knew was that he had to leave. They were there - they were going to kill him. They were going to kill him. Everything hurt. 

A voice - somewhere - somewhere close. Run. Yoru felt the hardwood under his feet give way, ungracefully colliding with the floor. Yoru still couldn’t see - his hearing was underwater, the flow of blood in them drowning out the shadow’s voices. Yoru still tried to scramble back; there was a presence close, Yoru could feel it, eyes on him. They burned like fire. Everything hurt. 

His voice - something was calling it - Yoru couldn’t see right. His head whipped around, desperately, frantically - he knew that voice. He didn’t know from where or who or why; maybe they would help. Maybe they would kill him. Maybe the pain would stop if they did. Yoru wished he could see. Everything hurt. 

The voice. It was clearer, closer. Warmer. Yoru wanted to cry. He didn’t know why, but it felt right. It wasn’t like it was much of a choice though, he could feel warm tears on his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe. Everything was blurry - Yoru wondered if he was dying. He didn’t really care what the answer was. 

Something touched him. It was warm, and it felt more real than Yoru had felt in hours. Maybe an eternity. He didn’t know how long, all he knew was that the feeling was there and real and potent and Yoru couldn’t stop crying. The same voice - it called his name. It sounded scared. 

It pronounced his name wrong. That, Yoru could make out - the syllables forming around an accent he couldn’t place. Everything felt dulled. Maybe he should breathe. Yoru tried, and decided to stop after the feeling of blood in his throat spiked his heart again. 

On instinct, Yoru thrashed, the touch suddenly feeling more like fire than calm warmth. Something shifted, a rough silhouette, an outline. Those fucking shadows. Yoru writhed back more, the hardwood squealing under his hands, and it was only then that Yoru realized that he’d been talking. He couldn’t hear his own voice. Yoru couldn’t see. Everything hurt. 

It - they - said his name again. It was still muffled, but by god did they sound scared. For him? Of him? Yoru didn’t know; Yoru didn’t care. He felt like he was dying, he couldn’t breathe, his eyes betrayed his frantic mind. Yoru couldn’t stop crying. 

“Hey- I’m here, it’s alright, come on Yoru just breathe mate-'' Yoru barely heard the words, the syllables barely breaking the seal of the blood rushing in his ears. 

Maybe it was how desperate they sounded, maybe it was how Yoru finally registered the touch on his shoulder as a hand. Maybe it was because, for a reason Yoru couldn’t remember, the twinge of their accent rooted a sense of safety Yoru couldn’t remember having felt in years. No matter what it was, it got Yoru to gasp in a desperate plea of an inhale, the humidity of the summer air washing over him for only a moment before he coughed the air out. 

It smelled like ashes. Like cinnamon. Like smokey oak and candied oranges and warmth itself. It smelled like lemonade a decade ago, when Yoru still smiled freely. It smelled like safety, like calm. 

It smelled like—

“There you go, there- just breathe. Keep trying to breathe, I’m right here Yoru.”

— Phoenix.

“Yeah- yeah I’m here. Don’t talk, don’t- just breathe, please.”

Yoru was never the type to follow orders, authorities never holding power over his head. But Yoru would be a liar if he said he wouldn’t have done anything the you get agent had asked - pleaded - him to do then. Only because he sounded so scared, Yoru told himself. Yoru didn’t know if what he was saying was truth or a flimsy lie; he didn’t care. 

Taking in rough gasps, barely hearing Phoenix’s muttered reassurance, Yoru finally began to make sense of things. The hardwood under his was cool, and his eyes slowly registered Phoenix’s silhouette against the backlighting of the moon just beyond the window. The tears on his face continued to stream, but Yoru didn’t care. 

His mind was still frazzled and frayed, flinching at the buzzing shadows that shifted around the room or jumping the moment a noise he hadn’t accounted for sounded - the most noticeable of this being the ice machine’s grinding, to which Yoru had frantically scrambled away before Phoenix assured him it was alright. Everything started hurt less. 

It was a while before Yoru’s breathing had finally evened, the pair having eventually made it to a wall, the riftwalker curled into a ball with his back pressed to it. Beside him, Phoenix sat with his legs crossed under him, hand on Yoru’s shoulder. He didn’t move it before the occasional squeeze or pattern he absentmindedly doodled into the skin below the loose t-shirt Yoru was wearing. 

By the time Yoru had stopped struggling on inhales and stuttering on exhales, the moon was on full display, along with the soft snoring of the older man. Phoenix noticed quickly as Yoru untensed under his touch slowly, eventually giving in fully to rest and becoming a deadweight against Phoenix’s side. The mess of blue and black strands, still slightly damp from when he’d washed his hair earlier, fell limply over Phoenix’s shoulder. It didn’t hurt anymore. 

Phoenix didn’t know what he was meant to do - what could he do in this situation? He debated just leaving Yoru to sleep on the floor, but he knew that the riftwalker needed proper rest, especially after what had happened. The fear in his eyes, it made Phoenix’s stomach turn. He’d never seen Yoru so utterly terrified, looking around frantically, eyes unseeing when they passed over him. 

Glancing at Yoru, Phoenix couldn’t help but wonder what made him so scared. He’d never seen Yoru scared, not like that, and he knew it was a nightmare. Sure, Yoru was strong. Mentally, physically, he was strong - stronger than most. But Yoru was weak when it came to his own mind, just like everyone else. 

Yoru was smart, quick, strong, reliable - but when your own mind betrays you, there’s nothing to fall back on. At the end of the day, all everyone has is themselves; but when their own thoughts go against reality, what does anyone have left?

Nothing but fear. 

Fear, and whoever is willing to help. 

Sighing, Phoenix heaved himself up, feeling Yoru stir before relaxing again - Phoenix winced at the idea of how exhausted Yoru would be the next morning between his heat stroke and attack. His back hurt from both sleeping on the couch and sitting on the floor, but Phoenix didn’t really care. 

“Okay, how do I do this..” Phoenix mumbled to himself quietly, leaning down to shake the older awake. 

Yoru groaned quietly, though it sounded weak, stirring before falling back asleep. Phoenix huffed a sigh, slightly annoyed. Rolling his eyes to no one but himself, Phoenix slipped his hand around Yoru’s shoulders, using the hold to pull him closer. Yoru gave no resistance apart from a tired mumble that sounded like a complaint - not like it was Phoenix’s fault. 

Tugging Yoru closer, Phoenix hooked an arm under Yoru’s knees, dragging him into his arms bridal-style. That woke Yoru up, flinching away from the sudden change as his eyes snapped open, head whirling around with fearful confusion. He looked exhausted and young, like he was a kid who had a bad dream, and less like a soldier. Phoenix felt a pang of pity before pushing it away - Yoru would never forgive Phoenix if he pitied him. 

“Hey- woah, just me. It’s alright.” Phoenix spoke quietly, kneeling down slightly to set Yoru most of the way to the floor, the hardwood being a more stable surface than being suspended in the air. 

Yoru looked over, eyes skirting along before finally locking onto Phoenix’s face. Phoenix wondered if it was wishful thinking or truth as Yoru relaxed at the sight of his teammate. Phoenix hoped it wasn’t - he didn’t wash his hair to not get at least a bit of trust. 

It was only a few seconds of Yoru staring at Phoenix, though it felt like an eternity, cool brown eyes nearly black as they shone with a thin coating of tears - it looked like the sky. Phoenix thought it was beautiful. Phoenix never looked away, arm still under Yoru’s legs and hooked around his back. Phoenix wasn’t leaving. 

Yoru sighed wearily, relaxing into Phoenix’s arms after seeming to register that there wasn’t any danger, leaning his head heavily on Phoenix’s shoulder. Phoenix huffed a quiet laugh, more disbelief than anything else, and lifted Yoru from the floor. 

Yoru - the man who hated his guts for years. The man who got him stuck in Hungary for a mission. The man who Phoenix couldn’t help but find stunning. The man Phoenix wanted to fucking strangle. The man Phoenix wanted to kiss. Yoru, the one who was asleep in his arms as he carried him to their bed. 

Yoru, the man who - unbenounced to Phoenix - wanted to kiss him back. 

But, that was for a later date, so Phoenix simply set Yoru on the creaking bed gently. He was careful not to jostle his skin to much as he did so, but it was hard to avoid it as Yoru’s weight tipped him over the bed. As strong as Phoenix was, Yoru was still a soldier with enough muscle mass for a lifetime, and he was fucking heavy. 

Phoenix stood back up after getting Yoru onto the bed properly, debating his thoughts for a moment. Sure, Yoru would probably appreciate having the bed to himself, but Phoenix’s back already hurt like a bitch. What if the Omega agents really did show up? Yoru wasn’t in a state to fight - really, Phoenix was doing Yoru a favor by sleeping in the bed, making sure he’d be equipped to fight since Yoru couldn’t. 

Sure, it was complete bullshit, but at least Phoenix would be able to ignore the electrical sparks in his chest for a little longer if he lied to himself. It was easier that way. 

So, Phoenix got into the bed, slipping under the covers as quietly as he could as he tugged them over Yoru’s body. Belatedly, Phoenix noticed that they had switched places from the previous night, now on each other’s sides of the bed. Phoenix would’ve laughed at the delirious irony of the situation if not for worrying about waking the riftwalker up. 

Though Phoenix didn’t have to worry about that for too long, Yoru stirring softly beside him, eyes cracking open just enough for the deep blue in the edge of his iris to be visible. Phoenix bit back a smile as Yoru yawned quietly, his sharp canines on display before the older pressed his face deeper into the plush pillow with a tired grumble. It was endearing, Yoru’s hair falling limply over his eyes, cascading over the burn on his nose bridge and cheeks. It looked so similar to a blush that it nearly matched Phoenix’s. 

Phoenix was too busy staring fondly at his coworker to notice the hand that had drifted closer to his torso, the sudden chill of Yoru’s fingers resting on his ribs catching Phoenix off guard, having to bite back a yelp. Yoru tugged weakly at Phoenix’s shirt, eyes closed once again, and Phoenix wondered if he was imagining the pout on the older’s face. 

Phoenix took the hint quickly, hesitating only for a moment before moving. Shifting closer to the riftwalker, Phoenix had not prepared for Yoru to immediately do the same, sleepily dragging himself forward and stuffing his face into the crook of Phoenix’s neck. Of course, Phoenix wasn’t about to complain that Yoru was basically trapping him in the strangest hug of his life, but he really hoped that the frantic beating of his heart wouldn’t wake Yoru up. 

Phoenix’s movements were stuttering, hand resting on Yoru’s back, hooked under the other man’s head. Maybe Phoenix’s heart would give out and take him out of his misery. His very not-heterosexual misery. His extremely confusing and borderline scary misery. 

His thoughts were shaken - more than they already were - when Yoru suddenly shifted closer, leg hooked over Phoenix’s with a tired mumble. It was only then that Yoru fully fell asleep, parted lips brushing Phoenix’s neck as the man below him fought the urge to light the bedsheets on fire. He wouldn’t have been surprised - he’d done it before, and this definitely seemed like a time it would happen again. 

But, alternatively, Yoru was there. Phoenix wouldn’t hurt him - couldn’t hurt him. On purpose or otherwise. Not now, not when Yoru trusted him enough to fall asleep. 

And those thoughts were the exact thing that lulled Phoenix into rest, breathing slowly becoming even. As the minutes passed, Yoru’s weight feeling more comforting than crushing, Phoenix realized that he really couldn’t stay like this. 

Lying to himself, ignoring everything, it wasn’t sustainable. It wasn’t fair - to him, at least. It was the safest way to keep the weary friendship of his and Yoru’s intact. And so, Phoenix swore to himself something that night, as the moonlight flooded the bed they laid on and Yoru tugged him barely closer:

No matter what he felt for Yoru, Yoru would never know of it. 

Phoenix forgot the promise as fast as it came as he fell asleep under the weight of his annoyingly stunning coworker, and if he nuzzled his face into the tousled mess of Yoru’s hair, that was for him and his subconscious to know. 

Chapter Text

The alarm clock, as always, rang louder than Yoru would’ve wanted. He had jolted forward, nerves frayed and mind suddenly as alert as it would be in a battlefield. The sun was barely inching over the window’s sill, and Yoru groaned, blinking sleep from his eyes. 

The agent tossed his arm in the direction of the alarm as Phoenix yawned under him, repeatedly hitting in the rough area of the alarm until it stopped being an annoyance. Sighing, Yoru untensed, resting his head back where it had been before his sleep was rudely interrupted, comfortably on—

Oh. Phoenix. 

On Phoenix.

That’s not right. 

The younger agent blinked at Yoru with wide eyes, seemingly as surprised and confused as Yoru felt. When the fuck had Phoenix gotten into the bed? When had Yoru fallen asleep? When did Yoru fall asleep on Phoenix? So many questions, too many at once, and all Yoru managed to choke out was a pitiful:

“What- why are, what the fuck?”

Phoenix blinked again before shifting away from Yoru, not saying a word before simply standing up from the bed - the morning air was cool, and Yoru missed the firebird’s warmth for a moment before schooling his thoughts. Without an utter of an explanation, Phoenix left the room, and Yoru was more confused than before. 

It was then, staring at the door as it closed behind Phoenix, that Yoru remembered what had happened - at least to an extent. He remembered running, being terrified, a primal fear he only felt when his nightterrors became unmanageable. Yoru remembered crying, the taste of blood. Yoru remembered it, and it was any other nightmare. 

That was until Yoru remembered Phoenix. 

His hands on Yoru’s, mumbling reassurance, mispronouncing his name. The scent of cinnamon and citron, the warm touch of safety. There wasn’t a doubt in Yoru’s mind who was there - gun to his head, Yoru would never admit that he could pick Phoenix out in the biggest crowd just based on how warm his hands were, but it was the truth. 

It was so strange - no one had ever appeared in Yoru’s dreams before. Why now? Why him? Why did it help? Yoru had an onslaught of new questions in his mind, and it wasn’t until he heard the shower’s stream in the room over that he realized that he still had to get up. 

Yoru got dressed quickly despite the burns, now dull enough that the pain was merely a backdrop to his thoughts, nothing more than an ache. Sure, he winced when shrugging his jacket on, but at least it wasn’t a flinch. Yoru looked himself over in the mirror, met with messy hair and horrendous eyebags, and Yoru realized just how tired he was. Maybe his dream took more energy from him than he’d thought. 

Looking at the orange sunrise, Yoru shrugged his jacket off with a sigh. It was already hot enough, no point in bringing a jacket just for it to be used as a decoration. So, Yoru instead wore his usual tactical pants and a simple black tank top, slipping on his gloves. It wasn’t as proper as he usually looked, but the only person who would see it was Phoenix, of whom he’d already slept on. Twice. Somehow. What a mess. 

Blowing a stray strand from in front of his eyes and inspecting his eyebags for another moment, Yoru left the confines of the cramped bedroom after flicking the lamp off. The sun was going to rise within a few minutes, no point in wasting energy. 

Stepping through the door, Yoru was met with nearly running directly into Phoenix, adorned with nothing but a towel around his hips. Stumbling back, Yoru was only kept from falling on the floor by Phoenix snagging the collar of his shirt, tugging him back to his feet with a mumbled apology, his other hand still holding the white fabric around his waist. 

“Shit- you alright? Didn’t even see you, mate.” Phoenix chuckled, only barely hiding his unease. 

His frame was fully on display, the scars from years of fighting decorating his torso and arms. Though, those weren’t what he was particularly worried about. Phoenix was more nervous about his prominent scars, two crescent shaped ones laying under his chest, fully healed. 

Yoru blinked, caught somewhere between surprise and fluster. Mostly fluster. From Phoenix being built more masculine than Yoru was and being so utterly quiet about his past, Yoru would’ve never even considered the possibility of him being not cis-het in any sense, especially the first part. 

Somewhere, distantly, a bit of hope flickered in Yoru’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, Phoenix wasn’t straight either. Maybe there was a chance. Then, Yoru shoves the thought away frantically, remembering that he was him. Phoenix might love a boy, but he wouldn’t dare to even like Yoru. And he’d come to that conclusion long ago - dreaming about him wouldn’t change that. 

“Take a fuckin’ picture, prick.” 

It was only then that Yoru realized that he’d been staring at Phoenix’s chest in surprise for far too long, piecing together that the shock probably read more like disgust considering how sour his expression tended to be. The fact that disgust was the furthest thing from Yoru’s mind was disregarded as he blinked frantically, trying to clear whatever infatuated haze had so quickly melted his brain. 

Before Yoru could stutter through an apology, Phoenix brushed past him, their sides knocking together as the younger scoffed. Whether the slight shoulder check was on purpose or due to the cramped hallway remained a mystery. 

Yoru turned quickly, wanting to say something, cut off by the bedroom door slamming in his face. Fuck. A drawn out groan left Yoru’s throat, hanging his head in his hands. Of course it was just his luck that, not only did he stare at his ridiculous workplace crush while he was shirtless for way too long, he ended up making himself look like an asshole. A homophobic asshole at that. 

Yoru came to the conclusion that, despite it, he couldn’t turn back time. Worst case, he gets taken off the mission if Phoenix reports him. Maybe he gets fired, but he has other job options. And so, Yoru instead went to the bathroom and got ready, styling his hair with ease and brushing his face among other morning duties.

In reality, the worst case was that Yoru offended Phoenix, and Yoru knew that. Yes, Phoenix was an asshole. He was abrasive and rude and overly hostile and by god did he piss Yoru off beyond belief - but beyond that - he was Phoenix.  

He had a heart of gold and a bright smile. He treated Yoru as human, as breakable, even if it made Yoru defensive. He always greeted Yoru with a nod, even if they had fought earlier in the day. Phoenix was Phoenix, and potentially hurting Phoenix felt worse than getting fired. It felt worse than anything. How pathetic. 

Walking out of the bathroom with a resigned sigh, Yoru glanced into the bedroom. Not seeing Phoenix there, the light from the sun illuminating that Phoenix’s light was also now flicked off, Yoru instead went to the kitchen. As expected, Phoenix was there, their duffel bag already packed. 

What he hadn’t expected, though, was there to be a plate of food in his seat. 

“All yours,” Phoenix’s voice was barely a grumble as he set his own plate down, “didn’t make it so you could stare.”

It was a simple bowl of cereal, something Yoru would never complain about eating, but he still felt confused. Even after he - albeit accidentally - hurt Phoenix? Yoru would be a liar if he said he would’ve made Phoenix breakfast if he pulled something like that; then, Yoru supposed that they were different people, and maybe that was a deciding factor. Kindness, even in the face of hostility. 

Yoru sat down hesitantly, the old wood of the oak chair creaking under his weight. It would’ve been a lie if Yoru said that he didn’t glance over the food a few extra times - trust was never his strongest suit, sue him. In response, Phoenix scoffed, sounding equally offended and amused. 

“I didn’t poison it, you freak. It’s cereal. You’ll be fine.” Phoenix rolled his eyes as he finished his sentence, whatever he grumbled next being muffled by the spoonful of cereal in his mouth. 

Yoru sighed but eventually ate his, taking small bites over the course of a few minutes. He would’ve eaten more, but the occasional glare he got from the firebird admittedly dwindled his appetite. That, and being called a freak. Maybe it was deserved, considering he basically inspected a bowl of cereal, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. 

The rest of the morning passed in tense silence, waiting for the car to show up as Yoru grabbed a bottle of sunscreen from the linen closet. He was already covered in red marks and his face looked constantly flushed, along with the exhaustion that came with the dull pain and the annoyance of the sensory nightmare that was sunburn, Yoru wasn’t particularly jumping at the opportunity to make his condition worse. 

Wasting his idle time by leaning on the kitchen counter, picking at his nails, Yoru was rudely interrupted by Phoenix. It wasn’t rude in hindsight, the gentle tap on his shoulder about as considerate as it could be, but Yoru was never one for giving much leeway - not to Phoenix at least. 

Tossing the younger man a half-hearted glare, Phoenix seemed to puff his chest out slightly, like he was attempting to size Yoru up. It didn’t work considering Yoru was never intimidated by most people, Phoenix not fitting into that category, but it was worth the effort. Yoru stuffed his hands back into his pant’s pockets, raising an eyebrow at the firebird. 

“Do you have a problem with me?” Phoenix’s voice was sharp and scathing.

“You know the answer to that already, idiot,”— Yoru rolled his eyes before feigning a worried tone—“you’re smart enough to figure that out, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you melted your brain cells.”

Phoenix scoffed hotly and crossed his arms, glaring at Yoru with more malice than before. It didn’t do much other than make Yoru glare back, but it was better than nothing. Not really. 

“Not that. Do you have a problem with me. Me being like this.” Phoenix raised a hand, tugging at his shirt’s fabric above his chest. “I don’t wanna be stuck on this mission with someone who’s gonna treat me differently over-“

“-No.” Yoru cleared his throat slightly, realizing how awkward he sounded with a wince. “Uh. No. I don’t- I’m not, y’know. That much of an asshole.”

Phoenix blinked, seemingly surprised. Yoru tore his eyes away from Phoenix’s, instead busying himself with looking out of the window. It wasn’t a particularly interesting view, but it beat gazing into his rival’s eyes. Not really. 

“Oh. Then- wait,” Phoenix tilted his head, unhooking his arms from one another to steady his weight on the counter, “then why did you stare? Thought you were just creeped out.”

Yoru tensed, and Phoenix barely caught the twitch of his temple before Yoru turned his head away fully. Phoenix knew that twitch - only when he was stressed. Normally, Phoenix couldn’t keep that kind of intimate knowledge about the other in his mind, but he's annoyed Yoru enough times to have it ingrained in his memory. 

“You’re just..” Fuck. Think, think, think. How was Yoru meant to get himself out of this? There was no way to pass it off as non-homophobic and non-gay. Just play it cool. “You’re just really masculine.”

Okay, that’s not exactly playing it cool, but it was better than professing undying love - Yoru considered it a win. 

Phoenix blinked before a bashful grin made its way to his face, free hand coming up to rest on the back of his neck. Yoru sighed - of course complimenting Phoenix would get him out of the situation. The firebird’s pride really didn’t need to be fed, but regardless, it diffused whatever tension was there. Yoru was just grateful that his flush played off as his sunburn. 

“Ah- well, thanks.” Phoenix shrugged, seemingly trying to seem unbothered. It didn’t work. 

Yoru just nodded curtly before raising his hand from his pocket, phone lighting up as he tapped the screen. Simultaneously, Phoenix hummed, flashing Yoru his screen. There was a message, and Yoru couldn’t quite make out the words, but he could tell well enough that it was from their driver. 

With a heavy sigh, Yoru pushed his hip off the counter and nodded for Phoenix to follow. Neither of them knew if Phoenix followed out of blind trust or because Yoru winced when he shifted, but neither of them really cared. All that mattered was that Phoenix was trotting behind Yoru with their duffle bag hauled over his shoulder. Despite the heat, Phoenix still wore his blazer, and Yoru bit back the urge to taunt him over it. 

As they came to the front door, Phoenix sped up suddenly, beating Yoru’s hand to the doorknob and opening it for him. At the confused glance Yoru tossed him, Phoenix just smiled - neither of them knew if it was taunting or not. Despite it, Yoru sighed and walked through the door, hearing it shut behind him and Phoenix’s steps following. 

Again, Phoenix sped up when they approached the car, but Yoru had caught on, speeding up at the same time and resting his hand on the car’s handle. Phoenix did the same, Yoru looking at the younger agent with a weak glare when the firebird’s hand fell over his. Hoping that Phoenix took the red dusting his ears as part of his burn, Yoru tilted his head challengingly. 

“I can open my own door, Phoenix.” Yoru’s voice held a danger to it, the leather glove squealing softly as Yoru tensed his hand around the handle. “Let go.”

“Just let me help, you prick.” Phoenix didn’t back off. “Your pride can handle it.”

“My dignity can’t. Let go of the handle.”

“Make me.”

Yoru’s temple twitched again, and the scowl that replaced his call expression felt like venom. Despite it, Phoenix still didn’t move. His hand stayed where it was, fingers nearly interlocking Yoru’s where it laid. The silent staring contest was cut short when a sharp honk resounded from the car, the driver’s window rolling down so the pair could see her poke her head out, a stern grimace on her face. 

Yoru stared back at her for a moment before huffing, tearing his hand away from the door. Yoru didn’t glance up, but he knew Phoenix was grinning anyway as he pulled the door open. Thankfully, he didn’t decide to try and help Yoru into the car - the firebird knew he was already pushing his luck, so trying to steady Yoru as he shuffled into the car was out of the question. 

Closing the door, Phoenix trotted over to his side, tossing the duffel bag at his feet carelessly. He sighed as the guns in the bag rattled, reaching for his seatbelt before deciding to take off his blazer first. The driver seemed annoyed but didn’t bother rushing the agent as he squirmed out of the pristine fabric, eventually dropping the jacket beside the bag and buckling the seatbelt. 

Glancing at Yoru, he was met with the older’s eyes already on him. Unlike what he was expecting, Yoru’s didn’t look angry. He didn’t even look annoyed - and Yoru always looked annoyed when it came to Phoenix. But Phoenix was far from complaining. Yoru blinked, surprise in his eyes barely veiled as indifference as he looked away from Phoenix and instead looked out the window. 

Phoenix wondered, distantly, if Yoru stared at others. He always seemed so busy with himself, Yoru sparing at glance at someone else seemed unheard of - knowing Yoru, he’d probably think no one else deserved his eyes. Phoenix knew that Yoru, although arrogant, was somewhat right. But that didn’t bother Phoenix, not as much as it used too; or as much as it probably should. 

Phoenix looked out his own window, feeling the rubble under the car shift and grid against the dust as they began their now-familiar trip. Phoenix couldn’t help his wandering mind though, the same thought staying as they made their way to the site; did Yoru treat him differently?

Phoenix knew Yoru didn’t argue with others like he did with Phoenix, that much was obvious, but nothing else was. What did the glances mean? The too-long silences? The conversations that felt like seconds and eternity, all at once? Those things weren’t obvious, and Phoenix really wished they were. 

But, no matter what he tried, Phoenix wouldn’t know what they meant. 

And so, Phoenix resigned himself to passing a final glance to Yoru before looking out of his own window, watching the passing scenery. Maybe he would never know what Yoru thought of him. Maybe he’d never figure it out. Maybe he wasn’t meant to know, made to just watch the roads pass and the fields run by. 

Phoenix was okay with that, as long as Yoru was the one in the seat beside him.

Chapter Text

Yoru needed to get his eyes checked. 

That was the excuse he’d landed on after the 15 minute car ride had concluded, the driver pulling the e-brake into park and telling the pair to get out with a gruff voice. His eyes were faulty. That’s why they kept creeping back to Phoenix, resting on his features, memorizing every flick and curve and divot. 

His eyes needed to be checked, that’s all. And sure, Yoru knew it was bullshit the moment it popped into his head, but acceptance wasn’t something he came by easily. Not from himself, and especially not from others. 

Admitting to himself that he really was gay would make it real. If he kept his mind off it, off men, off Phoenix - maybe it would fix itself. He could hope. 

“Hello? Earth to Yoru? Mate- you good?” At least, Yoru could hope as long as Phoenix stopped saying his name like it fit perfectly in his mouth. 

Yoru nodded slightly before tearing his eyes away from the seat ahead of him, realizing that he’d been doing nothing but staring at the mundane fabric while the driver waited. The car creaked as Yoru swung his legs to the side, using the car’s door to steady himself before standing. 

On second thought, he really should’ve tried to hide his wince better, Yoru admitted to himself. Not that he was overly embarrassed about Phoenix seeing his discomfort, more so embarrassed when he felt Phoenix’s hand quickly trail to hold his waist. As much as Yoru hated it, it was easier to move when Phoenix supported his weight, the flares lesser against his skin - even with the trade off that they were worse in his chest. 

The sparks thrashed around as the car door closed, Phoenix still not moving his hand away. It was only when Phoenix needed to grab their duffel bag that he pulled away, maneuvering Yoru to lean on the car with all-too kind touches. Between the sun’s rays scattering across his skin and the burns that felt all-too fresh, Yoru had no doubt he was overheating. Though, that might have just been the genuine smile on the fireball’s face. Yoru was suddenly more grateful than ever for not bringing his windbreaker. 

Glancing up to meet Yoru’s eyes for a spare moment, Phoenix shrugged the duffel bag over his left shoulder. The drive had already begun to pull away by the time Phoenix had snuck his arm around Yoru’s torso. Phoenix would’ve been upset about it if it didn’t mean that Yoru had shifted closer on instinct as the car door’s support vanished. 

Phoenix couldn’t help but wonder if Yoru would’ve shifted closer if it was anyone else. Trying to think of a time Yoru had leaned on someone else, caught glances, exchanged stories - Phoenix’s mind came up blank. 

Eventually, Phoenix conceded to the - albeit bad - idea in his mind: if there was any time to figure out if Yoru treated him differently, it was then. 

Realistically, it was never, but Phoenix was never one to not quell his own curiosities. 

And so, Phoenix’s hand had squeezed Yoru’s side. It was barely noticeable, the chilled skin under his fingertips being captivating enough to make Phoenix’s already scattered mind forget about where they were walking - more so where Phoenix was pulling Yoru, but that was unimportant. 

It was only when Yoru had cleared his throat that Phoenix remembered to blink, glancing around. They were outside of A-Site’s hall, the steps up to heaven on their left and the site itself on their right. Looking at the shorter duelist, Phoenix was met with a raised eyebrow and a burn that looked all too similar to a flush.

“Keep awake for today. I can’t shoot back if they happen to show up,”— Yoru shifted to support his own weight more —“my life is on you. Until my burn is gone, that is.”

Phoenix hummed, readjusting his hood around Yoru’s waist before walking up the stairs. Between the duffle bag weighing a good 50 pounds with their guns and Yoru weighing far more than that considering he was a soldier, Phoenix felt like he was getting in a day’s worth of cardio just by reaching the top of heaven. 

The guns clattered around in the black bag as Phoenix dropped it to the floor, a puff of dust following from under it. Next, Phoenix had helped Yoru sit on the floor, making sure not to look him in the eye as the older man winced - Phoenix knew that the one thing Yoru hated more than being weak was being weak in front of others; especially Phoenix. Watching carefully as Yoru leaned against the back wall, the overhang stopping the sun from reaching anywhere above his thighs, Phoenix realized he was missing something extremely important. 

Whipping his head around a few times, his rings clinking frantically as his eyes darted around, Yoru tilted his head in confusion. Ducking his head down the hall they had just come from for the 6th time, Phoenix sighed wearily, defeatedly groaning as he rested his head on the wall. 

Yoru raised his eyebrow more, even looking around the - although small - area he could see, hoping to catch his eye on whatever it was Phoenix was so worried about losing. Only when Phoenix had begun to slide down the wall dramatically with a pout did Yoru crack, sighing as Phoenix hit the floor. 

“…What is it?” Yoru sounded as exasperated as he was in the moment. “What is so important that you’re pouting right now?”

Sighing heavily, Phoenix lulled his head to lock eyes with Yoru’s, his pout still on his face. Met with an unimpressed expression, the fireball sighed again - somehow with more dramatics the second time - and looked longingly at the road they had just come from. The dust had already settled from when the driver had pulled away, but the tire marks had stayed.

“I left my jacket in the car.”

“…are you fucking serious right now?”

Yoru rolled his eyes annoyedly, kicking himself for thinking Phoenix was worried about something serious - when would he learn that Phoenix could never be serious? Phoenix could be pissy and annoyed and pouty, but Phoenix would never take anything seriously unless his life quite literally depended on it - and even then, it was a toss up.

Phoenix’s pout quickly became a frown, turning his head to glare at the older agent. With a huff, Phoenix planted his palms on the dirt-covered floor, using the leverage to push himself against the wall more - giving himself the illusion of better posture was the only way he could ‘size up’ Yoru considering they were both sitting on the floor. It didn’t work, but it gave him something to do. 

“Well I’m so sorry that my missing jacket is such an inconvenience to you,” if Phoenix said the words with any more snark, Yoru probably would’ve punched him, “I’ll be sure not to bother you with it.”

“I’m sorry that you’re too scatterbrained to remember your jacket.”

“I had to remember, like, four different things all because you didn’t feel like helpin’.”

“If you think four is a lot, I pity your exes.”

Unable to think of a good comeback, Phoenix resigned himself to pouting, resting his head against the wall. As stupid as it was, he really was worried about the jacket - sure, he had enough in the base to last a lifetime, but it was his. More specifically, his mothers’. Even more specifically, his aunt’s who had both designed and made it by hand. 

It was just a jacket, but to Phoenix, it was one of the few things he kept close to his heart. Fabric, stained over the years with blood he couldn’t quite get out, holding the sentimental values that any old photograph would. And he was careless enough to leave it in a fucking car. Way to go.

Whether Yoru had sensed his uneasy frustration or if he had simply gotten bored of the silence, Phoenix was roused from his thoughts by the feeling of something brushing his hand. Glancing down, Phoenix was met with the sight of Yoru pushing sand around, slowly but surely beginning to cover the firebird’s pinkie finger - the one closest to the other man. 

Biting back a laugh or a taunt, Phoenix instead watched. He didn’t bother to talk - half because he didn’t want to disturb Yoru, half because he didn’t want to risk Yoru seeing the genuine smile on his face. Maybe it was a stupid way to pass time, watching as his mission-mate covered his hand with dirt and rubble, but it passed time nonetheless. 

When Phoenix’s ring and pinkie were fully covered with dirt, the edge of his hand being half-buried by it, Yoru had suddenly stopped. After a moment, Phoenix blinked, glancing up to meet Yoru’s eyes. Without a word, Yoru had pulled his hand away as he turned his head, instead resting it by his right thigh. Phoenix tilted his head slightly, fingers twitching under the pile of dust. 

Yoru’s temple twitched again, and Phoenix could just barely catch the edge of his scowl. Stressed. The word to describe the tension in Yoru’s shoulder came quickly, and the idea to fix it came even quicker. 

Phoenix shifted his weight slightly to the bottom of his right foot, using it to turn himself to face Yoru more. The riftwalker didn’t react to the movement, and Phoenix wondered if Yoru had even heard it. Careful not to jostle his still-covered hand, the fireball reached over to Yoru’s hand, slowly pushing the amalgamation of dirt and debris over the older man’s leather gloves. 

Yoru jolted away from it for a moment, but it seemed more knee jerk than angry, so Phoenix didn’t stop - instead just pausing before pushing more of the dirt onto the riftwalker’s hand. It was only then and Phoenix noticed the chipping nail polish - it matched the unstyled hair. After a moment of terse silence, Yoru drew out a sigh, and Phoenix really hoped he wasn’t imagining the soft smile that laid on Yoru’s face. 

The dirt rustled when Yoru pulled his hand away, gravel falling back onto the floor, and Phoenix quirked his head. Yoru glanced back, his other hand undoing the strap to his glove, dirt still falling away from the black and blue leather. 

“You got dirt on it,” the older man’s voice was barely a murmur, “it makes my skin itchy. I’m cleaning it out.”

As Yoru explained himself, he busied himself with shaking his glove gently, small pebbles and dust falling from the fabric. Phoenix nodded belatedly before glancing down at his own hand, shifting it slightly to watch the gravel roll off his gold rings, the shine dulled by the powdered dirt. He didn’t bother fighting back the small smile on his face. It was such a small thing, Yoru absently covering his hand with dirt, but it still felt like it meant the world. 

Okay, that was a bit much, but it felt nice. Maybe not the world, but it felt nice. He really needed to get this shit under control. 

His racing thoughts halted when Yoru’s hand came back into his view, the dirt now clean, but the glove was still missing. Phoenix blinked as Yoru once again started to cover up his hand, the black nail polish glinting back the morning sun just as Phoenix’s rings did. 

The firebird looked up, meeting Yoru’s eyes through the wispy veil of unstyled hair, the near-black irises holding the small flecks of blue that came with radiance. Phoenix would’ve been content gazing at Yoru’s eyes for the rest of the day if he wasn’t still trying to keep his feelings under control - looking into the other’s eyes loving definitely would not have been accomplishing that by any stretch of the word ‘control’.

Tearing his eyes away to look back at their hands, Phoenix wondered how Yoru would react if he really did tell him. Would he be kicked from the mission if he reached out, shook off the dirt and intertwined their fingers? Would Yoru yell at him? Maybe scowl and glare? Maybe the riftwalker would just stand up and walk away, shrug him off, spend his hours at the other site. 

Maybe imagining Yoru hating him was easier than entertaining the concept of Yoru loving him. 

Or maybe Phoenix just needed to get his eyes checked. 

Chapter Text

It was stupid. 

It was a ridiculous way to waste time, but Yoru wouldn’t change it for the world. The dirt had long-covered his hand, almost fully buried, and Phoenix’s left hand was in the same predicament. It was stupid. Yoru really liked stupid. 

Time has passed so easily like that, Phoenix having put on some playlist Yoru didn’t recognize 10 minutes after starting. The songs were different from his usual music taste, but Yoru did like them, even if they were a bit too pop-y. Phoenix liked it enough for the both of them; at least, based on how he bopped his head absently to the beat. 

Neither of them really cared about what the time was, the dirt over their hands and under his fingertips felt more important. They both would’ve missed the lunch alarm if it didn’t pause Phoenix’s music. The firebird reached over then, left hand still covered in dust and debris as his right hand tapped at the screen tilted away from Yoru’s view. 

He hadn’t even noticed that Brimstone had texted, a simple sentence asking how things were - Phoenix knew it was more about how him and Yoru were getting along as opposed to the ‘recon’ they were meant to be doing. Glancing up to Yoru’s face, Phoenix blinked, met with an expression he really hadn’t expected. 

Yoru looked bothered. Annoyed. If Phoenix didn’t know any better, he would even think that Yoru looked-

“Who’s texting you?”

-jealous.

Phoenix almost had to bite back a laugh. Yoru was jealous - over him no less - because their boss had texted. Yoru had been protective over Phoenix, but Yoru was always like that when it came to battle, to any teammate. Yoru had been rude to people talking to Phoenix, but Yoru was always rude to everyone. 

Phoenix would’ve never assumed that Yoru could be jealous, not in relation to Phoenix. 

It was almost ironic, and Phoenix was too busy biting back a smile to reply. To him, it was hilarious - to Yoru, all it looked like was that Phoenix was smiling at his phone. At a text message from someone. Yoru would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t bothered by it. 

Because that was their time. Phoenix and Yoru had only scratched the surface as non-rivals , barely etching into the term friends if he was particularly daring. Yoru wasn’t exactly willing to give up time they could spend building trust, let alone happy about it. He wasn’t jealous. He really wasn’t. 

But he was a liar, and Yoru knew that he could only believe himself for so long - as long as he could believe his own decit, then Phoenix would believe him too. Right?

“Why? Are you jealous or somethin’?”

Wrong. 

Yoru scoffed a sharp laugh, shaking his head slightly. The dismissal would cover his tracks, it always did. Forcing his face to stay neutral, Yoru turned his head to face forward instead of at Phoenix - Yoru would convince himself that it was because half an expression is harder to read, but he knew it was because it was harder to lie to Phoenix’s face lately. 

Taking the lack of an answer as a brush off, Phoenix just snickered to himself as he sat up. His black tactical pants were creased with dust, the beige streaks making the fabric look more gray than anything else. He didn’t really care. Yoru did the same, seemingly understanding that it was lunch time. It was weird how quickly hours passed when they were together. Yoru didn’t understand it, but he wasn’t complaining. 

“Not gonna deny it, huh?” Phoenix spoke with a smile on his face, opening the duffel bag as he pocketed his phone. “So you really are jealous.”

And, again, Yoru didn’t dignify the accusation with a response. Yoru knew that ignoring it would make Phoenix drop the question eventually. The younger agent sighed beside him, hand still rummaging through the bag. He seemed to have found the food, tossing a pre-packed sandwich to Yoru, who caught it easily. 

The wrapping crinkled softly, filling the humid air to break the silence. Again, it was quiet, but not uncomfortable for either man. Yoru really did think it was strange, how being alone with Phoenix had begun to feel comfortable. Convincing himself that it was happenstance instead of infatuation, Yoru ate the first few bites of his sandwich, watching as Phoenix searched for his own food. 

The firebird had eventually found what he’d been looking for, pulling out a sandwich nearly identical to Yoru’s, and he would’ve thought nothing of it if he hadn’t looked closer. Unable to hold back a snicker, Phoenix gave him a soft glare, knowing exactly what Yoru was laughing about.

“Really?” Yoru spoke with a smile on his face - it felt more warm than his others. “You cut off the crusts on your sandwiches?”

“So what?” Phoenix seemed uncharacteristically defensive over such a small thing, and a nagging in the back of Yoru’s mind told him to drop the topic. Too bad Yoru never followed orders.

“You’re, what, twenty-something? You have to admit, most people grow out of that little phase by then.”

“I’m not most people. Drop it.”

So now that it wasn’t just the voice in the back of his mind, Yoru really did hesitate. This didn’t feel like friendly banter, the way the crease in Phoenix’s brow looked more like defensive anger than fluster. The way the scowl looked colder than anything he’d seen from the younger agent. Yoru hated it. 

For once in his life, Yoru followed what others told him, shutting his mouth - a rare treat. After a few terse seconds, Phoenix glanced up, seemingly confused why Yoru hadn’t kept pushing. The riftwalker couldn’t even blame him. Egging people on was basically his specialty; especially when the ‘people’ was Phoenix. 

Yoru met his eyes before sighing quietly, looking back to the floor. The burns across his shoulders had begun to blister with pain, and it  took a moment to realize that the sun was crawling up his torso. The dull pain now stung and bit at his nerves, and Phoenix must’ve caught on by the uncomfortable shifting. 

Setting down his crustless sandwich, Phoenix sat up slightly, looking around for a moment before sighing. Yoru didn’t notice that Phoenix had stood until a hand was in front of him, urging him to get up as well. Yoru hesitated before reaching out, letting Phoenix pull him upright with shocking consideration. 

Now that the sun was off his burns, Yoru sighed wearily, the pain fading into uncomfortable prickles across his skin. They walked slowly to the other side of A-Site, Yoru wincing less and less as they did so, Phoenix’s eyes never leaving the shorter’s frame. Maybe it was worry. Maybe fear. Maybe Phoenix just didn’t know where to look. 

They made it to the other side of the expansive site, Phoenix helping Yoru sit down slowly, ensuring that the sun didn’t sleep over the edge. Worse came to worst, they knew they could just move to the hallway. When Yoru was leaning against the wall comfortably, Phoenix had jogged back to where they just were, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder and carrying the two sandwiches in his free hand, balancing them carefully to ensure they wouldn’t fall. 

Handing Yoru’s sandwich back to him, Phoenix let the strap roll off his arm, the guns clanking against each other. It was a stark reminder why they were there. It felt almost like irony, the fate of this entire area being in their hands, down to them to defend it from a bomb that had the power to wipe out countries, and Phoenix was busying himself with cutting off his crusts and crushing on a coworker. It felt ridiculous in his mind. It really was. 

Again, the silence fell over the pair, and it felt just as calming as it had before. Phoenix always hated silence, but with Yoru, it felt different. Maybe it was because Yoru was quiet too, Phoenix never feeling that insistent urge to make conversation with the riftwalker. Maybe Yoru’s occasional hum or muttered word filled the silence enough to keep his mind busy. 

Maybe Phoenix just liked being around Yoru. That thought scared him more than any other. 

Pulling out his phone, the firebird absently texted Brimstone back, realizing he’d forgotten to reply earlier. He gave a quick synapses, assuring the commander that - yes - they were still alive. He mentioned the bed offhandedly, still annoyed over the situation, and told the older man that Yoru’s burns have kept him from doing much. 

Brimstone responded quickly, perfect grammar as per usual, a stark contrast to the several misspelled words and occasional acronym that had found their way into Phoenix’s messages. The reply detailed the uptake in activity, Brimstone warning Phoenix to keep lookout. As if they were ever going to show up. 

The part of the reply Phoenix was more concerned with was the pair’s schedule, the commander discussing what their plan was in terms of restock and a ‘break’ from their usual agenda. Three days from then, a pair of ‘place-in’ agents would take over their duties for the day, Yoru and Phoenix being assigned to go to the neighboring Budapest - the capital city - to do shopping for groceries and rest for the day. 

As Phoenix skimmed the message repeatedly, about to ask Yoru what they should get in terms of food when they left, the feeling of cold eyes registered in his mind. Looking over to the rift walker, he was met with a glare that would’ve murdered him in cold blood if looks could kill. 

Yoru blinked suddenly, seemingly having not been ready for Phoenix to look at him, quickly turning away from the younger agent as he balled the plastic wrap from his sandwich in his hand. The crinkling almost drowned out how the fireball awkwardly cleared his throat, shifted discreetly away from the riftwalker. 

“O..kay,” the younger started the sentence hesitantly, “what was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe the death glare you just gave me?” Phoenix sounded as incredulous as he sounded. 

All he got in response was a weak scoff and an eye roll, Yoru clearly not appreciating the accusation, which was completely truthful. Phoenix raised his eyebrow more with a huff, more annoyed that Yoru was annoyed than being upset with the scowl. 

“Y’know, I was jokin’ before when I called you jealous—“ Phoenix shifted to turn to Yoru more, watching as the shorter took the last bite of his food —“but this is really not helpin’ your case, mate.”

“I’m not- don’t call me that.” Yoru spoke with an anger in his tone, but it wavered with barely concealed lies. “I’m not jealous. Stop being ridiculous.”

“Then what is up with you, huh?” The words sounded more like an accusation than a question,

“So what if I don’t love it when you spend time texting other people when I’m here.” Yoru’s voice was softer than it had been - even if at gunpoint, he would never admit it was vulnerability.

“Why? What makes it such a big deal to you?”

The mirth in the words didn’t hide the confusion and annoyance behind them. “Not like you were ever all that concerned with making conversation with me before this mission.”

“Have you ever considered that- hell, maybe I like talking with you?”

Phoenix’s stomach flipped. He really hadn’t considered that. 

The silence burrowed under Yoru’s skin uncomfortably, the sickening way the worry of rejection wormed just below his veins, prickling his burns like a live wire. The riftwalker looked away from Phoenix sharply, a huff leaving his lips - the warmth of summer suddenly felt all too much like fire against wounds he would rather lick in his lonesome. 

“You-..” Phoenix’s voice was dotted with unstable weary, “you.. like this? Me talking to you?”

It was Yoru’s last chance to take it back. To fall to safety of his lies and facade. A final hope of keeping his ridiculous hope of friendship to himself. Yoru would run from this entire situation. 

“..yeah.” 

Yoru was tired of running - from himself. From Phoenix. From the fact that he was absolutely jealous. From his fears and worries and everything else that felt like too much. 

And Yoru’s thoughts stuttered when he heard the softest laugh from beside him - it sounded sweet. It sounded kind. It sounded like it had never known pain. Like peace itself. Like the sun. Like the way warmth felt a decade ago, before Yoru knew what suffering felt like. 

It sounded like Phoenix. 

“Christ, and here I was, scared you hated my guts.” Yoru would give anything to hear Phoenix so happy. “I thought you loathed me. Nah- you love me, mate.”

“ Love? You wish.”

Phoenix did wish. Phoenix would wish on every star in the Hungarian sky if it meant Yoru really would love him. 

But, there were no stars dotting the sky, so all Phoenix could do was laugh softly and turn off his phone. No point in having it on if he knew that Yoru would be upset by the fact he had it on anyway. 

Chapter Text

Maybe Phoenix was scared. Maybe he was always - if distantly - worried. Maybe that was why him and Yoru never talked, never fought beyond crude banter, never conversed past the occasional nod of approval or begrudged compliment. 

Maybe Phoenix was scared of Yoru, to some extent. A fear of how Yoru would see him if he spoke about the wrong thing at the wrong time. Maybe Phoenix was always scared of how Yoru saw him - maybe Phoenix was always scared of Yoru. 

Have you considered that I like talking with you?

Phoenix wasn’t scared, not after Yoru had said that, not anymore. 

And so, fears set aside, Phoenix didn’t bother holding back once they had finished their food - even prior to that, Phoenix was speaking between bites of food. It was a constant conversation, and for once, it wasn’t one sided - Yoru actually smiling or scoffing a laugh at whatever Phoenix decided to ramble endlessly about. 

It was a weird form of consistency between the two, sharing stories and stupid jokes and bits as Phoenix cleaned up whatever garbage they created through packages and plastic wrappings. Phoenix’s constant barrage of thoughts and interjections to his own stories ensured that Yoru’s focus was never dulled with mundanity. 

Even as time passed, the fireball only seemed to get more and more energetic, hand gestures being more wild as the minutes passed into hours. It wasn’t until 3pm, 4 hours after lunch and 3 before pickup, that Phoenix’s consistent blabber had paused. 

Yoru glanced up from his nails, of which he had been absently picking at as his mission mate spoke, a raised eyebrow meeting Phoenix’s hesitant expression. Yoru tilted his head slightly, letting his hands fall to his lap - his burns didn’t hurt as long as Phoenix kept his mind off them. 

“What? Why did you stop?” Yoru sounded more worried than he wanted to let on. 

“I just-..” Phoenix cut himself off sharply, his response ending in silence for a few, stale moments before continuing, “I just want to make sure this is alright.”

Again, Yoru tilted his head, glancing around the expanse of the site’s heaven - there weren't any cameras. “Uh.. what, exactly?”

“This- me talkin’ this much,” the firebird shifted, “you’re usually, like, a total introvert and I know some introverts are- well, like, they can be super not-chill with constant conversation like this- oh, like my brother. He’s totally like you- super dark and brooding and kinda edgy but people are still chill with it-“

“-Phoenix.”

“Uh.. yeah?”

“You’re rambling.”

“Yeah- I kinda noticed when I brought up my brother..”

Yoru couldn’t help but drop his head into his palm, snickering as he bit his lip in hopes of hushing the sound of his laughter. It was rare for Yoru to laugh - especially as unabashed and careless as he was then - and an uncomfortable chord of vulnerability struck distantly in his chest at the idea of doing so in front of Phoenix. But it was just too damn funny. 

It was such a stupid thing to laugh about, Phoenix being so worried about rambling that he resorted to rambling, but Yoru really found it hilarious. Maybe it was just because he was so tired, fatigue in his veins from his sunburn and his strange dream. Maybe it was the heat, the summer sun melting and frying his brain’s cells like it had done to Phoenix long ago. 

Or maybe - just maybe - Yoru wasn’t scared of Phoenix’s judgment anymore. 

A week before, Yoru would’ve never dared to laugh so openly near Phoenix, especially not with the younger agent, and especially not at one of his jokes. It sounded impossible, him and Phoenix getting along like they were made to be friends instead of rivals. 

If you ever told Yoru from a week before that he and Phoenix would be sitting on A-Site, sharing stories, eating lunch side-by-side, the dull ache of laughter in his side as he relentlessly giggled at something so stupid, Yoru would probably kill you. And Phoenix. And himself - if only to ensure there weren’t any witnesses. 

But it wasn’t a week ago. It was 3:12pm in Hungary, the sun shining on the pair, and Yoru’s cheeks hurt from the smile he desperately tried to tuck behind his palm. It was warm and bright and Yoru never wanted the moment to end - never wanted Phoenix to stop looking at him like he meant the world. Maybe, if the firebird kept looking at Yoru as if he was nothing short of perfect, Yoru finally would be. 

It felt like eternity and merely a moment before Phoenix had begun laughing next to him, the same sound from hours ago, like the sun itself. Yoru never wanted the sound to stop. Glancing up from his lap, Yoru’s eyes caught the brightest smile they had ever laid on, and Yoru distantly wondered if the small sparks in his chest were friendly or not. The warmth that clawed its way from his chest, creeping up his neck and burrowing into his cheeks, told him that they were anything but. 

They didn’t know what they were laughing at - they didn’t care. All that mattered was they were. They didn’t care about what made them burst into fits of giggles and snickers, they didn’t care how stupid they seemed, they didn’t care how Yoru snorted on an inhale or that it only made Phoenix double over with uncontrollable gasps for air. They didn’t care about anything other than that they were laughing - together , they were laughing. 

How could anything else even come close to mattering as much as that? 

It felt like hours before they both calmed down, the relentless fits dwindling down to just the occasional snicker or sharp exhale, with the grip Phoenix had on Yoru’s shoulder eventually giving way. The hand was being used to shove and shake the riftwalker back and forth not minutes before, but the gentle contact suddenly felt all too kind. They weren’t scared, but worry never ceased that quickly. 

Glancing to his right, Phoenix was met with the sight of Yoru pawing away the last remnants of his tears, a smile splayed across his face. It was so rare, so delicate, so human - the scarcity of Yoru without his walls. He looked just as human as he had the night before, hands shaking with unbridled terror, and Phoenix found himself enjoying this version far more. 

The way Yoru’s nose scrunched with the grin, the edges of his eyes crinkling. The smile lines that were so unused finally breaking free from the callousness of Yoru’s neutrality, the small dimples on his cheeks mimicking the joy in his eyes. Yoru looked so blissfully happy in the aftermath of uncontrollable laughter, unstyled hair like a beautiful veil over his eyes. Yoru looked less like the soldier he tried to be, and more like the 27 year old outcast he really was. 

Yeah, Phoenix enjoyed his version far more. 

Blinking, Phoenix only then realized the extent of his staring, tearing his eyes away from the older man with a quiet last huff of laughter. His sides hurt, and he debated the urge to rub at them to keep his mind off the chilled gaze he could feel on him. 

“So,” the riftwalker started, sounding both awkward and relieved, “what did we just laugh about?”

Phoenix looked over again, a smile on his face mirroring Yoru’s, and he felt a pit of warmth in his chest at the fact that Yoru didn’t bother hiding it behind his hand like he did before. Shrugging slightly, Phoenix’s response was simple but just as warm as the sun above them. 

“Does it matter?”

Yoru thought for a moment, eyes trailing to the sandy floor. Gnawing on his bottom lip for a moment, Yoru eventually looked up as his hair fell away from his face enough to reveal his sunburnt cheeks and kind eyes. Phoenix didn’t fight the feelings in his chest yearning to kiss him. 

“No.. no, I guess it doesn’t.”

And for once, the gaze they held with each other for the brief moment didn’t feel like a glare. It didn’t feel mean, or threatening, or rude. It felt like calm. It felt like dusk. It felt like the warm breeze of a cold day, like gentle rain during a heat wave, like the careful balance of blaze and frigidity that only they could create. 

It felt like the closest thing they could get to love without admitting the way the other made their heart hammer and head spin. And neither of them were as scared of that as they should’ve been. 

The silence didn’t get a chance to settle this time, as the conversation picked up again. This time, though, was different. It was always Phoenix who seemed to start and end whatever discussion they had, prompting Yoru for an answer, sometimes even having to pull teeth to get anything more than the hum or scoff Yoru deemed appropriate. 

But Phoenix had no need for pliers, as when the quiet had begun it’s drift back between them, Yoru was the one to speak. 

“You..” the riftwalker hesitated, like he was unsure about finishing the sentence once he had already started it, “you said you have a brother?”

From then, the rest of their shift felt more like 20 questions than any form of playing watchdogs. Yoru asked mostly about Phoenix’s past, his family and old friends and what he wasted his time with before becoming a gun for hire; meanwhile, Phoenix asked more interpersonal questions, things like his favorite movies and foods, the things one learns about another within minutes of knowing another person. Neither missed the irony of Phoenix only asking these things after 2 years of knowing each other. 

Hours passed quickly, and Yoru found himself more engaged in the conversation than he had been in a conversation in years. Over the last two days, Yoru had mostly spent this time tuning Phoenix out. Sure, maybe it was rude to treat Phoenix like white noise. Yoru didn’t really care. Phoenix always handled the conversation, entertaining himself to an extent, letting Yoru do nothing but vaguely listen. 

But this conversation - it felt electric. It felt active and fresh and happy. Yoru never realized how suffocating it felt to try and communicate through the walls and veils of his cold persona. But now, without the thick barrier between them, words felt like they came easy for once; even if Yoru wanted to stop talking to the fireball, he wasn’t sure if he could reliably pause the onslaught of giddy sentences that fell carelessly from his lips. 

Phoenix, on the other hand, looked overjoyed - a stark contrast to what Yoru was admittedly expecting. To Yoru, speaking more than a few sentences a day was always met with glares or a harsh shush from a harsher father. Maybe that was why Yoru was always so hesitant to speak to Phoenix - maybe that was why Yoru wasn’t scared anymore. Phoenix would never shush him. 

By the time the expected text came from the driver, Yoru’s smile still hadn’t faded, and he was on his seventh tangent. If he was being honest, he didn’t remember what the topic was, but Phoenix seemed so enthralled that he decided it didn’t really matter. 

Phoenix had glanced at his phone as it buzzed , both the men knowing that the driver was there, and Yoru had decided then to cut himself off. His story about his stray cat turned pet wasn’t really going anywhere, so trying to continue it as Phoenix probably wanted to pack up and leave had no merit. At least, that was what Yoru had thought for just a moment. 

Instead, as Yoru stopped his story and started to shift from his spot to get enough bearings to stand up, his gaze met Phoenix’s pout. Blinking in surprise, Yoru paused his shifting, tilting his own head slightly. 

“Uh- what? Something wrong?” 

“Why’d you stop?” Phoenix’s voice sounded as upset and borderline sad as he looked - almost boredering annoyed. 

The younger agent’s question only served to sputter Yoru’s thoughts, an awkward huff of laughter shaking his shoulders before returning to standing up. His burns barely hurt by then, more just uncomfortable tugging than real pain on his skin, but the way vulnerability slung itself around his nerves stung more than the healing wounds. 

“Just- just pack up.” The distance in Yoru’s tone was unmistakable. “We don’t want to keep the driver waiting-“

“-I do. Let her wait. I’m curious.” Determination weaved between the words, Phoenix’s voice was barely above a whisper. It sounded like a secret - him wanting Yoru to speak. “Please?”

After a moment, Yoru sighed quietly, relaxing against the wall again. Yoru wasn’t particularly keen on making the driver wait, especially considering the glare they had gotten in the early morning from their insistence on wasting time, but Yoru was even less keen on seeing Phoenix look so upset over not hearing the end to a mediocre story. 

“I was- I mean, we weren’t allowed to keep her. She was just some mangy stray I got attached to, but—“ Yoru’s voice had an odd ring of softness to it, “—well, it wasn’t like my parents could stop me from letting her into my room at night, right? She always ended up visiting me before I-..”

Abruptly, Yoru cut himself off, to the surprise of the younger agent. Spurred on by Phoenix’s very not-subtle nod of encouragement, Yoru found himself clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing, his words quieter.

“Before I moved away. I still wonder if she found a good home, she was a good cat.” The excuse of moving away was a clear lie, thinly veiled as all hell, but Phoenix wasn’t about to push. 

Satisfied with the end of the story, Phoenix shot Yoru the brightest grin he could muster - which was admittedly rather dull. He’d been smiling for what felt like an eternity, and his cheeks were genuinely quite sore. Knees popping, Phoenix stood with a drawn-out groan, stretching out his back from sitting on the uncomfortable floor for hours. 

With the help of Phoenix’s outstretched hand, Yoru followed suit, quickly tearing his hand away from Phoenix’s the moment he was semi-stable. At the confused - and admittedly offended - look he earned from his mission partner, Yoru huffed and nodded across heaven’s semi-circle design. Phoenix’s eyes followed, and he found himself having to fight back a snicker. 

Yoru’s gloves lay on the dust-covered floor, and Phoenix realized he was so caught off guard because he probably hadn’t expected to feel Phoenix’s hand without the buffer of the glove. Tossing Yoru an amused glance, which was met with a glare, softer considering the sunburn looked all too close to a blush - Phoenix trotted over to the gloves. 

The sun was warm against his back without the blazer, and he found himself not regretting forgetting his blazer as much as he did before. Jogging back to Yoru, gloves now in hand, Phoenix felt his phone buzzing in his pant’s pocket. The driver was now calling them. Bad sign. 

Handing the gloves to Yoru, the riftwalker wasted no time slipping the leather over his hands as Phoenix sent the driver a quick text; something along the lines of ‘be there soon’, but he wasn’t really paying attention. When Yoru seemed content with the placement of his gloves, Phoenix huffed and bent down, slinging the heavy duffle bag’s strap over his shoulder - honestly, he didn’t know why they even bothered to bring guns. They were heavy. 

Then, Phoenix remembered that they might have to use them. He didn’t think about the guns after that. 

Stepping closer to Yoru, Phoenix rested a hand on the older’s waist, making sure he was alright with it. Sure, it’s how they’d been getting around for days, but Phoenix would be damned if he didn’t make sure Yoru was at least tolerant. Getting no answer other than Yoru shifting a minuscule closer, Phoenix decided that it was probably fine. Hopefully. 

Distantly, as Phoenix slowly walked them both to the entrance of the map, Phoenix found himself missing being this close to Yoru in preparation. He was mourning the intimacy of holding Yoru close, of helping him, before it had even left. 

Call him an overthinker, or maybe a tragic man in love, or maybe just a kid with a pathetic crush - all of it would be right, and Phoenix knew that none of them would change in the next 10 minutes. And so, Phoenix forgot about his worries for the time being, and instead focused on not tripping over the ledge of the walkway. 

And if Phoenix still tripped, then only him, Yoru, and the warm sun above them would know. 

Chapter Text

It was such a foreign feeling to Yoru, being known. 

Maybe it was strange to find it strange, how Phoenix understood him beyond a surface level, but it was so unprecedented to Yoru. For decades, Yoru had been, well, Yoru. He was cold and rude, apathetic beyond carelessness, a chilled aloofness to how he carried himself. 

No one knew Yoru beyond that - no one was allowed to know Yoru beyond that. He wouldn’t let them. Arms length was too close, and he made it clear by shoving away anyone who dared to try and get that close. The distance was easy to deal with, the chill that stemmed from the lack of contact stopped bothering Yoru years before the first light, and the annoyance of shivers lacked the despair they brought with them when they started. 

This was all fact, known and understood by everyone who knew Yoru - and then, much to Yoru’s detriment, there was Phoenix. 

There was Phoenix, who rammed himself into Yoru’s life. Phoenix, who forced Yoru’s walls up just to tear them down two years later. Phoenix, who knew Yoru deeper in 4 days than Yoru’s closest allies knew him in decades. Phoenix, who made Yoru want to let him know him. 

It was sickening. It was a grotesque display of pridal atrophy. It was messy and disgusting and Yoru never wanted to confront the fact that he loved Phoenix knowing him. He was worried that, if he did, he’d find himself wanting to know Phoenix just as truly - know who he is, instead of simply what he is. Yoru gave up ignoring the desire, he already knew he wanted that. Hating himself for wanting it wouldn’t change the fact that he wanted it. 

These thoughts plagued Yoru’s mind during the drive - winding around his ideas, slow dancing with his greatest fears and humming the hymn of self-hatred until Yoru’s cognition was deaf. 

As his mind raced, Yoru busied his hands with tugging at his gloves softly. It might have been wishful thinking, but Yoru could swear that the warmth from Phoenix’s hands still lingered gently on the fabric. The sand still infiltrated the accessory, seams holding onto small grains of gravel and itching at Yoru’s skin incessantly, but it was almost comforting. The manageable annoyance filled the impending fear of festering love. 

Glancing to Phoenix, Yoru found himself wondering if he felt the same. The younger agent busied himself with looking his sleeves over, finally having shrugged his blazer back on his shoulders the moment they reached the car. There was an air of nervousness around him, a near-upsetness in his expression that was barely veiled with a neutral mask, and Yoru thought about why Phoenix would look so stressed. 

Finding on answer to his short train of thought, the riftwalker resigned himself to looking out of his window, watching the fields roll by pleasantly. The gentle scenery was enough to keep his mind off the buzzing of worry below his skin, thrumming in his veins - admittedly, Yoru had begun to become accustomed to the feeling after the past few months of its incessance. It was hard to become at peace with it, but it was harder to try and ignore it, so Yoru found himself uncomfortably used to it. 

Before long, the armored car rolled to a stop outside the agent’s temporary stay-home, dirt and gravel crunching under the heavy tires. Rolling up his window, Yoru was met with his own reflection - cheeks burnt and hair unmade, he looked messy and unkempt, an air of vulnerability around him from the looseness of his appearance. He didn’t like it, and quickly popped his door open to get out of the car, if only to avoid the mirror provided from the dusty glass. 

Unsurprisingly, Yoru was met with Phoenix stumbling out of his seat just as fast, muttering about Yoru waiting for a second as he trotted over to Yoru’s door. Rolling his eyes, Yoru let Phoenix help him stand. His burn really wasn’t that bad, the healing process having begun and the red from before working into a deep tan, but Yoru wasn’t about to make Phoenix not help him. As much as he hated it, the stability really did help. 

As Yoru leaned his weight back onto Phoenix’s side, the same as they had been doing for the past two days, Phoenix’s hands drifted to where they always went - barely ghosting Yoru’s hip and pulling him barely closer. It felt natural, despite how strange it seemed, and Phoenix wasn’t about to complain. Being able - being allowed - to be this close to Yoru felt special. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Phoenix knew it was. 

But, regardless of how strange it was, the pair made their way to their home. The door creaked as loud as it always did when Phoenix pushed it open with his foot, the dust interior greeting them, and the air conditioning allowing them to breathe a sigh of relief. It was so hot out that the pair had allowed what a comfortable temperature was to slip from their minds. 

Helping Yoru get settled on the couch, the old springs grinding against themselves as Phoenix set him on the rust-red couch, Phoenix would have sworn he saw a smile on Yoru’s face. He wasn’t sure, but Phoenix still tossed Yoru one of his own before jogging back out to the car to grab their duffel bag, quickly returning to drop the heavy black sack on the loveseat closest to the door. 

Fishing out their containers, Phoenix spotted the worn cover of Yoru’s book, the silver barely glinting under the sparing light of the sun. It wasn’t setting soon, but it had temporarily ducked behind a cloud, shining softly behind the thin cover. Phoenix took it out, reading over the cover - The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by R.L Stevenson - before his head had perked up at the sound of Yoru clearing his throat. 

Glancing at the older man, his expression annoyed, Phoenix simply shrugged and set the book down on the coffee table to his right. Yoru didn’t say anything else, simply reaching over and grabbing the book, opening it and beginning to read as Phoenix put the few dishes they had made into the sink. The kitchen was relatively clean, but Phoenix knew that if he sat down there would be no chance of him wanting to get up and clean later, so the agent found himself scrubbing out the pots and bowls and plates they had made over the past 3 days. 

The sound of water splashing and Phoenix’s quiet mumbling led to Yoru finding himself unable to focus on the paragraphs in front of him, eventually just setting the book back down on the couch’s armrest and resigning himself to watching Phoenix clean up the place. It wasn’t a particularly interesting past time, but the time passed, and that’s what really mattered. 

It felt domestic, Phoenix muttering to himself just a few feet away as he cleaned, Yoru resting on the couch that still creaked if he shifted. The sun danced across the shelves and ledges, highlighting the dust that speckled the air, bathing the room in a soft kind of light that felt all-too kind for two hired killers. But they weren’t killers - not then, at least. They were barely Yoru and Phoenix. 

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Yoru belatedly realized that he was both hungry and thirsty - an extremely annoying combination. Shifting to stand up, his hip pressing into the arm rest, a blunt pain shocked up his nerves. Drawing a sharp breath through his front teeth, Yoru shifted away, instead pawing down the seam of his tactical pants and belt. 

Yoru was met with a bruise, browns and purples mixing with the disgusting yellows of damaged tissue, his eyebrows furrowing. Thinking back through the day, there were a few times that his hip had hurt, but it was never sharp enough to draw his attention to it. Sifting through his memories, he distinctly remembered not having that bruise the night before - having looked himself over in the mirror as he was getting changed to make sure there wasn’t any lingering dust. 

“What’s up?” The familiar trill of Phoenix’s voice came from the kitchen, Yoru not having noticed the lack of dishes clanking.

Phoenix set a glass on the coffee table, tilting his head to catch where Yoru’s eyes were trailed. Yoru glanced up, watching as Phoenix winced at the bruise. The brit muttered something under his breath before picking up the duffle bag, tossing it on the floor and sitting on the live seat as Yoru looked at him again.

“What was that?”

“Ah- must’ve been that bang last night,” Phoenix shrugged casually, “that was probably where the bruise came from.”

Yoru tilted his head at Phoenix, his mind blank when it came to loud banging in the night. Phoenix glanced over and tilted his own head, looking about as confused as Yoru felt. 

“What bang- there wasn’t any bang last night?”

“Huh? No, when you slammed into the doorframe last night,” the younger agent spoke slowly, as if he was trying to deliver the news gently - maybe he was, “do you-.. do you not remember that?”

Yoru blinked, opening his mouth to retort back with some defensive comment of how that didn’t happen and that Phoenix was insane before pausing. What really happened the night before?

Yoru’s nightmares normally led to gaps in memory, but Yoru would usually fill it in - especially when it came to causing himself injuries with his ‘fear roaming’, a name that Sage had given to his terror induced sleepwalking. But, then again, the reason that Yoru rarely missed things that happened was because his room automatically locked when he went to sleep. No chance to run into people or hurt himself that way. 

Looking back on his nightmare, it felt oddly real at a few points. The hand in his shoulder felt so solid, so warm - too real for a dream. Yoru had been having nightmares since before he could remember having dreams, he was pretty confident in being able to tell the two apart after two and a half decades of having them. 

And again, the way the hardwood was chill under his hands. The way Phoenix was there feeling so real, the warmth seeping from the younger into his side as they sat near each other. Even the smell of sun and citron lingered on his clothes from the night before, even if it was faint. 

Yoru’s mind stalled like a car in cold winter, thoughts overlapping themselves - regret and shame burrowed deep into his chest. Phoenix saw him. Phoenix saw him weak and crying, saw him under the weight of fear, fear that he didn’t cover properly. Yoru found himself hating being known again. Yoru didn't want to be known - not like this. Not as a human. 

“..-ru? Yoru?”

The barrage of thoughts only slowed as Phoenix’s voice became clear. The blood rushing in his ears had drowned out the sound, only breaking through when Phoenix spoke loud enough. Looking at the younger agent, Yoru found himself stunned at what he saw. 

There wasn’t disgust. 

Phoenix looked the exact opposite - almost embarrassed despite their positions. He didn’t look upset to any extent, head tilted slightly, just enough to show the gentleness in his half-smile. There wasn’t pity in his expression, no worry, no fear. Phoenix looked more understanding and accepting of Yoru than Yoru was. 

“Mate, it’s chill. You’re literally a soldier,” Phoenix’s tone nonchalant, almost playful, “PTSD and that, yeah? All good.”

“Forget what you saw.” Yoru’s voice was hoarse, the words sounding scraped from his throat as he breathed them out. “Forget all of it- all of it.”

It was Phoenix’s turn to be surprised, nodding slightly. The confusion in his eyes didn’t have any fear behind them, and Yoru wasn’t sure whether to be happy about it. 

“I mean, sure..? I don’t really care all that much though, still respect you and that.” Phoenix looked away, eyes finding themselves on the sun outside. It had started to inch towards the horizon. “I get ‘em too. No shame in it.”

It was then that Yoru blinked. I get them too.

“You do?” Yoru sounded more relieved than he wanted to let on.

“..yeah. Not that often but-.. they aren’t pretty. I get it.” Phoenix’s eyes met Yoru’s, and there was a bittersweet understanding in them. “I.. I wish I didn’t get it, but I get it.”

The smile on Yoru’s face was hesitant but more honest than he’d been in years, and the smile he got back was just as warm as it was before Phoenix saw Yoru as weak. Yoru loved that smile. 

And, just like that, Phoenix looked away again. Yoru found himself loving being known, even if it wasn’t as much as he loved knowing Phoenix. 

Chapter Text

The rest of the evening was comfortable, with silence occasionally being broken with an anecdote or a question, the sun falling beyond the horizon line slowly. Yoru read quietly as Phoenix cooked - a stir fry this time, having wanted to use up the vegetables that were daring to go rotten within the next few days. 

The gentle sounds of chopping and soft sizzling filled the gaps of quiet they didn’t cover, allowing the atmosphere to simmer comfortably around the pair. They ate soon after, the food not taking longer than 20 minutes to prepare and cook, and Yoru didn’t bother complaining when Phoenix helped him up off the couch. He was able to walk properly at that point, the pain from the burns dulled to the point of being nothing more than a vague annoyance, but Yoru still leaned on Phoenix’s side and Phoenix still wrapped a hand around the older man’s waist. 

Despite the healing redness becoming a tan, neither admitted to the other that they didn’t want to forfeit the closeness of it all. 

The food was shockingly good, if a bit cold, and Yoru realized that Phoenix had let it rest for longer than needed. ‘I can’t tell when things are too hot’ Phoenix’s words rang in Yoru’s mind, and he found himself smiling. Stupid heart of gold. A hum came from across the table and Yoru glanced up, meeting Phoenix’s curious eyes. 

“Did you wait for the food to cool down before serving it?” The playful accusation weaved the words into a gentle tone, too kind for Yoru to be talking to Phoenix, but neither of them said anything. 

The younger agent stiffened, looking embarrassed, almost sheepish as he shrugged. It was confirmation enough, and Yoru chuckled to himself as he took another bite of the stir fry. Phoenix went back to his food as well, taking small bites and occasionally glancing out of the window above Yoru’s head. The sun was getting closer to fully setting, the room now dim with the soaring light that inched itself into the kitchen. 

Once they had both finished their food, Yoru had been the one to clean the dishes and put away the leftovers. There was little mess, and Yoru found himself wondering if Phoenix was used to cleaning and cooking for himself. Again, the idea of knowing Phoenix ate at Yoru’s subconscious. As Yoru closed the fridge door, he glanced at Phoenix, who was wiping down the counters. 

“We’re low on food.” The expectancy in Yoru’s tone told Phoenix well enough that he wanted an answer - for once, Phoenix had one. 

“Yeah, we’re going to the capital city the day after tomorrow- or, no, day after the day after,” he tossed the rag back over the lip of the stove’s handle, “just to get food and have a day off. He sent me some money to splurge - probably an apology for the one bed.”

“He?” Yoru raised an eyebrow at Phoenix, voice more curious than accusatory. It was almost soft if Phoenix dared to entertain the thought. 

“Mhm. Brimstone.” Phoenix wiped his hands slightly on his shirt front, leftover water from the rag still clinging to his skin. “Said somethin’ about not wanting us to waste money for things Kingdom could cover. I dunno. I wasn’t really listening.”

Yoru nodded and put the portions of food into the fridge, equally divided and the perfect size for their lunches, sighing softly. His burns didn’t hurt much, but he still found himself tired after doing so little all day. The tan running up his arms to his collar was still uneven, some parts of his skin healing faster than others, but he didn’t mind. The only person there was Phoenix, and Yoru was far past worrying how Phoenix saw him - at least, that’s what Yoru told himself. 

The pair had finished cleaning up quickly, working quietly to sweep the floors and tidy the menial tasks that most others wouldn’t notice like arranging the unread magazines on the coffee table. The house was, begrudgingly, starting to feel like a home to Yoru. It was warm, comfortable - compared to the chilled metal walls of the protocol at least. 

A bitterness came to his throat when Yoru admitted to himself that it was a home, not because of the old wood or the smell of pine that followed him, but Phoenix. Yoru could live in that cabin for decades, and he’d never feel as comfortable as he did in that moment, with Phoenix in his eyeline and the sun barely grazing the counters. It was home, and it was Phoenix, and Yoru realized that they were synonymous.

“Thanks for helping,” the fireball’s words popped through Yoru’s thoughts, “probably not super fun to clean with burns, but y’know.”

Meeting Phoenix’s shrug with one of his own, Yoru felt a smile tug at his lips. It was rare for people to praise Yoru, especially considering his usual distance from others stopping them from even getting the chance, so it genuinely felt nice to be noticed. People looked at Yoru all the time, but very few saw him. Maybe Phoenix wasn’t as blind as Yoru thought. 

“Mhm, it wouldn’t be fair to make you do it yourself. Even if that would have been much funnier.”

“You’re a real comedian, you know that?”

“I’m here all week. And the week after.”

Phoenix rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the kitchen counter, mumbling something about brushing his teeth. Yoru hadn’t even noticed the time, already edging into the night. Under the dim light of the barely-there sun, the stovetop clock blinked ‘9:46’ repeatedly. Usually, Yoru wouldn’t go to bed so early, but waking up at 6am every day was going to beat him to death if he didn’t actually sleep. He blamed the yawn that fell from his mouth on the fatigue from the burns, and trotted down the hallway. 

As Yoru’s steps came closer, Phoenix ran the water over the head of his toothbrush, realizing that the riftwalker hadn’t bothered to make his footsteps silent. Whether it was because he forgot to or because he didn’t want to scare Phoenix when he showed up, Phoenix didn’t know. Either answer made his chest flutter with that same warmth he’d desperately been trying to avoid for several days. 

Once he’d finished brushing his teeth, Phoenix quickly washed his face off and walked out of the bathroom. Knocking twice on the door and hearing some muffled affirmation, he walked into the bedroom, nodding at Yoru who was busying himself with finding a pair of pajamas in his suitcase. Finding one, Yoru nodded back and walked out of the room, snagging a towel from the linen closet on the way. 

It was easier than the last few nights, Phoenix realized. They weren’t under foot, but they weren’t exhaustedly dragging themselves places either, even if Yoru looked tired already. It was domestic almost, the way they simply.. lived. Phoenix didn’t pester Yoru, Yoru didn’t bother Phoenix, and they just existed in each other’s spaces. Maybe Phoenix liked the idea of them rooming together a bit too much, and bit back the thought as soon as it came. 

Getting changed into his own set of sleepwear, Phoenix fumbled for a moment trying to find his charger before remembering that he’d brought it to the couch to sleep the night before. Grumbling to himself, Phoenix wandered to the living room, passing the bathroom in the process as the water from the shower still ran behind the door. 

Snagging his charger from the wall, Phoenix spent a few minutes going through his notifications and skimming through emails. Checking his messages from his friends, he was met with a photo of Jett and a few others out to lunch that she had sent not minutes before, captions with something about wishing he could’ve been there. Phoenix smiled and opened the camera, sending a photo of himself holding up a peace sign - not before fixing this hair though. 

Sending a few messages back and forth about time zones and what Jett had ordered, Phoenix eventually sent the collective group chat a goodnight message. Getting a few back in return, he pocketed his phone into his flannel pants and trotted back to the room. At the same time, the bathroom door had popped open, Yoru tiredly shuffling into the hallway. Catching himself before he ran directly into Yoru, Phoenix stopped and nodded for Yoru to go first. Stupid small hallways. 

Yoru nodded back in gratitude and walked to the bedroom, Phoenix following close behind. The water that still dripped from Yoru’s hair caught Phoenix’s attention, the messiness of the towel-dry still being a rare sight from the usually-perfect riftwalker. Shutting the door behind them, the familiar flick of the bedside lamps trilled from behind Phoenix. 

Glancing over, Phoenix caught the sight of Yoru shuffling into the bed, book in hand. It was the same one he’d seen the past two days - Worn and loved by the man holding it. Phoenix bit back a smile and trotted over, the warm light of the dying lightbulb bringing a comforting atmosphere to the room as he did so. Yoru glanced up tiredly, the hair over his face not hiding the slight bags under his eyes from the day. 

Noticing that Yoru had taken the spot away from the wall, Phoenix found himself having to half-crawl his way over Yoru’s legs to get into the bed. The mattress was small, not built to house a large-built solder, and definitely not built to hold two, but they made it work as they had the last two nights. With some shuffling and grumbles from Yoru about his book being interrupted, they had settled comfortably. 

A deep sigh left Phoenix’s lungs, tiredly rubbing at his eyes as Yoru glanced over. Again, the warmth radiating from Phoenix had started to worm its way closer to him. It was annoying, the way Yoru’s body and mind bickered between moving closer and backing away. It felt cruel, the way he’d finally gotten a sense of warmth from Phoenix’s abilities just for his common sense to stop him from trying to get closer - like some over complicated tease. A very pathetic tease. 

Having forgotten his place in his book, Yoru closed it and set it on his bedside table, debating turning the light off. He wasn’t sure if Phoenix was tired or not, but he decided that if Phoenix wanted it on, he’d ask. The click preceded the darkness of the no-longer illuminated room, letting the comfort of evening fade into the silence of the night. At least, it was silent until Phoenix spoke. 

“Are you still cold?” The tone had no underlying tease behind it, no demean in the way they weaved into the blackness. “Your hands were cold earlier. And you were cold last night, too. And the night before.”

Of course Phoenix would notice that. Having a short debate with himself, Yoru was caught between lying and saving his dignity or admitting defeat. On one hand, Yoru really wasn’t jumping at the idea of Phoenix seeing him as weaker than he already was, especially considering how he’d been basically immobile and far from composed the last few days.

But, on the other hand, he was cold. Now that Yoru had gotten the chance to not be stuck in the frigid wasteland he’d gotten so accustomed to, the urge to claw his way back to that warmth was restless. Phoenix had already seen him at one of his weakest points, mid-attack and delirious with fear. Why bother pretending to be immortal again? The firebird had already seen him bleed. 

Biting his tongue and deciding to commit before reconsidering, Yoru found himself turning to face Phoenix in the dim room. Before the younger agent could get a word out, Yoru had already slung his arm around the other’s waist, face turned into Phoenix’s pillow. Feeling Phoenix tense under him, Yoru’s mind immediately backtracked, the older agent about to shove himself off Phoenix and maybe kill himself just to pretend it never happened. 

The quiet was almost deafening, the heat under Yoru’s arm that radiated off the firebird started to feel more like fire than warmth as the brief moments passed. Yoru could've been there for eternity, holding his breath and hearing his heart in his ears. He also could’ve been there for no longer than a second, a blink of an eye’s eye, the fear as short and curt as a greeting from an old friend. Yoru didn’t know which one it was. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He wasn’t sure if he cared. 

This was the closest they’d ever been, and Yoru felt his heart skip a beat when he thought about if it was the closest they would ever be. Would Phoenix ever let Yoru come this close again? Would Yoru ever dare to try? Would he allow the riftwalker the decency to wash his hands before shoving him away?

There were too many questions at once, and he felt sick - sicker than sick. Yoru wanted to shove Phoenix away, shove it all away, push down those stupid fucking sparks again and pretend he was nothing but a soldier. Yoru wanted to pull Phoenix closer, trap him in a biting kiss he couldn’t leave, never back away from anything he felt again. Yoru wanted to do anything but be there, in that moment, terrified. Yoru wanted to be anything but terrified. 

But Yoru was, and just maybe, that was okay. Just for that half second. Just for that little eternity. Just for them. 

Despite it all, Phoenix had relaxed again, hand resting over Yoru’s back gently, like he was scared of Yoru getting spooked and running off like a feral cat. Based on how he bristled like he was about to hiss at him, Phoenix’s worry wasn’t unfounded. Despite it, he found himself smiling. This was trust. This was the exclusivity he had wanted before, and it wasn’t delusional this time. Mostly. A bit of wishful thinking never killed anyone. 

“You alright?” As much as Phoenix wanted to do nothing but fall asleep then and there, it really was a fair question. 

Yoru was far from the touchy type - basically the exact opposite. From shrugging off Brim’s hand on his shoulder to dodging Raze’s energetic hugs, Yoru would rather face death itself than face anything more than a handshake. Even that was seemingly too much, the riftwalker sometimes denying others just that little contact. 

And so, Phoenix really wasn’t unfounded in asking if he was okay. He’d love to believe that Yoru really was just warming up to him, but knowing Yoru, he wouldn’t give into touch like this unless his rocker was far from steady. The silence that followed the question told Phoenix that he wasn’t wrong. 

The only answer Phoenix got was a slight shrug of Yoru’s shoulders - he didn’t really seem to know the answer either. Despite it, Yoru seemed to move slightly closer, another shiver running over his back from the chill that had slowly begun to thaw. It was so odd to both of them, Yoru being comfortable enough to be this close, to both of their surprises. It worried Yoru, how quickly he’d put his trust in a man he wouldn’t dare to smile at just a week prior. 

Yoru’s breath shuttered against Phoenix’s neck, warm air hesitating for a moment before brushing against his collar. At the same time, Phoenix’s heart hammered just beneath his ribs, barely stopping itself from clawing its way from his chest. As Yoru worried that Phoenix would notice how hard it was to keep his breathing steady, Phoenix worried that Yoru would hear just how quickly his heart was beating - both distracted by their out shortcomings to not even notice the other’s. 

Maybe that was the way it was supposed to be - too worried about themselves to do anything more than love the other, faults all but forgotten in the space of nervousness over their own. 

And so, Yoru’s breathing evened. Phoenix’s heart slowed. The dim light got dimmer, the black night got blacker, and the chill in Yoru’s bones dispersed over the gentle trill of the evening’s passing. Neither of them admitted to themselves that it was the best they’d slept in months - years, if they thought about it too hard. 

But they didn’t think about it at all, because the smell of Yoru’s cigarettes and citron shampoo was all their minds offered to supply. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The sun splintered through the window, rising earlier and earlier each day, gently crawling through the dusty glass and laying itself across the room. The alarm was loud, made worse when accompanied by nothing by silence, which Yoru had become so accustomed to. He reached over drowsily, hand knocking itself on the top of the clock repeatedly until it's annoyingly pitched screams had stopped. 

It was only when Yoru let his arm drop that he realized that the chill was back, gnawing at his chest, prickling his fingertips like frostbite. It was such a strange feeling, to fall asleep beside someone and wake up lonely in the bed, the indent of the person’s head still being engraved in the pillow. 

Yoru sat up slowly, blinking away sleepy as he rolled his shoulders back and forth - at least his burns were mostly gone. They’d become a dull tan, more slightly irritating than painful, like the sting after pulling away a bandaid. Pushing stray strands away from his face tiredly, Yoru glanced around the room, everything where it had been apart from the one thing he wanted to be there. 

Yoru got dressed quickly, again opting for looser clothes with little bulk, not being willing to wear his jacket when it was barely a professional setting. If Brimstone was forcing them to live together for two weeks, not wearing his mission clothes should be considered tame rebellion, if that. 

Flattening his tee shirt over his torso, Yoru sighed, looking himself over. It looked odd to have such tan skin considering he rarely got sun - for as much as he loved bickering with people, he really was an introvert. Picking up his belt and looping it through his tactical pants, Yoru looked his hair over. Usually, he would gel it back and not think about it again for the rest of the day, and that’s exactly what he did. 

Trotting to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do his hair, Yoru was met with some distant clanging in the kitchen. Deciding that he would make sure that Phoenix wasn’t setting something on fire after he had finished getting ready, Yoru sighed and stepped into the bathroom. It was muscle memory, carding the gel through his hair, making sure it was semi-set before washing off his hands and brushing his teeth. 

Once he’d finished, Yoru took out a cloth and covered it with water, washing off his face quickly. It’s not like he was prone to acne, but he doubted that having dirt and dust in his pores probably didn’t do wonders for his health. He debated taking out his earring for the day, not wanting to risk an infection from wearing it for too long. With a huff, he took it out, feeling weird without it. 

Looking himself over one last time, Yoru shrugged, deciding that he’d looked worse before - even if his black nail polish was beyond chipped. Sure, Yoru wasn’t opposed to the look, liking the edge it gave to his appearance, but it was bad. He looked over his hands, thumb brushing over the back of his nails, watching as more of the polish flaked off onto the skin. Yeah, he needed to redo his nails soon. 

Shaking his head, Yoru left the bathroom, flicking off the light before walking back into the bedroom to picket his phone and snag his gloves from the bedside table. But, upon further inspection, they weren’t there. Remembering that they were still in the duffel bag, Yoru left the room, walking into the kitchen. 

All the clanging and such had stopped by the time Yoru had gotten to the room, only the soft clink of utensils being set on the table and plates being set down. It smelled like fresh bread throughout the house, and Phoenix’s shirt was covered in flour as he glanced over to Yoru. The older agent’s puzzled look was met with a warm smile, and Phoenix nodded for Yoru to sit down. 

“I found my Mum’s old bread recipe on my phone,” the agent spoke happily, words trilling as he walked around the kitchen, “thought I’d make it. We had the yeast packet, I saw it yesterday, so there’s no point in not using it.”

Yoru blinked owlishly at Phoenix, sitting down wearily, as if he thought Phoenix was pulling some prank on him. As much as Yoru appreciated that they were friends now, they hated one another for years. Like hell he was going to take fresh bread and smiles at face value.

“..and it’s not poisoned?” Yoru’s words were hesitant and cautious, almost quiet. Even with the joke weaved in the phrasing, both knowing that Phoenix wouldn’t get away with poisoning Yoru, the sentence’s worry was steady and genuine. “You’re sure?”

The question was met with a roll of Phoenix’s eyes and a sigh, but it sounded more fond than usual. He set down the load of bread, still in its pan, on the table - naturally, with a silicone sheet under the metal encasing. He wasn’t about to burn down the house - not over a loaf of bread, anyway.

“I’m sure. I made some boiled eggs, too. Dunno if you’ll like them, but they’re there if you don’t feel like making somethin’ else.” If Yoru really listened, there was embarrassment in Phoenix’s tone. That’s because Phoenix really was embarrassed, and he hoped to keep that fact away from Yoru for as long as possible.

Yoru nodded slowly, reaching over to the loaf and slowly cutting a slice for himself - flinching when he burnt himself on the still-steaming food. The look of guilt in Phoenix’s eyes was clear, and Yoru had to fight the urge to scold him about blaming himself for Yoru’s own impatience.

He cut a slice for Phoenix, too; it felt rude not to after he went through the trouble of making an entire loaf of bread. It was only then, as he set the slice down on the younger agent’s plate, that he remembered just how long it took to make an entire loaf of bread. Yoru glanced up, tilting his head.

“Did.. did you sleep at all?” The words were hesitant, and Yoru hated that he could hear the clear worry in his tone - it meant that Phoenix heard it too.

“Yeah, yeah. Some. I slept enough.” For as confident as Phoenix usually was, his words were stuttered like he’d never known how to answer a question. “I’m fine, nothin’ happened.”

“I didn’t ask if something happened.” The tone was knowing, bordering on accusatory as Yoru sighed. “Why were you up early? Early enough to make bread? Not even that, early enough to debate making bread?”

“Just a rough night. That’s all.” Phoenix’s tone lacked the warmth it did before, and Yoru found himself missing it. “I’m fine , Yoru. Really.”

Not wanting to make the tension worse, Yoru just hummed softly, acknowledging the cheap answer. Phoenix had eyebags, his smile didn’t reach above his cheeks, and the way he fiddled with his rings told Yoru enough to know that Phoenix was a liar. And a poor one, at that. 

But all Yoru did about it was mumble a gratitude and eat his food slowly, uncertainty making his stomach turn in the way that ruined his appetite more than he’d like to admit. Phoenix did the same, not bothering to acknowledge Yoru’s uneasiness as he took bites of his food. The silence felt empty, yet just as oppressive as blaring noise could be. Yoru could feel Phoenix’s leg jostle the table as it bounced. 

“I thought you said you couldn’t make food?” The words were quiet, muttered after several minutes of nothing but utensils scratching against porcelain. 

“I said I couldn’t cook. Never said I couldn’t bake.” The pride in Phoenix’s tone was clear as day, and Yoru wondered if Phoenix had been waiting for him to ask that question just to give his smartass answer. “Put me near a stove and I’ll burn water, but put me and an oven in the same room? I can probably keep the fire alarm from going off. Mostly.”

Yoru couldn’t help but laugh quietly, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. Phoenix was more complex than he’d ever imagined - he didn’t like coffee, but didn’t mind tea. He couldn’t cook, but learned how to bake for some reason. He could be funny, even if it was at the wrong time. He was just as aggressive as he was gentle, just as prideful as he could be embarrassed, and just as loathable as he was loveable. 

Yoru hated it. Yoru never wanted to stop learning just how dynamic Phoenix was. He wanted to forget that he ever knew Phoenix, and he wanted to never forget anything he learned about the other. Yoru was complex enough to try and deal with, and falling in love with someone just as human as he was wasn’t helping anything. The entire situation was pathetic, and Yoru wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

“Why did you learn how to bake before learning how to cook? You’d think one would be more important.” For as mean as the words could’ve been said - and would’ve been said weeks before - Yoru’s tone was unfathomably soft. 

“Uh, my Mum was a baker. Same way I know how to wash hair and such.” Phoenix’s tone was hesitant when he spoke, and Yoru couldn’t help but wonder if he crossed a line. “Neither of them were keen on cooking, so I never really learned.”

“Your Dad was a hair stylist?” Yoru tilted his head, taking a bite of his food. He was far from used to making small talk, but he hoped that his tone wasn’t as unsure as he felt. 

“No, my Mom was, though.” Phoenix didn’t meet Yoru’s eyes, and Yoru couldn’t help but hear the hesitation in his tone.

“I thought she was a baker?”

“Yeah, one of them.”

And it clicked. 

That’s why Phoenix had seemed so hesitant about the conversation. It was less about his past, and more about how Yoru would view him because of who was in it. He realized that the way he reacted to Phoenix being trans probably didn’t help the situation, even if it was just a misunderstanding. Despite the fact that he apologized, Yoru knew just how deeply not being accepted could hurt. 

“Can you, like, say somethin’?” The soft laugh that followed Phoenix’s words didn’t hide the nervousness behind them, and Yoru realized how long he’d been silent. 

“Mhm.” It wasn’t really saying anything, but words were never Yoru’s strong suit. “So.. your mother taught you how to bake. And-and the other was a hairdresser?” 

Yoru’s words were unsure, wanting to be certain he heard Phoenix correctly. They were met with a small nod, and Phoenix took another bite of his food. The sunlight was warm in the room, and the smell of fresh bread lingered like hot tar on the road. Yoru hated how overwhelmingly soft it all felt. He’d never earned his gentleness, the way it wrapped around them.

“Your mother is a great baker.” The words were a mumble, barely audible before Yoru took another bite of his food, looking at his plate again. 

Phoenix smiled, and it was genuine enough to make Yoru’s heart ache a bit. “I know. What-.. what about you?”

“Me?” Yoru tilted his head slightly, barely. “What about me?

“Your family, y’know?” The words were softer than they should’ve been, and Yoru knew Phoenix was scared to ask him it. “Your parents? If you had siblings?”

“Just because you are comfortable giving up information doesn’t mean I am.” His words weren’t particularly mean, but they were nowhere near how soft Phoenix wished they were. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Phoenix nodded, going back to eating his food. He never should have asked - he never should have pushed for more information. Maybe Yoru could see his mental beration from across the table, or maybe the riftwalker just felt bad for him, but it didn’t matter, because Yoru’s voice was soft when he spoke. 

“My-.. my mother left. When I was young.” There was no sadness or regret in Yoru’s words. “I was an only child. I lived with my father until I was 14, then I ran away.”

Phoenix blinked at the older man, not expecting an answer, and especially not one that sounded so true. He shifted in his seat, waiting to see if Yoru had anything else to say before talking. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry.” The words ‘you didn’t deserve that’ felt heavy on the tip of Phoenix’s tongue.  

Yoru just nodded slightly, going back to eating again. Phoenix couldn’t help but want to ask more questions, pick apart Yoru like a puzzle made just for him, piece him back together from the ground up. Phoenix wanted Yoru in a way he never thought he would - genuinely. 

The morning passed slowly, carefully, like the walls were glass ready to break. Sure, they weren’t avoiding each other. Not on purpose at least. Well, Phoenix wasn’t trying to. 

Really, he would have made small talk with Yoru, but any word he could think of to start a sentence tasted bad in his mouth. A few times he’d gone up to Yoru as he was packing up the lunches or slipping his gloves on to say something before pausing, instead just going back to what he’d been doing. Phoenix knew that Yoru could see his hesitation, but just because Phoenix knew he didn’t know what to say didn’t mean he knew what to say. 

The glass walls splintered each time Phoenix dared to get too close, cracking ever so slightly under the pressure. Phoenix didn’t want to break anything, not after they had spent so long building his house with their bare hands; the glass so carefully laid with each smile or conversation they nervously navigated. Phoenix didn’t want anything to break, and so, there they stood - just outside of their little glass house, watching the winds of hesitation shake its foundation with each slight gust. 

Phoenix couldn’t do anything but wait for it to shatter. Phoenix wanted it to shatter more than anything - maybe the glass cutting his skin would make it all feel real. 

Chapter Text

Yoru stumbled just enough for it to be embarrassing when the two duelists walked out of the home they shared, and maybe the silence that followed was the truest realization he could have had that things had changed. Phoenix didn’t laugh - years of knowing each other, of hating each other, of fighting with each other - and Phoenix didn’t laugh. 

Under the heat of the sun, the gravelly dirt sounding so familiar, Yoru wondered if they were more than friends like this. Friends teased, they joked and prodded and laughed, but they didn’t. Not like they used to before, at the very least. The squeal of Yoru’s leather gloves against the car’s blisteringly hot handle shook his thoughts before he could entertain the idea further. 

Phoenix huffed as always when he sat in his seat, and Yoru realized another thing - the other hadn’t tried to help him. Doors weren’t opened for him, his food wasn’t packed for him. Yoru would have loved the way Phoenix finally backed off if it wasn’t for the way he missed it. 

Like the heat of summer, the smell of sun, Yoru missed it. He missed the way Phoenix’s hand would fit so perfectly on his hip, the way the warmth would seep into Yoru’s side, the way it felt so sweet even if it was begrudging. Yoru hated that he missed it, but hating it would change that he missed it anyway. In a way Yoru didn’t want to think about, he missed Phoenix. 

Despite it, Phoenix was sitting less than two feet away, and Yoru missed him. Maybe he missed the Phoenix he wished existed outside of begrudging worry and exhausted care. Maybe Yoru missed the idea of Phoenix caring about him. 

Then, just barely, a hand brushed against Yoru’s. It was soft and warm and the sun itself, and when Yoru felt it was Phoenix, he didn’t flinch away. He glanced up, expression less guarded than it probably should have been, and he mourned the warmth when Phoenix pulled his hand away. 

“You alright, mate?” Phoenix mumbled the words softly, like a child afraid of a teacher overhearing him pass notes in class. “You look.. weird. Or- not weird. Just- you okay?”

There was the warmth he wanted. The warmth he hated. The warmth he missed more than he thought he ever could. And slowly, Yoru nodded, chipped nails gently trilling on the car’s middle seat. The black polish was in need of a repaint, and Yoru found himself smiling so slightly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The reply came softer than usual, and Yoru looked away - he slept too well to blame what he said next on exhaustion. “I.. just noticed that you didn’t help me.”

Phoenix looked confused for a split second, and he felt it, too. He assumed that Yoru was biting his tongue and biding his time until Phoenix’s protectiveness had gone down, that was definitely what Yoru had portrayed, at the very least. 

But.. here Yoru was, mentioning it. Complaining about it. Almost looking upset about the fact that Phoenix had finally backed off and realized the hint that Yoru was dropping. He couldn’t help but tilt his head just slightly, even if Yoru’s eyes were focused on the passing fields and the low hum of the engine. 

“I thought you- wait, you were practically ready to bite my head off when you were first burnt up?” Phoenix asked the question in a tone less accusatory than intended. “Now you’re whining that I’m not holding your door for you?”

“I’m- first off, whining if not what I’m doing. I’m complaining, like a real man.” Yoru rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth twitched into the slightest hint of a smile. “Second, yes, I am. It was nice.”

“Oh, so now you’re fine with it. Even when I was holding you up to walk?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly to be anything less than truth, and Yoru found himself looking away more. How could he betray himself so outwardly, so unabashedly admitting to things he was just barely grasping? 

And still, Yoru knew the answer. It was Phoenix - for an odd reason he couldn’t place, that name seemed to be the answer to most of his issues as of late. He knew he couldn’t lie when it was Phoenix, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep his conscience clean and his mouth free of the bitter taste of disappointment. 

The silence was heavy between them for a few moments too long, the car hot and the air stuffy with things unsaid. But it was cut through when Phoenix’s hand so gently found Yoru’s again, fingers just barely brushing together in the middle seat, comforting in the way Yoru found himself adoring instead of hating over the past week. 

Maybe silence was the thing they needed, wafting between them just as the sunrays did, dancing on dust and dirt as the duelists dared one another to speak - they never did. No, the two stayed silent, and it was dangerously reminiscent of the plane ride they had taken to get to the exact place they were now. 

The way they so silently took in the moment, the way the hum of the engine in the car so worryingly mimicked the one on the plane. It felt like a lifetime ago, when Yoru had offered nausea pills, when Phoenix had gotten the other a coffee. When, looking back on it, they had been friends for the first time in two years. 

But now, as their fingers gently brushed together in a way that felt like not enough and overwhelming, it was different. It was softer, and the taste of black coffee that was once on Yoru’s tongue was replaced by the taste of fresh bread. The shaky nerves in his hands were replaced with the feeling of Phoenix’s callousness trailing over them instead, and the rumble of mind-spinning turbulence was exchanged for a low buzz of rocky road under tires. 

Before Yoru could admit to himself that he liked it better when Phoenix’s hand was against his instead of coffee, the car was rolling to a stop already. He just barely moved his hand closer, fingers slowly trailing closer than they should, then he pulled away. Phoenix sat silently for a moment before humming, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of his open door. 

Then, just as Yoru had reached down to unbuckle his own, the familiar sound of a lock sliding out of its place caught his attention. Glancing up just in time to see Phoenix through the window, Yoru’s door opened, the sun glaring down on both of them. The heat was bearable, but the way Phoenix’s eyes were so disgustingly soft wasn’t. 

“C’mon. Since you won’t stop complaining.” That smile that haunted Yoru shone again, and his head spun. “I’ll even help you walk.”

“I can walk on my own.” Yoru spoke with a smile he couldn’t bite back, getting out of the car with a huff. Even still, he immediately leaned his side against Phoenix’s, the car door closing behind them familiarly. 

The arm not carrying his blazer and their duffel bag immediately wrapped around Yoru’s waist, so gently squeezing his hip in a way that felt more comforting than teasing. The fingers that were just on Yoru’s palm were now gently trilling on his hip, and it felt more natural than anything else in the world - breathing couldn’t compare to the ease that came with how Phoenix held Yoru. 

“I thought you said you can walk on your own?” Phoenix’s voice was nowhere near mean, and just in case, he pulled Yoru just barely closer. 

“I can.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s easier when you’re doing the work.” Yoru smirked, glancing over to just barely catch Phoenix’s eye, the pair walking in time.

Rolling his eyes, Phoenix dragged his feet a bit more, wanting to prolong this as much as he could without Yoru biting his head off. Whatever side of Yoru this was, the side that let him be touched, the side that was softer than ever, Phoenix wanted it to stay. He wanted Yoru to be like this for as long as he would let himself be - if walking slow meant it would be just a few seconds longer, then so be it. 

Phoenix didn’t need to know that Yoru noticed. He also didn’t need to know that Yoru was about to do the exact same thing. 

The sun was as hot as it always was, beating down on the pair’s exposed skin and melting Yoru’s gel unforgivingly, but Yoru didn’t care. Phoenix’s hand was on his hip, his touch was sweet as summer, and the heat paled in comparison. 

Maybe later, Yoru would blame the way he was acting on the heat. He’d pin it on the fact that he was dehydrated, or maybe that he’d become insane from having to be so close to Phoenix for so long. Maybe he’d never think about this moment again, be rid of how the dirt was kicked up around them, of how the dust filled his senses when they walked into A-site. 

Yoru would force himself to forget how perfectly wrong it all felt later - for that moment, Phoenix was guiding him to sit on the shabby excuse for A-heaven. Phoenix was beside him, Phoenix was putting down their bag, Phoenix was using his blazer like a blanket to sit on. Phoenix was there, and maybe, Yoru would remember that. 

Slowly, so slowly, Yoru looked around the heaven he’d grown used to. A few meters away, piles of dirt and sand were resting on the floor, built up from when they used it to pass time. Hazy, heat-filled memories of how gentle Phoenix was when he covered Yoru’s hand up filled the riftwalker’s mind. He bit his lip, and forced himself to forget it just as quickly. 

With a heavy sigh and a heavier chest, Yoru slumped forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees. The duffle bag sat a bit away, and the heat against his skin stung - Yoru winced at the idea of being burnt again . He glanced up, eyes gently roving over Phoenix, who was busying himself with meditation and clearing his mind. 

Or maybe he was just falling asleep. Yoru didn’t really care which it was, as long as Phoenix’s eyes were closed long enough for Yoru to admire without being caught. 

It was more than friendship, the heat prickling in his chest, and Yoru knew that. He’d known it for too long, for months, a warmth that ran deeper than lust or passive aggressive friendship. It yearned for something more than that, for more than passing infatuation - after the 7th month, Yoru concluded it wasn’t passing. 

And here he was, doing nothing about it. The idea of shattering his carefully built glasshouse was too nerve wracking to try and do anything more than admire. From afar, from a foot away, Yoru would admire. And for Yoru, that was enough - as long as the house didn’t melt under the summer heat, then who was he to complain about it?

Chapter Text

Yoru stumbled just enough for it to be embarrassing when the two duelists walked out of the home they shared, and maybe the silence that followed was the truest realization he could have had that things had changed. Phoenix didn’t laugh - years of knowing each other, of hating each other, of fighting with each other - and Phoenix didn’t laugh. 

Under the heat of the sun, the gravelly dirt sounding so familiar, Yoru wondered if they were more than friends like this. Friends teased, they joked and prodded and laughed, but they didn’t. Not like they used to before, at the very least. The squeal of Yoru’s leather gloves against the car’s blisteringly hot handle shook his thoughts before he could entertain the idea further. 

Phoenix huffed as always when he sat in his seat, and Yoru realized another thing - the other hadn’t tried to help him. Doors weren’t opened for him, his food wasn’t packed for him. Yoru would have loved the way Phoenix finally backed off if it wasn’t for the way he missed it. 

Like the heat of summer, the smell of sun, Yoru missed it. He missed the way Phoenix’s hand would fit so perfectly on his hip, the way the warmth would seep into Yoru’s side, the way it felt so sweet even if it was begrudging. Yoru hated that he missed it, but hating it wouldn’t change that he missed it anyway. In a way Yoru didn’t want to think about, he missed Phoenix. 

Despite it, Phoenix was sitting less than two feet away, and Yoru missed him. Maybe he missed the Phoenix he wished existed outside of begrudging worry and exhausted care. Maybe Yoru missed the idea of Phoenix caring about him. 

Then, just barely, a hand brushed against Yoru’s. It was soft and warm and the sun itself, and when Yoru felt it was Phoenix, he didn’t flinch away. He glanced up, expression less guarded than it probably should have been, and he mourned the warmth when Phoenix pulled his hand away. 

“You alright, mate?” Phoenix mumbled the words softly, like a child afraid of a teacher overhearing him pass notes in class. “You look.. weird. Or- not weird. Just- you okay?”

There was the warmth he wanted. The warmth he hated. The warmth he missed more than he thought he ever could. And slowly, Yoru nodded, chipped nails gently trilling on the car’s middle seat. The black polish was in need of a repaint, and Yoru found himself smiling so slightly. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The reply came softer than usual, and Yoru looked away - he slept too well to blame what he said next on exhaustion. “I.. just noticed that you didn’t help me.”

Phoenix looked confused for a split second, and he felt it, too. He assumed that Yoru was biting his tongue and biding his time until Phoenix’s protectiveness had gone down, that was definitely what Yoru had portrayed, at the very least. 

But.. here Yoru was, mentioning it. Complaining about it. Almost looking upset about the fact that Phoenix had finally backed off and realized the hint that Yoru was dropping. He couldn’t help but tilt his head just slightly, even if Yoru’s eyes were focused on the passing fields and the low hum of the engine. 

“I thought you- wait, you were practically ready to bite my head off when you were first burnt up?” Phoenix asked the question in a tone less accusatory than intended. “Now you’re whining that I’m not holding your door for you?”

“I’m- first off, whining was not what I was doing. I was complaining, like a real man.” Yoru rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth twitched into the slightest hint of a smile. “Second, yes, I am. It was nice.”

“Oh, so now you’re fine with it. Even when I was holding you up to walk?”

“Yes.”

The answer came too quickly to be anything less than truth, and Yoru found himself looking away more. How could he betray himself so outwardly, so unabashedly admitting to things he was just barely grasping? 

And still, Yoru knew the answer. It was Phoenix - for an odd reason he couldn’t place, that name seemed to be the answer to most of his issues as of late. He knew he couldn’t lie when it was Phoenix, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep his conscience clean and his mouth free of the bitter taste of disappointment. 

The silence was heavy between them for a few moments too long, the car hot and the air stuffy with things unsaid. But it was cut through when Phoenix’s hand so gently found Yoru’s again, fingers just barely brushing together in the middle seat, comforting in the way Yoru found himself adoring instead of hating over the past week. 

Maybe silence was the thing they needed, wafting between them just as the sunrays did, dancing on dust and dirt as the duelists dared one another to speak - they never did. No, the two stayed silent, and it was dangerously reminiscent of the plane ride they had taken to get to the exact place they were now. 

The way they so silently took in the moment, the way the hum of the engine in the car so worryingly mimicked the one on the plane. It felt like a lifetime ago, when Yoru had offered nausea pills, when Phoenix had gotten the other a coffee. When, looking back on it, they had been friends for the first time in two years. 

But now, as their fingers gently brushed together in a way that felt like not enough and overwhelming, it was different. It was softer, and the taste of black coffee that was once on Yoru’s tongue was replaced by the taste of fresh bread. The shaky nerves in his hands were replaced with the feeling of Phoenix’s callousness trailing over them instead, and the rumble of mind-spinning turbulence was exchanged for a low buzz of rocky road under tires. 

Before Yoru could admit to himself that he liked it better when Phoenix’s hand was against his instead of coffee, the car was rolling to a stop already. He just barely moved his hand closer, fingers slowly trailing closer than they should, then he pulled away. Phoenix sat silently for a moment before humming, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of his open door. 

Then, just as Yoru had reached down to unbuckle his own, the familiar sound of a lock sliding out of its place caught his attention. Glancing up just in time to see Phoenix through the window, Yoru’s door opened, the sun glaring down on both of them. The heat was bearable, but the way Phoenix’s eyes were so disgustingly soft wasn’t. 

“C’mon. Since you won’t stop complaining.” That smile that haunted Yoru shone again, and his head spun. “I’ll even help you walk.”

“I can walk on my own.” Yoru spoke with a smile he couldn’t bite back, getting out of the car with a huff. Even still, he immediately leaned his side against Phoenix’s, the car door closing behind them familiarly. 

The arm not carrying his blazer and their duffel bag immediately wrapped around Yoru’s waist, so gently squeezing his hip in a way that felt more comforting than teasing. The fingers that were just on Yoru’s palm were now gently trilling on his hip, and it felt more natural than anything else in the world - breathing couldn’t compare to the ease that came with how Phoenix held Yoru. 

“I thought you said you can walk on your own?” Phoenix’s voice was nowhere near mean, and just in case, he pulled Yoru just barely closer. 

“I can.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s easier when you’re doing the work.” Yoru smirked, glancing over to just barely catch Phoenix’s eye, the pair walking in time.

Rolling his eyes, Phoenix dragged his feet a bit more, wanting to prolong this as much as he could without Yoru biting his head off. Whatever side of Yoru this was, the side that let him be touched, the side that was softer than ever, Phoenix wanted it to stay. He wanted Yoru to be like this for as long as he would let himself be - if walking slow meant it would be just a few seconds longer, then so be it. 

Phoenix didn’t need to know that Yoru noticed. He also didn’t need to know that Yoru was about to do the exact same thing. 

The sun was as hot as it always was, beating down on the pair’s exposed skin and melting Yoru’s gel unforgivingly, but Yoru didn’t care. Phoenix’s hand was on his hip, his touch was sweet as summer, and the heat paled in comparison. 

Maybe later, Yoru would blame the way he was acting on the heat. He’d pin it on the fact that he was dehydrated, or maybe that he’d become insane from having to be so close to Phoenix for so long. Maybe he’d never think about this moment again, be rid of how the dirt was kicked up around them, of how the dust filled his senses when they walked into A-site. 

Yoru would force himself to forget how perfectly wrong it all felt later - for that moment, Phoenix was guiding him to sit on the shabby excuse for A-heaven. Phoenix was beside him, Phoenix was putting down their bag, Phoenix was using his blazer like a blanket to sit on. Phoenix was there, and maybe, Yoru would remember that. 

Slowly, so slowly, Yoru looked around the heaven he’d grown used to. A few meters away, piles of dirt and sand were resting on the floor, built up from when they used it to pass time. Hazy, heat-filled memories of how gentle Phoenix was when he covered Yoru’s hand up filled the riftwalker’s mind. He bit his lip, and forced himself to forget it just as quickly. 

With a heavy sigh and a heavier chest, Yoru slumped forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees. The duffle bag sat a bit away, and the heat against his skin stung - Yoru winced at the idea of being burnt again . He glanced up, eyes gently roving over Phoenix, who was busying himself with meditation and clearing his mind. 

Or maybe he was just falling asleep. Yoru didn’t really care which it was, as long as Phoenix’s eyes were closed long enough for Yoru to admire without being caught. 

It was more than friendship, the heat prickling in his chest, and Yoru knew that. He’d known it for too long, for months, a warmth that ran deeper than lust or passive aggressive friendship. It yearned for something more than that, for more than passing infatuation - after the 7th month, Yoru concluded it wasn’t passing. 

And here he was, doing nothing about it. The idea of shattering his carefully built glasshouse was too nerve wracking to try and do anything more than admire. From afar, from a foot away, Yoru would admire. And for Yoru, that was enough - as long as the house didn’t melt under the summer heat, then who was he to complain about it?

Sighing deeply and steeling his nerves, Yoru looked off to the side, feeling the heat bloom across his unevenly-tanned skin. His t-shirt did nothing to protect his arms from the rays that had rendered him useless for the first few days of the mission, and he looked down at them instead of Phoenix. 

The skin was splotchy and darker than usual, years of being nocturnal save for missions leaving him fair as a princess, and his appreciation for eating less than frequently didn’t help. He reached over, the leather of his gloves uncomfortable on his forearm, skin still sensitive - really, he was lucky he hadn’t blistered from the burn. 

Though he escaped the terrible experience that is blistering, Yoru hadn’t managed to do he’d the curse of peeling, a few pale flakes on his gloved palm when he pulled away. Yoru scowled down at the sight like it offended him, and the stinging of the sun only seemed to grow worse - he missed the comfortable seat at the table from an hour prior. 

Yoru found himself missing things he shouldn’t in that moment, far more than he thought he would, and far more than he knew was acceptable. Thoughts of their glass house becoming a home, where they could do nothing but cook familiar meals and chat with one another without the barriers of annoyance, Yoru loved more than he should’ve. 

And so, instead of thinking about the things he shouldn’t, he focused on the things he didn’t want to - his burn and the pain and he ignored the way Phoenix was beside him. Thoughts hazy, Yoru blamed them on the heat, and felt over the shedding skin one last time. Maybe shedding his old skin wasn’t so bad. 

Chapter Text

Sunscreen was something he brought for a reason, and Yoru felt a bit ridiculous for not thinking to apply it before they left the temp-home. Looking over to Phoenix, Yoru brushed the skin pieces from his hand with a grimace, then decided not to wake him - Yoru knew himself well, and he knew that he wouldn’t survive Phoenix’s hands on his bare skin. 

The thought alone made Yoru flush, then scowl at the sun and stand up sharply, the frustration of the situation fueling his tired movements. His gel was already starting to give way, melting and becoming tacky when he bent down to pick up the bag, a few useless strands of hair falling over his eyes as he rummaged for the cream he’d brought. 

Pulling it out, Yoru lazily tossed the duffel bag back down, hearing containers of homemade food and well-oiled guns clank together. With a heavy sigh and a sparing glance to Phoenix who had promptly passed out, the riftwalker popped the cap to the container. Yoru pushed his hair from his face with little success, and instead focused on squeezing out a blob of the white cream that he should have worn far sooner than he did. 

Yoru shivered at first contact, the sunscreen still somehow chill in the summer heat, goosebumps pricking over the already-sensitive skin of his forearm. Though, it passed after a moment, and Yoru instead continued to apply it over his tanned arms and neck and face. 

Between his black and heavy tactical pants and his black shirt that was definitely not built to handle the heat, Yoru felt like he was overheating, sweating off the sunscreen as soon as he put it on, and felt like a child when he uncomfortably adjusted his shirt about 4 times over. 

With a sigh and a scowl, Yoru shuffled off to the side of heaven, shrouded in a sparring shadow that did nothing to solve the heat in his nerves. How weird it was, feeling a breeze blow, and the air be just as hot as the sun - Yoru decided that summer was his least favorite season, then thought back to Phoenix’s hand on his waist as his voice in his ear and how he wormed into Yoru’s chest, and decided it wasn’t that bad. 

After a long few moments of trying to rub the sunscreen into his skin with little avail due to the sweat, Yoru groaned under his breath, rolling his shoulders in frustration. He glanced over his shoulder, Phoenix still peacefully asleep, and decided that there are worse things than Phoenix seeing him without a shirt. 

Yoru pulled his shirt up at the hem, tugging it over his head with a scowl, the fabric irritating the flaking skin, revealing more sensitive stinging underneath. He dropped the black t-shirt beside the duffel bag, the warm air feeling slightly more refreshing as he went back to applying the sunscreen across his shoulders and arms, collarbone burnt but soothed between the cream and lazy shadow. 

It was too hot to sleep, something that was pretty uncommon for Phoenix, just idly listening to Yoru move around a few feet away. The heavy clunk of their bag, the click of a cap, grumbles and huffs of irritation - not quite enough to pull him into sleep, but enough to make him feel slightly more relaxed. 

After a long few moments of silence, Phoenix opened his eyes, curious to see where Yoru has left to when he stood up. Met with a sight that made his brain stall like a gear had caught, Phoenix wasn’t sure if it was the right choice. 

Phoenix couldn’t help but ogle, silently looking over Yoru’s bare torso, feeling his stomach do a few flips as he reluctantly let his gaze travel. Yoru faced away, hair a half-gelled mess of black and blue, skin an irritated red as he dotted cream against it, standing off in the barely-cooler shadow. 

Phoenix could barely see the furrow of the man’s brow before he turned, the firebird looking over the dark eyes and splotchily-tanned skin that made his heat feel light. He was just as attractive from the front, enough to make Phoenix’s mind wander more than it should have, enough to make him not even register that Yoru had turned and was now staring.

“Something on my face?” Yoru growled the words, raising a very unimpressed eyebrow at Phoenix as he lazily scowled from the shadows.

The words were enough to force Phoenix’s eyes off of Yoru’s lithe frame, trying to find a snarky reply, and coming up with nothing beyond: “No.”

Yoru only rolled his eyes, going back to rubbing in the white cream and praying to whatever god he didn’t really believe in that Phoenix would take his frustrated snark at face value instead of seeing the fluster under it. His stomach flipped, skin warm and tingling as he felt eyes on his body, and he knew damn well that it wasn’t from the burns. 

The silence settled heavy and taut, with Phoenix idly toying with one of the pockets on his pants, trying to think about anything other than Yoru. It was a hard fought battle, one that he quickly lost, gazing down at the gritty dust and sand on the floor and remembering the feeling of Yoru’s fingers so carefully burying his. It was a good memory, good enough to make him smile and temporarily not stare as Yoru closed the cap and grabbed his shirt. 

“Pass me the bottle?” Phoenix glanced up, forcing his eyes to stay on Yoru’s face as he nodded to the sunscreen, holding out a hand. 

“Thought you had fire resistance or whatever?” Yoru questioned, tossing the bottle with impressive accuracy into Phoenix’s hand, his other hand pulling his shirt hem down to cover his upper hips once more. 

Phoenix rolled his eyes, but he knew it looked more fond than playful - if Yoru wasn’t going to call him on it, then so be it. “Yeah, my fire.”

“Just heal yourself then,” the duffel bag cluttered and clanked as Yoru picked it up, huffing. “Don’t waste my cream.”

“Not your cream. Kingdom supplied it.” Phoenix cheerily reminded Yoru of their circumstances, lazily applying some of the cream to his cheeks and collar, sighing as the chill cream cooled him for just a moment. 

The reminder only got a grumble in reply, Yoru spinning on his heel to lazily drape himself beside Phoenix, too hot to care about trying to look professional in the slightest. Phoenix didn’t mention how Yoru could have stayed in the shade, and Yoru didn’t mention that he would rather burn beside Phoenix than sit away from him. 

“Damn, your skin is all peeled.” Phoenix grimaced, tossing the bottle to the duffle bag and missing, only for Yoru to catch it and put it away with a roll of his eyes. 

“Yeah, kinda what happens when you get heatstroke and singe your whole body.” Yoru mumbled the words, more playful than cruel, glancing over to C-site with a sigh. “I should probably patrol the other side.”

“As if they’re gonna show up.” Phoenix grumbled the words, head falling back to thunk against the wall. “Brim said it himself. This place is basically our ‘get along’ mission, no way Omega comes here.”

Yoru hummed in agreement, making no move to get up. “Too hot to walk over, anyway.”

The time passed lazily, nothing to entertain themselves with beyond fiddling with their clothes and thinking about the bleak heat. The sun blared, though Yoru’s hair kepts him occupied for a fair amount of time, trying to fix the gel as it uselessly melted only his hands despite his best attempts. 

They’d somehow found themselves in the midst of a game of 20 questions, with Yoru almost guessing within the first seven, and Phoenix always seeming to run out of questions - Yoru stopped counting after the 2nd time he’d gone passed the limit, and it left Phoenix confused as Yoru chuckled, the firebird not noticing that he was on his 37th question and no where near close. 

By the third hour, they had exhausted any 20 question topic, were 12-8 in rock-paper-scissors (to Phoenix) and 9-3 in tic-tac-toe against the dust on the floor (Yoru). The time seemed to move like molasses, grueling and aching and burning against their skin, a mind-numbing boredom quelled only by the other agent. 

“This sucks.” Phoenix huffed the words, not exactly caring that it sounded like he was whining. “It’s so hot.”

“Don’t remind me of it. I’m just trying to pretend the sun doesn’t exist.” Yoru’s words were nothing more than a raspy grumble, eyes closed and head back against the dusty stone of the site, hair a mess of navy and melting gel. “I shouldn’t have even done my hair.”

Phoenix only nodded in agreement, glancing over to look the duelist over. His hair was a mess, skin a flush under the blinding light, and Phoenix couldn’t help but berate himself when his mind dumbly wandered. 

“Your skins flaking, huh?” Phoenix muttered the question, a low curiosity, forcing his eyes to look over the annoyingly familiar site instead of the man before him. 

Yoru only hummed in agreement, his head falling forward to run a hand through his hair, the black nail polish long-chipped. It felt like his body was made of metal, heavy and stuck to the floor under him, the loose t-shirt he wore barely providing relief from the heat. 

It was their third time reapplying the sunscreen, partly because they didn’t want burns, but also because the lotion was the only mildly cold thing they had access to. After the annoyingly long silence, Phoenix finally broke it, voice drawling as his accent lazily wrapped around the words. 

“Wanna have another round of rock-paper-scissors?”

“If I have to lose to you in that idiotic game again, I’m letting myself die by heat stroke.”

Phoenix rolled his eyes at the dead-pan reply, mumbling a ‘dramatic’ under his breath, which only earned him a nudge to his side with Yoru’s elbow. He couldn’t find the energy to pout, only letting the heat dull his mind more, resting his forehead against his knee. 

The day was a blur of heatwaves on the floor and packaged stir-fry, of muttering useless questions between the two as a weak plea to not have to acknowledge the sun's heat. The food was good, and the company only made it better, even if Yoru wasn’t particularly pleased when Phoenix poked fun when the riftwalker admitted to thinking orchids were pretty. 

Maybe it was the slow conversation, or the way it was so easy to forget everything when speaking to the other, but both men found themselves surprised when the alarm went off. Yoru sighed in blissed relief, body heavy as he packed up the containers and got his gloves back onto his hands, the duffel bag dragged from his hands before he could stand and pick it up. 

“What- I can carry it.” The words edged on an indignant squak as Yoru tossed a glare up to Phoenix, only getting a cheeky smile in return - that, and an offered hand. 

“Sure you can.” The words were playful, a glint of teasing in Phoenix’s eyes as Yoru’s hand slipped into his, grunting to pull his weight up as the guns clattered in the back slung over Phoenix’s shoulder. 

Maybe the only thing more instinctual than wrapping his arm around Yoru’s waist was breathing - that was a close difference, still. It was easy, Yoru not thinking as he leaned against Phoenix, not for support, but because he wanted to be closer. Maybe a bit of easy was what they needed. 

Chapter Text

Routine had become a thing of naturality by then—how they both slipped into the car after Phoenix had opened the door for Yoru, sighing at the feeling of air conditioning, the clatter of the duffel bag and Phoenix’s blazer when he dropped them to the floor by his feet. The rumble of the engine, the passing roads, the way Yoru almost subconsciously checked his pockets for a carton of cigarettes and remembering they weren’t there—how he instead savoured the lingering taste of homemade food. 

Phoenix’s quiet snoring from being up too early that morning filled the usual silence, and Yoru took the opportunity to stare that he’d missed that morning, eyes lingering idly. Admiring had become something of common place between them long before the mission—before, a sigh on animosity and begrudging respect for the other’s body. Now, something softer, something neither of them dared to address in fear of being told to stop. 

The sun was still high enough in the sky to burn, but the low hum of the car’s conditioning was enough to break the rays apart and tease them into something soothing instead of distressing. The car ride seemed shorter than usual, and Yoru only glanced away from Phoenix’s parted lips and sweat-slick skin to look at the temp-hole as they rolled to a stop. 

With a click of his seatbelt, Yoru paused for a moment, as if hoping Phoenix would open his door for him despite the other still being asleep. Shaking his head, Yoru instead slipped out of the car and grabbed the duffel bag on his way—a favour to Phoenix, in his mind, before walking over to the passenger side and tapping on the window. 

With a jolt forward and a bleary display of Phoenix’s hand carding through his hair, the duelist was awake and met with the sound of his car door opening. Before he had the chance to apologize and undo his seatbelt, there was a hand reaching across his lap, and Yoru’s face just barely inches from Phoenix’s. 

“You take too long.” Yoru grumbled the words, eyes flicking down to the seatbelt as it clicked, his chipping nail polish worse than it was that morning. The buckle slid away, and Yoru huffed when his eyes met Phoenix’s. “Are you coming?”

Phoenix tried to choke out the word yes, but all he could do with barely whisper a rasped ‘uh-huh’, desperate to keep his eyes off of Yoru’s lips—desperate to keep his lips off of Yoru’s lips. It was a hard fought battle, between how Yoru’s words breaths against his jaw and the cool hand resting just an inch too high, several inches too low if Phoenix dared to entertain his desires. 

Yoru only rolled his eyes, pulling away a moment later, hand slipping away from Phoenix’s thigh. He turned around, already walking towards the front door, scoffing under his breath—in reality, it was a desperate sigh of relief as he was able to hide his red face. Maybe it was from the heat, maybe a split second decision made by Yoru’s heart instead of his brain, that made him get so close to Phoenix with the thin excuse of undoing his seatbelt. 

Maybe it was just Yoru wanted to tease the idea of pressing his lips to Phoenix’s that made him do what he did. One thing was certain—he didn’t regret it.

A moment later, Yoru could hear Phoenix trotting up behind him, and Yoru adjusted the strap of the duffle bag on his shoulder before glancing over to to catch a glimpse of Phoenix. Yoru was glad to see he hadn’t been imaging the wide-eyed confusion on his face, and he could see the way Phoenix was physically biting his tongue to keep from asking any questions. The idea of it being ‘can you do that again’ was one Yoru didn’t dare to entertain—and it was the exact one Phoenix was stopping himself from asking. 

The door creaked open, met with dusty wood and the lingering scent of bread, and Yoru lazily tossed the bag onto the couch as he took off his sneakers. He heard a snicker from behind him as the door shut, the hinges giving a death rattle as Yoru saw the amusement in Phoenix’s eyes. 

“Do you know how to tie your shoes?”

At a raised eyebrow, Phoenix nodded to Yoru’s sneakers, the laces wrapped around the duelist’s ankle in a messily tightened maelstrom of orange. 

Yoru just rolled his eyes in reply, fingers deft and practiced as he undid his laces from around his ankles, and Phoenix just snorted another laugh before taking off his own shoes. The silence settled for a long few moments before he spoke again, a smile in his voice. “If you don’t answer, I’m gonna assume you don’t know how to tie your laces—“

“—I know how to tie my laces.” Yoru growled in reply, looking back down to his shoes again, though he couldn’t help but find the banter enjoyable despite himself—maybe because it was making Phoenix snails. 

“Do you know how to do it without it looking like they’ve been lynched?”

“You’re annoying.”

“So you say.” And with that, Phoenix trotted over to the kitchen, a smile on his face—and without his knowledge, one on Yoru’s face too. 

Again, the routine was there, lingering in the air among the dust under the sun. The hours they had to relax, two before they needed to make dinner, spent alone together. Yoru sat on the couch, reading his familiar book, breathing in familiar air. 

Phoenix did the same across from him, scrolling through familiar apps and texting familiar people—glancing up to occasionally catch familiar eyes looking at him. Phoenix didn’t acknowledge it, and Yoru didn’t stop, only continuing the lazy trill of his eyes taking in the sight of the other man doused in sunlight. 

Animals in natural habitats, the thought crossed Yoru’s mind as he idly read of passages he’d read enough times to know them by heart, causing a small smile to edge onto his face—he found himself doing so easier. It caught Phoenix’s eyes, tilting his head. 

“Something funny?” Phoenix questioned, tossing the words across the carpeted cavern between them, the coffee table’s glass top reflecting the smile on Yoru’s face back into his eyes. “I thought that book was all seriousness?”

“It is. It’s not the book,” Yoru murmured the words, resting his elbow on the armrest as he spoke, shrugging to hide his interest. “I just.. never thought we’d be like this.”

“What? Friends?” The word tasted like ash on Phoenix’s tongue, and Yoru could hear the bitterness covered with the soothing sweet taste of a smile. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” At the confused glance Yoru got, he looked down to his book again, not willing to risk Phoenix seeing the longing in his eyes. “‘Friends’ doesn’t feel right.”

“Too big of a word for us?”

“Too small.”

The words got a curious hum from Phoenix, but no further prodding beyond his eyes burrowing into Yoru’s, as if the eye contact could force words from Yoru’s lips. In a way that surprised both of them, it worked. 

“I’m not much for friends, but whatever this is feels more than that. Friends don’t do what we do.” Yoru’s voice carried a weight to it, one undisclosed and somehow silently misunderstood. 

Phoenix worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and only then did he notice that Yoru wasn’t wearing his earring, turning off his phone as he felt a conversation that didn’t need distractions. “And what do we do?”

“Not friend things.”

“Very in-depth.”

“You get what I mean.” Yoru huffed, closing his book with a sigh. “Washing my hair. Helping me walk. The.. the whole body-heat-sleeping-bullshit we keep doing. That’s not friends.”

“So we’re not friends?” Phoenix questioned, his voice trilling with a mild hurt at the prospect of Yoru not wanting to be friends—he bit his lip again to stop himself from asking if he upset him. 

The silence held Yoru’s throat hostage for a long few seconds, thumbing over the cover of his book with chipped nail polish and the lingering desire of Phoenix’s hand in his. “No. We’re friends. It’s just.. more than that. Maybe that’s just because you’re the first person to really be a friend.”

“You’re friends with Fade?” Phoenix’s voice held a grumble of confusion, as if nervous to interrupt during a conversation, something so uncharacteristic that it nearly caused Yoru to smile again. 

“Fade doesn’t wash my hair, or cover my hands in dust.”

“Maybe Fade needs to be a better friend.” Phoenix huffed a laugh to hide the fondness in his voice. 

“Maybe you aren’t just a friend.” Yoru huffed, not sure if it was nervousness or annoyance. “We’re more than that. It feels like we are, anyway.”

Phoenix glanced around the room to avoid Yoru’s eyes, his knee bouncing subconsciously, anything to get away from the gnawing feeling in his sternum. He felt like meeting Yoru’s eyes would show fear, as if Yoru was a feral animal out for blood. 

“More than friends?” Phoenix laughed to hide the hope and fear swirling in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. “You make it sound like we’re dating—“

“—that’s not what I’m saying.” Yoru murmured the words too quickly for both his and Phoenix’s liking, backtracking only to sound more harsh. “Forget about it, Phoenix. It’s nothing.”

Phoenix bit back the urge to push for another answer, the answer the wanted, the parallel world where Yoru agrees and Phoenix doesn’t feel stupid for wishing it. He instead lets the silence stuff his mouth, only able to manifest a hum before standing up and starting to look for ingredients, ignoring the confused glance from Yoru. 

The sun edged on setting as Yoru heard the clattering of dishes and the few ingredients they had left in the house, orange hues easing away the tension between them enough for them to breathe, Yoru’s pages slowly flipping as he skimmed the words. He found himself liking the conversation with Phoenix more than his old book, missing the few moments of hope that he saw in Phoenix’s eyes, and wondering what would have happened if he listened to his heart instead of his brain. 

Chapter Text

The evening passed in a lazy blur, the conversation forgotten as they instead made dinner for themselves—barely a meal, in actuality. It was simple pasta, and Yoru had admittedly enjoyed it more than he usually would considering how underwhelming the food was. He knew, bitterly and softly, it was because Phoenix had helped him make it. 

They washed up, they took showers, and Yoru was more than ready to tuck in for the night before there was a clatter of items hitting the floor from the kitchen. Phoenix has insisted he needed to ‘check for something’, a statement entirely innocuous until Yoru had heard the clamouring of Phoenix from there. 

With a huff and grumble only to himself, Yoru padded down the hallway as he tugged his sleep shirt over his lithe frame. “Phoenix, Wha—“

“— Yes! ” The other man’s voice cheerily screeched, far too much giddiness in his voice for Yoru not to be nervous to look up from where his head had gotten caught in his fabric prison. 

Admittedly, he wasn’t dissatisfied with the sight. 

Phoenix’s grin was bright as ever, edging on luminous as he proudly held up a bottle of red wine, the floor and counter covered in various utensils. Spatula, wooden spoon, tongs—splayed lazily over the kitchenette. It was messy, but Phoenix looked so smug, all Yoru could force out was an amused laugh instead of a scowl. 

“Please don’t tell me you climbed the counter to get that?” Yoru shook his head in amused disapproval, though the tipped over utensil holder still rolling back and forth on the counter confirmed his suspicions. 

Without an answer Yoru’s question went, as Phoenix was too busy fishing through the drawers in a prayer to find a corkscrew. Eventually coming across the salve of the past few day’s stress, Phoenix found himself having to bite back a giggle like a kid on Christmas. In contrast, Yoru’s smile only spelled mischievous intent, like a cat that had a mouse in his jaws—and God, did Phoenix adore that look of danger. 

“Grab glasses?” Phoenix said with a grin, though it dipped away when Yoru shook his head, stepping forward instead. 

He yanked the wine bottle from Phoenix’s hands, finding a renewal of his lost energy from the day, and easily popped the cork. Even if Yoru had his softer moments, it was hard to forget that the man was sharp as nails, and just as rough. He placed the cork on the counter with one hand as the other lifted the bottle. 

Whether it was intentional, the way Yoru gripped the neck of the bottle with his slender fingers and held that eye contact, Phoenix had no clue. Regardless, it had the effect of his face heating, though he covered it with a laugh—it sounded strained to his own ears. 

“Don’t be a pussy.” Yoru bit out once he was done taking the fair drink from the lip of the glass, carelessly wiping a droplet of crimson from his bottom lip. “No glasses needed.”

“So that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.” Yoru confirmed, cocking his head in a challenge. 

Phoenix knew that look. Better than his anger, better than his begrudging affection, Phoenix knew that look of unrestrained fire in Yoru’s eyes better than anything else. Standing in their dusty kitchen, holding a shitty bottle of red and looking and Phoenix like he wanted to tear him limb from limb in a fight. 

It was the exact moment Phoenix would have scoffed at weeks prior. Where did Yoru get off? Where did he gain the right to look so smug while dressed in flannel pants and a shirt that practically swallowed him? Where did he get the right to call Phoenix a pussy, to challenge something as idiotic as a drink-off? Shooting, he would agree. Training, he would agree—but two weeks ago, Phoenix would have drawn the line at drinking. 

But it wasn’t two weeks ago. It was 9:13 on a weeknight, it was standing in their home together, and it was a moment Phoenix oddly adored more than any other competition they’d had—because it wasn’t just Yoru. Phoenix was also wearing shorts and a loose tank top, Phoenix was also smug and craved that hint of release a competition gave him. 

A month ago, Phoenix would have denied the challenge. A week ago, Phoenix would have taken it up for the sake of spite. Now, Phoenix nodded happily, if only because he wanted to have this moment last longer. Competition may give him release, but nothing gave him a rush like Yoru, and he was holding the bottle and throwing back a heavy gulp before he even processed that he’d nodded. 

—

In hindsight, if Phoenix wasn’t so drunk that he could barely remember the words he was slurring out, he would have realized this was an awful idea. 

Hiccuping through laughs, splayed over one another on the rickety couch, Phoenix barely remembered what had happened to get to this point. Yoru’s leg was lodged somewhere between his, their arms a cluttered mess of flushed skin and rings pressing against them, and Phoenix was laughing like a hyena about something he couldn’t remember. 

He’d always been a social drinker, far from an indulgent, but he was admittedly a man of vice when he actually did end up drinking. Even worse, it was wine . Good wine, at that. The kind of wine that would have him calling an Uber after brunch with his mothers after a glass— a glass, and they were halfway through a second bottle. If the alcohol poisoning didn’t kill him, the proximity would. 

And God, the proximity. Yoru’s face had somehow buried itself into Phoenix’s neck by the final drops of the first bottle, with Yoru’s body having invaded the territory of Phoenix’s personal space long before then. He was wrapped around Phoenix, halfway propped up against the man’s chest as he slurred and sneered careless jokes—jokes Phoenix would never imagine Yoru ever saying. 

Phoenx’s eyes, having hitched on the sliver of blue around the deep brown eyes and he’d grown to love—because God, he was too wasted to compartmentalize his affections in any other way—has stolen his attention entirely. His prattling about some half-mumbled story about his time acting trailed off, leaving Yoru to snicker into his chest. 

“You’re one messy fuckin’ drunk,” Phoenix settled on teasing, partly because he couldn’t remember the story, partly because the way Yoru grinned like cheshire made his heart beat that much quicker. 

“Y’re no better.” The words were a growl, at least Phoenix assumed they were meant to be, but Yoru’s mouth smothered into the fabric of Phoenix’s tanktop had reduced it to a pout. “You reek, like wine.”

“Uh, yeah,” Phoenix responded, only slightly stumbling over his words as he felt Yoru’s hot breath on his neck, “‘cause we’re drinking wine. We’ve got a real Sherlock over here.”

“Blow me.” Yoru snarked, but he huffed when all Phoenix did was lull his head back over the couch with a bark of laughter. 

He was getting too used to Yoru’s acidity, he decided. Phoenix’s tolerance has only grown stronger—his glares were met with smiles instead of snark, his cawing taunts were met with teasing instead of a barked retort. Yoru would have hated it if it didn’t make his heart flutter. 

Yoru didn’t notice he was staring at Phoenix until he stared back, to which Yoru sat up and off his chest. The movement only made his head spin more, so he played it off as an attempt to grab the bottle instead of a sway. It was successful, though only because Phoenix was still drunkenly staring at the ceiling like a coma patient. 

With another fair gulp, Yoru’s hazy vision supplied nothing in regards to how much wine they had left. A quick rattle of the bottle supplied that the answer was ‘not much’, the liquid echoing off of the half-empty walls of the glass. 

“Think we could finish it?” Far less composed as Yoru usually was, the question was undercut with a hiccup, then the clatter of him nearly knocking the bottle over when he placed it down. 

“ Hell no.”

“Pussy.”

“If I could sit up without my vision spottin’, I’d punch you.”

That drew another snort of laughter from Yoru, along with an unabashed smile that he didn’t hide behind his hand. Phoenix rolled his head over in time to catch it, just before Yoru’s head had called to Phoenix’s chest again. This time, his hands came up, happily carding through the blue and black strands. 

Yoru tensed, but didn’t complain about his hair being touched as he usually would. It wasn’t done up anyway, still slightly damp from the shower, though dry enough to not leave any faint blue on Phoenix’s fingers when he dragged his blunt fingernails over Yoru’s scalp. Even if it was done-up, the drunken chuckle Phoenix’s wandering hands pulled from Yoru’s chest told him that Yoru wouldn’t have complained in the first place. 

The darkness of the night was inky beyond the window, painting the sky in that half-familiar blackness, those spots of white light that hazed in Phoenix’s eyes. Ale-hazed and giddy with the feeling of Yoru against him, Phoenix didn’t bite back his bright smile. 

At the questioning hum he got from Yoru, Phoenix opened his mouth to simply pass it off as enjoying the stars before his words fell short on his throat. Yoru’s hand had intertwined with his, moved so easily—too easily. Had they truly been that close? Had he missed the point in their friendship that Yoru had somehow grown alright with lacing their fingers together like two pieces of a scuffed and poorly-made puzzle?

Phoenix felt elated, hopeful deep in his chest—but there was something else there. A worm, clinging to his heart and applying the even pressure of annoyance; not at Yoru, never at Yoru, but with himself. How had he managed to miss that moment, how had he missed whatever glance of smile or nod that had given Phoenix permission to do something like this?

How long ago— his mind barked, even as he laced his fingers more with Yoru’s, ignoring the call of his name— How long had you been missing this? How many times had you missed your shot to press your skin to his?

And bitterly, Phoenix didn’t have a reply, only jumping slightly when Yoru had said his name louder, firmer than before. Their fingers were nearly crushed together by Phoenix’s, having tightened them without his thought stopping him, eyes hazy with alcohol when he met Yoru’s eyes. 

“Huh?” He said dumbly, loosening his fingers with a quiet hum under his breath, though he didn’t dare to pull away. “Uh, yeah, sorry mate. What were you sayin’?”

“Quit it with that ‘mate’ shit,” Yoru huffed, though it slurred, and the accent he tried to parrot came out as more of a stumbling caw as he shifted on the couch. The springs creaked like an under-oiled machine. 

“Mate.” Phoenix tested.

“Friend.” Yoru shot back—it sounded weak. 

The silence drew heavy, because what were they meant to say to fill it? Yoru’s tongue was heavy with wine that had it aching to revert back to his native language, much less break the oddly tense silence. Why had it become so quiet in the first place?

After far too long, the scent of wine and dust passing in the air between them, lit by warm and half-dead lightbulbs, Phoenix spoke. 

“Friends?” It sounded like resigning, and Phoenix could feel it too. The thick acidity of bile on the back of his throat, not from the wine but from something far more intoxicating—and far, far worse for his body than liquor. His hand tended around Yoru’s, all to feel him squeeze back, because he needed to make sure the feeling was real. 

Yoru’s eyes stayed trained on Phoenix from where his body was perched on the couch, one leg thrown over Phoenix’s in a half-straddle. His voice was rough with the burn on ale, and distantly, Phoenix wondered what time it was. Late, to be sure. “Friends. Did I say something wrong?”

Phoenix shook his head, lying, though he wasn’t sure about what. If not friends, then what else was Yoru to him. “Sure, friends. Why not.”

“Why not?” Yoru questioned in turn, this time letting his curiosity get the better of him, seizing his chest just as Phoenix’s hand had loosened again. 

Phoenix didn’t have an answer, which only earned a more steady stare from Yoru—though, steady was an overstatement with his hazed over his eyes were. Like pressure on glass, Phoenix eventually cracked, hand trying to subconsciously pull away from Yoru’s, to which it was dragged closer again. 

“What are we doing?”

The question, so simple and breathless, caused Yoru’s chest to seize slightly. Had he upset Phoenix somehow? Been too rough, too much? Had Phoenix finally come to his senses to realize being friends with Yoru was a bad idea from the very start? 

“Getting wasted on a.. uh- I think Tuesday.” Yoru laughed, though it sounded like it was more of a croak than anything else, and his wine-scented breath only managed to make the tension thicker. It condensed around them, heavy and suffocating, and Yoru’s hand squeezed Phoenix’s. 

“..you ever been this way with someone?” Phoenix’s voice, so often bright and warm and alight with the flame that only came with him, now seemed dull. It clung to the heaviness in his throat, to the sticky-sweet leftovers of wine and building regret, the words he wanted to say instead being caught in the growing lump there. 

“This way?” Yoru mumbled. 

“ Friends .” Phoenix tested—he said the word like it was meant to be in quotations. 

Yoru’s eyes glanced away as best they could as he sat up, now properly facing Phoenix, even if he couldn’t get himself to meet his eyes. He was properly perched on Phoenix’s thigh by then, propped up like a doll, though the looseness in his limbs made it more akin to a puppet without strings. 

“I have friends.” Yoru snarked, his defensiveness gripping his ribs like an old friend, icy even through the heat of alcohol. “You’re not special.”

A brief hint of pain flickered in Phoenix’s eyes before he steeled himself, and before he was thinking about what he was doing, his hand was on the small of Yoru’s back. He tugged, pulling him down to be closer—more damningly, it forced their noses to nearly knock together from the forced proximity. 

“Friends like me? Friends that wash your hair and wake up next to you? Friends that bury your hand in sand?” Phoenix’s tone, usually so readable, sounded conflicted. Was he sad? Was he upset? Was he mad, or hopeful, or some unholy combination of all four?

“How’s that your business?” The slur in Yoru’s voice didn’t hide his crumbling persona. 

“Because you’re my business.”

“Fuck off.”

Phoenix scoffed, this breath hot and smelling like wine when Yoru happened to inhale—it was nearly a head rush. How long had they been pressed together like this? How long had he had one of his hands on Phoenix’s chest, propping himself up? How long had he been staring at Phoenix’s lips before he caught himself. 

“I’m serious. I’m not some friend.” Phoenix sounded bitter, though Yoru didn’t know why. “Admit it. We’re not- you’re more.. more than that. You’re more than that to me.”

And that was the real vice. It wasn’t the wine, it wasn’t the cigarettes that Yoru had quit, it wasn’t the sweet tooth Phoenix hadn’t been able to soothe. The real addiction that gripped them had been one another, and hearing it said aloud, like some sickening plague instead of a hopeful beginning, made Yoru’s stomach churn. 

“Why are you saying it like that?” Yoru’s voice rasped more, pulled back slightly, if only to feel that warmth and pressure of Phoenix’s hand through the fabric on the small of his back. “Like it’s some- some crime.”

“It’s not.”

“It sounds like it is.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Phoenix bit out, more than bitter than his slurred confession was taken like poison instead of medicine. “You’re the one who can barely stand me half the time, then you’re turning around like some metronome. Playing eye-spy, then shoving off my hand to help you. Being friends, then scrambling out of bed like I burnt you.”

Yoru fell silent. What was he meant to say, when Phoenix was right? He wasn’t forthcoming. He wasn’t second, or third, or seventeenth-coming. Yoru barely knew how to handle himself, let alone Phoenix, let alone his feelings for Phoenix. 

So, Yoru did the one thing he knew how to—act natural. He huffed a laugh and tightened his hand around Phoenix’s, dragging the man’s free hand to his waist, guiding both to encircle the loose fabric there. Holding his hand felt too person to admit, not in a moment like that, a moment that left Yoru feeling like a cadaver with an open chest instead of a lover with open arms. 

“Cmon,” he mused, and it sounded real enough to his own ears that it would sound perfectly sultry to Phoenix’s drunken ones, “be serious. I’m supposed to be the complicated mess that you need to figure out.”

“I have you figured out.” Phoenix’s voice was uncomfortably close, but the way his hands so gently squeezed Yoru’s waist was enough to make him relax again. 

“That so?” Yoru purred, warm enough to hide the chilly ache that he hid his pounding heart behind—if Phoenix didn’t hear it racing, didn’t know it existed, Yoru wouldn’t have to deal the the possibility of it being broken by the time Phoenix discovered he wasn’t worth the time. 

“Don’t bullshit me.” Phoenix’s voice dropped lower, a timbre that had Yoru flushing more than the wine or sun ever had over the last few days. “Don’t act like this is some passing moment. Don’t act like.. like this doesn’t mean something,”

Yoru wanted to reply, but the words hitched into his throat, stuck on honeyed lust and desperate pining in his chest that he just wanted to stop having to acknowledge. Because of course Phoenix knew. Of course he had somehow dragged Yoru’s heart on to his sleeve and read it like an open book only he knew the index for. 

“What do you want?” The words were sharper than Yoru intended, breath heavy with wine and want, and he wondered if he would remember any of this come morning. “To admit that you make me crazy? That I want you in ways I don’t even want myself?”

The surprised silence spurred on Yoru’s drunken rambles, breath hot against the edge of Phoenix’s jaw and thick with the vitriol he was meant to have. At some point during this mission, the venom he once spat had become honey instead. 

“That you have enough power over my heart that it makes me nervous? That I’ve barely been able to sleep because you being beside me makes my heart spasm like an aneurysm?”

Chaste, a kiss, messy and quick to the edge of Phoenix’s lip. Yoru had missed, and that was proof enough that it was a bad idea to admit all of this with two bottles of mostly-empty wine between them. 

“Yoru—“ Phoenix barely choked out.

“—that you make me feel sick whenever you smile at me because I hate that you’re not smart enough to see that I’m bad for you?”

“Yoru—“

“—That everytime your stupid fucking phone goes off, that- that I feel like I’m about to punch a wall because it’s not only me on your mind?”

“— Yoru!”

Yoru went quiet, eyes wide and frazzled as he stared at Phoenix—when had he started breathing heavier? When had he started yelling? When the hell had Phoenix become the only person able to reel Yoru in?

The silence settled, the low lighting of orange and yellow bouncing off of them in the otherwise black room. The scent of wine and dust and want laid heavy between them, heavy on their lips, alcohol on their tongues like individual reminders of how awful this was. The night was inky outside, it was 10:43 on a weeknight, and they were both drunk. If there was a ‘worst’ time to confess, it was then. 

And still—

“..please.” The word was breathed so quietly between them, so gently, closer to worship than want as Phoenix’s hands so carefully tightened around Yoru’s waist. Not a grip, not a vice, but something so pitifully loving that Yoru wanted to be sick with affection—maybe it was the wine. 

“Please, just shut up and kiss me.”

Yoru was a strong man, but he was weak to something as simple as that. As simple as a quiet request, as simple as an ask—weak because it was so easy. Weak because it was Phoenix. 

Slotting their lips together, Yoru realized in a belatedly hazy daze of liquor, that he didn’t mind being weak.