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Elliot gradually came to on the top of a porta potty in an empty fairground outside of town. He blinked slowly, registering that he was staring straight at the sky and could feel the wind against his leg hair. So…no pants. But he had his goggles so whatever. His head was beating but he was able to ignore (withstand?) it because he made questionable life choices on the regular and, after a while, the human body can acclimate to anything. That didn’t stop his everything from being sore, though. He groaned, turned over slowly and squinted at the tiny dot in the distance. Town. It was just called Apex if he remembered correctly, which he always thought was stupid. People lived and worked there under an intense gag order so the Legends could go somewhere relatively unbothered, the least the officials could do is let them name their own town.
Ugh, walking. Elliot looked over the edge of the porta potty, then slid down, head first, not realizing this was a poor idea until he hit the ground like a fucking rag doll and nearly broke his neck. “Jesus fuck,” he hissed, holding his head and rolling onto his side, now half covered in mud. What the hell did he do last night? He literally couldn’t remember anything past…maybe ten? Eleven? He’d snuck behind the bar and started making cocktails for everyone and Lifeline dared him to drink something called a…dishrag? That she’d totally made up? And then he woke up on a porta potty. He…really wished he could say it was the first time.
Gritting his teeth he sat up, waited for everything to stop wobbling and then stood, nearly fell again, and started the long walk back to town.
Halfway there he saw a car approaching. Oh, awesome, sweet, someone is going to see me like this. Then, chiding himself still in his mind, you’d have to walk through town anyway, dingus. Just as he retorted to himself that he would have found a way to avoid detection, the car reached him and he realized it was his car. He couldn’t see anything inside because of course he tinted the windows and now he was probably going to get murdered. But like, for real, regen systems weren’t active this far out of town. The window began to roll down. He braced himself for death.
Bloodhound, in their usual full gear, leaned out the window. “Get in.”
Elliot blinked slowly. “How the fuck did you get my car?”
“You gave me keys. Last night.” They paused. He knew they were rolling their eyes behind the mask. “I doubt you remember it.”
He huffed at the accusatory tone. “Hey, princess, you’re no saint.”
“I’m no idiot, either.” They leaned out further. “Car. Now.”
What did I doooooo, he wondered while, instead of going to the unlocked passenger door, repeatedly trying the back door. Bloodhound watched him until they evidently got tired of it and unlocked it, letting him half fall into the seat before locking the door and turning around. The drive was quiet as Elliot patted his aching head idly and bit his tongue. It wasn’t like he had a drinking problem-he didn’t, honestly-but the problem was anytime he went out with the other Legends. Usually about twice a season-once to celebrate the end of the last, and then once to celebrate the beginning of the next. He usually remembered what happened, but sometimes he blacked out. Like tonight. And it had been that he’d sort out what happened himself and send out an apology to the bar owner for either dancing on his tables, making out with a stranger obnoxiously (never figured out what that meant), arguing with the blackjack dealer or singing really badly.
Elliot was not a responsible drunk.
And that had been fine until he kind of sort of ended up dating Bloodhound on total accident. Well, like the meeting was total accident. Or the face seeing. That was a total accident. The dating was like, a nice result of that because he was super into them (like kinda super crazy about them) but he was also an idiot who’d never really been in a “serious” relationship where he had to behave himself and Bloth was definitely not fucking around and ah fuck they didn’t mind last time he’d blacked out but he must have done something and now he’d ruined it and they’d never forgive him and then they’d kill him in his sleep and-
“Hey, hey…heyheyheyheyhey,” a hand lightly patted his arm, at which point Elliot realized he had laid down and was in that asleep-but-listening world. Before he could coax himself into the awake-and-probably-not-listening world a hand slapped his ass so hard he sat up and damn near hit his head against Bloodhound’s mask. He was too bewildered (read: dizzy) to say anything, inches from the blank black glass eyes that kind of threw him off. Their voice lilted with amusement, “wakey, wakey.”
“I don’t want eggs n’ bakery.” He mumbled.
“Bakey.”
“Huh?”
“You told me it is eggs and bakey. You said bakery.”
He paused, looking at his brain-wait, was it just his brain looking at his brain? Was that a paradox? Either way he was too busy lamenting over this grievous mis-quote (was it a quote?) that he really didn’t pay attention to Bloodhound leading him to the staff door in the back of the Apex Tower, and only thought to make sure he didn’t fall over in the elevator up to his penthouse. He was finally taken out of his mental merry-go-round by Bloodhound pushing him onto his couch. Jesus, was he still drunk? Bloodhound sat across from him on his coffee table and passed him a glass of water. He kind of looked at them-for approval, or a story of what he did. But they said nothing, so he drank the water, and the glass that came after that, feeling better afterward, if lightheaded, and not looking forward to the days he wouldn’t bounce back so easily. Granted when he was twenty he didn’t even need water or anything, he’d just wake up and take an Advil and be done with it. But still.
Bloth unhooked their mask, catching his attention, and pulled it off. Even though it was a daily sight now, he always loved seeing their face. He leaned in to kiss them, but they stopped him with a hand to the side of his face. Oh shit, what the fuuuuck did I do? They pushed him away, examining him, turning his head from the chin. They looked concerned, but their eyes were trained on his head. “You’re hurt.”
Oh okay I haven’t fucked it up completely…probably. “How?”
They gave him an odd look. “Your head is bleeding. You tell me.”
He paused. “I fell headfirst off a porta potty.”
“…You moron.” They sighed and pulled off his goggles, moving around his hair. Elliot obediently sat and winced and hissed when they found the cut, fussing under their breath in whatever language it was they spoke. They angled his face towards them. “You have a concussion.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“No,” they pulled him up, easily-he was always kind of impressed when they did literally anything, but especially the whole lifting-a-grown-man-like-he-was-paper. He wasn’t super tall compared to them, but he had to look down a bit. Probably looked funny as hell. “But neither are you.”
“Oh, come on Bloth-it’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“You need to go to the infirmary.”
“I’m fine,” he tried to move away, but they gripped his arm tightly. He looked at them, and they looked straight back, unwavering, mouth drawn tight so they’re lips disappeared. “I am.”
“You’re going.”
He huffed, going to lean in but swaying so he was looking at them petulantly from the side like a teenager. “How about no?”
Bloodhound crossed their arms. Oh no. “Alright. We can compromise.”
Elliot hesitated. “O..kay, what’s your compromise?”
“You go to the infirmary for your concussion.”
“And?”
“And I won’t be giving you another reason to go.”
Elliot paused.
Elliot saw Bloodhound’s knife in their belt.
Elliot agreed to the compromise.
He woke up on a hospital bed and was quickly processed and discharged from the infirmary. He felt miraculously clear headed, though he still had no idea what he did the night before. A pretty nurse walked him back to his door, keeping a careful eye on his gait and giving him frequent once overs. “You’re very lucky Bloodhound found you, Mr. Witt. If you had fallen asleep you might have been hard to wake back up.”
“Mm.” Man why the hell did they have to be right. I’m never gonna hear the end of it. “Yeah. I’ll be sure to thank them.”
“If you can find them,” she joked.
“Right,” he laughed lightly, hand on doorknob. “But I’m cleared to sleep now?”
“Of course. Can I do…anything else for you?”
Elliot paused, catching the tone, and realizing just a couple months ago he would have invited her in. As it was he smiled politely, thanked her, and was careful to keep from opening the door too wide. Bloodhound, wearing one of his XXXXL pajama sweaters as a nightgown-wait that’s my last clean one-oh you bastard- had their back to him, making coffee in the kitchen. Elliot quietly sat down at the bar that separated it from the rest of the room.
Bloodhound turned, and smirked, leaning against the counter. “I was right?”
“You were right,” Elliot sighed, but smiled. “I…look, whatever I did last night was a-a, uh miscurry-miasscur-micaccur-it was definitely not on purpose.”
Their smirk relaxed into a small smile, accompanied by a sigh. “I know.”
“Oh…um…what…what did I do? Like I can tell you’re totally pissed at me and I really, like, I apoleges-apologose? Goose? I’m sorry.”
They walked over, leaned over the counter and kissed him; gently, a soft peck on the lips. “I accept your apology. But I do not excuse the action.”
“Yeah, about that? Like-“
“You went missing.”
Elliot blinked. “What?”
“You went missing. Wandered off. I couldn’t find you anywhere.” They sipped their coffee, a strand of hair nearly dipping into it when they leaned their head down looking-a little embarrassed? “I couldn’t track you. There were so many steps, and smells and people-even Heflin couldn’t find a trace of you. I…I panicked. Daylight I finally found out about that place you were-“
“Fairgrounds.”
“Fairgrounds. Thank you. So I was able to find you.” They inhaled sharply through their teeth. “But until then I was worried. Very worried. This island or whatever it is is small but not lacking in dangerous creatures and people. You could have been anywhere.”
Elliot couldn’t even describe how bad he felt. So he didn’t. He just made a really guilty whining noise like a dog that just got caught tearing up the throwpillows and hugged Bloodhound over the counter. “Oh my God, oh my God Bloth I’m -I’m so sorry. Oh shit I-well, I’ve never done that when I’m blacked out before uh, shit.”
Bloodhound smiled, just slightly. “I trust you to not do it again.”
Aw fuck they trust me. Me! Fuck. Only his mom like, trusted him-trusted him. But now Bloth did too like-wow. He had to. Like. Definitely step up his game. He nodded once. “Right. Will not black out again.”
They smiled a bit more and slid the rest of their coffee toward him-which he took like a very large shot. They laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I tend to be.”
“More than tend to. Put on your pajamas. Were watching Your Lie in April.”
“What? I hate that one.”
Bloodhound smiled and idly walked down the hall toward Elliot’s bedroom, humming the tune from said depressing as fuck anime because Elliot could never get out of anything easily anymore. “You’re very passive aggressive!”
Bloth just laughed again, the sound echoing slightly in the hall, half-singing, “bring tissues, dear, you’ll need them!”
Later, curled up, cuddling with his head against their chest and having gone through half a box of tissues, Elliot realized Bloodhound had chosen Your Lie in April for another reason besides torturing him. And that made the last episode bearable.
Just kidding he fucking sobbed but so did Bloth even though they’d seen the whole anime like, three times so at least they suffered together.