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Bloodhound is a strange kind of affectionate. You wouldn't have really pegged them for the clingy type, but they are, and you… love it.
You love the casual touches before and after a match, love how they run their fingers over lingering bruises, love the first brush of skin-on-skin contact after you've retired for the day and they've taken off their armor.
You're not sure whose more starved for it, yourself or Bloodhound. This relationship is still rather new, after all.
Currently, your tired body is pressed up against Bloodhound's. You had all but melted into their lap the moment they sat down, despite being acutely aware that you should be starting dinner. They cooked yesterday, it's your turn, but the match was… difficult, and you want to cuddle.
Thankfully Bloodhound seems to be on the same page. They practically purr when you lean up to kiss their scarred cheek, and Goddess, it is much too early to be throwing around words like love and forever but you feel like, light, for a moment. Light in a good way . Not the hollowed out way you sometimes feel after a match.
You settle back down with a laugh, and reach for the controller. Just for something to distract yourself from mushy thoughts.
"Who should I romance?" You ask them, turning on your console. After today, you're not in the mood for anything too bloody or gun oriented.
"Me," Bloodhound says.
You tilt your head back to glare at them (rather ineffectively, given the angle, but it's the thought). "You know what I mean."
"Ask Mirage. He plays this game as well." They grab their tablet.
"He just started. And I think he's on a date. Like. IRL." You're sure you'll hear all about it tomorrow. Thankfully with a significant other of your own, hearing about their romantic escapades isn't as irritating as it once was.
Bloodhound hums an acknowledgement, and you turn your attention to the game. You don't feel any real need to continue pestering them about a game they know nothing of. And it's nice to just relax together.
You make a decent amount of progress and Bloodhound continues-- you glance over at their tablet-- reading in companionable silence.
The empty feeling that replaced the post-match adrenaline is slowly overtaken by contentment. Weeks ago, you might've gone to one of your friends for a distraction or, more likely, holed up in your room to lick your wounds all by your lonesome. With Bloodhound you don't feel the need to do either.
How strange.
Stranger yet is when your train of thought is derailed by Bloodhound's laughter.
It's not a bad sound. Quite the opposite, really, but it is an unexpected sound. You tilt your head back to look up at them, "Blood?"
You can hear the teasing smile on their face as they reply, "Do you know we're fighting?"
"We're-- we are what ?" That's news to you.
Bloodhound clears their throat, reciting, "Apex News: A Blooming Rivalry? Apex Legend known for giving endearments refers to top-most competitor, Bloodhound, as "the Hunter"."
It takes you a moment to process that sentence.
"Are-- Bloodhound. Are you reading clickbait Apex articles?"
"Some speculate they had a falling out during the off season, while others insist that the two Legends have always been on rocky terms. Neither responded when we reached out to them for a comment, but in a recent interview, Bloodhound alluded towards a change in--" Bloodhound winces, and you don't need to read it yourself to know someone must've misgendered them. "A change in their relationships with other Legends. Perhaps there's more to the Apex Games than a simple blood sport?"
You cringe. "More to-- who the fuck wrote that?"
Bloodhound shrugs, "Someone who wrote another four paragraphs."
"Please don't read that out loud."
"I wouldn't put you through such a thing." They laugh. "But can I share my favorite line?"
By 'favorite', they most certainly mean the worst one. Bloodhound's affection for shitty gossip columns is one of the worst kept secrets within your ranks. They say it's for research purposes, so they know the competition, but you know the truth.
You twist in place so you can wrap your arms around them, your game all but forgotten. "Only if you kiss me after."
They're smiling, just like you thought they'd be, and they look so…
"Scratch that, can you kiss me right now?"
They can, and they do . Soft and sweet. Their lips taste like your own minty lip balm, and you'll probably tease them about it later, but for a second you just marvel at how very domestic that is.
They pull back with a happy sigh. "You… are distracting me."
"From your shitty news rags."
"Precisely." They kiss you again, just because they can. Their hands move to your waist, claw-like fingernails digging into your hips.
You want to make a joke about how if this is fighting, you're looking forward to making up with them, but they look so pretty when they pull away, and your mind goes blank.
Fuck.
Bloodhound laughs at your dumbstruck expression. "You look like a rabbit in the headlights."
A… what? "Deer." You correct, eyebrows pulling together in confusion. "A deer in the headlights."
They cock their head to the side. "Are you sure?"
"Are--" You repeat incredulously. "Are you fucking with me?"
Their smug grin tells you all you need to know, really, and your cries of them being the worst are smothered by more kisses.