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Party Poison’s cold.
Not like that’s anything new, because he’s hardly ever not cold and must have the shittiest blood circulation in the Zones, but Fun Ghoul notices the little goosebumps along his arms all the same. He's not really bothered by the low temperature, never really has been, so he takes it as an invitation to drag his sleeping mat closer to Poison’s and offer his blanket up.
“I’m fine,” Poison mutters in response, a quiet little type of murmur, but Ghoul knows he’s lying. Can’t ever show any kind of neediness, that’s his Poison. But Ghoul knows him well enough to throw half of the blanket over Poison’s back anyway.
“I wasn’t cold,” Poison huffs, but he pulls the blanket close all the same. “Fucker.”
Ghoul grins and puts his face close to Poison's. “Asshole.”
“Dick.”
“Bastard.”
“Jerk.”
“I love you,” Ghoul says, catching him off guard, and kisses that smug smile right off Poison’s lips.
It’s past midnight. A campfire’s burning a few feet away, bathing both of them in warm orange light, and the noises of the night fade into the background as the flames crackle and reach for the heavens. They’re on a mission by themselves—Jet Star and the Kobra Kid are back at the diner with the girl a few Zones over—because on top of being able to complete it quicker, they get some much-needed quiet time alone with each other. They pulled off the road a couple hours ago on their way to pick up a shipment smuggled out from the city and won’t be on the move again until midmorning.
Which leaves plenty of time for Ghoul to simultaneously insult and make out with Poison. His favorite pastime.
"Hey," Poison says when they break apart for air, "you know somethin'?"
"I know lotsa things," Ghoul says, lying back down to face him, "but what you're gonna ask probably ain't gonna be one of 'em."
Poison chuckles, and on the rare occasion he smiles the way he's doing now, his eyes crinkle up and the lines of tiredness melt right off his face. Ghoul loves to see him like this, happy and carefree like he doesn't have a problem in the world.
"Remember when you 'n Jet showed up when me 'n Kobes were at the station, 'n I was sick, 'n you made that joke about breakfast and the toast?"
"Oh, yeah. 'What do you call it when you get caught in a clap in the middle of making toast? A real jam'?" Ghoul was pretty proud of that one, he won't deny it. Came up with it all on his own.
"Yeah, that one." Poison reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind Ghoul's ear. "I was just thinkin' about how dumb it was."
Ghoul gasps in pretend indignation, but he knows it was a stupid joke. That's why he liked it. Still, he shoves Poison's shoulder away and buries his face in his pillow like Poison just offended his family, his friends, and every person he's ever shaken hands with.
There's silence for a few seconds, and then he feels a light tap on his arm. "C'mon, babe," Poison says after a second, trying to coax him out of the pillow. "Dude. Look at me."
Ghoul grins and stifles a giggle. He swats at Poison's hand when he feels it on his back.
"Aw, Ghoulie, I didn't mean it—c'mon, please?" Ghoul waits a second to see what else Poison's going to say. It's kind of funny and more than a little adorable listening to the change in his voice when it goes from teasing to genuine concern in less than a minute. "Did I really make you mad?”
As much as Ghoul would like to keep giving Poison a reason to beg for forgiveness, he can't stand making him upset. "Aw, I'm just kiddin'," he says, face still shoved in the pillow, "but you did too mean it, fucker."
He can hear Poison talking through his grin. "All right, yeah. I did."
Ghoul launches himself out of the pillow and tackles Poison. He manages to hold him down—though he suspects it's only because Poison's letting him—and, completely the opposite of the rough way he's pinning his wrists to the ground, places gentle little kisses along Poison's jaw. "Gonna kiss you to death," he says when he comes up for air.
"Not if I kiss you harder," Poison says, and flips both of them onto their sides so they're facing each other again. The feeling that rushes into Ghoul's chest every time he looks into Poison's eyes, the one that turns his bones to mush and leaves him gasping for air in a good way—it’s back again. It's been months since they started dating and there's never been a time when Ghoul hasn't been knocked breathless with just a single shared glance. He hopes there never will be.
Ghoul closes his eyes while Poison traces his lips with the pad of his thumb and sighs when gentle strokes caress the side of his face. They're close enough now that Ghoul can catch Poison's smell, his specific scent, the one full of smoke and sweat and motor oil, and it's comforting. He breathes it in like it's the very last breath of oxygen in the world and he's going to die without it.
“You’re so pretty, you know?” Poison murmurs. “I got so fuckin' lucky.”
Ghoul can’t deny the way those simple words fill him up, spread through his chest and make him warm, make him full, make him complete. Because whenever Poison tells him something like that, it’s the best feeling in the world. Better than anything he’s ever felt.
He opens his eyes and Poison’s looking at him with a type of unexplainably gentle intensity, inspecting every inch of his face like he’s taking a mental photograph and filing it away to keep forever. The expression on Poison's face is hard to discern at first, but he figures it out quickly.
It's love. Pure unadulterated love. And Ghoul could melt just looking at him now.
"Remember what you promised me once?" Ghoul says. He leans over and runs a fingertip down the length of Poison's jaw, feeling the short stubble growing there, such a sharp contrast to how smooth his skin typically is. "Man, you gotta shave."
"Don't remember promisin' that," Poison hums, and his lips quirk up in a little smile.
"Aw, fuck off. Ya know what I meant. But I was just thinking…" Ghoul's hesitant to say it out loud again. In case the idea becomes any less real than it was living in his head since the first time he spoke it into existence so many months ago.
"Just say it, Ghoulie. I'm listening."
"I'm tryin, baby, gimme a second." He taps Poison on the nose with his forefinger and suppresses a squeal when Poison pokes his cheek in return. "'S important to me. You're important to me. It's hard to say, y'know, 'cause it's so important."
"I don't know, 'cause you ain't telling me!" Poison's not mad, though, because he's smiling. God, that smile. Ghoul would give up everything in the world just to be able to see Poison smiling like he is now.
"You told me we could get married one day. Have a weddin'. Remember?"
“Of course I remember.” Poison drags a thumb over the little indent of Ghoul’s left dimple as Ghoul brushes Poison’s stringy bangs out of his eyes. “What about it?”
It was four months after they’d started dating. It was late at night, much like it is now, and they were both lying under a shared blanket and listening to crickets chirp, much like they are now. They’d been talking about a future, one where they would be together until the end of time, when Ghoul had remembered an old ceremony one of his old friends from the Slums had told him about. One from before the danger days, one that went way back before there was anything called Better Living Industries or the Zones or Battery City, one where two people getting married—back before marriage was more than just signing a couple of signatures on a piece of paper—would dress up and celebrate with a party. He always loved the idea of it, and when he told Poison how much it would mean to him to have one, he instantly agreed.
“I dunno. I’ve just been thinking about it again, ‘s all. Imagining it.” The chill of the night air starts to get to Ghoul, too, and Poison must sense it, because he tucks the edge of the blanket around Ghoul’s shoulder. “What it’d be like.”
They start to name off people they’d want to attend. Of course the rest of their crew is on the list, and everyone affiliated with WKIL and KLSK, but besides those select few, there aren’t many more. At least, not until Ghoul comes up with a genius idea.
“Dude. I just thought of the best fuckin’ thing ever. We can get Benny and the Trampolines to come play music! It could be their wedding gift to us!”
Poison grimaces. “Out of all the goddamn bands in the Zones, you want the Trampolines? Seriously? You know how much I can't stand them.”
“Hell yeah, babe! Moshpit at our wedding!” The vision of the two of them all dressed up, hair fixed, shoes shined, but at the same time going absolutely crazy to songs in the pit sends Ghoul into hysterics. “Last one standing gets to drive home!” he declares when he manages to catch his breath for a few seconds.
“You like the Trampolines so much, why don’t you just marry Benny instead?” Poison suggests, lightly socking Ghoul in the arm under the blanket. “Since you care about your bands more than my mortal enemies.” There’s this pouty little look on his face and he’s doing an insanely terrible job at puppy eyes. Ghoul loses it for the second time right then and there. Mortal enemies?
"Laughing at my pain now?" Poison says, trying his best to look miserable, and Ghoul can’t stop the onslaught of laughter attacking him. If he was standing he'd be doubled over, and even lying on his side, he's clutching at Poison's arm in an effort to catch his breath.
"You're ridiculous," he eventually spits out through fluttering giggles after Poison gives up the dramatics. "Absolutely fucking ridiculous."
“Is that bad?” Poison asks, and he flips over onto his stomach after depositing a kiss on the top of Ghoul’s head. He’s wearing a tank top—probably part of the reason he was cold—and parts of his tattoo poke out from underneath, the sections that roam out onto the back of his upper arms. The inked wings are spectacular, each feather more intricate than any other tattoo Ghoul’s ever seen, and he wishes Poison would take his shirt off more often so he could run his hands up and down the art, feel every little bit of the skin and the muscles and sinew underneath.
“No,” Ghoul whispers, lacing his hand through those beautiful red strands that rest on the back of Poison's neck, knowing how much Poison loves his hair being played with. It calms him, Ghoul thinks, and he'd do anything for him. Sometimes he even falls asleep in the middle of it, and it’s such a strange but endearing thing to see the hard lines of Poison’s face soften in sleep, especially knowing that Ghoul’s being trusted enough to see him in his most vulnerable state. "It's part of why I love you so much."
Poison takes Ghoul's other hand and holds it tight. The contrast between the heat of Ghoul's palm and the chill of Poison's is amplified when they meet, but Ghoul likes it. Feels like they’re two halves of a whole, the complimentary parts of one soul, one heart, complete opposites in every way possible but still destined to fit together like the last two pieces of a puzzle.
“Good to know,” Poison says, and he brings his mouth to Ghoul’s hand and kisses the top of each knuckle. His lips are warm against Ghoul’s skin and so is the breath he blows out when he’s finished.
“Just don’t forget about it, okay?” Ghoul says softly. “The wedding. I wanna be married to you.”
“One day,” Poison promises, turning his head so he can make eye contact with Ghoul, so he can give him that intense stare with those intense brown eyes that means he’s serious about something. “I swear to you that we can get married one day. I swear it on the sky, all right?”
“Okay,” Ghoul answers, and Poison shifts onto his back so Ghoul can snuggle closer. They adjust until they find a position that’s comfortable for both of them, a sweethearts' cradle where Ghoul rests his cheek on Poison’s shoulder and lays a hand on his chest while Poison wraps an arm around him to keep him close. Their legs are loosely intertwined and Ghoul’s never felt safer than he does in this moment.
They seal their promise with one final kiss, gentle and slow and soft, and after that, they both sleep soundly until the sun rises and the morning comes far too soon.