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The last time Lio had a home, he burnt it and his entire family to the ground.
Like all Burnish, he learned the hard way that home is just one of the many privileges they no longer have. The unwelcome places they settle are impermanent, and it’s an unspoken rule to always cut ties (no matter how tightly they may bind). Lio almost prefers it that way—he’s his own liability.
So when Lio stumbles upon two armor-clad Burnish on the brink of defeat, he expects to move on after the dust has settled just as he has always done.
What Lio gets instead is the affectionate title of “Boss,” and his first real companions since his mutation manifested. If Meis and Gueira were less capable, then he might’ve been less inclined to accept their loyalty; but long nights and longer talks by desert campfires lead to broken walls and mended wounds, and before he knows it, they’re his.
It’s obvious when he thinks about it—two Burnish robbed of their lives just like him, finding normalcy in a world where they’ve been stripped of humanity and reduced to science experiments—of course he would return their labors and love after all they’ve been through. Gueira, playful and headstrong on his left, and Meis, supportive and unwavering on his right—it just makes sense to hold onto their war-warm hands, vibrant like the flames they create. It doesn’t take long for Lio to understand that Meis and Gueira are his home, and in turn he’s theirs.
So it’s a little baffling to Lio that neither of them know they’re each other’s home, too.
It’s easy to see if he just pays attention—the way they’ll hold Lio oh-so dearly between them at night but still have the audacity to whisper too-formal goodnights over his head, Gueira flinching in his sleep like it pains him to have his arms brushing Meis, body heat mixing under the thin blanket, Meis keeping his distance while Gueira tells stories to the Burnish vagrants and holds Lio’s hand all the while—they think Lio is the vertex keeping their little triangle together.
Sometimes he worries about how dense Gueira can be, or Meis’ unreadable emotions, but—
“Shit, be careful Meis!” Gueira flinches, holding the skin just below his frostbitten elbow (courtesy of their best friends on the Freeze Force).
“Aww, poor baby,” Meis coos with exaggerated pity, watching as his flame heals the raw skin there. Gueira misses the way Meis softly smiles to himself, and Meis misses the way Gueira’s face flames at the word ‘baby.’
Lio thinks they’ll figure it out soon enough.
⁂
When they first found the abandoned structure in the desert, Gueira slung his arms around Meis and Lio and shouted, “We’re hooome!” Lio didn’t really think much of the place, but it was shelter, and that’s what mattered.
But now, with a hand-stitched tent of their own and children running around and nightly guard posts and bustling soup kitchens and free reign of their flames—
“And then Meis pulled out a bigger knife!”
“Woooah, that’s so cool! Then what happened?”
“It really wasn’t that big, Gueira.”
“Shut up, yes it was. Anyway, he—”
Now it feels like home.
“Bedtime, you two,” Lio chides, hands coming down to rest enticingly on the backs of their necks. The reactions are instant; Meis leans back instinctively, reveling in the subtle affection, and Gueira opts to wish the kids a hasty goodnight before hopping up and pulling Lio in by his waist. Gueira would be such a good dancer with a little practice, Lio thinks. Especially since Meis used to do music in his spare time…
“Keep that up and I might sleep here,” Meis murmurs, lolling his head forward so Lio’s fingers can grip and squeeze at the base of his neck.
“Ooor we could go back to the tent,” Gueira suggests, absently staring at the place where Lio’s fingers dig out stress. To anyone else, it might seem like he’s just spacing out, but Lio knows. Meis never pulls his hair up, and if Lio has the sudden urge to kiss that vulnerable spot, then he can only imagine the intense longing seizing Gueira’s big heart right now. Meis lets out a disappointed sigh when Lio pulls away, and it seems to snap Gueira out of his reverie for the time being.
It’s a quiet walk back to their tent; Lio’s thumb smooths over the ridge of Gueira’s while he guides them back to their shared quarters, Meis holding onto his shirt much like a child would, soft and vulnerable. Settling into their makeshift pallet of blankets, towels, and any other scrap fabric they could find is like clockwork at this point—Lio’s head tucked under Meis’ chin, Gueira spooning him from behind, internal flames keeping them warm when the blanket just isn't enough.
Meis passes out in minutes, which isn't surprising, especially with Lio's hand rubbing up and down his back to help him under. Gueira on the other hand can't stop shifting, nuzzling into Lio's neck and sighing in frustration. He's worried about something.
"Meis," Lio tries. Out cold. Good. He twists, getting adjusted in Gueira's arms, ear settled just above his heart—loud and intense. “So when are you planning on telling him?” There’s not a lot of time. “When we’re all turned into tomorrow’s flame resistant clothing?” I could lose you at any minute.
“Wouldn’t make much of a difference,” Gueira hushes, pulling Lio in tighter. Lio half-expected an outright denial, but Gueira knows he’s much too sharp. “He’s yours, Boss.”
Ours, Lio thinks, gently swatting his side. It’s not his place to get involved, they have to figure this out themselves, but he still feels like he has to link them together, hand-to-hand.
“Dumbass,” Lio mumbles. It’s a harsh reality that this can’t be home permanently—they’re sitting ducks after two weeks at best—but that doesn’t mean his boys should suffer in the meantime. Stolen glances and unspoken words are an insult to injury at this point, because there’s just no time to pine, no time for slow and sweet, as much as Lio wants to give it to them.
“Huh?” Gueira yawns, sleep already overtaking him.
“Goodnight,” he amends, still frustrated beyond belief. They can’t stay blind forever. He knows there’s no point in worrying, but his thoughts plague his sleep regardless.
⁂
Lio wakes up in the middle of the night to Meis pressed flat against his back, hand on top of Gueira’s where it rests on Lio’s side.
They’ll be okay.
⁂
It’s their little trio’s turn for watch duty, and it’s late enough in the day that any potential attackers would have made their move by now.
“Meis, a word.”
“But I can’t do watch duty all by myself!” Gueira complains, stretching out while Meis and Lio stand.
“I think you’ll be okay for five minutes, Gueira,” Meis teases. “Who’s our strongman again?”
“Miami,” he beams, comically flexing his biceps and striking ridiculous poses. It gets a snort from Lio and a genuine bark of laughter from Meis, and Gueira looks like he’s on top of the world. Meis’ rare smile is like that little bit of sunlight peeking through storm clouds, and it’s telling to see the tension drain from his bones like heavy rain. Gueira, bright-eyed and probably thinking something along the lines of I did that, waves them off with an assured grin, manning his post like he owns the place.
Once they’re out of earshot, Lio sits them down on a dusty support beam and pulls Meis mere inches away.
“Is everything okay?” Meis starts, brushing up against his side. His voice is low and concerned, deadly nightshade with all the warmth of the desert evening.
“Depends. Are you okay with how things are?”
“How things—” Lio threads their hands together, fingers interlaced— “Oh.”
He waits, patiently watching as Meis considers his question. It’s a relief to see how serious Meis is about this, considering how hopeless Gueira seemed. Meis always was just a tad sharper than Gueira, so maybe now they can finally—
“Gueira doesn’t… see me that way, Boss. He’s yours, remember?”
The utter willpower it takes to stop his Promare from flaring up in sheer frustration is astounding, to say the least.
“Are you sure about that?” Lio presses. He’s one step away from just shoving them both off the edge. “You’re mine too, you know.” And it seems to stop whatever denial Meis had ready with a furrow in his thin brows. He already feels like he’s interfering enough with their excruciatingly slow progress, but Lio guesses it comes with the territory of loving two fools who just won’t close the triangle. If Meis gets too caught up in his head thinking about all this, he’s sure Gueira will pull him out with arms wide open.
They walk back to their post in weighted silence only to find Gueira shirtless and inspecting his abdomen with pokes and prods, muttering something about how long it would take to get a “Miami-style six-pack.” Needless to say, Lio can’t stop laughing and Meis tries in vain to hide his cherry cheeks.
“Did you— Did you find any Freeze Force members down th-there?” Lio sputters, slapping him on the back in the midst of his laughing fit. He watches, secretly overjoyed, as Meis confidently saunters up and hip-checks Gueira into the sand before snatching up his shirt and playing keep-away with it. They’re like children, grappling at each other and shouting out half-insults mixed with affectionate taunts, Gueira calling for Lio to step in with petulant cries and Meis grinning with victory after he manages to take off his own shirt and replace it with Gueira’s.
In the end, Gueira takes Meis’ shirt as revenge, and they both stubbornly go to sleep wearing their trophies. Neither holds Lio, instead refusing to face one another under the guise of triumph, but that’s fine. Their tent is only so big, and it’s hard to hide the occasional sniff from either side, Lio feeling them slowly curl into themselves with hands gripping their shirts in mock comfort.
The heat pulsing into either of Lio’s sides is a comfort, just a little more than bodily, and it’s warmer than any number of blankets that line their makeshift pallet. It feels like a syncopated link, or a telepathic connection, or something because he can feel how much they love him, the torches they hold in both hands—
And Lio bolts up with a wretched gasp as something deeper resonates within the heat, tear-inducing and agonizing enough to wrench his heart so harshly, he shudders. Whatever this is, it hungers, more so than the eternal flame he harbors. He grips at Meis and Gueria’s clothes because he suddenly needs to be near them, needs to bring them together, wants them closer.
⁂
They’re out of time.
The kids and soup kitchen volunteers and daily guards and elderly in their community are being frozen and put into trays like ice cubes, and they are out of time.
It happens fast, because that power-crazed bastard that leads the Freeze Force is nothing if not quick and messy. One minute Lio’s flanked by a fleet of fighters, the next Meis and Gueira are sacrificing themselves and flinging him into Fennel Volcano for just the slimmest chance at survival. Lio blacks out, the image of his two most precious people captured for Kray Foresight’s inhumane experiments branded into his heart, and when he comes to, half of Promepolis is in flames fueled by blackened rage.
Lio fights and cries and digs his way to the core where Meis, Gueira, and all his Burnish brethren are spun like fans to fuel the fire—
They haven’t closed their triangle yet, he has to keep going—
Lio goes until the engine breaks, until the spinning and the screaming stops.
⁂
By the time he pulls them from their pods, chest and heart laid bare with grief and relief, the world is still and they finally have time.
So naturally, Lio deems their first course of action to take a heated shower, then the longest nap they have ever afforded themselves the luxury of. Meis nearly weeps when one of the firefighters tells him he can borrow her hairbrush. Gueira screams into his pillow. They’re out in less than five minutes.
Eight and a half hours and one hot breakfast courtesy of Burning Rescue later finds Meis and Gueira forcefully locked in a spare office with the instructions, “Talk.” Lio failed to mention he’d only be gone for an hour to speak with the fire chief about potential job opportunities for the former Mad Burnish members, and just down the hall, but the details aren’t important.
“So—”
“I—” they start in unison once the door slams shut. The tension is strung tight enough to snap at any moment, and the following silence is thick and heavy. It’s no shock why their mutual lover pushed them together like this, but Gueira’s sure nothing will change. Meis is famous for his walls, ones Lio burnt to a crisp with love at first fight, so what makes Lio think Gueira can do anything—
“I thought we were dead once Freeze Force put us in that engine,” Meis offers. Gueira snaps to attention, raptly watching as Meis stares at the floor with an intense determination, cheeks just the slightest bit red. Should he lighten the mood with a joke? Maybe it’d make him more comfortable. He opens his mouth, but—
“And the only thing I could think about was losing you and Lio without telling you…” Meis hesitates, chances a glance at Gueira in all his enraptured glory, catches his gaze and holds—
“... how I felt.” Oh.
“Never took you for the sentimental type,” Gueira softly teases, stepping forward into Meis’ personal space. He’s hesitant to cross a line that suddenly no longer exists, but who needs boundaries when the other third of his heart has just been returned with a passion?
“Never took you for the chickenshit type,” Meis murmurs back, leaning in just enough to turn his invitation into a challenge.
“Would a chickenshit ask you to go out with him to your face?” They’re so close to bridging the last few inches of space, smiles all lips and no teeth—
“I wouldn’t know, he hasn’t asked me yet.”
“Then go out with me.”
By the time Lio returns, they’re stuck together at the mouth and hips and hands, and it’s like coming home.