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Hardly anything can wake Flash Sentry up. That’s always been a shtick of his in high school and even now that he’s twenty-three – the only thing getting in the way is the fact he’s 3S’ leader. He can probably sleep in until two PM if he’s allowed to until he eventually has to get up because his body has had enough.
So when he awakes not to morning light showering into the bedroom but to the unfamiliar moonlight instead, Flash almost closes his droopy eyes. But his eyebrows lose their heaviness and convince him to blink his consciousness awake. Everything’s still stiff from being asleep. He scrunches his face, letting out a whisper of an exhausted groan as he shifts. His head’s heavy against the pillow and he rolls it gently side to side on the pillow to get it out of its groggy state.
Timber rests peacefully next to him. They’re a distance away from each other on the bed to Flash’s surprise as the last time he remembered, they had slept in each other’s arms while waiting for Soarin to appear. But it doesn’t stop Flash’s face from relaxing into what he assumes and hopes is a tender look at Timber’s undisturbed figure.
Just when he’s about to reach out and run a hand through Timber’s curly hair, the too cold breeze of the night freezes him. He shivers, taking a glance at the bedroom door to spot Soarin barely moving in the dark. He’s next to the door, must’ve only arrived seconds ago and sensed Flash waking up.
“Soar?”
Soarin curses, whisper-thin but sharp. His back’s to Flash and the moonlight can only pass through the curtains by so much, yet he can already catch onto the telltale signs of Soarin’s fatigue.
“Sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to wake you up.” Soarin turns his body by a fraction in Flash’s direction but it appears more like an escape route into the bathroom once this conversation was over.
“Where’d you go?” he whispers.
“I…” Soarin flexes his fingers. “Wanted a midnight snack?”
Flash would laugh at his horrible attempt at a joke because Soarin’s still in a hoodie and cargo pants from earlier today. The atmosphere dims the spark that would’ve triggered that response.
“It’s really late, though?”
“I’m always hungry, you know that.”
Soarin knows that reply isn’t good enough.
Flash jumps to the point. “Where were you?” His voice is quiet, setting aside any anger seeping through against his will. “Our schedule tomorrow requires a decent amount of sleep, Soar, I told you this.”
He’s not mad and he really doesn’t mean to scold Soarin at all, especially when one, Soarin knows this already and two, he’s clearly not in the mood for it. He’s not confident his actions display his understanding.
Soarin sighs. Flash can almost see the vein-like glow of discomfort and regret piercing through Soarin’s body.
“I’ll make up for it in the car.”
Soarin’s just about dragging his feet to the desk, dropping his bag on there before turning to the bathroom door. Flash’s up and out of bed, gritting his teeth at the heat escaping his body. More open-eyed now, he treads the carpet of their dorm floor, right by Soarin’s tail when he enters the bathroom.
At least not all of Soarin disappeared with his energy as he pouts and whines at Flash in the doorway. “Need to pee.”
“Of course you do, I’m not letting you wet the bed.”
Flash doesn’t hold back a smile when Soarin sticks his tongue at him. He swings his body out to let Soarin close the door and leans against the wall protruding from it.
A quick sweep with his gaze allows him to adjust to the state of their room; Timber stays close to the middle of the bed and Flash chuckles to himself at how he could’ve possibly forgotten that was gonna happen. Another hour without Soarin on Flash’s left and Timber might’ve pushed him off the bed. It’s happened twice before.
Processing their youngest’s relaxed state throws Flash back to the other’s agitation. Differences strong and stark as the edges of tonight’s moon. He must’ve been in the dance studio, right? There’s no other place Flash can think of that Soarin would’ve come from in such a mood. Not to say Soarin doesn’t love dancing, barely anything to him was worth choosing over dance, but it’s clear as a cloudless sky when some aspects of it get to him.
The shimmering ends of the toilet flush make their escape through the gaps of the door. Flash gently knocks and he pushes the handle once a click sounds through the room. Flash’s eyes flinch at the bright white ray spotlighting across what space it can.
Soarin’s brushing his teeth a little more aggressively than usual – though to the naked eye of someone who doesn’t know him it’s well disguised – and Flash recognises too quickly how Soarin jerks his shoulders. Why is he stretching like that if he had tried to dance his depression away at practice? This is much more familiar to the stretches Flash does when he’s coming back from his studio—
Oh.
Flash straightens his back against the wall. Soarin spits and rinses his mouth within half a minute before wandering out, blinking slowly at Flash like he’s about to knock out.
“Were you at Bolts’ Cave?” he asks immediately.
That wakes Soarin up for a moment.
“Uh, yeah,” he answers, voice hoarse. Soarin takes a look at Timber before stripping off his clothes on his way to their shared closet.
“How come?”
Soarin hadn’t mentioned anything regarding song making. Flash and Timber are always the first to know from Soarin if he’s gonna take part in making a song officially. And even in their spare time, Soarin would bring it up either as a complaint – “the lyrics aren’t working with the melody, grrr,” – or as a question – “this part doesn’t sound right to me, can you look over it?” – so if he was in Bolts’ Cave, why is Flash only finding out about this now? Unless Soarin was just starting to make a song but that still doesn’t explain why he was out for so long.
From, Flash racks his brain for the last bit on the schedule for the day, seven PM. To, Flash can only guess, two AM. Seven hours.
It’s startling. Startling because Flash is always the one staying out late in his studio, ears geared to turn off as soon as he enters the dorm at two AM and runs into a cross Soarin. Not the other way around. Startling, the thought of Soarin picking up on Flash’s unhealthy habits of staying out past their schedule to do more work. The words rising in his throat taste counterfeit and every swallow he takes is an attempt to push them back down.
“Was,” Soarin starts and pauses, “was trying something.”
He doesn’t need to say more for Flash to understand what he means. Flash stands by the bed, letting the shadows cover Soarin’s body as he changes. He would make a smart comment about getting changed in front of each other as they’re far too close for it to be awkward but instead, he replaces that with a small, tired but endeared quirk of his lips. That Soarin doesn’t see.
The white t-shirt he’s opted for definitely does not belong to him, its hem dangling over his hip. It’s either shorts or boxers Soarin’s wearing but the lack of light lets the details hide. Now that he’s presenting a more boyish appearance, a wave of need runs over Flash, a requirement of I have to take care of you. He softens his gaze a little. Not too much so it doesn’t overwhelm Soarin.
Flash sighs and hopes that translates his exhaustion and not any frustration he may have. “Come here.” The pet name baby is at the tip of his tongue.
Guilt paints Soarin’s face just as the moonlight does when he pads over to Flash. It’s wave after wave, consuming Flash and if there was any irritation stored in his system, it’s been washed off, filled up with warmth he has to pass onto Soarin.
Flash reaches out for him once he’s close enough, a caress of a touch on the boy’s wrist. Soarin’s hardly a boy anymore with the broad shoulders and half an inch on Flash yet he’s still the same person Flash’s known since they were boys and the urge to pull him into his arms is so thick Flash’s long given up on trying to internalise it.
Their hands are connected through the cup of their fingertips as Flash leads him to his side of the bed. Soarin doesn’t giggle like he normally would at Flash’s attempt to push Timber further across the bed, standing behind him like a scolded child instead. Flash controls himself just a little longer while he teases a sleep-heavy Timber to move back.
Timber groans like he’s rolling his eyes, though its thick resonance goes hand in hand with how sleepy he is. Thankfully he falls right back asleep. Flash slips into the bed and tugs Soarin down with him once he’s comfortable. He senses a little resistance but it’s gone in a second and Soarin crawls into Flash’s arms.
“I’m too big for this,” Soarin mutters.
Flash’s laugh is akin to a breath. “I’m not that much smaller than you, silly.” He gently wacks him in the shoulder.
Rubbing Soarin’s back does manage to soothe the tension in his movements, allowing him to melt properly into Flash’s body. He reaches over Soarin and grabs the comforter, throwing it over as far as it can go with them sitting up.
“Is this a new thing?” Flash asks. His body’s warm and fluttery at feeling Soarin breathe against him, the movement tranquil and delicate. Flash presses his cheek onto Soarin’s head, allowing him to look away so he can speak easier.
Tucked under Flash’s jaw, Soarin shakes his head. A burst of a petal-like feeling fills the arteries coming out of his heart. His hair tickles his neck and all it does is add to the inside swell of his chest.
Soarin squirms a little under him. Flash relaxes his arms.
With no clue how much time passes, Flash lets his body sway side to side, a movement not too disruptive that it would wake up Timber but enough that Soarin can ease himself in the comfort of their dorm.
“I…”
Flash tries to keep his own body from stiffening up at the sound of Soarin’s mumble.
“I asked the producers a while back if I could work on a song on my own for the album after the next two.” Their dorm’s so silent the sound of Soarin’s tongue running across his bottom lip is as clear as a bird’s chirp. “They were hesitant and did ask if I was sure. They said I could get you, Timber or them to help me out.” Soarin cuts himself off.
Flash presses his lips together and at first waits for him to continue, only to quickly remember this is something Soarin does to stop rambling. In all their years of knowing each other, Flash knows it’s nothing of his fault that Soarin thought he needed to talk less and close up, nothing Flash has ever done to make him feel this way. Nonetheless, that doesn’t stop Flash’s heart from breaking, souring at whoever made Soarin believe he has to do that.
A nuzzle of his lower cheek against his forehead urges him on. Go on stays behind his mouth but the implication is there.
“And— y’know, normally, I would be fine with that because it’s whatever. But I—” Soarin trips over his breath. Flash, for now, settles the desire to hug him tight. “I wanted to do something on my own for once. You two are amazing and so are Clouds, but… but y’know.”
Soarin’s eyelashes flitter against Flash’s t-shirt. The corner of a frown rests against his body.
“That’s why I,” he swallows, “I didn’t tell you guys. I knew you would offer your help and I knew it wouldn’t be because you thought I needed it, I just… well, I also knew that I wouldn’t be able— to refuse you once you offered your help.”
Flash tries not to let his face drop. Because whether he likes it or not, Soarin’s right. And perhaps, there is that underlying sentiment that both of them, especially Flash, have developed an impulse to react on. Soarin wants to make a song? Better make sure he knows he can come to us for help whenever he needs it. That’s always been Flash’s thought process and he’s never really seen it like that. But how Soarin sees it isn’t implausible, in fact, it’s very plausible and an uncomfortable feeling tugs at his chest knowing that.
He writes down Soarin’s waist and onto his hip with his palm. Thank God for the day he discovered the effect that type of comforting touch had on Soarin.
“Like, I debate over it every time I’m in my studio at least once when nothing seems to be working. ‘Should I just ask Flash or Timber to help me? I can’t go to Clouds because I basically promised them something good without their help.’ Maybe not something good but something decent or something that’ll convince them to let me have another go if this one doesn’t go as well as I want it to.”
He lets out a wry laugh and sighs shortly after. Soarin presses his head into Flash, bringing his shoulders up in a way to make himself smaller. A wonder hovers in his thoughts, trending over a specific memory. ( Are you still scared I’ll leave you one day? )
“I just… I knew myself too well so I just—”
Flash runs a tender hand through Soarin’s pushed back hair. “I know, baby.”
Soarin curls his arms properly around Flash with a shaky sigh. Must’ve been because of the pet name. He controls the temptation to snuggle him. My baby. Flash rubs his thumb across Soarin’s cheekbone, other fingers holding the side of his face.
“Is that everything?”
Soarin consumes a deep breath. Releases it in a form that has sleep tugging at all edges. “The song’s not working at the moment. ‘M so tempted to just scrap the whole thing and start over but even that feels terrifying. Like giving up. And I don’t want to spend so long on this song. That’ll just prove I’m not ready for this yet.”
Flash nods, not because he agrees but because the fear is familiar to him. It’s pinned him down too many times to count on both hands, wracked his head to the point it threw him into tears just thinking about whatever he’s working on, torn him apart in his studio when he's alone so the only person that can piece him back together is himself.
“That’s why I… stayed out late. Wanted to get more done so it wouldn’t take forever.”
He hums in acknowledgement.
“And you got stuck?” Flash relaxes in the warmth of Soarin’s body against his.
“Mhm.” The sound’s so gentle, rid of the natural rasp Soarin’s voice carries, soft like rose petals. “Is this a common thing when it comes to stuff like this?”
“Stuff like songwriting? Oh, yeah, a hundred percent. There are many different factors you could get stuck on and a thousand different ways of solving it but only a few will actually be solutions that’ll suit the song you have in your head.”
Flash chews on his lip for a moment to cease his own rambling. The longer they drag this out for, no matter how much Flash actually wants that, they’re still his responsibility and they need their sleep.
“Is it…” he starts slowly, “is it easier talking to me knowing I’ve been in your position?” Flash settles on saying. His voice may be too quiet yet he hopes his words are indelible.
Soarin pauses and then nods, snuggling closer. They’re almost laying down now, dropping under the warmth of the blanket.
“I feel really hypocritical right now because I keep telling you to come back to the dorms, I say shit like why are you always in the studio, you never come home when I’ve— started doing the same thing.”
Flash’s chest rises too high and too fast he’s afraid Soarin might think there’s something wrong. The fear’s swept away with the blue moonlight as he pats Soarin’s head in delicate motions, revelling in the near-silent cute noises of approval Soarin makes.
Words bounce around and hit the roof of his mouth when they don’t wanna come out. Hesitance sobers him up. But this is Soarin, someone he’s willing to spend his entire life with. And tonight’s too peaceful to become a battlefield, post nine PM results in more tears than anger. Deep breaths fill the room.
“A part of me was hoping your interest in songwriting would help you understand my perspective of those arguments. I had a feeling every time we fight over this that you wouldn’t truly get it until you properly put yourself in my place.” Flash tries to gulp in silence, unsure if his efforts pulled off.
Their arguments grew tiring after a while. Flash, admittedly with much shame painting his back, wanted to push Soarin in his place and force him to see what it was like being a leader, an example, a writer . There’s nothing more Flash wants than to spend time with those he loves but the time at the moment isn’t enough and the only way they will be able to get that time is if they make it further than they already have.
And that… involves some sacrifices. Flash’s made it a bucket list goal to make up for all the time he’s spent churning away in his studio. Soarin’s a live-in-the-moment kind of escapade, make memories as he goes along and Flash loves that and wants it too, it’s just. Difficult.
“That’s probably why Timber doesn’t intervene as much. He gets it. He’s always on your side,” Soarin says.
Flash’s too slow to hide the way he flinches at that. Soarin clearly felt it too.
“Where’d you get that idea from?”
Soarin looks up at Flash, quizzed.
“Soar, you should see the way he looks. Pouting, slouching his shoulders like a big baby. Makes me wanna throw songwriting out the window while I pepper his face with affection and apologies.”
Soarin’s quiet for a few seconds before his chest erupts with whispered laughter.
“That definitely sounds like him, all right.” He shakes his head, presumably out of some trance and says, “well, now I do understand. It’s… so frustrating, isn’t it? Knowing exactly what you’re doing but unable to bring yourself to stop or to find a healthier method for it?”
Flash nods. “It’s strange how easy and appealing unhealthy methods seem. Probably some psychology behind it.”
His body compels him to sit up for the next words he wants to utter so he does, taps Soarin and basically pulls him up so he’s half sitting on Flash’s lap, posture better.
“I don’t want you to think I’m mad – I’m really not,” he says, offering a small smile. “I… also understand why you care so much when I’m like this too, a lot more now actually. I’m your leader and the oldest, I shouldn’t be leaving you guys stressed like that.”
Soarin bites on his bottom lip, head a little tilted down, looking up at Flash through his eyelashes as if he’s being told off and Flash wants nothing more than to cradle his head against his chest, kiss his forehead and tell him everything will be okay.
But he keeps his hands to himself. “This isn’t about me, I know that. Just wanted you to know that I don’t and have never disregarded your perspective on this. Hm?”
Soarin looks at Flash properly, biting the inside of his cheek. A sigh filters out through his nose and it’s calm, diffident.
“Flash, how many…”
Flash fixes his posture at the slight change in topic. It’s a little punch in the chest of a response but he would’ve only focused on that if he didn’t know better.
“How many of the songs you’ve made by yourself, without Clouds’ help, have been placed into our albums?”
Flash’s lips bloom into a knowing smile and he’s fully aware of how fond it probably looks. His heart flutters with a chuckle.
“Well. Whoo, um. A… decent amount. But a lot of them… don’t— haven’t. Y’know all the ones I’ve told you two about, right? The majority of those don’t pass. That’s why I don’t end up talking about them after the first, I don’t know, four times? Clouds offer their help but I really want more of our own songs in our albums too. You see how much our fans loved the songs we produced ourselves.”
Soarin nods, a tired, slightly dismal smirk on his lips. “Of course you get it.”
“No shit, idiot.” Flash flicks Soarin on the forehead. The sound Soarin makes isn’t as loud or high-pitched like it would have been during a live stream – a tiny whine rather. “Unfortunately, I only know so much as to how you’re feeling and not anything beyond that.”
The top of Flash’s larynx has a breath layer of over-usage coating it. He opens his mouth and the perfect words aren’t quite within his reach so he opts for alternate ones while he tries to grab the accurate ones, speaking slowly.
“All I can really say is try to keep your hours reasonable. Teach yourself how to pull away from something you really wanna work on when it’s starting to not be healthy for you and take care of yourself. Judging by the fact you’re here now means you’re getting the hang of pulling away.” Flash licks his lips. “You’re a grown man and I don’t wanna baby you anymore but—”
His sentence is cut off with an oof he involuntarily lets out, back almost thrown against the cushioned headrest as Soarin leaps and hugs him like they’re meeting face to face for the first time in years. Soarin’s face nuzzles into the crook of Flash’s shoulder and the feeling isn’t overwhelming the same way it’s wondrous, loosening the twist in his chest. Been years and yet barely anything’s changed. Flash’s arms tempt him into almost crushing Soarin in a hug he knows he needs but he won’t ask for. He holds it off, for now, content with holding Soarin by his middle.
“Thank you,” Soarin says, his voice’s still a silver lining even in a whisper. “I love you.”
Flash can’t help but beam, despite the sting that reaches the space between his eyes. They pull away while the returning words try to push themselves out of his mouth; Flash cups Soarin’s jaw with both hands, bringing his forehead to his lips and pressing a languid kiss to it. He catches the little jolt in Soarin’s shoulders when he does so.
“I love you too.”
The next exchange is tranquil as they slide under the covers. Soarin makes the final decision before Flash can even move that their leader is getting sandwiched between them and exhaustion kicks in at the worst time to fight so he just lets it happen, lets Soarin spoon him while he tugs at a knocked out Timber’s t-shirt for him to move closer.
Both of them giggle as Timber whines like himself and tucks Flash under his neck, pillowed near his heartbeat. Like he’s made for this. Soarin’s hair just so tickles his skin but it’s not that bothersome. Flash’s about to give in to sleep when Soarin’s movements are too active to sleep past.
“Do you…” Flash mutters, turning his head in Soarin’s direction as much as it can go. He grins at the way Soarin tilts his head, his regular self a rising sun after a storm. Flash yawns. “Are you able to sing what you have? I wanna hear it. Promise I won’t comment on it. Hell, most likely I won’t even be fully focused, your pretty voice’ll put me right to sleep.”
Did Soarin just wack him in the arm? He can’t tell. But he does hear a “shush,” and he smiles as he lets his eyes close, finding sleep in an instance.
Flash also thinks he hears a momentary, “okie,” too. It’s so faint it might as well have been the breeze.
Remnants are here and there. Most of it’s enveloped by the bodies around him but the melody reminds him of letters with heart stickers people lick to keep them closed, of the careful unwrapping of presents, of the three AM sky glittering down over the folds of the comforter and the bundle that is the three of them. Lovely and soothing, helping him drift off.
And yeah, Flash gets the stress now. Waking up dreary and then registering the night before, anxious and jittery, painfully wondering if the member, Flash in their case, had even turned up at all or if he just fell asleep on the couch in the living room again.
But the relief settles in. Timber’s curled in at Flash’s front, having liquefied into the shape of Flash’s unmoving body overnight and clinging onto him just as Flash was.
And Soarin remains pressed against his back, breathing even and sound, disturbance far, far away from them.