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He knew it'd be easier to just turn on the heat.
He knew that it was the middle of the night, and that looking at the weather report wouldn't change it, and that he should just turn on the lights instead of relying on the shitty tv to light up the room with a haunting blue. Tide was standing in the kitchen, tapping his foot and chewing on his tongue. He took a deep, rattling breath as he whipped around to rifle through the cupboards for a familiar box to make a familiar food, letting out a sigh as he heard the channel change. Tide gingerly closed the cupboard and placed the beef stroganoff on the counter, not even bothering to turn around and acknowledge the other person in the room. The man cleared his throat.
" Don't usually see you up at this time of night. " Mark leaned on the wall, crossing his arms as wind howled and snow slammed against the walls of the house.
Tide gripped the counter, grimace dropping into a more worried expression. Mark sighed, walking closer to the man in the kitchen and grabbing the box before Tide could protest.
" My fridge doesn't have any more space for stress stroganoff, Tide. " He stated, moving the box to a higher shelf before sympathetically adding " You know they're fine. "
Tide looked at the countertop like it was looking back. " What if they aren't, Mark? " The name felt foreign in his throat, but it still clawed its way out. He looked at the man next to him. " What if they need me, or are stuck in- " he gestured wildly to the snowflakes pummeling down outside. " That ? Or - " Tide brought his hands into himself before letting them fall limp to his sides. He refused to look at Wavelength.
" They're stupid, " Mark started. " but they're stupid tough, too. Reckless little shits- " He continued, like he just wanted it done. " They take after you. " He gestured to Tide, who finally caved and faced him. Mark turned around, opening a cupboard and pulling out a small, metal container. He flicked through worn paper cards, little tabs with different letters speeding up the process. The man pulled out a particularly battered card, placing it on the counter as he gently closed the metal box, pushing it to the side.
" Make something that won't take up the rest of my kitchen. " Mark handed Tide a simple recipe for chocolate chip cookies.
Tide stared at the card, running a thumb along the corners. He looked back to Wavelength, watching him rifle through drawers for bowls and measuring cups in a ( clearly ) rusty but familiar pattern. Tide tilted his head. " You bake? " He questioned, smile tugging at his features. Mark paused, turning to Tide briefly.
" Used to. Before .. This, " He brought a hand to his lizard eye, tenderly feeling around the rest of what he wanted to say. " Ashe loved it. " He chuckled, opening the pantry door.
" What does it say we need? " Mark moved on from the subject, pulling out various ingredients. Mark didn't really need Tide to read the card, he realized, but it was an invitation. Tide accepted it.
It was quiet, with wind whistling and the air cold, white snow relentless as it went from whispers in the air to acting like a wall. The kitchen was illuminated by the stove clock, a flashlight pointed at the ceiling, and the tv, just barely contributing. They could just hit the light switch, but it was too quiet for that. It was far too tender to look at with the naked eye, Tide standing close to Mark, listening to old stories and the next instruction. It was too delicate to risk looking at with a magnifying glass, the steady rhythm of the wooden spoon against the bowl and the two heartbeats bouncing off each other, hushed laughs making a song with the rattling walls. A distraction only works when you're immersed in it, and by doing something as simple as turning up the tv volume or turning on the kitchen lights is accepting that you are comfortable enough to look this over with a fine tooth comb. That you are going to see this for what it is, and you are going to hold your want up to the light and not flinch when it is witnessed by someone other than yourself.
Tide was not ready to accept that he was enjoying making cookies with Wavelength. He was not ready to accept that he liked the person behind Wavelength, and that he liked hearing about his life and helping him make cookies. He found that even though he didn't want to, he had known a long time ago that this was something he had hoped for. Maybe the cold was getting to him, and that's why he was leaning into Mark. Maybe the buzzing of the tv was getting to him, and that's why he flicked some flour at Mark. Maybe he couldn't think of an excuse for feeling so terribly warm. For the bubbly feeling running through him, for the smile loosely hanging on his face, for his face getting oh so terribly warm when he saw Mark smiling back.
When they had the dough ready, Mark was speckled with flour and Tide had some egg on his face. They both had little bits of dough stuck to their faces, and they were both finally tired. The wind was still wailing, and they were getting cold again. Mark put the cookies on a sheet and into the oven, while Tide pulled them out and onto a cooling rack. Mark mindlessly sat on the couch, kicking his feet up and spreading his arms across the top of the couch behind him. Tide sluggishly made his way over, plopping onto the cushions next to him without bothering to take off his pink apron. Mark leaned back as Tide's head fell on his shoulder, arm falling onto the latter and pulling him closer. Both wordlessly agreed it was for warmth, and absolutely nothing else. The pair watched some mindless reality show, eyes getting heavier and breathing getting deeper. They fell asleep quickly, smell of baked goods and very little sleep finally hitting.
The snow slowed while the pair slept, wind calming down. Early morning light was washed out by gray clouds, birds chirping faintly. Tide woke up first, eyes widening the more aware he became. He was like a deer in headlights, though the only witness was his heart beating faster than the silence of the moment allowed. It was too tender of a scene, sickly sweet, gently shrouded in faint light, and that terrible warmth. Fondness, he realized. Peace. Being happy. Being a hero means a lot of bringing those to other people, and less feeling it the way they get to. Being a hero means you are entirely against villains, in every form they have, and that they break down the blocks you build up. It means that looking at someone who you made cookies with for kids like it was normal all because you didn't turn on the heat was completely alien.
Tide looked at Wavelength. He looked hard.
Tide looked at every crease and wrinkle he could make out, trying to commit them to memory. He looked at the human side, with brown and gray scruff, grazing over every little scar he could make out. He tried to look at the other side with green scales, to see how they reflected the somber early morning light. Tide lifted his head and looked around the room. There were pictures of Ashe, mostly, though some of the whole family remained scattered around. He grazed over various clutter, skipping over garbage and dog toys. He brought his eyes back to the couch, looking at his own hands. Tide looked at the pink apron he was wearing. He brought a shaky hand to his hair and raked through tangled curls with his fingers. Tide brought his eyes back to Wavelength.
His heart skipped a beat, and Tide remembered that he was not a hero anymore. He felt his eyes sting. It was too bright outside to look at his feelings anymore. He was not ready to hold his heart out to himself, and he knew he would flinch when he spelt out what this feeling was. Tide put his head back on Mark's shoulder, and laced their hands together and squeezed. He let his eyes slip shut before anything slipped out, though they opened again when he got a squeeze back.
" Mornin'. " Mark grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
" Good morning. " Tide replied, cuddling back into Mark's side.
Neither of them moved just yet. They couldn't break the moment. The light would wash into all the cracks of the fantasy of living a domestic life, and inevitably break apart the fantasy of normalcy. Though they knew they couldn't have normal already, maybe the shattering of the wish for it would hatch an acceptance for whatever they had going.
Mark played with one of Tide's curls.
They both got up eventually. They didn't know how long it'd been, but they knew what the other had been thinking about, and they knew neither were gonna mention it. The couple put the cookies into a jar, putting a couple on a plate for themselves. Mark boiled the kettle, wordlessly making two cups of coffee. Tide sat his head on his hands and patiently watched.
Mark lifted up his mug in one hand and a cookie in the other. He stretched the mug out to Tide. " Cheers. " He said flatly, taking a bite out of his cookie.
" Cheers. " Tide nodded, taking a sip from his own mug. He tentatively selected a cookie and gingerly took a bite. He blinked a few times with big eyes, taking a second bite. A smile broke out onto his face.
" These don't suck! "
Mark barked out a laugh.