Work Text:
Being an aspiring novelist is very fun, his young self once said. Let's do it.
So he did. Books displayed by shelves in bookstores, the clear name of 'Ike Eveland' written in the promotional poster. He lives in a one bedroom house, neighbours are nice and friendly, and he spends his everyday life doing what he likes. Singing, playing guitars, writing, reading, or just playing games with his online friends. Life is good.
Writing has always been Ike's favorite activity, to pour out all his ideas and imagination onto a piece of paper with pen and ink. But of course, there are some days that are just not it.
Like, right now.
"Ughh."
With a light clack, the pen that was in his grasp is now on the table, one that has papers spreaded all over it. A loud sigh escapes his lips with random sounds of grumbles following, filling the empty room as the sound of clock ticking accompanies him.
Ike sank into his seat, sighing yet again as he rested his head by the headboard. He closed his eyes, welcoming the comforting darkness. Trying to rack every remaining brain juice he has for inspiration, he ended up spending hours straining his eyes by staring at the blank white sheets of papers under the dim light. He was more than ready to move away from the table and lay down on his plushy bed. He could already feel it calling him indirectly, that it is fine to take a quick rest (and probably wake up by the night— of the next day).
But still, deadline. He would still very much like to see his bank account have some increases in it for the month, thank you very much. And perhaps spend some on M*ku merch.
His chest rose up and down in a pace as Ike felt the air filling his lungs before leaving with a light sigh. The sound of the ticking is lulling him to a comfortable rest, and Ike might fall asleep right there and then. Just before feeling his consciousness leaving to get some rest with his eyes closed, he could hear the faint sound of his front door opening with a click, accompanied by sounds of footsteps.
The footsteps are muffled, but it gradually gets louder and louder signalling that the person is getting closer. Normal people would think it's a burglar, someone breaking into his house. Though for Ike, the sounds of each footsteps is too familiar to be a stranger.
It didn't take long for the said person to enter, the creaking of the door opening pulled Ike back to earth.
"Comfortable?"
A hushed voice spoke out. Quiet, low, alluring. Ike would perhaps be pulled into the land of dreams if he rested on his bed. The voice does wonders, truly.
Ike lets out a hum, not bothering to even look who it is. "Tired." Ike's voice comes out almost silently, the effect of not using his vocal chords for almost the entire day.
"You certainly are." The other voice chuckled lightly, shutting the door with a click. It seems that his tiredness is fully pasted on his face, written in all capital and bolded for better viewing. Ike groaned as he lifted himself up to sit properly by the chair, his neck already aching from the position he was holding. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times to let it adjust to the dim light, and he was greeted by the man standing right beside him.
Black jet hair, red highlights, those gold eyes with a hint of pink. Vox Akuma is his name, and Ike is more than acquaintance with him.
Ike only groaned from hearing Vox 'properly' greeting him with "hey, handsome", which made the man's smile turn into a grin. Though that grins turns into a frown just as quick.
"You should really rest, Ike." Vox sighed. "It's—" He squinted his eyes to look at the clock across the room, struggling to read the clock hands under the minimum light. "almost one, no, two o'clock."
"That is still early, Vox." Ike stretched his arms up, feeling the bones cracking and his stiff joints popping. He lets out a high pitch squeal-like sound before sighing from the feeling of ease while Vox certainly looked the opposite, grimacing at how loud those popping was.
"Yes, it's still early. Early morning, that is." He could hear Vox sighing when he was turning by the waist to loosen his tense back. The sky had certainly turned dark with almost no light shining from the thin curtain by the windows, huh, since when?
Vox clicked his tongue as his golden eyes stared at Ike with a judging look, the man shaking his head. He moved away and placed a flask bottle by Ike's table, before pressing the lid open. Ike could smell the scent of tea wafting as Vox poured it into his empty mug. He handed the mug over Ike, who accepted it with a 'thank you'.
The novelist took a sip of it, feeling the warm liquid going down his throat and Ike just realised how thirsty he felt. He gulped the tea down and finished it in mere seconds. Vox seems to notice it by how he's smiling, chuckling from it. Ike received another serving of tea, which this time he sips it to enjoy more of the taste and slow himself down. The tea felt like he was cocooned in a warm blanket, and Ike let out a sigh in relief.
"You look like shit." Vox spoke, placing the empty flask bottle by the table once again. "No offense, by the way. Because you always slay, but not now." He added.
"I haven't showered. Wouldn't bother either." Ike shrugged. As if anyone visits him anyway. "And speaking of which…" Ike turned his head to look toward Vox.
Black hair tied to a messy low bun, his bangs still covering the man's right eye ("It's fashion, Ichael."). A simple dark red sweater that drapes over his shoulder, paired with worn out jersey pants. He does like how comfortable Vox looks, too comfortable, in fact. With the fact that Vox certainly does not live in his house.
"Why are you here?" Ike raised an eyebrow.
"Just checking how you are doing." Vox shrugged, stating it lazily as if it is the most obvious thing. "Making sure you're still alive, Mr. Novelist."
"Oh, shut it." Ike only shook his head, scoffing as he shaked his head slightly. He placed down his now empty mug beside the flask bottle. "Because you didn't see the lights in my room are turned off, which means you didn't go to sleep either, Vox." His thumb gestured at the clock pointing to two past sixteen in the morning. "In the early morning."
"Heh, touchè."
Ike did not retaliate, Vox did not either. Ike decides to clean the mess by his table, taking all the papers to put it in a neat pile. Vox made himself home (as if he wasn't in the first place) sitting by Ike's bed with a creak from the bed frame. They fell into a comfortable silence, letting the ticking of the clock fill in with the sound of clothes shuffling and the wooden floor creaking with every step.
Vox was a unique person, Ike would say. Their meeting was nothing but coincidence.
Ike still remembers it. A plane ride back home after a short trip to meet his close online friends, Vox was the one who sat beside him.
He remembers being awestruck from Vox's voice when the man said 'is the seat beside you occupied?'. It was rumbling against his eardrums yet so smooth, so easy to hear despite the busy crowds. And wow, how fine did Vox look as well. Turtleneck, coat, and the gentlemanly smile? Ike felt a little too underdressed, wearing his comfy jersey pants with shirt and hoodie, or maybe it was Vox who's overdressed.
They were a few hours into the flight when Ike realized he ran out of water. Vox offered him his new untouched water bottle, which is probably nothing much, with the fact that Vox could just get a new one by asking the flight attendant. Luckily Ike managed to return the favor, when he received chicken for dinner and Vox received fish. Vox asked for chicken yet there were none left, but Ike quickly intercepted by offering to switch. They did the switch with a shy nod and thankful smile before finally enjoying dinner in the air with a comfortable silence.
Ike thought he wouldn't meet the fine gentleman anymore, he did give a polite nod as his eyes met with Vox during the luggage taking, with the man himself giving a small wave with a smile. He catched a taxi back home, staring mindlessly at the familiar scenery and more than ready to sleep on his bed after sitting by the cramped airplane seat for half a day. He did just that, taking a quick shower and immediately crashing in for the night. He unpacked by the next morning, doing all his house chores and finished everything that he wanted to settle.
The weather was nice, so he decided to just chill outside, maybe continue reading the book he's currently on. He stepped out to the porch and sat by the lone chair he placed there, opening the book by his hand as he got comfortable. Just a nice way to relax and do absolutely nothing after a long hard work.
A story of a god of time, witnessing each death of his dear friends as he goes through their life journey. Ike hasn't reached halfway through it, but every chapter always makes his heart twist. Lovely to be reading it outside in the fine weather.
"Oh! Why hello there."
The familiar voice snapped him out from his reading zone as Ike whipped his head toward the source of sound. It was not far from him, in fact, it was really close. Like, right by next door.
Rumors had said someone new will be coming in soon, with sightings of trucks carrying cardboard boxes dropping by. Just a coincidence that it is the house next door that is going to be occupied. Turns out, the handsome man, Vox, was his new neighbor. They properly introduced themselves over a cup of coffee and more casual clothing, making small awkward talks.
Ike felt Vox is very… different. In a good way, a weird but good way. Vox felt so familiar, like a key that just clicked right . Which is weird, considering that he never met Vox. But it didn't take long for them to bond, hanging out together for lunch or Ike offering for a little sight seeing around the town, to Vox cooking dinner for Ike and personally delivering it to his doorfront.
If there is a knock by his window in his bedroom, Ike would open his windows just to see Vox. His room is directly across Vox's own room, and the man certainly took advantage of it. Vox would knock on his window, a plate of Beef Wellington in his hand, and just handed it over to Ike through the window. Other times it would be Vox asking if Ike has any electrical appliances that he does not own, and sometimes it would be Ike who asked Vox how long he should leave the lasagna in the oven.
Ike always leaves the window slightly open to get some fresh air in, but now he would always have it open during the day, the one window facing to his neighbor's window.
"Hey, Ike! I got some beer and pizza, want to watch something with me?"
"In a bit! Give me five minutes, I'll be there in jiffy."
Are they friends now? Perhaps, maybe. Ike couldn't really describe how their relationship is. He gave Vox a duplicate of his house key (after Vox finding him unconscious because his front door was luckily unlocked), Vox often coming by and vice versa. Don't even need to ask by the phone. Just open the window and shout "Hey, Vox!". Close friends, best friends, homies, the bro and bro?
"Aww, don't be shy Ichael! Let me kiss your big brain head mwah mu—"
Maybe just friends. Yes.
"So, going to rest up now?" Vox's voice pulled him back to the real world. He blinked, realizing he zoned out with the stack of paper in his hands.
Ike contemplated it, should he? He still has a lot to write, barely halfway through and he needs to finish it this month. And the date is already by the middle of the calendar. But Vox is certainly not helping at all, sitting by the edge of his bed, legs crossed as he gives a toothy grin, invitation for Ike to be comfortable with him and just join him by the bed, come one Ikey — Fuck it.
Does it call 'friends' when you want to intertwine your fingers with your bros, stare into each other's eyes, and kiss the softest looking rosy lips while combing his silky hair?
Because the last time Ike checked, he wanted to do all of that to Vox.
Still want. Still won't do it.
"Yeah." The invitation sounds too tempting, Ike concluded. "Sounds very nice." He placed the stack of paper somewhere on the empty space by his table, abandoning all his progress, because the only thing he needed now was a good rest.
Ike stood up and stepped away from his chair, not even bothering to push the chair in to make it neater. He took off his glasses and folded it neatly to place it by his bedside table. Vox scooted away, giving Ike some space beside him, and Ike immediately lay down to sink into his soft mattress. He definitely feels all of the pain from bad posture. Vox's hand patted his thigh lightly, saying something like 'lie down properly, Mike Eveland'.
Ike grumbled, pulling the closest thing to him beside his head. His pillow— or a very familiar monkey plush. He stared at it, lifting the doll before looking at the man beside him.
"You brought Baba with you?" Vox only shrugged, the bed frame creaking as he shifted on his position. Slender fingers took the doll away from Ike's grip, and Vox hugged the doll to his chest. "Of course! I'm not abandoning Baba."
Normally, one would ask. 'Are you sleeping over tonight?', like a normal person would. But with Vox and Ike, it's a little different. Vox bringing his favorite doll over means that he is definitely sleeping over, the man tracing his finger on the monkey's head. It is already like an unspoken signal between them.
He sat up and patted Vox's thigh while giving a light nudge, "You're taking too much space." Vox gasped, pretending he was offended. The man returned the patting with a light slap on the arse when Ike was trying to reach for his pillow, which made Ike gasped in return, returning the pretend offended skit. Vox only laughs out loud seeing Ike's pout as he sat beside Vox, facing the man. Ike swatted away the hand that tried to pinch his cheek, grumbling under his breath, and— whoa.
Whoa. Since when is Vox sitting so close to him?
The man's face is barely an inch away from him, he could practically see all so clearly even without his glasses. Long eyelashes fluttering, the twinkles in his eyes, maybe he can see stars in it if he stares long enough to find it. How silky Vox's hair looks, the messy strands falling to his face and his bangs covering his eyes. Ike has an urge to just brush it away and tuck it behind Vox's ears, just so he can see Vox's face in full view. The tint of red by his cheeks, and how soft looking those lips are. Oh, god, Ike subconsciously licked his own lips.
Ike Eveland you handsome, pretty, charming, talented, smart, genius, big brained, perfect man! Ike Eveland! Vox would always say that (shouting right by his ears), perhaps also shaking Ike's shoulder while he does that.
But for Ike, Vox is the one who fits all the bills. Charming, talented, goofy, annoying, adorable, lovable. For Ike, Vox's imperfections make him even perfect.
Under the dim light, Vox practically glows.
"So," Vox spoke, each breath tickling his face, his buttery smooth voice tingling his brain in a good way. He smiled, "Sleep?"
"Yeah." Ike gulped. His throat suddenly feels dry. He could hear his heartbeat ringing by his ears, and his eyes never looked away. "Sleep." He repeated.
Vox's fingertip lightly brushed against his finger, and he moved his hand to let his fingers be on top of Vox's, tangling it together. "Sleep." He chuckled, gentle, beautiful. "Good night, Ike."
Maybe it's not 'friends'. Ike wanted something more than that. And he knows, Vox wanted it as well. To be something more than friends. Something more lovelier. Something more familiar for the two of them.
Because bros and bros wouldn't be sitting like this, hand on top of each other, and face inches close. Right? Right. Yes.
And he's very much fine with that.
"Good night, Vox." Ike whispered, and leaned in.