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There is no softness in war. Fragility and vulnerability were weaknesses. Not only for you but your teammates. Being friendly and outgoing with the enemy would only result in a knife in your back. Those who looked up to you and respected you, would not hesitate to doubt your command if they saw even a hint of mercy in your eyes. Bloodshed was the only display of love Fit knew. Having someone at your side, slashing at enemies was equivalent to friendly banter. There was no time for sincerities or pats on the back. The apocalyptic world they lived in was unforgiving and so they had to be too.
There was a moment in which Fit was gravely injured. A moment that to this day, he looks back on with… strange fondness. He writhed on the floor in pain as blood gushed out from the gash across his face. Everything was red and the taste of copper made him gag. Through his blindness and ever-increasing delirium from the loss of blood, a pair of hands cupped his face and whispered for him to stay still. The battleground fell silent for him, as his teammate sat him up and tended to his wound. Fit tried to speak but the teammate shushed him, as he soaked the blood with a towel. They had to be quiet, if the enemy were to find them they wouldn’t think twice before ending them both. It hurt… the pain as his teammate disinfected and stitched up his wound made his eyes water. Yet, all he could think of were his teammates' hands. One held his head in place while the other carefully patched him up. His breathing hitched at one point when his teammate unintentionally caressed his cheek with his thumb as he adjusted his head. He excused it as a hiss of pain but from that point on, he found himself getting messier in battle. Craving for that touch that made his heart ache but at the same time made his stomach sink with guilt.
However, that was years ago, he wasn’t at war anymore. It took a while for him to adjust to this peaceful atmosphere that was quesadilla island but Ramon helped a lot with that. Fit smiled softly as he thought about his beautiful baby boy. The light of his life, made in heaven by God himself. Fit swung his iron axe, splitting the log in front of him in half. He huffed as sweat beaded down his forehead. You could hardly tell he used to be a bloodthirsty anarchist, now all he does is run around the island trying to keep himself busy. I mean, what can he do? They have tried everything to leave and at this point. Fit looked through the window of Ramon's house, he was still sleeping soundly in his bed.
‘That lazy little egg…’ he muttered to himself, a sense of amusement in his voice.
At this point, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave. Not without Ramon, that is. Fit picked up the chopped wood and placed it on the pile. The sun made his bald head steam and the armor he always carried around wasn’t helping. So he set his axe aside and started taking off his shoulder spaulder. He sat down on the trunk of a cut-down tree and pulled his shirt over his head, his mechanical arm made it quite difficult to get it over. As he struggled to free himself from his suffocating humid prison, he was too distracted to notice a familiar friend coming up from behind him.
Pac raised his hand to greet Fit with his usual smile and upbeat tone but nearly choked on his words as Fit finished taking off his shirt. Fit sighed in relief, straightening his back as the cool breeze fluttered across his skin. Pac stared in disbelief, unsure of what to say as his eyes traveled along the scars on Fit's muscular back. There was one that seemed particularly painful. It looked like a mixture of a burn mark with a stab wound? Almost as if someone had hit him with a fireball or some sort of flame arrow. Pac got lost in thought of what type of device could replicate the same injury and potentially how it could be modified to increase the speed of impact therefore reducing the chance of survival… Before Pac could register what he was doing, he had approached closer, his hand hovering over the scarred tissue. ‘I wonder if there is an exit wound’ he thought to himself before grazing his fingers along Fit’s lower back.
Fit’s back arched at the touch and he yelped. He quickly grabbed his axe and pointed it at the threat behind him.
“FIT IT’S ME! CALMA! CALMA!” Pac looked down in horror at the axe pointed at his throat and gulped.
Fit’s face softened and he lowered his axe, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion then a slow realization. The tips of his ears reddened and he looked away from Pac, a nervous smile tugging at his lips.
“Pac! Oi uh… sorry I- You can’t just sneak up behind a guy like that!” Fit’s voice was strained.
Pac took a step back and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, Fit. Your scars are just very interesting.” Pac paused for a second, seemingly realizing how weird that sounds.
“Oh.” Fit followed Pac’s gaze to his lower stomach where a particular nasty scorch scar lay.
“Right.” Fit was trying not to think of Pac’s fingers grazing his back. It was such a strange feeling. Being touched without having to endure pain to earn it.
“Mike is working on a security system for Chume labs, I’m not good with mechanics but I could at least come up with some ideas!” Pac averted his eyes from Fit’s bare chest. A faint blush trickled up his neck as he tried to play it cool.
“I was looking at the scar on your back because it seemed like a really strong weapon hit you. Is it okay if I ask what it was?” Pac smiled at Fit but internally he was screaming at himself for even asking such a question. Of course he would mind! It must have been really traumatic for him and Pac was over here acting like he just asked how the weather was!
Fit lifted his head and blinked at Pac, no one has ever questioned his scars. Everyone knew that Fit came from an apocalyptic world so he assumed that they thought his scars were a touchy subject for him. One of the eggs tried asking about it before their parents quickly scolded them for it.
“Crossbow loaded with fireworks,” Fit smirked as he pointed to the burn scars on his lower stomach and back. “Trade deal that went awry. I don’t know how I got out of there alive.”
To Pac’s surprise, Fit seemed to brighten at the chance to talk about his scars and apocalypse stories. Fit sat down on the trunk again and pointed at each scar with so much excitement it made Pac chuckle.
“And this one-” Fit hesitated before running a finger along the scar across his face. “I made a dumb decision, ran headfirst into 4 enemies with nothing but an axe. I thought I was catching them off guard but one of them had a sword.” The phantom touch of his teammate cupping his face made him shiver. He shook his head and laughed nervously, unsure as to why it still haunted him.
“Wow! Fit you’re so tough! How did it not blind you?” Pac tilted his head, analyzing the scar with great intrigue. “A slash like that could surely cause some damage to the cornea.”
Fit grimaced in confusion at Pac’s medical term. Did he mean eye? Fit rubbed his chin and shrugged.
“I can’t really tell the difference… My eyesight has always been bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if it made it worse.” Fit squinted his eyes a bit, his world has always been blurry. He thought of wearing glasses but in the apocalyptic setting he was in, he would have gone through millions of pairs. Despite that, he found a way to navigate his surroundings.
“Ah really? Maybe Mike can make you some but we would have to figure out your prescription.” Pac leaned closer to Fit, trying to see if his left eye had any damage that could be repaired using Chume technology.
“Is it okay, If I look closer?”
Fit leaned closer to Pac, unsure of what he was trying to find. When Pac placed his hand on Fit’s cheek his eyes widened. His lips parted slightly, air escaping from his lungs. Why does his body feel so … weird?
Pac gazed deeply into Fit’s eyes, his eyebrows furrowed into a concentrated expression. Fit’s limbs grew numb and his breathing shallow at pac’s gentle touch. He felt so weak. It scared him yet he was frozen in place. He wanted to push Pac and run away from this dizzying sensation.
“Fit your eyes…” Pac whispered, earning a shiver from Fit.
“Yes, Pac?” Fit whispered back, out of breath.
“I can’t see your… um.” Pac stuttered as he looked down at Fit, who stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. Heat rose up Pac’s neck once again at the beautiful sight. He has never seen Fit look so relaxed. Pac swallowed nervously, the tension in the air was suffocating in all the right ways.
Pac wanted to push Fit away, scared that he would indulge in his beauty. He wanted to ignore the fluttering in his stomach from being so close to his shirtless friend. However, his hands moved on their own and he caressed Fit’s jaw. He gasped softly as Fit melted into his touch. Fit wasn’t thinking at this point, all he wanted was for Pac to keep on caressing him and touching him.
Tears welled up in his eyes, guilt clouding the softness of the situation. He wanted to deny that he desperately wanted this since he met Pac. Since they started talking to each other every morning. Since the first time, Pac hugged him, wrapping his arms and squeezing him close to his chest. He didn’t want to admit to himself that one of the reasons he always ran to him when he saw him was because he yearned for just a graze of his touch. What a mess…
Fit opened his eyes to see Pac’s worried eyes staring back.
“Fit, are you okay?” Pac’s stomach sank as he saw tears run down Fit’s face. “I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have-”
Pac let go of Fit’s face, it felt cold without his hands there. Pac stepped away from Fit, cursing himself for being so selfish. Before Pac could turn away, Fit grabbed his hand, his voice quivering.
“Pac… please. I…” For once, Fit didn’t know what to say. He has never cried before, even after all the tragedies he’s witnessed. He refused to shed a tear but look at him now. “I need you… I’m sorry.” Fit sniffled, frowning in confusion as more tears poured down his face.
What happened to him? What were these feelings? His heart ached and his limbs were heavy. He has never felt so helpless. Oh god, pac… Pac is watching him crumble. What a disgrace it must be to see someone so strong break down so easily. To buckle, not from a slash to the face or an explosion in the back, but by the touch of someone dear to him.
“I’m so sorry.” Fit let go of Pac’s hand, hoping he would turn away from this ghastly sight.
But a pair of arms wrapped around him instead and held him into a tight embrace.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say sorry. I’m here.” Pac whispered, nestling his face into Fit’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure why Fit was crying but he recognized how scared and confused he was by it.
Fit could only whimper softly as Pac rubbed his back and whispered reassurances to him. He was so close and so gentle… Is this what it feels like to truly be loved? He chuckled softly through sobs. It didn’t have to hurt? Oh god, but it feels like it hurts… but such a pleasant pain. The ache in his heart, the tingling of his skin, the burning of his lungs. Fit wrapped his arms around Pac and held him tightly.
In that moment as the two of them embraced each other, no words were said. Afterward, it became common for them to hug each other, hold hands, and even cuddle from time to time. Fit never realized how touch-starved he was and Pac was more than willing to show Fit how loved he was.