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Hyperlaser isn’t quite sure what to think of the current situation.
He’s sitting in a restaurant – one with dim, romantic lights and suited up waiters and menus without prices – and Katana sits before him in a yukata different from the one he usually wears, white with a red ombre at the hem. Hyperlaser himself had gone with one of his more typical vest suits, blue and black. Comfortable. Stylish. Familiar.
The problem, however, isn’t their clothes or the restaurant. The problem sits across them in an adjacent booth, one of the two occupants pointedly looking at his menu while the other sipped a glass of water with a curl to his lips.
Banhammer and Medkit sitting in a restaurant that caters to couples isn’t the first thing Hyperlaser counted on seeing during the holidays.
See, it all started when they had gone to a particular clothing store. Because of Katana’s, well, ridiculous height and firm build, finding well-fitted clothing is a struggle more often than not. So, with that in mind, Hyperlaser takes him out to this store specifically catering to larger people at least once every year and coaxes him into splurging on himself. It’s nice, seeing Katana buy what he needs to properly enjoy the atmosphere of BlackRock.
This year is no different. Hyperlaser wakes to a fuzzy feline on his chest and Katana sat up in bed beside him, a soft, lulling atmosphere and a relaxed start to their morning. They blunder their way through breakfast together – share one too many short kisses before they went in public and their masks prevented such – and Katana manages to convince him into taking a shower together, though they stand like wet dogs under the spray for a minute or so until Hyperlaser clears his throat and offers to scrub his partner’s back.
Once all of that is done, they spend an hour in the bathroom blow drying Katana’s mane and ironing the clothes they wish to wear, finishing up for the day ahead of them. They travel via bus, a chaotic affair because Hyperlaser somehow misreads the route, causing them to lose an hour or so on their bound-to-collapse schedule, and Katana never bothers to correct him even after squinting at the directory board every few minutes. Hyperlaser cannot tell if that is because Katana trusts him to such a degree, or if he enjoyed his misery.
Either way, they make it to the store without any serious hassle, and, while Katana immediately strides up to the counter to ask for a specific article of clothing, Hyperlaser finds a seat and waits there, huddled up in his jacket, rocking idly from side to side.
And then he sees them.
There are only a select few people who are taller than Katana, and Hyperlaser can recall anytime those green antlers and hovering crystal anywhere from how often he’s aimed at that specific spot with his rifle.
Medkit and Banhammer stand in front of a rack, rifling through a few bomber jackets Banhammer seems adamant on getting if his wide hand motions and his eagerness to show off the pieces are anything to go off of. Medkit listens to the ecstatic demon with an idle gaze, a thoughtful hand skimming through the options, and when Banhammer pauses and yanks out a jacket, his eye lights up with intrigue. It’s a rather short jacket, only coming down to Banhammer’s waist when he tugs on the black and bright yellow piece, but that doesn’t seem to bother him too much. If anything, Medkit seems to like it too, his gaze shifting into somewhat of an appreciative one once Banhammer poses and squints at himself in a nearby mirror.
Huh.
Hyperlaser doesn’t think he ever expected to see those two outside, anywhere, together. Sure, they are not blatantly hostile or anything, but they’re just a little… difficult. A wanted man and the warden of a prison aren’t exactly an easy pairing to work with.
He glances at Katana, who nods along as the receptionist shows him different types of fabrics for whatever he requested, and with a bemused huff, he stands from his seat and makes his way over to Medkit and Banhammer, deciding he might as well be cordial about their encounter.
Medkit notices him first, perking up from where he had been looking at some blazers. “Hyperlaser?”
“Hello, Medkit.” Hyperlaser greets, watching as Medkit pulls off a purple blazer and folds it over his arm for safe keeping. “It’s been a while since we’ve talked, hasn’t it? How have you been doing?”
“I’ve been getting my paychecks on time, if that counts for anything. Are you here to do shopping as well?”
“Ah, yes, actually. It’s the only shop that Katana can truly browse, so we’ve made a habit of coming here. What about you? Not to be rude, of course, but you aren’t exactly…” Hyperlaser raises his brows then, and unlike his intention, Medkit grimaces in dismay, probably knowing better than most people that he isn’t exactly a tall demon. “Ah, of course, I do not mean to offend you—”
“No, it’s alright. You are right, after all.” Medkit sighs, slipping a hand into his pocket while his gaze drifts to Banhammer digging through some trousers and disappearing into the changing room. “Banhammer mentioned not having enough jackets, and I figured I might as well get some holiday shopping done as well, so we ended up coming here together. I’m assuming he didn’t want to pay the bus toll, considering he refuses to invest in a working vehicle. A bastard through and through with the way he leeches off my gas.”
“And yet here you are, waiting for him at a store you cannot buy anything from.” Hyperlaser replies dryly, humored at their woes. He never thought Medkit of all people would let himself get dragged out of his apartment for something as mundane as clothes shopping; at least, not by Banhammer. Are they not in opposition in both the ring and in daily life? What has them so… chummy?
Medkit looks sheepish for a moment, most likely understanding how ridiculous Hyperlaser’s observation sounds. “Yes, well, he did need some new clothes. I figured I would stop by some others shops after this one, so its not like I get nothing out of this.”
“Mhm…” Hyperlaser drawls, glancing back to where Katana now makes his way over to them with a content air to him. Of course, his partner towers over both himself and Medkit when he inserts himself into their little circle, exchanging menial nods with Medkit. “Did you find what you wanted? I know you have a hard time with the fabric material sometimes.”
“Everything went well.” Katana reassures, settling on the bench near them so as to not tower over them. Thoughtful. Considerate. Hyperlaser finds himself hopelessly smitten at his actions, and he’s once again thankful for his mask, able to cover his dopey smile.
“They have custom fabrics here?” Medkit inquires with a tilt of his head, and Katana nods almost excitedly in that way he does whenever he’s about to share what he considers important knowledge with others. “They do. I get them for another shop I go to for my traditional clothing. The quality is good, especially for the price.”
“Ah… I see. I may have to look into that.”
“For yourself?” Hyperlaser questions, lenient in moving when Katana’s finger loops into his belt ring and beckons him to stand closer. A warm, large hand – Katana’s – curls around the inside of his knee, resting there.
“No.” Medkit doesn’t elaborate, a telling twinkle in his eye. “I figured I could ask for something custom made. There’s something I’m looking to get—”
“Where the hell did you guys come from?” comes Banhammer’s booming voice, one part incredulous and other parts disdained. Katana stiffens beside Hyperlaser, hand digging lightly into his slacks, and Hyperlaser placates him with a flick to his forehead, looking to where Banhammer strides up to them.
He looks… huh.
Hyperlaser’s gaze flickers up and down the tallest demon’s frame, a slight furrow between his brows. Medkit has moved to drape a dark purple blazer over Banhammer’s broad shoulders, cuffs black and powdered, a silver chain winding across his chest to hold the piece on. A dark button up lay underneath the blazer, a generous amount of buttons undone with a obvious lack of tie, and the equally dark trousers Banhammer adorns cling to mile-long legs, accenting the power in his thighs and once again reminding Hyperlaser of the intimidating height difference.
He looks put together. Good.
“Greetings to you too, Banhammer.” Hyperlaser says slowly while Medkit narrows his eyes and walks off for a moment. “Is there a special occasion due? I don’t believe I’ve seen you wear a suit before.”
And Banhammer, whose never been very menial towards prods on his personal life anyway, huffs back, his body turning a bit when Medkit walks past him. “Yeah, well, I’ve never seen Katana here wear normal, peasant clothing either so we’re fair.”
Hyperlaser and Katana glance at each other, and though he doesn’t say a word, Hyperlaser can sense the tension coming from Katana’s person, the stiff line of his shoulders and readiness of his body to stand up quickly.
“…I suppose so.”
Medkit returns then, tie in hand. He mutters something under his breath, garnering a harsh scowl from Banhammer, and the tense staring contest persists until Medkit murmurs something about a bus and Banhammer’s plopping down heavily onto the bench beside Katana with an unsurprisingly amount of disdain.
“Anyways.” Medkit says then, pulling the undone tie taut before starting on Banhammer’s open buttons. There’s something in the air – something thick and daunting – that Hyperlaser isn’t privy to as Medkit winds the tie around Banhammer’s neck and does it up, tightening it properly.
Banhammer, whose gaze had been pinned on a spot on the ceiling during the whole thing, let his eyes drift towards Katana, drawling the one topic he always mentions whenever the two demons interact, “When are you gonna let me throw you in prison? I have a nice cell and everything waiting for—”
Medkit pulls the tie tight, making Banhammer wince and glance at him, and they squint at each other. Then, Banhammer hisses a rather unpleasant expletive at Medkit.
Medkit, without pause, simply hums and murmurs an unamused, “I’d like to see you try. Anyways, this looks good on you. Get it.”
Hyperlaser watches the whole ordeal with sweaty palms and one too many questions. Not one word can describe his relief when he and Katana finally excuse themselves, and he can only grimace underneath his mask when he hears a sharp, “Can’t you at least try to be a decent person for one minute?”
Banhammer seems to take genuine offense at the question, spluttering and scoffing, but they are out of the door before he can hear the answer.
The next time they see each other is at a watch shop.
Hyperlaser and Katana had made a few rounds in search of ice cream – because Katana murmured about his craving for something sweet and Hyperlaser allowed his schedule to crash and burn in order to find a shop he liked – and now they are stepping into a dim, golden colored watch shop at Hyperlaser’s request. He had lost his old watch during a mercenary commission and only just remembered the fact when Katana squeezed his hand, caught his attention, and nodded towards the shop, so now they are perusing their options together in a comfortable silence, speaking only to suggest or comment.
The soft woosh of the door opening catches Hyperlaser’s attention, and the first thing he hears is Banhammer’s quiet, “Oh hell no.”
A thump, like something getting hit, sounds, and Banhammer is clutching his side when Hyperlaser turns around, his features pinched with mild pain while Medkit stares on apathetically by his side.
“Well, isn’t this a lovely reunion.” Hyperlaser murmurs flatly, and though Banhammer seems to not have heard him, the taller demon stomping off into a corner of the shop only to see Katana staring at him from there and swiveling around to go to the other side, Medkit hums in agreement and walks over, looking over the arrangement of silver watches Hyperlaser has been eyeing.
“Finally replacing that watch of yours?”
“If I find one to replace it with, then yes. So far, I have a few choices, though I’m not sure which one to go with… Are you looking for anything specific as well?”
“I am.” Medkit admits, leaning closer for a better look at a particular watch. “I have a few watches at home, but I’ve been meaning to expand on my collection. Probably shouldn’t be doing this right after I get my paycheck, but since I can afford dinner, I don’t really care.”
“Reminds me of my own days of living paycheck to paycheck.” Hyperlaser muses, and Medkit huffs, though the sound is tinged with humor.
They settle into a comfortable silence, squinting and examining different watches that fit their tastes. Hyperlaser isn’t surprised to see Medkit in a watch shop of all places, if he is completely honest. He seems like the type of person to enjoy accessories such as a watch. Even when he notices how torn Hyperlaser is between two designs, he mentions important things like checking the integrity and readily accepts any advice Hyperlaser can give in return, clearly an avid enjoyer of the device.
Who doesn’t seem like an enjoyer of watches is Banhammer.
Hyperlaser glances behind him while waiting for the owner to return with his prepackaged watch, instinctively looking for Katana. He finds the taller demon staring at the grandfather clocks in a far corner, trailing a hand over the wood and bending over to peek through the glass into the mechanical interior. He seems properly preoccupied.
His gaze drifts then, and he finds Banhammer frowning down at a golden watch in his hands that he must’ve asked the owner for, his lip jutting to what Hyperlaser considers a surprising degree when coming from a man who’s sent him flying with one swing of his hammer. A disinterested – or Hyperlaser dare say, despondent – air lingers around him, and as Banhammer places the watch back on the glass counter and glances around, his attention lands on Medkit and him.
“Hey, pick something out for me, would you?” Is the first thing Banhammer asks a focused Medkit once he walks over, hands stuffed into the back pockets of his jeans, head tilting imploringly. Medkit’s eye flickers to Banhammer for a brief moment, rendering him, then returns to the watch he has been eyeing for the past two minutes.
For a moment, Hyperlaser figures he is simply ignoring Banhammer, but then Medkit gestures towards a watch in another display case – golden with diamonds plated around the rim – and murmurs, “That one looked nice on you.”
And Banhammer buys that specific watch, calling over the owner and picking out the one Medkit selected with only a brief, listless glance at the wallet-demolishing price.
Huh.
The question sits right on Hyperlaser’s tongue. Are they dating? Friends with benefits? A weird, unnamed relationship he really shouldn’t question? Who asks a friend – colleague, work partner, whatever they are – for an opinion on an expensive watch and then buys it simply because that friend likes it?
Hyperlaser doesn’t enjoy jumping to conclusions, but he truly cannot control himself this time. They drive here together – or more specifically, Medkit drove Banhammer here – and then proceed to go to shops tailored to each other’s preferences together. Just the two of them. No Sword or middle person.
“What?” Medkit asks, a brow raised questioningly at Hyperlaser.
And Hyperlaser, because he does not wish to sour the mood without meaning to, swallows the words in his throat and instead says, “Nothing. Is that the watch you’re getting?”
It isn’t long before they both finish up in the watch shop. Medkit and Banhammer leave without fanfare, Medkit waving them goodbye – for hopefully the last time – and Banhammer frowning down at his wrist as he fiddles with the new watch he now owns.
Hyperlaser lingers a little longer with an apologetic squeeze to Katana’s hip, for while he cannot see the taller demon’s face, the idleness of his stride and his increasing tendency to follow Hyperlaser around the shop like a dog with no clue of what to do tells Hyperlaser he’s more than ready to leave.
“Don’t you think it’s weird we ran into those two twice in a row?”
Hyperlaser looks up at Katana, who has a hand on his shoulder and watches like a tentative hawk as the demon behind the counter bags up their purchase, and hums thoughtfully. “I suppose it isn’t the weirdest thing to happen. We are rather similar couples.”
“Mm.” Katana says shortly. Then, as if just noticing his use of the word couple, Katana’s mask slowly turns towards him and, with a tone of genuine confusion, asks, “Those two are dating?”
“Ah, no. I didn’t mean it in a romantic sense, Katana.”
“So, they aren’t dating?”
“I’d assume not. Though I should not be judging their ability to be reasonable partners towards each other if they were dating, I cannot see… that, working out in a traditional sense.”
“They are a rather odd pair.”
Once they leave the shop, Katana glances at him and opens his hand palm facing up, letting Hyperlaser intertwine their pinkies as they walk. “Shall we go eat now? Our reservation is at seven.”
“I suppose we should.” Hyperlaser murmurs with a glance at his phone, gaze wandering the shopping district as Katana resolutely leads them through the growing crowd of couples. As always, the crowds part way for them – or rather, Katana and his frightening build – and they make it to the restaurant with minimal bumping and weaving – an authentic Austrian restaurant Hyperlaser knows the menu from heart because of how many times he frequents it.
This is one of the many things Hyperlaser enjoys about Katana; he sticks to what he knows Hyperlaser and himself will enjoy, but isn’t afraid to try new things should push come to shove. Tonight, however, is for the familiar, and Hyperlaser has absolutely no complaints.
Once they are seated inside at a booth, Hyperlaser talks about everything and anything while Katana reorients himself with the menu, a habit he has with every restaurant he goes to. He’s cute, nodding along and visibly trying to pay attention even while skimming the menu, and when Hyperlaser falls quiet in leu of a thought that yanked his attention into the recesses of his mind, Katana glances up and asks with a soft voice, “You were saying?”
Once Katana asks that, Hyperlaser finds himself escaping his inner, less pleasant thoughts and diving into an entirely new topic, Katana staring at him all the while until he’s satisfied with Hyperlaser’s state.
And then he sees them.
Banhammer meets his gaze, pauses from where he and Medkit had been following the waitress leading them, and turns on his heel, the only thing stopping him from walking right out the restaurant being Medkit’s unfaltering grip on his bicep. Medkit himself, upon noticing them, looks seconds away from a fit of laughter, but he schools the humor away and nods at them with a pleasant enough expression.
He does, however, laugh low under his breath when the waitress places them at the booth directly next to Katana and Hyperlaser, the most blatant place they could’ve been seated at.
They don’t speak, at least, not for a while. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, Hyperlaser turns his attention back to the conversation he had been having with Katana and keeps it there, only slightly conscious of the harsh whispering and amused responses coming from beside them. However, he can only pretend for so long that Medkit and Banhammer aren’t sitting adjacent to him in a setting as intimate as a menu-with-no-price, luxury-surrounded Austrian restaurant, talking and bickering easily like they’ve known each other for years. It’s… weird. They are not dating, right?
They order as they always do, with Katana taking care of the food and Hyperlaser the liquor, and then they have the honor of watching Medkit and Banhammer blunder their way through figuring out what to order.
“Uh, question – how big of a serving is one serving of this rind… rond…? This soup here? I’m – heh – I’m a pretty big guy, if you couldn’t tell! Need to make sure I’m getting in enough—”
“He would like to get two of these, thank you.” Medkit immediately cuts in, flashing a weak smile at the waitress who eagerly writes down what must’ve been Rindsuppe soup, a popular first-time dish.
“I had that, you dirt-rag.” Banhammer hisses under his breath, his irritation only getting a short, narrowed glance. “Oh, you dipsh—"
“May we also get some…” Medkit frowns at the menu, easily intercepting the seething demon across from him. “Excuse me, how do I pronounce this?”
“Ah, this is pronounced as Klöße dumplings. Would you like to order this?”
“Yes, please.”
“Tafelspitz is also good, if you wish to try a meatier dish.” Hyperlaser offers, and Medkit blinks at him for a moment before his eye lit up with intrigue, and he orders the recommended dish as well, flashing Hyperlaser a appreciative look.
“Get us some beer or something too.” Banhammer mutters as well, though his words at directed at Medkit and not the waitress currently finishing up their order. The sight amuses Hyperlaser, and, evidently, Katana, whose shoulders jump with an uncontained huff.
“While I would love to try any kind of whiskey you have, someone unfortunately has to drive. I’ll take water. He’ll take… what do you want?”
“Corz.”
“He’ll take two bottles of Corz.”
“Five.”
“Two.”
“I’m paying for the damn meal. Let me get my five bottles.” Banhammer grinds out through gritted teeth, and Medkit clicks his tongue in dismay, evidently against the concerning amount of liquor, but he relents, ordering five bottles of Corz.
“Anything else?” The waitress asks patiently, her menial expression starting to look a little exasperated, and Medkit and Banhammer glance at each other before Medkit shakes his head no.
“I can’t believe you tried to make me leave here sober.” Banhammer grumbles the moment the waitress leaves.
Medkit sighs, pinching his nose bridge. “Yes, that is too reasonable of a thing for you to do. I look forward to being crushed by your dead-weight once we make our way to the house.”
“As if five bottles could do that to me. Give me ten and maybe I’ll be a little off kilter.”
“…Ten?” The genuine concern – and smidge of horror, Hyperlaser catches – in Medkit’s tone causes Banhammer to raise his brows, unamused, and nod.
Hyperlaser looks at Katana. Katana stares back, as if already knowing what is about to be suggested.
And that’s how they find themselves at Medkit and Banhammer’s table, the two of them on one side and themselves on the other. All of the food they ordered barely fits on the table when it all comes, but the conversation and atmosphere is good enough for them to ignore the fact they have absolutely no arm space.
Hyperlaser carries their conversation alongside Banhammer, whose awfully talkative now that Hyperlaser has a moment to truly talk to him, and Medkit and Katana hum and nod and huff at anything and everything they say as if they’re on a recording.
They drink, argue, and laugh once alcohol is in their systems. The food is delectable as always. Hyperlaser comes to realize Banhammer’s ability to deflect his questions with questions and insults of his own, and the ease of which Medkit talks about his salary for ten minutes too long. Katana looks like he enjoys the dinner as well, though he remains wary around Banhammer who is quick to jab at his nerves. Hyperlaser doesn’t blame him.
Festive spirit must do this to people.
They polish off their meal in less than an hour, and, after a few more minutes of idle chatter, the bills are paid, and they’re walking out into the windy, green-and-red lights-colored outsides.
Hyperlaser holds his palm out while staring up at Katana, and Katana, ever so understanding, slots their hands together fully, warming Hyperlaser’s chest with contentment.
Behind them, Medkit stares at their enclosed hands then glances up at Banhammer who considers it as well. However, Banhammer’s face immediately scrunches with dismay when Medkit raises his brows imploringly and holds his hand – green and shaking lightly – out.
“Hm? Are you embarrassed, is that it?”
“Shut up.” Banhammer oh-so-eloquently snaps, gripping Medkit’s hand in a near painful grip that threatens to leave a bruise. It isn’t so much holding hands as it is smushing palm flesh into palm flesh, but they remain like so, despite Banhammer’s insistent refusal to acknowledge the situation and Medkit’s attempt to avoid making it a big deal by listlessly observing the scenery around him.
However—
When Hyperlaser goes to glance at the two trailing behind them, Banhammer flings Medkit’s hand into another century and crosses his arms stiffly, commenting loudly on the dreary weather while Medkit stumbles behind him and Hyperlaser and Katana look on, unamused.
Vaguely, Hyperlaser remembers thinking in that moment that there is no way in hell or heaven they are not in some kind of advantageous relationship.
Banhammer stares down at a tipsy Medkit, watching him chug – not sip – an entire cup of whiskey while splaying on the couch they currently share.
It has been nearly two hours since they returned from what felt like déjà vu condensed into a single shopping trip. Nearly one hour since Medkit revealed the stash of hard whiskey he saves for moments like now apparently, and thirty minutes since they started opening the tiny, unwrapped presents they bought each other like a stupid couple or whatever the hell they are.
The box Medkit handed him tears easily to his handling, and Banhammer hums a tune under his breath as he does, only to choke on his own spit at what he finds inside.
“…Hell no.”
Medkit’s gaze slides over to him, his brow raising inquisitively. He’s bright green and flushed in the face, movements wobbly and a slight slur to his voice; drunk, if not atrociously tipsy. “Mm?”
“What the hell is this, hah?! We doing April Fools now? Because I’m not laughing!”
“Oh… this thing? It’s not supposed to be… funny.” Medkit drawls, taking out the long, leather leash from the box and staring at it with a intrigued look Banhammer does not, for all things good, want to be subjected to.
“Oh, it’s not, huh? What are we gonna do with it, then? The trashcan’s right over there if you know what’s good for you.”
Medkit stares him down, a considering downturn to his brows. Banhammer wants to push his head into a filled tub and drown him when he procures a collar – his collar, studded and in its ragged, overused glory – and unclasps it, leaning in unsteadily with the clear intent to snap it around Banhammer’s neck.
Banhammer grasps Medkit’s wrist with startling speed, leaning away as much as he can. “I paid my rent, you damn bastard! Go put this on some twink or something and leave me the hell alone!”
“Mm.” Medkit hums flatly, and the liquor truly cannot make him any more honest, “I don’t really like twinks, believe it or not. Not my type.”
Banhammer splutters incredulously, “Oh, but I’m your type? Me?”
Medkit’s attention burns into Banhammer, eyes low-lidded and hazy, face flushed green and a soft curl to the corners of his lips. “Yeah.”
Then, the collar clasps around his neck, snug and fitting and wholly terrifying as Medkit reaches for the leash and easily clasps that on as well, leaning in much too closely to press his lips to the part where Banhammer’s chin joins his neck before pulling away.
Banhammer stares down at him, wide-eyed, horrendously warm in the face, only able to gape at the sheer stupidity of their situation as Medkit reaches for the decorative greenery on the coffee table. Wait. Oh, nah. Hell no.
“Uh oh. It’s—it’s a mistletoe.” Medkit says animatedly despite his perpetually straight lips and sardonically raised brows, as if he’s narrating himself, and Banhammer’s hands fly out to grip Medkit’s forearms when the other demon raises it above their heads, the panic inside of him spiking his heartrate harder than when he got the bill for their dinner.
“No, no, no, we are not doing a damn mistletoe! I’m not—”
A hand wraps around the leash and tugs hard, insistent, and Banhammer’s breath hitches, words falling into the void in anticipation he should not, by any means, be having as Medkit eases closer and threads a hand through his hair, breathing heavy on his parting lips.
Medkit stares into his eyes, knowingly, haughtily, and the look only sends an ill-timed trail of warmth down Banhammer’s spine.
“Go screw yourself.” Banhammer complains weakly, face scrunching up with dismay, and then their lips press together, slotting into each other’s shape like pieces in a puzzle, and Medkit kisses him like the first time they did – like he knows what he wants, firm and ever-wanting.
The apartment is warm. The air smells faintly of baked goods and sugar, a pleasant scent that hammers a sense of festivity into the hearts of the two men settled on the living room couch, a red and green blanket thrown over their lap and a fuzzy, black cat – Princess – splayed long across their laps.
Hyperlaser reaches for one of the messily iced cookies on the coffee table, one hand holding it and another hand holding a cup of coffee, and he eats the two together, humming thoughtfully. “We added too much nutmeg.”
Katana glances at him, his mask turning slightly, and then he reaches for a cookie as well, biting into it. “Hm. A little bit.”
For a moment, silence settles upon them, and then—
“…Do you think they were a couple?”
“Who?”
“Medkit and Banhammer. They seem rather close, don’t they?”
Katana shrugs, letting Princess sniff at his fingers and rub her neck against his skin. “Maybe. I couldn’t really tell.”
“I think you just aren’t the sharpest in the shed when it comes to emotional awareness, Katana.”
“You aren’t much better. Even when I gave you a flower every week, and we went out to dinners together, it took you three months to realize I was courting you. I believe this is a mutual thing.”
“Hm. I guess so. Shall we pull out the alcohol? I’m sure I have some dishes for sake somewhere.”
Even with his mask on, Hyperlaser can picture the smile making its way onto Katana’s face as the older demon hums brightly and squeezes his knee, off to purge their liquor cabinet. The Christmas carol tape Katana had put on earlier – to ‘get into the Christmas Spirit’ as he put it – plays in the background as they snack on their cookies and sip sake, enjoying the rest of their Christmas night.