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All things considered, Fit kind of forgot that sexualities were, like, a thing. In the wasteland, you don’t really have time to focus on that kind of stuff. Not if you want to survive. And Fit can only count on one hand the number of people he trusted enough to have conversations with without a weapon in reach—not exactly conducive to relationship building.
Still, though, it’s not like he didn’t have thoughts about other people . But those hardly stuck around long enough to be memorable. A quick flash of something before his brain switches into either attack or defensive mode depending on the situation.
And it’s not like he doesn’t throw around his fair share of banter. Him and Phil joke around a lot, but those are—notably—just jokes. (And if he throws any other emotions it brings up into the back of his mind where he doesn’t have to think about it then that’s nobody’s business but his own.)
He doesn't mind being perceived as gay. He has a husband, after all. Government assigned, sure, but still. It’s just that he doesn’t particularly care to find out if he is. That’s a whole other can of worms he doesn’t need to open, and it’s not like Spreen is around enough for him to bother opening it. (And if Spreen does show up again, he has divorce papers ready, anyway.)
He’s a father now. There are code entities trying to kill his beautiful baby boy Ramón, and the other kids. For once in his life, he has a weapon nearby but not because he thinks he’s going to have to turn it on the people around him. And the people around him are… way more than he can count on one hand. More than he can count on both hands, actually.
That’s new. That’s a layer of trust he’s never given out to so many people before. And it’s… nice. But it’s also kind of…
No comment. (It feels kind of pathetic to admit to being overwhelmed by having friends.)
Things change with Pac.
A lot of things change with Pac.
But not all at once.
When Fit first sees Pac, he quietly files away that Pac is maybe the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. It’s not like it means anything, though. It’s just an objective statement. You don’t have to be attracted to someone to acknowledge they’re beautiful.
Pac is beautiful. And clearly strong. He hides a lot with baggy clothes, but Fit can recognise the expert way he holds his weapon and he files that away, too—although he leaves it a lot closer to the front of his mind than the other thing.
Fit has mostly adjusted to the communal way this server works, but the Brazilians are a whole new unknown factor that he’s content to be quietly wary about. Pac and Mike seem fine, and Fit doesn’t want to provoke any of them—but he’s not exactly itching to give away much, either.
But then Pac and Mike are awake around the same time he is, and they get to talking. Start hanging around each other a bit more. And Fit tentatively takes them off of the to be wary of list in his mind, and instead puts them on the friends list.
He likes spending time with them. They make each other laugh, talking feels easy, and Fit finds himself letting his guard down more and more. (And if one time Pac manages to fluster him so badly his brain bluescreens and he forgets how to warp to Ramón’s, then that’s his own business.)
Fit knows a lot of people don’t have any issues with sharing their base with others. Not like he does.
Although, Fit also isn’t sure if Chume Labs counts as a house-base. There aren’t any bedrooms—just a bed tucked away in the corner of the main lab.
The sheets are messy. Like it’s been used recently. Or maybe Pac and Mike just don’t care about fixing them up. It’s probably just there for late nights, or Richarlyson.
So, it doesn’t feel like a house. Even though he doesn’t think Pac and Mike have anywhere else. And, sure, it could always be hidden. But nine times out of ten if Pac and Mike aren’t working on some project, or hanging out with people, they’re chilling at Chume Labs.
“Have we shown you downstairs?” Pac asks him.
“Uh, not yet. I don’t think.”
“Okay!” Pac bounces past him. “There’s not much there, but, you know.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Fit follows at a more casual pace. “Where’s Mike, by the way?”
It feels weird seeing Pac without him. Not that he hasn’t seen them separated before, but it’s still a strange sight.
“Oh, uh… at the Favela, about to warp to Spawn.”
Pac doesn’t even check his minimap. Fit isn’t going to ask how he knows. He wouldn’t want anyone probing into his business if it was him.
“Cool, cool.”
They make their way down the stairs. And when Pac said there wasn’t going to be much there, that was an understatement. There is absolutely nothing apart from a glass wall at the far end of the space showing off a water-filled cave system.
“We’re going to put bedrooms down here.” Pac says casually. Like it’s no big deal that he’s telling Fit how to find him at his most vulnerable. Pac gestures vaguely, laughing a little. “Eventually.”
“Very nice.” He’s not sure why his face feels warm. He’s been invited to plenty of people’s houses who make no effort to hide their bedroom. “I, uh, I like the window!”
“Yeah, me too! Let’s go see it up close!”
Pac pats his arm absently, and then darts forward.
The scene held back by the window is beautiful, but Fit thinks he spends more time staring at Pac’s animated face as he delightedly points things out.
Fit has just scored what is apparently a love potion while going through Lucky Ducks with Pac and Mike. It’s the first time he’s gotten this particular object as loot. He curiously tries to twist at the cap, but it won’t budge.
“It’s not letting me open it.”
“That means you’re already in love with someone.” Mike states with so much easy confidence that a spike of panic shoots through Fit—the same kind of feeling he would get when he realised a base of his was found.
He’s not sure why. It’s not like he’s hiding anything. He’s pretty sure he’d know if he was in love with someone. And he isn’t.
But he’s worried some of the panic might show on his face, and he doesn’t want either of them to press, so he quickly searches for a distraction.
“Oh, I, uh, like your sunglasses, Pac!”
“Oh, thank you, Fit!” Pac grins, and Fit can’t help but smile back. “I think they look cool, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
He’s not sure why his heart’s racing. It’s not like he’s in love with Pac. Or— or —Or anyone else.
Right?
Seeing Pac on the other side of the locked kitchen door in what’s apparently a prison puts Fit on edge like nothing else has recently. It feels like the same kind of terror that grips his chest whenever anything threatens Ramón.
This is probably the first time he’s seen Pac without his hoodie on. He doesn’t like it. Not in this scenario. Not with Pac’s face filled with panic as he keeps glancing behind him. As he warns Fit about the guards, and, God, what the fuck are they doing to him that has Pac’s voice trembling like that?
The helplessness is awful. Something ugly grows in his chest. He passes on every bit of information he possibly can, and leaves.
Because Ramón’s here. And no matter how much he wants to stay and help Pac, he can’t risk Ramón.
When Pac is standing before him again—free and relatively safe—Fit makes a silent vow that he’ll never let something like that happen to him again.
Of course no matter how much he’d like them to, words mean nothing on this island. And it’s all Fit can do to bully himself through Mike’s defences and support him while he searches for Pac.
Okay, maybe he’s gay for Pac.
Which is… Well, he tucks it away to deal with later. (It’s not his fault that Pac is sweet, and funny, and strong, and the most beautiful man Fit’s ever seen, and—)
It’s through tragedy they get closer. Which leaves a bitter taste in Fit’s mouth, but he’s glad he could at least try to support Pac through this.
Chume Labs is in an awful state. It scares Fit, actually. In that all-consuming way anything involving Pac and hurt does.
Mike is back, but in a coma. And he was throwing around enough threats that Fit feels… Well, he’s supposed to be paying attention to his emotions now, but he doesn’t think he has the capacity to untangle that mess.
That’s… probably fine, though. He has time. That’s a to be dealt with when Mike wakes up kind of thing.
Pac is upset, though. Of course he is. That's his soulmate. Nothing messy and complicated about that. Just a deep guilt and pain in Pac’s beautiful eyes that has Fit’s chest feeling tight as they say goodbye to each other.
He remembers Pac carelessly walking onto landmines, the dark and bloody Chume Labs, and—
“Wait, uh, Pac!” He calls out, and Pac cancels his warp.
“Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“Do you, um… Do you want to get a bite to eat together?”
He’s half expecting Pac to throw the request back in his face with a spitting comment about not needing Fit’s pity.
Instead, Pac just eyes him wearily.
“I’m, uh… I’m tired, Fit.” He shrugs, and looks at the ground. “I don’t think I, like, have the energy for that, you know?”
“It can be low energy.” Fit promises, hoping the desperation he feels doesn’t show in his voice—or on his face. He just… doesn’t want Pac to have to be alone right now. Not after everything. “I won’t expect much from you. I’ll take care of dinner, yeah? You just chill.”
“That does sound nice…” Pac says, sounding distant.
When they get to his base he ushers Pac onto the couch. Pac is mostly quiet while Fit cooks. Fit isn’t sure whether he should fill the silence, or let it sit and hope it’s comfortable, but he goes with the latter. Because maybe Pac will feel the need to respond if he starts talking, and Fit promised this would be low energy.
“Okay, should be done soon.” Fit announces.
Then he definitely does not miss Pac walking up to him, and does not jump when he turns around and comes face to face with him.
He’s a seasoned survivor, damn it. He’s supposed to pick up on these kinds of things. (Or maybe he’s just comfortable enough around Pac that his defences disappear.)
“Sorry.” Pac murmurs.
“It’s—It’s fine. You can sit anywhere—”
“Can I hug you?” Pac interrupts, not quite looking at Fit.
“What? Uh—Yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, if you want.”
He opens his arms up, and Pac practically sinks into him. Face buried in his shoulder, hands twisting tight into his shirt at the back.
Fit doesn’t really hug people much. Is it weird to admit he’s not sure how to? That’s probably weird, right? He won’t say that out loud.
Instead, he wraps his arms around Pac lightly. The few times they’ve hugged have been quicker than this, and Fit hasn’t really had to think about how tight he’s allowed to hug back, or how tight Pac wants him to hug back.
Maybe it’s possible for him to hurt Pac? He doesn’t want to hurt Pac. But maybe Pac wants him to hug back as tightly as he’s hugging Fit.
The hug isn’t ending.
But Fit certainly isn’t going to—Wait, is Pac shaking?
He is. And Fit’s shoulder right around where Pac’s eyes are is starting to feel the press of damp cloth against skin.
“Hey, hey.” He rubs a hand up and down Pac’s back, and hopes it’s soothing. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
“Sorry. I’m—I’m sorry.” Fit can barely make the words out. Too muffled, too wet with tears. Pac steps away, face turned away and to the floor. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
And Fit is hardly the man to deny others the privacy to deal with their emotions, as much as he wants to pull Pac close and never let him go. To dry the tears from his eyes himself.
“I’ll finish up here.”
Pac is back to his cheery—if tired—self when he gets back. Fit doesn’t really buy it, but he doesn’t push. Dinner is as much of a silent affair as cooking it was. And when they’re finished Pac starts to thank him and leave, and Fit scrambles around for anything he can say that’ll make Pac stay.
“Wait, Pac, since you’re tired, why don’t you just, uh, stay here for tonight?”
The words feel awkward. Once again, he’s expecting Pac to throw them back in his face. Once again, he doesn’t do that.
“Really?” Pac looks at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Of course! You’re always welcome here.”
Pac gives him a tired, soft smile that has something fluttering in his chest. Fit clears his throat, and sets up some bedding on the floor, and tries not to linger on it.
Usually, he doesn’t like sleeping with other people nearby. That was a death sentence in the wasteland. But this is Pac. So, instead, Fit finds himself trying to stay up for a much different reason.
He doesn’t know if Pac gets nightmares. But knowing him, he’d probably swallow it down and try to deal with the aftermath himself. At least if Fit’s awake, he can help comfort Pac a little. He can be available if Pac needs him.
The thing is, Pac doesn’t fall asleep.
It must be nearing midnight by the time Pac breaks the silence of the night.
“Fit?” Pac whispers. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I’m… sorry about tonight.”
“Hey, hey, what are you apologising for? It’s all fine.”
“Thank you.”
The back of Pac’s hand nudges against his, and Fit—he knows he should take it. He knows he should. But what if it was just an accident? What if he’s reading the wrong message? This is all new territory for him, and he doesn’t like treading through new territory—not without time to analyse, and make a plan. But the longer he takes, the more awkward it is, and maybe Pac wants comfort, or maybe he’s reading it wrong, and—
—He twitches his fingers closer. A quiet suggestion of slotting into the gaps between Pac’s.
Pac draws his hand back, and Fit briefly feels his heart enter his throat until he realises Pac is just turning his hand to loosely entwine their fingers a little better. And then Fit’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason. A better reason, he’d say.
Pac doesn’t fall asleep. Not until much later. And Fit finds himself following soon after, despite the fact he was trying to stay up in case Pac had nightmares.
He wakes up maybe a few hours later when the sun is streaming into the room. Beside him, Pac is still asleep. And under the sheets, their fingers are still tangled.
Weird. He had thought maybe the wrongness of sleeping near someone else would keep him awake. But then again, he hadn’t noticed Pac walking up behind him.
When they start calling themselves roommates it feels like they can’t go two seconds without people gossiping about them. Fit loves fofoca generally. Not when it’s about him, though.
This thing with Pac is new. Fit is a private person. He’s not even sure if he’s actually gay yet. He should probably figure out his sexuality before deciding he has a… that he…
Well, sexuality should probably come first. And Fit doesn’t mind being seen as gay, but he’s never thought of himself that way before. Not properly. And it’d be pretty awkward if he came out as gay, and then it turns out he was just straight and wrong the entire time, right?
It was easier when it was just jokes. Jokes are easy territory. This is new. And inescapable. Because every single fucking islander including his close friends can’t seem to shut up about it.
Let’s just say they’re lucky he likes them.
Purgatory sucks. At least Pac looks hot.
(He’s too drained to bother shoving those thoughts to the back of his head this time.)
Things feel like they’ve been put in two times speed when Ramón gets back. Ramón is, after all, the only person Fit tries to spell out his emotions with. And he’s got an extra bit of determination to him than usual—the scare from going missing has him worried about things a boy his age really shouldn’t have to worry about. But that’s nothing new.
It’s a snap decision to tell Ramón he’d prefer to give him a dad. He thinks he stumbles over the words a little. They probably sound strange. Stilted. Awkward.
He can barely hear himself over the sound of his heartbeat in his chest, and he quickly rushes onto the next thing. Tries to make it into something to be skimmed over—a topic to drop.
It’s weird to know the answer so suddenly. To feel like all the confusing thoughts have finally clicked into place. Because maybe it’ll change, but right now—faced with seriously imagining his future—he can really only see himself giving Ramón another dad.
And that’s… well…
Phil is the first person he wants to tell. It would be Pac, but, well, Phil feels like less of a minefield. He tells Phil, and he doesn’t have to worry about the conversation snowballing out of control. Whereas with Pac…
Pac is honestly pretty good to him. He doesn’t seem to mind how slow Fit’s going with this. Doesn’t try to push him. If Fit closed himself off after the confession, Pac would probably take it in stride.
Still though, Fit finds himself sitting next to Phil, up on the wall. They’ve been sitting in silence for a while now, while Fit tries to work up the courage to speak.
And, really, this is stupid. He’s faced infinitely scarier things without breaking a sweat. (He thinks his hands might be shaking, and clasps them tightly together so it’s not obvious.)
“So,” Phil prompts, drawing the word out, “what did you want to talk about?”
The words are stuck in his throat. He thinks the shape of them. Visualises them until they feel solid. Repeats them in his mind. I think I’m gay. I’m pretty sure I’m gay. Hey, Phil, I’m gay. His tongue is heavy in his mouth. His lips won’t separate to allow the words to pass. I think I’m gay. Phil, I think I’m gay. If he repeats it enough, maybe it’ll sound normal. Like something he can imagine himself saying, and then something he can actually say. I’m pretty sure I’m gay.
“Fit?”
“I think I’m gay.” Fit admits, the words rushing out of his mouth. Clunky, and awkward.
It’s a little like ripping a bandaid off, right? You just have to do it quickly, and the pain shouldn’t last. Right?
“You think?” Phil manages to get out between—frankly unnecessary—wheezing laughter.
“Don’t laugh, I’m serious.”
“I know you are.” To his credit, Phil tries to stop. “But it’s just… what? All this time, and you didn’t know?”
“Hey! I’m a busy man, Phil! You think I got time to figure out my sexuality in the wasteland? As a father? I have a paying job now!”
“But you and Pac have been doing your thing for months—”
“Woah, woah, take it easy! This isn’t about Pac, alright? It’s about me.”
Finally, he’s gotten through to Phil. Because the shit-eating grin fades from his face, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Okay, mate, I’m sorry. Have you… told anyone else?”
“Just Ramón. Kind of.” He shrugs. “Not in so many words.”
“You know it’s okay, right?”
“Of course I know! It’s just… I—I’m not too good at talking about these kinds of things, alright? Besides, I just… genuinely hadn’t thought about it much.”
“Okay, fair.” Phil hums thoughtfully. “So, what changed?”
“Ramón wants me to get a partner. So I’m not alone if… something happens to him. And, you know… he brought up having another dad, or a mum, and… it got me thinking, is all.” He tries to figure out how to explain this while giving away as little information as possible. “I just told him I’d rather give him another dad.”
There. Phil doesn’t need to know that he already has someone in mind. Even though Phil probably already knows he already has someone in mind.
It’s not about him being gay, though. Pac’s good with Ramón. And Ramón matters more than Fit’s stupid little crush. But… Well, Pac’s good with Ramón. And Ramón likes him. And Fit likes him, too.
“Thanks for telling me.” Phil says, clapping Fit’s shoulder. “But is there a reason you told me before telling Pac?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Phil.”
“I don’t want you to say anything, mate.” Phil says with a laugh. “I’m not asking because you guys have your whole roommates situation, okay? Well, I kind of am. But not because of the gay shit.”
“Hey, woah, take it easy! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen, I’m just saying that you guys are pretty close, yeah? I would’ve thought you’d have mentioned it to him first, and if there’s a reason you didn’t, you can tell me. While we’re sharing and shit.”
And Fit could admit it out loud. Phil already knows, and—theoretically—the hard part is already over.
“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m telling him next.” Fit huffs. Then he lies, “You were easier to get to, that’s all.”
Well now he has to tell Pac. Soon. Before Phil says something assuming he knows and ruins everything. Although, that would definitely be easier. If there’s one good thing about fofoca island it means he won’t have to keep coming out to every single person on it.
Even though he’s pretty sure they already know. Whatever.
But Pac’s different. Fit wants to tell him. They’re supposed to tell each other stuff. They like to tell each other stuff. Fit was dying not telling him about the resistance, how’s he going to feel realising Pac found out from someone else? Being gay is a big fucking deal, right? Well, it is to him, at least. And Pac should find out from him.
So, it has to be soon.
And Fit’s not fucking ready.
But it has to be soon.
It’s easy enough to get Pac alone. Even if they didn’t spend a lot of time together, Fit knows that all he has to do is gesture for them to leave the group and Pac will follow. Which is—it’s sweet. Pac’s a sweet guy. He’s not going to read into it.
Pac’s eyes are shining with mischief as they leave. Fit drags them a lot further away than he usually would. Somewhere hidden where people will hopefully forget about them, or at the very least have difficulty finding them.
“Fofoca?” Pac asks with a grin once they’re out of earshot.
“Uh… kind of?” It is fofoca. It feels weird to call it that, though. “Not quite?”
“Ooo!” Pac bounces on his feet. “Exciting!”
“It’s… yeah.” Fit lets out a shaky breath, and stops them. They’re probably safe here for a little bit. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Is… everything, like, okay, Fit?” Pac asks, concern dripping into his voice, and expression as he’s picked up on Fit’s apprehension.
“Yeah! Yeah, it’s… I just—I gotta tell you something.”
“Okay.” Pac nods slowly, eyes flitting over his face and likely picking up on how fucking nervous he is. “Do you—Do you wanna sit down? I have some couches.”
“Sure.”
Pac pulls out the signature Tazercraft couches, and sets them down. Fit collapses into the green one, while Pac takes the blue.
“So? What do you want to tell me?”
And—like before—the words stick in his throat. Which is stupid. It’s so stupid. He’s done this before already. But it’s like there’s a disconnect between his brain and his body. In his head, he’s opening his mouth, and saying the words. In real life, he’s just sitting there.
“Fit, is it—? You’re, uh, you’re worrying me a little.”
“It’s not bad.” Fit can at least say that. Almost instantly Pac’s expression brightens. “It’s just… I’m—I’m not very good at talking about these kinds of things, okay? I just… need a second.”
“That’s okay!” Pac smiles, and Fit’s glad he’s already sitting down because in his already nervous state, he’s sure his knees would’ve gone weak at the sight. “Take all the time you need, okay, Fit? I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.”
Pac looks away from him while he gathers his courage. Fit watches him dig his shoe into the dirt a little. The way the grass flattens, or breaks. In the silence, Fit can hear his heart beating fast. He wonders if Pac can, too.
He’s tempted to call this whole thing off. But he wants Pac to hear it from him.
“I just… Uh, I wanted to tell you that…” Right, this is good. Get the ball rolling by saying something a little easier. Never mind that the words are choppy, and stilted. As long as he gets them out. “Well, I just wanted to tell you… that… I’m gay.”
“Oh!” Pac blinks. “Really?”
“What do you, uh—What do you mean really?”
“No, I—I’m sorry, Fit, I just… I maybe kind of…” Pac trails off, and shrinks into his hoodie.
“You already assumed?”
“I’m sorry!” Pac wails. “I just… Well, I mean, I didn’t, like, know exactly. Like—You probably already know I like men—N-not that you—That I—I-I mean, there was Etoiles, and I kissed Felps, you know? But, uh, I’m bi, you know? So you could’ve been…” Pac cuts himself off with a short breath. “Thank you for telling me, Fit.”
“You’re… uh, you’re welcome, Pac.” Honestly, Fit was busy coming down from the stress of saying the words and he mostly missed all that. “You’re bi?”
“Yeah!” Pac nods enthusiastically.
“That’s cool, that’s cool. Uh, thank you for telling me, too.” His heart rate is starting to approach something normal when around Pac. Which is different to normal normal, but, eh, good enough. “I, uh… I didn’t actually know. About myself. Until recently.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I was just… busy thinking of other stuff, you know? Didn’t really have time for it.”
“That’s fair.” Pac laughs. “Me and Mike—Well, Mike’s aroace, right? So we’re, like, opposites, you know? We found out pretty quickly.”
Fit laughs, too. And this is—it’s nice. To have this. To be able to talk about this. Unfortunately most of his sexuality stories are tied up in things he absolutely cannot reveal to Pac.
“I… Well, in the wasteland you couldn’t trust many people, right?” It feels like the words are flowing out of him easier now. And that’s nice. “But every now and then I’d see someone, and it was, like, woah, you know? But then they’d be trying to kill me a couple seconds later, so it left my mind quick enough that I mostly forgot about it.”
“Oh, that’s—” Pac cuts himself off with a laugh. “It is—There is something about when they try to kill you, right? Or, wait, I guess you… said… the—the opposite of that?”
“No, uh, it’s fine, I get you.” He doesn’t really. He thinks he’d much rather see Pac in action beside him than against him. Even just having him nearby when he was killed in Purgatory hurt. “Whatever makes you happy, Pac.”
Pac grins at him.
“I’m really glad you told me, Fit.”
“Of course.” Fit smiles back. “I figured I should probably tell you before Tubbo, because if I told Tubbo you’d find out from, I don’t know, Pierre, or something before I could tell you.”
“That’s true!” Pac laughs. “That’s very true!”
They’re found not too long after that. With plenty of jokes thrown around about them sneaking off to make out—to pick the tamest one. Fit’s face is warm, and judging by the red hue on Pac’s, he’s not doing too much better. They dismiss the jokes as best as they can, and try to push everyone into moving on.
And… it’s good, really. There’s still the whole crush thing he needs to deal with—which will probably be sooner rather than later if Ramón gets his way—but he feels better. Like he was a puzzle piece placed in the wrong spot, finally getting placed correctly.
He is absolutely not ready for the headache Tubbo’s reaction will bring, though.