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Life outside the Federation has never been an option.
Granted, it’s still not an option, considering he’s still on this island under their watch, but this?
This feels more like freedom than anything else he’s ever experienced.
He likes his position with the Federation, he does, truly. He has privilege, power, status—hell, he’s been given more leeway in his life than the most hardworking S-rank workers. Even his work is primarily self-lead. His experiments, his machines, they’ve all been his own ideas, his name on every report, all the credit given to him rather than the lowly D-ranks who serve as his test subjects.
And yet.
The wind blows his (Roier’s) hair over his face. The grass under his (Roier’s) fingers prickles against his palms. The setting sun is bright enough to burn his (Roier’s) eyes.
He can count the full amount of times he’s left the Federation building in his life. He remembers every single instance he’s stepped out of those white walls into the sunshine.
This one will be the most memorable, he thinks.
“Guapito!”
His (Roier’s) shoulders tense, but only for a moment. He’s observed Roier long enough to know how to respond. He’s done a good job so far. He can keep it up.
(It’s only temporary.)
(He’s not going to think about that.)
He turns and smiles wide as Cellbit jogs through the grass towards him. “Hola, gatinho.”
Cellbit’s smiling too. He heaves a sigh as he flops down in the grass, stretching his scarred arms above his head. “What are you doing in the grass, pendejo?” Cellbit laughs. “Where’s Pepito?”
Pepito. His (Roier’s) son. “He’s with Quackity right now.”
“You trust him to take care of a kid?” Cellbit snorts.
He shrugs. “He’ll be fine.”
Cellbit leans back on his hands. The setting sun turns his dark brown hair a warm bronze, the white streak falling over his face. He gets the urge to reach out and tuck it behind Cellbit’s ear. He hesitates, unsure if that’s something Roier would do or not.
He clenches his (Roier’s) fists in the grass instead. Better to play it safe.
Cellbit turns to look at him and his heart leaps into his chest. Every single time those blue eyes train themselves on his face, he’s afraid Cellbit will see right through him, that he will put two and two together and figure him out, reveal his identity to the others like a comic book villain. How is he pulling this off? Cellbit is one of the smartest people on this island. With all his expertise, surely, surely he should know by now. Surely he will figure him out soon.
Cellbit smiles softly. “I’ve missed you, guapito,” he says.
He opens his mouth, words catching in his throat for a moment before he forces them out. “I missed you too, gatinho.”
“I’m glad you were fine without me, though,” Cellbit says, the corners of his smile faltering just enough to be noticed. “I knew you would be.”
He knows Roier wasn’t.
Would Roier lie about it?
Probably. He’s always played things off as jokes.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “I’m okay.”
Cellbit’s face falls, just a little, and he feels the need to backtrack, to correct himself. Even if this is what Roier would say it feels wrong.
“I did miss you, though,” he blurts without thinking. “I really did. A lot.”
Cellbit’s mouth ticks up into a smile again, and he feels relieved.
“I looked for you,” he says, and now that he’s started, it feels like he can’t stop. “For a while. I tried, Cellbo.”
Cellbit’s eyes light up, and he knows he’s said something right, at least.
Cellbit scoots closer, and then his head is resting on his shoulder, one arm snaking under his to wrap around his waist. Everywhere their bodies connect feels like he’s on fire.
He’s not used to this.
“Thank you,” Cellbit says, barely a whisper.
He swallows. He moves his arm until he has it wrapped around Cellbit, hand resting on Cellbit’s shoulder that’s marred with old scars. He hesitates, then tilts his head until his temple is touching Cellbit’s hair.
Roier wouldn’t be so stiff. He probably cuddles with his husband all the time.
That is what they’re doing isn’t it? Cuddling. In the grass, outside, facing a warm sunset.
Huh.
He forces his (Roier’s) body to relax. Cellbit’s breathing is deep and even, and he matches it in pace until they’re inhaling and exhaling in tandem. He finds his (Roier’s) fingers tracing the scars on Cellbit’s pale skin, the slightly raised lines of his flesh scarred by weapons from... how long ago? He must have told Roier at some point. He doesn’t know.
“I missed this,” Cellbit says.
The statement is redundant. He’s mentioned how much he missed Roier already. Why is he saying it again?
“Me too,” he says, unsure of what else to say.
“Sunsets in Purgatory were always redder,” Cellbit says. He thinks Cellbit is just talking for the sake of talking at this point. Wanting to catch up with his husband. “It wasn’t bright like this. It was always red, all the time.”
Cellbit sighs, and he echoes it, his chest rising and falling beneath a sweater that isn’t his.
“I fucking hate the Federation,” Cellbit continues, “but at least they never threw me into an arena and made me kill people until I passed out.”
“Oh.”
Did that happen in Purgatory? He wouldn’t know. He couldn’t observe them while they were gone. What does he say? Would Roier have been there for that? Does he say he remembers that? Does he ask Cellbit to elaborate?
He’s no good at this.
“Baghera was good at it though,” Cellbit mutters. His voice is getting quieter. Is he getting tired? “She really got better at fighting. I’m proud of her.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Why did he say that? Is that something Roier would say?
He doesn’t know.
Cellbit huffs out a small laugh. “Why?”
Why?
Because he knows.
What Cellbit learned about the Federation all those many years ago. Why he ran away. How he figured it out in the first place. His history on the battlefield, his sheer ruthlessness, his desire to survive. What got him arrested. How he broke out. How he returned to the island and became a genius detective who’s managed to pull apart the seams of the Federation’s secrets like they were made of putty.
He’s read all the reports. He’s watched all the security footage from that prison. He knows more about Cellbit than Cellbit himself does.
He’s been such a fascinating experiment.
He can’t say that.
He nudges his (Roier’s) head against Cellbit’s. “You must have been super strong to kill all those guys the Watcher made you fight. Come on, let me feel those muscles, gatinho.”
He reaches over and squeezes Cellbit’s arm. Cellbit laughs and nudges him in the side with his elbow. “Pendejo,” he says.
“Filho de puta,” he shoots back.
Cellbit lifts his head off his (Roier’s) shoulder. His eyes are bright, gleaming in the light of the setting sun.
Roier has always had this.
He can’t remember the last time he even touched another person before now.
Cellbit lifts a hand and cups his (Roier’s) jaw, every point of contact with his fingertips sending electricity through his nervous system. His heart skips a beat as Cellbit leans in.
He freezes when Cellbit’s lips press against his. What is he meant to do with his mouth? Does he close his eyes?
Cellbit’s tongue prods at his lips and hell, he still hasn’t even processed that there’s another mouth on his yet, but he opens his mouth a bit and lets Cellbit lap at his teeth, at the roof of his mouth, not hungry or desperate but gentle, slow, languid. Like he’s savouring this moment.
This is new.
This is strange.
It’s... nice.
He tries to relax and lets himself savour this, too.
Cellbit pulls away, and he’s left almost panting as he waits for his brain to start working again. That was nothing, just a kiss, how the fuck is he going to keep up this façade if or when Cellbit wants to—no, that’s a problem for later. He can’t handle even thinking about that now.
Cellbit leans in again, and he braces himself for another kiss that will surely make his brain leak out of his ears, but instead Cellbit just presses a kiss to his forehead and then sits back. He’s still cradling his face in one hand, and the soft smile on his face can only be described as loving.
He feels loved.
He shouldn’t. It’s not a love for him, it’s a love for who Cellbit thinks he is.
This is temporary.
He needs to remind himself of that before—
Before what?
This is nothing. There is nothing here he wants. He’s simply keeping up the mask.
“Te amo, guapito,” Cellbit says.
He can’t look at that face meant for Roier and say it back.
He tugs Cellbit towards him, tucking Cellbit’s face against his shoulder in what he hopes is a decent approximation of a loving hug. He swallows and presses his lips against the crown of Cellbit’s head. His voice nearly shakes when he whispers back.
“Te amo, gatinho.”