Chapter Text
Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
Uh, that was weird.
How to be brave?
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?
Seven couldn't remember setting up an alarm before going to sleep last night (or day; it had been 3am.), and even then, since when was such a song downloaded on his phone?
How bizarre.
His pillow felt somehow different too. Flatter than usual, as if it had been used a lot more often than what Seven slept in his bed. Just like the mattress itself too; it felt more comfortable than his relatively cheap.
Yeah, how bizarre.
…
Seven's eyelids remained carefully shut despite his brain springing into activity in a single second—throwing the sleepiness that usually clang to him for a few more minutes far away.
He did have some teenagers-targeted pop songs on his phone, for when he felt like listening to that genre on some random days. But the hacker was certain he would never select one of them as a wake-up alarm. Mainly because Seven rarely bothered to set one in the first place (after all, if he didn't sleep at all, there was no need for one).
So all that led to the next question; was it really his phone that played the song just now?
It had to be, though. It sounded so close, too close to be coming from his desktop or another room.
Even if someone had broken into the bunker, hypothetically saying it was not nigh impossible, why in the world would the burglar, assassin, etc. play some funky love song instead of, like, killing or kidnapping him while he slept and was defenseless?
“Seven!” The sudden voice calling his name almost made the redhead jump out of his skin. “Wake up and switch that thing off!”
More than for coming out of nowhere, what confused Seven further from that shout was that he recognized its owner’s voice. And while it gave him a possible answer on who switched the music on, it made even less sense.
Why would Vanderwood, of all people, play an upbeat pop song—and then tell him to switch it off.
“Breakfast is ready!” Seven could hear Vanderwood's voice getting nearer, as well as the sound of their footsteps approaching.
Which was, to say the least, offsetting.
He had never heard the brunette footsteps make a sound. Except when they intentionally made them audible (and the few times that occurred, was because Seven was kinda jumpy during bad days).
A door opened. And Seven's breathing unconsciously stopped flowing.
“Hey! Knobhead!” Vanderwood had to be standing right beside him now; Seven could even feel their gaze on him. “I swear— I have to leave soon. Wake up!”
Were they in a hurry? For what? It would be nice if the universe started to give him answers instead of adding more questions to the pile with each passing minute.
A hand dropped on his shoulder. “Seven!”
Right. His dear maid wasn't particularly patient; had never been. He should deal with this first—somehow puzzling everything together later.
The redhead finally opened his eyes, instantly meeting brown ones staring right at him.
̶O̶h̶.̶ ̶H̶e̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶g̶o̶t̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶m̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶w̶n̶ ̶u̶n̶t̶i̶l̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶a̶w̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶m̶ ̶a̶g̶a̶i̶n̶.̶
“Oh, Mary,” Seven put on his best high-pitched theatrical voice. He knew the trick had worked when Vanderwood rolled their eyes and took a step back from the bed. “You surely know that the best way to wake up a sleeping prince is with a tender kiss of true lov—” a pillow suddenly covered his face, “hmff!”
Vanderwood didn’t put enough pressure on the pillow that the redhead couldn’t just push it away, but he still did not do it.
“I don't have time for jokes today, you know it.” Did he? The world seemed to go on as if he should know. “I'm stressed enough.”
Well, that wasn't new either.
Vanderwood was always barking at him about work, survival and other stuff, always in a rush to finish an assignment that could be (procrastinated) left for later.
Not even when every other thing about that morning was extremely strange, it seemed that Vanderwood was still Vanderwood. To know that was a much more comforting fact than Seven expected it to be.
“Come on, get up,” the brunette took a step back once Seven was ‘awake enough’ to their satisfaction and turned around, hurriedly walking back to the corridor they came from, “breakfast is ready.”
The hacker could hear his handler still speaking as they walked away, but Seven's brain quickly clouded itself with too many questions once again to register what they were talking about from,, wherever had they walked off to.
He was wearing a t-shirt and his boxers. His wardrobe was quite big and well-packed with many styles, but he couldn’t remember owning this one even for a one mission only. His hair felt a bit longer, hadn’t gotten a haircut recently?
As he sat up on the mattress and turned his head to scan the room, it felt familiar despite never having been in this room before—he was sure of it. There were a handful of things that he also had in his own bedroom but a bunch of other stuff that he doubted were his.
The ceiling was covered with glow in the dark stars, the kind he once tried to put above his bed but had to get rid of soon after due them activating his fight or flight response when he caught a glimpse of them while being on the thin line between consciousness and pass-out Land.
Near the bed was his wireless charger but uh, different. It was a shade of pastel pink and white and Sanrio themed instead of being designed like the upper part of a soda can (he had thought it was a fun idea when he got it costum-made). Still, his phone was on top of it—now silently as the alarm turned itself off after being ignored for so long.
Seven instantly grabbed it and held tightly onto the device, in a small hope that doing so would help him stabilize himself.
Things weren't exactly wrong. They just were out of place.
And somehow, Seven had the feeling it was just the beginning.
The redhead got up after a few more minutes of observing his surroundings, discarding the—very comfortable, mind you—weighted blanket aside.
Maybe everything was simply a dream. A strangely accurate detailed and realistic dream.
It would definitely make more sense than the other possibility running through his head; he couldn't just assume he is currently in some sort of alternative reality of the life he knew.
Yeah, Seven thought, there's no way that's what's happening. I’ll wake up and all of this will disappear as soon as I leave the room.
To further support Seven's belief that even God saw his existence as a joke, the strange scenario he woke up into did, in fact, not disappear as soon as he took a step out of the bedroom. Damn it.
Instead, he was now standing in a hallway with another door right in front of him and another on the way leading to a living room.
Vanderwood was there too. They went from the door on his left (if Seven saw correctly as they opened the door, it was a bathroom) to the living room, getting away from his view after turning towards the right.
So they were in an apartment; a two bedroom one, he concluded. So the door in front of him right now was most likely Vanderwood's bedroom.
Were they sent on a mission and he somehow got amnesia? He didn't have a headache or any injuries that would explain sudden memory loss, though.
“Seven, food ‘s getting cold!”
The redhead rushed to put his thoughts aside and walked towards the informant's voice.
“On the way, Mary!”
Focusing on keeping the act first, Seven walked into the kitchen.
It was smaller than the bunker's one but also had a lot more stuff in it. He admitted he hadn't bought almost anything for his own kitchen, not more than a couple plates and a set of cutlery. It was Vanderwood who complained about not having anything to cook a decent meal with and went out of their way to supply the kitchen with “the bare minimum”, they had said.
This kitchen, however, was full to its capacity. Ingredients like sugar and spices were on the shelves, an apron hung near the fridge; there was even a mixer near the stoves and oven—the kind usually used when making cake or bread.
This wasn't a kitchen kept for appearances, it was a regularly used and well kept one.
Did Vanderwood rent an airbnb for the mission? No, Seven knew they preferred to rent an empty apartment, the ones that shady people rented for a few days or weeks to do their shady stuff. This one looked too tidy and organized.
The two of them kinda were shady people too, now that he thought about it. It came with the whole being secret agents and so.
“Earth to Seven.” The redhead blinked a couple of times, before taking in the sight of a Vanderwood standing centimeters away from his face. Again. “Are you alright? You're acting funny.”
Oh, great, they noticed him being weird. Although, it would have been weirder if they hadn't. The Vanderwood he knew wasn't blind nor dumb.
“Yep!” The brunette simply needed to stare at him and raise an eyebrow to perfectly let Seven know their thoughts: ‘I don't believe your bullshit’.
“Really, Madam. I'm finee!”
Seven didn't know himself what was going; how could he explain it to Vanderwood. Without making them—further—believe he fell and hit his head and had a brain injury, that is.
He could tell the brunette was about to keep questioning, so Seven quickly intervened and questioned. “Weren't you in a hurry?”
“What a smart remark.” ‘Want to state anything more obvious? is what they meant. “So out with it, Seven, stop making me worry so I can go.”
Whatever dismissing words were about to leave the redhead's mouth, instantly died on his tongue as soon the small detail caught up to him.
Vanderwood? Worrying about him? Admitting they were worrying about him?
Maybe something was much more out of place on Vanderwood’s end than on his.
“I,”
Seven's mouth suddenly felt dry. And that's when it suddenly hit the hacker; just how Vanderwood was looking at him with a genuine, unhiden emotion.
They were clearly concerned, even keeping in place beside him despite how much Seven knew they hated to do when they had to get things done quickly.
Vanderwood always wore their emotions on their sleeves—they had trained themself to it. And even when they did try to genuinely express themself more openly, the brunette had a hard time and it always looked kind of forced out of them. ̶I̶n̶ ̶a̶n̶ ̶e̶n̶d̶e̶a̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶k̶i̶n̶d̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶.̶
Right this moment, however, as Seven couldn't take his eyes away, the small frown, the indiscreet scanning his face, the worry written all over their face with a bright red marker; it all looked so natural. They were making it look so easy to do.
Was this person really his Vanderwood?
“I'm okay.” Seven finally managed to spit out, his mask faltering for two seconds before curving his lips upwards and nailing the smile on his face again. “Guess I didn't sleep that much last night, haha.”
At the mention of a poor sleep schedule, Vanderwood sighed almost immediately and turned their back to him again to keep preparing a sandwich.
Did,, they believe him? So easily?
Sure, Seven was lying like the agency had taught him to do and he was good at it, fooling just about anybody no matter the scenario.
But Vanderwood wasn't anybody.
“I told you yesterday not to stay up for too long.” Seven put more attention on the brunette now, doubt slowly forming from the bottom of his stomach. “You were working on something, right? I still don't understand why you wanted to wake up early today .
What time did you end up going to bed at?”
Vanderwood should be rolling their eyes, reprimanding him for wasting time and telling him that they are not falling for his tricks, not further asking about his lie with concern.
Seven couldn't answer their questions, mainly because he himself didn't know.
The last thing he remembered was improving the security of the RFA App, eating two bags of his Honey Buddha Chips stash for dinner,, He didn't recall ever standing up from his computer and going to bed.
So instead, now that he paid more attention to every small action of his handler(?), he blurted out one of the—slowly increasing things—not right with them. “Your accent.”
Vanderwood, who had finished preparing the snack and put it on a plastic bag, half-turned their head to look at Seven, lifting an eyebrow at him—clearly not seeing where he was getting at. “What about it?”
Seven was used to only hearing it at the bunker, and even then, on rare occasions. It happened when Vanderwood was too frustrated or tired to bother to suppress it.
They hadn't been hiding it since he woke up. “It's noticeable.” At the brunette's gaze pushing him to keep going, the redhead did exactly that. “Uh, more than usual. Just that.”
“You think?” The brunette wasn't convinced, Seven knew it. But they didn't press the matter, possibly due to them looking at the clock hanging on a corner of the kitchen and cursing out. “Fuck, I have to run.” They remembered the rush they were in, so all was good.
What were they even in such a hurry for?
It (theoretically) didn't concern him, considering Vanderwood hadn't pushed him to get out of the pijamas he was wearing; were they maybe in some kind of solo-mission?
As the brunette jogged out of the kitchen, using a hand to aid themselves to walk through the door frame and not to crash straight into it, Seven debated his options for a couple of seconds before following them. Standing in the middle of a stranger's kitchen wouldn't help him figure out what was going on.
Neither did standing on a corridor towards the exit, but, oh well, h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶ he was looking at Vanderwood putting a pair of leather boots on.
“What are you doing there?” The brunette asked after noticing he had gone after them, looking up to Seven for a second before going back to adjust a brown messenger leather bag on their shoulder. Like the kitchen, he could tell the bag was being used often but Seven didn't remember seeing the bag on the hands of his handler ever before.
Had Vanderwood finally begun to notice his suspicion towards them? Was he staring too much at them? “Your food is getting cold.” Oh.
He did see a plate with some fried eggs, a toast and some more stuff back at the kitchen's table.
Where are you even going? Despite that being one of the questions he most wanted the answer to, he said something else instead. “I just wanted to see you leave.”
There was no doubt; it was Vanderwood right in front of them.
The way their right eyebrow lifted itself just a centimeter with confusion, that slightly styled hair towards their left side and the rebel hair strand near their right ear, the beauty mark on their face…that was not being covered with makeup.
It was them, but at the same time… they kind of weren't.
Vanderwood snorted, slightly smirking as they looked at Seven. “So you followed me like a dog?”
This was the smile he was used to seeing on the brunette face; not the soft expressions nor the tender gazes.
Vanderwood always had a certain sharpness on their smiles, judgmental eyes that they couldn't (or didn't) get rid off.
“Don't you have anything better to do with your free time?” If it was anybody else, the question would sound very rude. But this was the Vanderwood teasing that sped Seven's heartbeat up so easily. “Are you going to miss me that much?”
“I,” Seven cleared his throat, taking his eyes away from the brunette to better brush off the way his emotions almost flickered out of his control. “You are the one always reprimanding me for blowing your words out of proportion.”
“Yeah, and?”
“Don't ‘yeah, and?’ me, Mary!”
Vanderwood shrugged, amusement written all over their stupid(lovingly) face. “I've never said I wasn't a hypocrite.”
Seven snickered. Or we was about to.
Or he started to, but was quickly interrupted.
The whole thing of taking the other by surprise and being unpredictable was supposed to be his thing, not Vanderwood's.
So, he was even more shocked when the brunette was suddenly a step closer.
It happened so fast. And so slow at the same time.
One second, Vanderwood's hand was on his face, tenderly holding him. ? He felt the warmth of their hand, the slight brush of his ear. ??
And the next, their lips were touching his.
??!
Wait. Was Vanderwood kissing him?
Vanderwood was kissing him?!
The glimpse of the Vanderwood he knew instantly vanished again. “Really, if something happens or you just need me, send me a text, Seven. I'll be here as soon as I can.”
What. What the actual f—
The brunette turned around and left before Seven's finished loading. Can you blame him this time, though?!
Vanderwood just kissed him like it was nothing out of the ordinary.
Sure, there had been some tension between the two of them for the last couple of y̶e̶a̶r̶s months. Holding eye contact for a longer amount of time than needed, small brushes of the other one's hand when it would have been perfectly avoidable.
But never in their pitiful self-made dance around each other had they been stubborn enough to go so far that getting kissed (softly, Seven had remark, very softly despite how quick it happened) made sense to him.
As the redhead brought his left hand towards his lips, he felt how his face started to color-match the hair surrounding it.
An App on his phone popped up on screen—the calendar—with a written reminder appearing simultaneously: Wake Early!! Stark's surprise!!$!
There were even less things he understood from this whole day.
Oh, well. At least he was very much awake now.
.