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“You’re sure you don’t want help cleaning this up, Mike?”
“Yeah, I’m sure, Fit, don’t worry.” Mike grins. “Don’t want you and Pac messing up my kitchen, you know? I’m fine, I’ve got it.”
“Come on, Fit.” Pac’s voice is lowered in an exaggerated, fake conspiratorial tone. “We don’t want to mess with Mike’s kitchen, you know, it could be dangerous. Our, our lives could be in danger, you know, if we do something wrong. We should stay away, stay safe, you know.”
Mike snorts. “Toma no cu, mano.”
“Ae, fi, cê já tá começando, né?” He can hear the grin in Pac’s voice, though, and just laughs as Pac grabs Fit’s wrist and drags him away over to the living room.
“Hey, hey, Fit,” Pac whispers, alight with mischief rummaging for something in his inventory as Mike turns his back on them. “Fit, look.” Mike watches in his mind’s eye as Pac pulls on his balaclava. He’s pretty sure Pac knows he’s there, and the mischievous delight dancing along their link is a dead giveaway either way.
Fit raises his eyebrows, and he grins, pulling out his own. “I like the way you think, Pac, I like the way you think. Let’s see what Mike has in his chests while he’s distracted, huh?”
“Yeah!” Pac grins too. “Passa tudo, Fit, remember, passa tudo.”
Mike rolls his eyes, though he feels a smile creeping onto his own face as he keeps watching through Pac’s eyes, the two tiptoeing towards the cabinets and couple of stray chests at his living room front door. He doesn’t stop them, though, instead turning to the mess of dirty dishes strewn across the kitchen table to start sorting them into his dishwasher.
The three of them have ended up at Mike’s ranch after having spent the day dungeoning and exploring together, and it’s been, honestly, a really nice time. Mike doesn’t remember when they last all hung out properly with just the three of them, what with the server reset having thrown everything for a loop, and before that there was the second Purgatory, and before that was…
Well, he prefers not to think about his coma too closely, but that also kind of put a stop to their trio hangouts. Point is, the last time he truly remembers them all hanging out like this is the Murder Mystery arena-building days, and, as he listens to Fit and Pac pretending to rob his living room storage like the world’s most conspicuous burglars, he reflects that yeah, he missed this.
Things are a bit different now than they were then, of course. Pac and Fit are dating, for one, so Pac’s swooning over Fit’s voice in his mind is still present as ever, but it’s now just extended to him swooning over other things, as well. Or generally being all nervous, or excited, or fluttery and giggly depending on whatever flirty remarks he and Fit threw at each other this time.
But more importantly than that, Pac is happy. Or at least, happier than he’s been in a long time. So even if Mike isn’t the biggest fan of how sappy the romantic feelings spilling over from Pac’s brain to his can get sometimes, he doesn’t ever actually mean it when he complains at him about it.
(Even if he sometimes feels a tiny, anxious needling somewhere deep at the back of his mind, in a part he prefers to suppress – one that’s scared Pac will replace him, that he prefers Fit, that Mike missed too much and left Pac alone for too long and now Pac doesn’t need him anymore.)
(He doesn’t think about that; it’s stupid. Pac wouldn’t do that. He shoves it aside.)
Anyway. They had dinner, and definitely no disasters happened while they were cooking, because all three of them are culinary genuises. And now, Mike’s decided he’s had enough of them messing up his kitchen. Whatever order he might have had in here may have been ruined the moment they decided to cook together, but he can at least want to fix it again.
So he’s filling the dishwasher on his own, while Pac pretends to be inconspicuous as he digs through his living room cabinets, and Fit, crouched next to him, looks over at him with the most stupidly fond look that Pac won’t acknowledge even when Mike can see it through his eyes.
Mike dumps the last of the plates in the dishwasher and turns around. “Okay, stop stealing my shit,” he announces, “that’s enough, guys, come on.”
“Damn it!” Pac’s barely holding back laughter as he turns to Fit. “Merda, Fit, we got caught. Damn it.”
“Aw, no,” Fit joins in, “aw, but Pac, I thought we were doing so well.” He sighs. “Welp. Sorry, Mike, ya got us.” He, too, is clearly holding back a laugh.
“I guess we have to put all this back.” Pac sighs a fake weary sigh and starts pulling things out of his pockets. Mike turns back to the table, amusement bouncing between both of them through the link as he starts gathering the remaining dishes to handwash in the sink. (He’s missed this.)
“Come here,” he hears Pac telling Fit while Mike’s filling up the sink with water. He glances over his shoulder, and sees Pac directing Fit, willingly ordered around by him as always, to lie on Mike’s lime green couch, and the intention to drape himself over Fit’s chest once he’s lying down is ringing clear in Pac’s mind when Mike pokes in to have a look as he turns back to the sink.
Hi, Pac chirps happily, when he notices Mike looking. He makes a good pillow, you know.
You two are insufferable.
Pac laughs at that, prompting a curious look from Fit. Mike grabs one of the pots, and starts scrubbing as Fit and Pac settle in. Things go quiet for a while, only the sound of his somewhat mindless dishwashing accompanying the muffled twitters and coos of the birds outside in the pen while Pac walks his fingers up and down Fit’s chest, radiating vibes of comfortable and content.
A few minutes later, though, Mike becomes aware that he hasn’t been looking at what they’ve been doing, lost somewhere in his own mind as he finishes up the last pot. When he zones back in, setting the pot on the drying rack, he realises he hears the soft sounds of lips meeting from over on the couch, and a quick glance confirms that Pac’s shifted up slightly to kiss Fit, tilting his jaw with his fingers to meet Pac better.
I’m still here, you know.
I know, Pac replies cheerfully, and continues on.
Mike snorts under his breath, going to grab a cloth to wipe down the counters with. Can I see, at least?
Sure.
So with that, Mike settles properly into the back of P1ac’s mind, keeping half his attention on the dishes, and focusing the rest on watching Pac and Fit kiss through Pac’s eyes.
It’s… soft. Pac feels all fuzzy and romantic inside, and Mike draws back a little. (Pac can do whatever he wants, but the romance gets a bit much for Mike sometimes. He’s only here to observe. In, like, a scientific way.)
Pac is… happy, Mike notes as the two of them continue what is essentially turning into a mini-makeout session right there on his couch, and he scrubs at a stain on the counter. It’s rare for Pac to feel all fuzzy and light like this; usually, there’s always some sort of worry gnawing at his mind. It’s not like he’s entirely care-free, here, either; but this is still a change, and, Mike considers as he keeps half an eye vaguely watching the situation, seems to be good for Pac. So he’s glad, in that sense.
Fit nips at Pac’s bottom lip, somewhat hesitant, but there nevertheless. It sends a pleasant tingle down Pac’s spine – not one that’s genuinely going somewhere, Mike knows that, but it’s there all the same.
…If they keep doing that, Mike thinks, he’s going to threaten to throw water on them, or something. Not that he actually minds them doing this in his presence; but it would be really funny, so, priorities.
Actually, fuck it. It’ll be funny either way. “Guys,” he says loudly, without turning around, “can you stop being horny in my living room, please?”
“Mike!” He cackles at the sharp sound of Pac’s flustered voice as he tears away from Fit when Mike turns, as well as the embarrassed jolt it sends along their link. He dodges the pillow Pac grabs and throws at him, and watches him bury his face in Fit’s shoulder to hide.
Fit’s face, too, is red, and he doesn’t make eye contact. “Take it easy, Mike, take it easy.”
“Sure.” Mike barely manages to stop laughing. Teasing Pac never gets old, and Fit’s reactions, he’s found, are just as good. “Are you done now?”
“Done with what?” Pac resurfaces from Fit’s shirt, still flushed.
“Oh, you know.” Mike leaves the sentence hanging there, and turns back to the counter. He hears a muffled sigh from Pac, and a quick glance shows Pac’s laid his head on Fit’s chest. A moment later, Fit relaxes, too, and Mike focuses on finishing up his cleaning.
When the final counter has been wiped off and the last weird crumbs are deposited safely into the bin, Mike turns. Pac’s eyes are drooping closed, and Fit’s carding his fingers lightly through Pac’s hair. It’s… sweet, Mike supposes. Pac looks blissed-out and sleepy, and the soft, fond look on Fit’s face almost makes Mike like he’s seeing something he’s not supposed to. Something intimate, private – more so even than the kissing he was literally seeing from inside Pac’s mind.
…He didn’t think this through. What does he do now? He doesn’t want to intrude, but they’re in his house, and… Shit. He’s third-wheeling now. Fuck.
Hey. Pac sleepily prods at his mind before that train of thought can go very far, and reaches out an arm in his general direction, making a slight grabby-hand gesture. “Vem pra cá, Mikey.”
Oh, okay. Mike obliges, glancing at Fit as he rounds the counter to approach the couch. Fit is watching him, but in a content sort of way. Non-threatening. Just seeing where he goes. Sort of like a big, but calm, guard dog.
Mike sits on the floor where Pac is mentally beckoning him to go, cushioned by the carpet beneath him. Pac grabs for his hand, and hugs it close to his chest, lacing their fingers together as he gets more comfortable on Fit’s chest. We’re sharing, Mike realises, okay, that’s what’s happening, okay.
Fit is looking at him, a slight crease in his brow. “Don’t y’wanna sit somewhere more comfortable, Mike?”
He looks up and shrugs. “I don’t mind.” Pac wanted him here, and he’s content to go where Pac wants him to if it means he gets included in this – because still, despite the fact that he knows his worries are stupid, there’s still something small alight in his chest at the fact that he’s being included, Pac doesn’t want him to go, it’s okay.
Of course I don’t, Pac chimes in with a frown. Never, Mikey.
Yeah, I know. It’s fine. Mike rests his head against the side of the couch, leaningso the arm held captive by Pac isn’t at too awkward of an angle, and he can still sit somewhat comfortably. He’s had worse.
“No, there’s gotta be a better way to do this.” When Mike looks up again, Fit is frowning slightly. “Come up here, Mike.” He shifts his legs, then Pac’s, making space for Mike to sit. “There’s space, look.”
Mike only briefly hesitates before obliging, gently tugging his hand out of Pac’s grasp to clamber onto the couch (which is definitely too small for this, but hey) with them. Fit adjusts Pac to lie across both of them, his lower legs and feet, one socked, one metal, ending up across Mike’s lap. He nods, seemingly more to himself than to them, and leans back, seeming satisfied.
Something quiet, small, but adoring is shining inside Pac as he gazes up at his boyfriend. “Fit…”
Fit looks back at him, softening. “Yeah?”
Mike, he cares. Pac feels like he’s close to tearing up, wobbly lovey-ness melting over into Mike from his end. He wants you to be here. No one’s done that before.
“You good, Pac?” Fit asks, sounding mildly concerned. “Everything okay?”
“I—yeah. Very okay.” Pac presses his face into Fit’s shirt for a moment, then laughs softly and lies back down on his chest, gazing happily up at him. He fumbles for Mike’s hand behind him, and Mike gives it to him, letting him pull it into the middle of the Fit-Pac sandwich. He's not even put off by Pac’s mushiness this time. He gets it.
Because… well. Mike didn’t think he needed this, necessarily? But having Fit acknowledge their… thing, making both literal and figurative space for Mike in his relationship with Pac… It's nice. (Maybe this means more to Mike than he himself thought it did.)
A look at Fit, who is looking down at Pac with a soft expression, and glances up at Mike with a somewhat awkward, but genuine smile, only further confirms that.
Yeah, they can make this work. They will.