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One second, Boboiboy in all his glory— felt strong. Like he was on top of the world, basking in confidence that nothing– anything, can stand in his way.
His frame hovered above the purple trees. Boboiboy’s legs, almost dangling, far above any bird. Like an ethereal being, so much better than anything else.
Power surged through his every vein. Flowing as blood would for his humane vessel. Incredibly promising. He felt as if he was taken to another dimension.
Boboiboy dared to say he was unstoppable— as his beam annihilated whatever that bastard stood for. Destroying even the tiniest fragments of his existence.
Gopal had described it to him once, how it all looked from a safe distance far where the light couldn't possibly blind him.
Nothing short of terrifying. The matter of ceasing the existence of even the evilest thing felt unworldly cruel.
Gopal had told him to stop using Supra— that its immense power would surely overcome Boboiboy’s sense of rationality. That the power would consume him, control him.
But here he was again, the final bits of the beam slowing down, until finally– in the next second of feeling so powerful— it all tore apart.
Boboiboy yelps in agony, like he was being ripped to shreds. The power he used is now consuming him. A final attempt at karma.
It stripped itself away from him like he was worthless. So undeserving, so naive for thinking he was in control.
Like they hadn't just become one, like his vessel and the power he carried didn't just merge to form something incomparable.
Everything felt heavy, the sky was tumbling down on him like a reminder—that he doesn’t top the world, he could never even.
Distorted like returning back to work after a jovial week at home. Meeting back a stern boss who radiates command and service, firmly shoving the dumb idea of holding his own control.
Strange, draining.
“Boboiboy!”
He hears, though it feels far away. Maybe he— his soul was in another dimension after all, distant from reality. Where he knows what's going on but his vessel couldn't be bothered to respond as he likes to.
“Jejari bayang!”
That scream. Boboiboy knew who it belonged to yet the tone radiated so much unfamiliarity it was foreign.
Fang was scared, worried, and so damn frustrated. Desperate to unleash his shadows out to reach whatever he needed—him. Fang was reaching for him.
Boboiboy realised that when strings wrapped around his torso. Carefully gentle yet firm. Fang didn't want to harm him but knew the drop would be far worse had Boboiboy slipped from his loose grip.
It was warm and it felt like home. Like a cup of coco before heading to school, a final embrace from his father—an escapade from reality.
So he lets the strings shorten his fall. Fluttering his lashes as the tiredness from his extreme power usage finally starts to catch up.
Boboiboy felt safe, so he shut his eyes.
.
It took Boboiboy a minute to wake up again. Drowsiness wavering from the constant cries of his name, it wasn't clear yet Boboiboy can make out the three syllables with particular ease.
Boboiboy’s eyes weighed heavy, begging for a minute but he powered through anyways. Pushing himself up as a faint sigh trails down his tongue.
“—Boboiboy.. I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry—I should've been there I-”
Fang weeped, relief washing over him as he immediately pulled Boboiboy’s weak figure into a hug. Crushingly warm.
Fang’s face was tear stricken, Boboiboy could tell— judging by the sudden dampness his shoulder carried. Fang’s tone was literal, he’s actually-
“Crying?”
Boboiboy asked, teasing but it sounded nothing like one. Maybe it was his hoarse voice that made his pleasant amusement off-put as the joke fell short. The word, more flat than humorous.
Fang shoves his frame away at the remark, though Boboiboy notices him almost reaching back like he was scared of accidentally hurting him.
“You almost died, idiot.” he spat instead, glaring. “Who knows how they'll react if only I turn up tomorrow.”
Boboiboy didn't give him a feeble suggestion. The images of his friends’ reaction to his demise fogging his brain more than he would've liked.
A minute of silence pass by before Fang continues his chide,
“I told you not to overestimate him, we could have been civil.” he says, turning away. His tone was low and almost disappointing. “You should’ve controlled your emotions.”
Boboiboy rudely scoffs at that, rolling his eyes as he recalls just what that grime did.
“Give us that power sphere, it doesn't belong to you!” Fang says, collected as he slowly marches towards him.
It was a duo mission, courtesy of the rest of his friend group being involved in another series of hardcore training.
It was supposed to be simple, retake the power sphere— Ironbot and arrest the alien for fraud and stolen property.
But that would be too easy, the universe didn't like easy. The alien, who Boboiboy didn't bother remembering the name of, blasted a power gun in retaliation. Fang yelped, his chest suffering the fate of being a few inches in target.
Boboiboy saw red, Fang’s order of staying still and letting him bask in glory coming unmet. It was all a hazy blur as he merged his elements together.
“He hurted you.” Boboiboy retorts.
“So?” Fang cursed, feigning nonchalance as he grasped his wrapped chest. A poor attempt to cover the evidence. He knew what Boboiboy meant, because of course he did.
A part of him always understood Boboiboy, far more than anyone else. They share a bond like no other, so specially crafted. So especially them.
Boboiboy leans closer, definitely pushing in Fang’s space now. “That makes him a threat.” he says, cold and daring defiance. His chocolate eyes staring evenly at the raven’s scarlet red.
Fang took a glance before slumping, “It's not that deep, Boboiboy.” he huffs in defeat.
The raven shuddered when his hand trailed a little too hard, biting his lips to muffle a whimper that unfortunately didn't go unnoticed.
Boboiboy furrowed his eyebrows, clicking his tongue as he yanks Fang’s hand away. His eyes examine the soaken plaster with so much focus it gets Fang to shiver again at the intensity.
Boboiboy tightens his grip on Fang’s squirming hand, his other hand leaning in to touch before faltering. He looks up to meet Fang’s eyes again, “What was that about not being deep?”
He asked, grazing his fingers over the soaken plaster, humming when it instantly coats in blood. The iron seeped through the layers with ease, like some sort of wet sponge.
“What the fuck, Boboiboy?” Fang winced in agony, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”
Boboiboy remained unfazed, blinking without the slightest hint of disturbance. He glances at his fingers before turning back to Fang.
“Selfless fucker.” Boboiboy spat, smearing the blood over Fang’s soft pale cheek. Fang darts his head away but Boboiboy was quick to grip his face, leaving Fang’s hand free.
“Of course a dumbass like you would defend a crude like that.” he continues, cleaning his fingers on Fang’s face. Like a tissue, or whatever alien version existed.
“Let me go.” Fang sputtered, uncomfortable by their extreme closeness and Boboiboy’s determination to prove him wrong. Boboiboy raised an eyebrow,
“You're not pushing me off.”
He says, like it's a question. Fang was equally confused, his arms—for some reason, stayed completely still.
Fang wanted Boboiboy to back away until his outstretched legs were a safe distance far but his body couldn't comply with the idea more than just a voice of opinion.
“I can't stand seeing you get hurt.” Boboiboy admits finally, letting go of his smeared face. “I can't stand seeing any of us get hurt.” he rephrases, as if worried the sentence sounded a bit too.. passionate.
Fang turns to him, eyes all too knowing. “And you call me selfless.” he chuckled, pathetic. All he sees is Boboiboy’s raging eyes, his slumped posture and the guilt that radiates off him.
He holds Boboiboy's hands in his, “The beams make your hands all calloused.” Fang says instead, a huge contrast to Boboiboy’s degrading words. “I remember when it was softer, when you were nicer.”
Boboiboy huffed, “I was thirteen then.” he reasons. “You're only fifteen now.”
“Sixteen.”
Fang looks at him, tilting his head abit. “It's not March yet is it?” he playfully sneered with a smug grin.
That voice. That motherfucking voice.
It makes Boboiboy want to pin him down and beat his skull to a mush, to see what dumb thing he thought while using that tone with whatever scrap left of his unused brain.
Boboiboy hates how his heart twirls at the idea, infact, he hates his soft bullshit. Fang wasn't gentle, but in this moment it felt as if he always was.
“You should start using lotion.” he says again, moving his thumb repeatingly on Boboiboy’s skin. “Do aliens even have lotion?” Boboiboy counters, half tempted.
“Of course, I'll take you there personally if you don't believe me.” he cooes gently, eye contact passive but challenging. Boboiboy snorts, “Is it a date?”
Fang pulls Boboiboy’s hand to wipe the blood half-heartedly. It was far from clean, it left both dirty but in that moment, it felt almost romantic.
“Fuck off.” he replied in a sickly sweet tone.