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The ghost fight had been insane.
A hoard of ectoplasmic monstrosities had torn through downtown Amity Park, and Danny—outnumbered and nearly overwhelmed—was just about to call it a very bad night when El Tigre showed up, a whirlwind of claws, kicks, and gleeful chaos. Together, they’d wiped the floor with the ghosts and, after some intense teamwork, managed to suck them all into the Fenton Thermos.
Now, Danny and Manny sat on the edge of a tall rooftop, overlooking the city, breathing hard. The battle was over, the adrenaline was still high, and for a moment, there was nothing but the cool night air and the neon glow of Amity’s streetlights below them.
Danny exhaled and let himself relax, allowing the tension to drain out of his body. His ghost form flickered with a soft flash before he transformed back into his human self. His white hair darkened, his glowing green eyes faded to blue, and the bruises and scrapes that had littered his body seconds ago disappeared entirely.
Manny, who had just spun his belt to deactivate his El Tigre form, turned to say something—only for Danny’s eyes to go huge.
"Holy shit," Danny blurted. "Why do you look so bloody?!"
Manny blinked. "Huh?"
Danny gestured at him. "Dude, you’re messed up! Were you always that beat up under the mask? Why does your face look like you lost a fight with a wood chipper?"
Manny scowled, poking at a particularly nasty scrape on his cheekbone. "And why do you look so not messed up?"
"Oh. Right." Danny blinked. "Yeah. Healing factor."
Manny’s expression flattened. "Oh, well, that explains it," he deadpanned. "I don’t have one of those."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "That is so stupid."
Manny huffed. "Excuse me?"
Danny shook his head, already transforming back into Phantom. His white hair and glowing green eyes returned in a flash of light. Then, before Manny could even think about getting up, Danny scooped him up bridal-style and shot into the air.
"¡Ay, cabrón! What the hell?!" Manny squawked, immediately squirming. "Put me down, Danny!"
Danny rolled his eyes, effortlessly adjusting his grip as he soared over Amity Park. "Dude, calm down. I’m just taking you to my house to patch you up."
"I can walk," Manny grumbled, though his struggles were half-hearted.
"You can complain," Danny countered, "but you’re still bleeding, so I win."
Manny grumbled under his breath in Spanish, but ultimately stopped fighting. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, he supposed—being carried in the arms of a super-strong ghost boy who may or may not make his heart do stupid things. Not that he was admitting that out loud.
Danny, on the other hand, was very aware of how warm Manny was in his arms. He could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the lingering tension in his muscles from the fight. And, most noticeable of all, he could hear Manny’s heartbeat—strong and steady against his own.
For a second, Danny’s focus wavered, and he realized: Oh god, I’m carrying him like a fucking prince in a fairytale.
His face burned.
He cleared his throat. "Uh. So. You always get this beat up when you fight?"
Manny sighed dramatically. "Not always. Sometimes I win before I get my ass kicked."
Danny smirked. "Oh, so it’s a strategy."
"Sí, it keeps things exciting."
Danny snorted. "You’re ridiculous."
Manny smirked, but it faded slightly as he shifted in Danny’s grip. "...I, uh. I appreciate it, though. You helping me out."
Danny felt something warm bloom in his chest. He tightened his hold just slightly, a silent I got you. "Yeah," he murmured. "Anytime."
They landed on the roof of Fenton Works, and before Manny could even try to move, Danny effortlessly carried him through the wall until his room.
"Seriously, I could've walked," Manny muttered as Danny set him on the bed.
Danny just gave him a look before going to grab his first aid kit. "Shut up and let me be nice to you," he said.
Manny, for once, did.
Danny came back with the first aid kit and climbed onto the bed, slipping on a pair of gloves before grabbing a damp cloth. He started with the cuts on Manny’s arms, dabbing at the worst of them first.
"You have a lot of scars," Danny murmured, his gaze lingering on a set of matching ones on Manny’s wrists. The jagged lines almost looked like someone had tried to slice his hands off.
Manny hummed, shrugging. "Yeah, crime-fighting and being an impulsive idiot can do that to you."
Danny chuckled. "Don’t feel bad. I have several of my own."
He lifted his left arm, showing off the faint but distinct Lichtenberg scars trailing along his skin. They were almost invisible unless you were looking for them, but in the dim light of his bedroom, they stood out just enough for Manny to see.
Manny blinked, eyes trailing over them, but he didn’t say anything—because just as he was about to ask, Danny pressed an alcohol wipe to a fresh cut, making Manny wince. Danny muttered a quiet 'sorry' before methodically cleaning the wounds and placing varying sizes of bandages over them.
Then he moved on to Manny’s face.
Danny’s touch was infuriatingly gentle. He ran the damp cloth over Manny’s cheek, carefully wiping away the streaks of blood. His other hand reached up to steady Manny’s face, fingers resting lightly against his jaw. Manny let his eyes slip closed, relaxing under the careful ministrations.
Danny took it as a sign that he wasn’t hurting him and continued. He adjusted his hold, tilting Manny’s face just slightly so he could focus on a cut near his temple.
Then he heard it.
A soft, barely-there rumbling noise.
Danny didn’t stop at first, only pulling Manny a bit closer to get a better angle on his work. The noise got louder.
Then it hit him.
Manny was purring.
Danny froze. His hands stilled, his eyes wide as he stared at Manny’s face.
Manny’s brows furrowed as he realized the shift in atmosphere, and his eyes flickered open. "What?" he mumbled, blinking in confusion.
Danny, still processing, blinked back at him. Then, hesitantly, he started cleaning the last cut, finishing up with the last of the bandages while still holding Manny’s face.
But he had a theory now.
So, experimentally, Danny lifted his thumb and gently caressed Manny’s cheekbone.
The purring ramped up.
Danny gasped.
Manny’s eyes flew open. His face instantly darkened, and he panicked. "Wait! No!" He waved his hands, flustered. "It’s not what you think it is.
Danny barely bit back a laugh. "Manny."
"It’s—it's—" Manny stammered, clearly searching for an explanation.
Danny just exhaled a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "I’ve just never met another human who could purr."
Before he could overthink it, Danny reached forward and gently took Manny’s freshly bandaged face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs along his cheeks in slow, careful motions, just like someone would do with a particularly affectionate cat.
Manny melted.
He leaned into the touch almost instinctively, and his purring only grew louder. Then, blinking hazily, he murmured, "Another?"
Danny tilted his head. "Another what?" A beat, "oh, right."
Danny hesitated, then cautiously lifted one of Manny's hands and placed it against his own face. Manny's rough fingertips brushed along Danny’s cheek, mimicking the same slow, affectionate strokes.
Danny’s breath caught in his throat.
And then—after a moment—his own ghost core rumbled.
It wasn’t quite the same as Manny’s deep, feline purring, but it was unmistakably similar. The vibrations started soft but quickly grew stronger, filling the space between them with warm, comforting sound. It always sounds like a broken purr in a way, the sound somehow otherworldly.
Manny’s lips parted slightly, his golden eyes going wide. "Oh," he breathed.
Danny barely had time to react before both of Manny’s hands were suddenly on him, his fingers moving with deliberate reverence as he showered Danny with gentle touches—along his cheeks, his jaw, his temple, anywhere he could reach.
Danny’s core flared under the attention, his whole body tingling from the warmth of Manny’s hands and the sound of their synchronized purring.
Manny leaned in closer, his own purring deep and constant, his voice barely above a whisper. "I make you happy?"
Danny swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He didn't trust himself to speak. So, instead, he nodded.
Several emotions flickered across Manny’s face in quick succession—shock, wonder, something else Danny couldn’t quite name.
Then, slowly, Manny leaned forward, giving Danny enough time to pull away.
Danny didn’t.
And then their lips met.
It was soft. Tentative. Just a brush of warmth and pressure, the taste of hesitant affection and unspoken feelings.
The only sound in the room was the distinct hum of two separate but perfectly synced purrs, rumbling in the quiet space of Danny’s bedroom.