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Routine was something Subspace had grown to cherish. The certainty of actions and happenings, what to expect from the day ahead, it settled his heart and instilled within him a confidence that had previously wavered under Blackrock’s watchful eye. Although Boombox could be spontaneous at times, he’d settled into the understanding that sudden, major changes could very swiftly sour Subspace’s mood.
Morning routines, however, remained fairly consistent. Boombox often slept into the late morning, and Subspace suspected that the need for such long slumber was linked to his constant gear use, though it wasn’t like Boombox would stop blasting his music any time soon.
Sometimes, Subspace would stay snuggled in the sheets with his partner until the musician eventually woke up, or occupy himself with a book in the meantime. Other times, he’d busy himself with baking or watching a show in the other room, anything to distract the itch of anxiousness that sometimes carried over from his previous line of work.
This day wasn’t any different, and Subspace silently rose from the bed with a small stretch, blinking the sleep out of his eye. To his side, Boombox was snuggled up in the covers, back facing him, his breathing even and deep. The domesticity of his predicament almost made Subspace want to cover his face with a groan, though the feeling that bubbled up within him didn’t seem negative in any way.
If he was a stronger, more daring inphernal, perhaps he would’ve fulfilled the thought floating around in his mind of leaning over the other, brushing his locs away, and planting a kiss on the soft skin of his neck. But Subspace was neither of those things, and, after having barely skimmed the surface of that fleeting idea, felt his face burn up in a mix of embarrassment and shame.
He allowed his abashed gaze to linger on the other inphernal for a couple more minutes before he rose from the bed with a huff, the ruffling of the blankets doing little to stir Boombox from his slumber. Soft pattering echoed from his footsteps across the floor as Subspace exited the bedroom, and beams of sunlight caressed his cheek from where they shone through the windows, bright and warm. Comforting.
There was a baking show he’d wanted to watch that morning, and he managed to set the TV up just in time to catch it airing live, nestled on the couch between plump pillows and a blanket they’d left there from their last movie night. He hadn’t realised how much time had passed until the show ended, the presenter proudly showing off some tarts she’d prepared throughout the episode, as well as advertising a book of recipes she’d written herself for said food. Subspace made a mental note to look out for it the next time he and Boombox went to the supermarket, which would probably be within the next couple days if their rather emptied shelves of the kitchen had anything to say about it.
He switched off the TV resolutely, mentally assessing which items would have to be added to the shopping list, before he noticed something with a start. It was awfully quiet, wasn’t it? Typically, Boombox’s gear would be switched on twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The constant background noise was a comfort to both the musician and the scientist, and there were rarely moments where he de-summoned it other than when he had accidentally left it somewhere or another and either scrambled frantically to look for it, or begrudgingly have had to re-summon the gear.
Not to mention that it was nearing just after midday, and Boombox never slept for that long unless he’d gone to bed late the previous night. Subspace made his way back to the bedroom, a seed of dread planting itself within his heart at the lack of movement from the inphernal under the covers. Logically, he knew that there would be no reason for Boombox to be hurt, but the thought couldn’t help but briefly cross through his mind.
“Boom??” he spoke into the room. It was fairly dark, what with the curtains still being closed, and only a small slither of sunlight eased its way through a gap between them.
“Get up already,” Subspace continued when greeted with no answer. He stalked over to Boombox’s side of the bed, where that inphernal-shaped lump was buried under thick green covers.
Subspace crossed his arms and raised a brow as Boombox’s form shuffled slightly, and he only barely caught sight of a hand pulling the blanket tighter over himself when he was greeted once again with no response. A spike of frustration lanced through him, angry and viscous in his veins, and Subspace couldn’t help the disgruntled sound that left his throat.
“What, are you really ignoring me right now??” Subspace bit, affronted. Boombox ignoring him wasn’t entirely uncommon, especially when he said things he didn’t really mean, but the way in which Subspace heeded no response from the other put him on edge.
“What’s up with you??” he asked, frustrated, and made an attempt to wrench the blankets from Boombox’s body. The key word here was ‘attempt’, because the musician’s hold on the sheets was frighteningly strong, and Subspace had to eventually let go with a sharp sigh. Annoyance turned into exasperation as thoughts swirled around Subspace’s skull, chaotic and scared.
“Are you serious??” he questioned indignantly. Helplessness crawled up his spine and seized his body, a million different thoughts about what he could’ve done wrong to elicit such a reaction from Boombox twisting under his skin like poison. Perhaps Boombox had finally realised Subspace for the fuck-up that he was, cruel and undeserving of any amount of affection he so generously gave. Perhaps he’d realised that he didn’t want to deal with Subspace’s needs anymore, his rotting, disgusting body that yearned for care and comfort.
“Fine!! Stay under there forever for all I care!!” he yelled, shaking, and stomped away with conviction.
“Screwing up my morning for no reason,” he muttered on the way out, just loud enough so that he’d been sure Boombox could hear. In the back of his mind, he knew it was stupid of him to say, and rather childish at that, but the words left his mouth in a frustrated huff before he had time to process them, thick and heavy on his tongue.
He slammed the door behind him on his way out and dumped himself onto the couch with a huff, sharp fingernails absentmindedly scratching and tearing at the rotten skin on his arm. The room was quiet and still, as if the air itself had been frozen in time, and Subspace held his breath as if expecting Boombox to follow him into the living room and berate him for his cruel words. But footsteps never came, and Subspace was only left with a sizzling anger in his chest. Whether it was at himself or the musician he was unsure, but the guilt that settled uncomfortably in his stomach suggested the former.
A couple minutes passed, and then a couple more. Eventually, Subspace’s breathing calmed from sharp huffs to deep, purposeful breaths, and he felt the irritation under his skin slowly fizzle out and settle, unpleasant but nonetheless bearable. He sighed and watched the way in which dust particles floated through the air, drifting, barely visible via the light from the window. It’d been a while since Boombox had last dusted the place.
Boombox. He obviously didn’t want to talk to him, at least in Subspace’s eye, however his gut twisted recalling his impromptu outburst at the other inphernal, drawn from a place of vulnerable insecurity. Perhaps, he figured, an apology was in order. There were certainly enough ingredients in the kitchen to whip up some of those pastries Boombox was fond of, and the food would probably do him some good either way.
After feeding himself with food Boombox had left for him in the fridge, Subspace cleared the already rather pristine space in preparation for his baking. Boombox didn’t have a particularly sweet tooth, but he was always more than willing to try whatever food Subspace ended up making, from pies to cakes. In particular, Subspace had noticed that he especially enjoyed some of his more savoury pastries, predominantly the filo ones.
The process allowed Subspace’s brain to settle a little more, lost in the method of weighing ingredients and rolling out the dough. By the time he’d finished, the tray he’d planned to bring through to Boombox was piled with near-perfect, crunchy pastries, and Subspace was sure that, had he the ability to smell, he’d have been salivating at the mere aroma that wafted from them.
He wiped the sides down vigorously, then made sure to double, triple check that he’d turned the oven off, before he made his way to the bedroom door, baked goods in hand. Subspace stood awkwardly for a while, shifting weight from foot to foot as sharp teeth worried at his lower lip. He’d heard nothing from Boombox the entire time he’d been baking, and had he not seen the inphernal only a couple hours earlier, he would’ve sworn he was the only inphernal in the apartment.
His heart pounded in his chest with anticipation, unrelenting nervousness festering like a wound in his heart, dominated only by the burning guilt that plagued his mind. He raised a hand to knock, then shook his head and went for the handle instead, which allowed early afternoon light to spill in from the living room and into the muted darkness of the bedroom.
“Boombox??” he called out, spotting the other inphernal in the same position he was earlier, albeit slightly more curled up than before. Once again, there was no answer. Subspace sighed a deep, steady breath, before he walked around to where Boombox was.
“I made some of those pastries you like,” he explained, slightly awkward, and the lilt of his voice almost made it seem as though it were a question.
It took a couple minutes until there was movement beneath the covers, slow, reluctant, as if the very action itself was tedious. The air was charged with words left unsaid, and a resolute awkwardness hung thick between the two of them, as if the pressure of it was a crushing weight upon Subspace’s shoulders.
“‘M not hungry,” came Boombox’s voice, muffled and quiet, from beneath the covers. It was unlike him to sound so lethargic in his speech, the scratchiness of his words grating on Subspace’s ears like they’d been painfully wrenched from Boombox’s throat.
Relief that Boombox had finally said something, anything, to him was swiftly replaced by unadulterated anger, the fury rushing through his veins like a tidal wave. It was as if his previous indignation had vanished, only to be replaced by annoyance ten times its size. Subspace’s expression twisted into something almost pained, and he practically threw the tray of pastries onto the bedside table, unbothered by the loud clatter.
Boombox flinched under the sheets, something that didn’t go unnoticed by the scientist, as a huff left Subspace’s lips, sharp and irritated. He glanced at where a couple of pastries had fallen onto the floor with the force by which he’d tossed the tray down, but couldn’t find it within himself to care.
“What is wrong with you?? You were fine just yesterday!!” he yelled, tone sharp, as his hands clenched and unclenched by his sides. If anything, Boombox only seemed to curl up more at his outburst.
“I’m trying to help you and you’re just not taking it!! What else do you want from me??” he threw his hands up in frustration, and a sickening feeling crawled up his throat like hot bile.
“Did I do something?? I don’t-,” he stumbled over his words, resolve crumbling along with the fervent anger in his tone, “I don’t know what to do!!”
“I don’t…,” Subspace tapered off, voice breaking as his lip quivered with a myriad of emotions. Helplessness clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, and Subspace hated it. He hated not knowing what to do when Boombox was always the one who helped him, comforted him, soothed him with warm words and a warmer touch. It made him feel useless.
“I’m sorry,” he heard Boombox mumble, and Subspace felt deep shame at his cruel, volatile words.
Quiet reigned for a few minutes, and breaths heaved from Subspace’s chest like he was desperate for them, though guilty and undeserving. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, his rotten arm quivering at the adrenaline rush that had just seized him.
“No I… I shouldn’t have yelled like that,” Subspace replied, tongue thick in his mouth as he moved to sit on the side of the bed. He fiddled with his hands, picked the dead skin off of his decaying one, and turned his head to gaze at the inphernal under the covers before he tentatively cleared his throat.
“Do you want… a hug??” he asked after a short silence, the words janky and foreign to his lips. He’d never been good at comforting others, though he supposed he’d never really had to do so before. There was a shuffle, a sniffle, and then another shuffle, before Boombox responded again.
“Yeah,” he replied, and his face finally appeared from under the covers, lips downturned and expression sullen. Subspace’s heart sunk in his chest as Boombox shimmied over to him with a sniffle, and he wrapped his arms around the shorter inphernal, who latched onto him with desperation.
He would’ve found it almost comical how similar Boombox looked to a caterpillar, considering the cover circling his body, had the situation not been so heartbreaking. He held Boombox close to him, revelling in the warmth his body emitted, as the musician buried his face in his chest, hands gripping the back of his sweater earnestly, as if he were scared that Subspace would disappear at any moment.
He felt Boombox shake in his arms, the rise and fall of his shoulders, before he realised that the other inphernal was crying, and a choked sob was soon to follow. Boombox didn’t wail or whimper, and the only thing that managed to wrench itself from his mouth was a snivel as the breath caught in his throat every so often, silent tears wetting the front of Subspace’s sweater. Boombox’s hands tightened their grip, and Subspace did the same back, pulling Boombox impossibly closer as his cheek settled atop the musician’s head.
“It’s okay,” he muttered, an echo of Boombox’s own words from when Subspace found himself lost in pain during long, sleepless nights. A pitiful imitation. The wetness on his front was beginning to become uncomfortable, but Subspace would never deny Boombox the comfort it appeared he so desperately needed.
He couldn’t help but wonder how many days Boombox had spent in such a state on his own, fatigued and weary. How many times had Boombox reached with searching arms for someone, anyone, who would give him a hug and tell him that it would be okay? The thought weighed deeply on him, and Subspace could’ve sworn his heart tore itself apart at the hitched sob that once again pulled its way from Boombox’s lips.
Subspace’s anger, his irritation at himself, swiftly departed, replaced only by an overwhelming concern for his partner. It wasn’t the first time he’d misjudged a situation and taken it out on Boombox, but the fact did little to lessen the guilt of his impulsive words. He only hoped that Boombox would confide in him when he was ready, undeterred by Subspace’s ill manners.
It was only a little while longer until the tears ceased and Boombox’s breathing levelled out enough so that it was obvious he’d fallen into deep slumber. Subspace hesitated for a second before he planted a soft kiss to the top of the musician’s head and laid him back down within the bed, comforted by an assortment of blankets, throws and pillows. Subspace was even generous enough to tuck his very own favourite pillow under Boombox’s head after only a moment of deliberation.
Boombox was still asleep by the time Subspace had finished his dinner, which he admittedly wasn’t very good at cooking. The simple pasta recipe was thwarted by his inability to taste the sauce and determine whether it needed more salt or not, and so Subspace figured that it either turned out much too bland, or much too inedible. Either way, Boombox would be the judge of his creation.
Subspace lightly shook the inphernal, rousing him from his slumber, and held forward the bowl of food as he saw the musician’s eyes flutter open and adjust to the dim light.
“Do you want dinner??” Subspace asked, tone blunt. He wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase his wording, and so settled on the most obvious and straightforward inflection. Boombox shuffled a little, then moved so that he was sitting up, his back against the headboard, and hummed quietly.
“Mm, maybe a bit,” he replied, voice still small and uncharacteristic of him. Subspace was so used to the enthusiastic, lively voice of Boombox that, had the musician not been sat directly in front of him, he almost would’ve assumed that he was talking to another person altogether.
He passed the bowl to him carefully, ensuring that it didn’t slip even after it was already in boombox’s hands, and relished the contact before he retreated to complete his washing up. When he returned, Boombox was staring down at the bowl in his lap, a conflicted expression adorning his brow, which shifted into guilt as he noticed Subspace’s approach.
“Sorry, I couldn’t…,” Boombox mumbled apologetically, and lifted up the bowl for Subspace to take. Only a small amount of the pasta had been eaten, though it seemingly wasn’t the fault of Subspace’s own cooking.
“It’s not up to standard with my baking, to be fair,” Subspace attempted to joke, and took the bowl from Boombox’s hands. He noticed the way the musician’s lips twitched upwards slightly at the jest, and took the win for what it was.
Late evening rolled around not long after, Boombox having drifted in and out of naps as the time passed, his form pressed side-by-side with Subspace, who was currently reading. It was strange to not have the comfort of the background noise Boombox’s gear always seemed to provide, and Subspace could tell by the subtle way in which the musician shifted every few minutes that the silence made him antsy.
Had he the mental energy, Subspace was almost certain that the gear would’ve long been summoned by that point. Though at present, it was evidently limited by Boombox’s turbulent mental state.
“Sub?” Boombox called out, a scratchiness to his voice that hadn’t left since he’d broken down crying in Subspace’s arms not too long ago.
“Hm??” Subspace hummed in question, and his eye drifted from the lines of his book to Boombox’s sleepy face beside him.
“Can you read that out loud to me?” the musician asked, and Subspace knew that it wasn’t because he was genuinely interested in the book, and Boombox himself had admitted many times that he found them rather boring. It was obvious to the scientist that he simply wanted noise to fill the space, anything to draw him from his mind, from whatever turbulent thoughts plagued it.
“Alright,” he replied, and cleared his throat with a small cough. It took less than twenty minutes before Boombox had drifted back to sleep, content in the way Subspace’s familiar voice echoed through the room and vibrated in his chest.
His voice tapered off, and Subspace allowed his gaze to settle on his sleeping partner for a little while longer, a sigh leaving his mouth as he put an arm around the other and pulled him close. He watched the way Boombox’s chest raised and fell with his breaths, face soft and serene in a way he hadn’t seen all day, and a small smile twitched to his lips. And if he left the light on a little longer so that he could continue watching his partner rest in peace, trace the features of his face with a blush on his own, then no one but Subspace had to know.
Morning came, and Subspace woke up before Boombox as usual, their limbs entangled in some loose imitation of a hug. The air was warm and comfortable, serene, and it was hard to believe that the previous day’d had any deviation from their regular routine. Subspace looked down at the other inphernal, and upon watching the low rise and fall of his chest for a couple minutes, figured that he’d stay in bed until he woke up.
It didn’t take overly too long for Boombox’s shuffling to be heard, and Subspace’s gaze shifted from where it was glued to his phone just in time to catch the musician stretching, the action enough to expose his midriff for a couple seconds with the shift of his shirt. Subspace’s eye darted there, then very quickly away.
“Hey,” Boombox greeted, voice still thick with sleep, and turned his head to the scientist. There was a hint of apprehension in his tone, almost as if he were nervous.
“Hey,” Subspace responded slowly, and put down the device in his hand.
“Um. About yesterday,” Boombox started, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I haven’t had one of those… days in ages.”
Subspace watched as Boombox’s hands went to fiddle with the sheets, fingers sliding over the green material, plucking any loose threads he found at the edge. His eyes were downcast, shielded by those long lashes of his that Subspace had grown to adore, and he caught the way in which the other inphernal seemed to unconsciously bite at his lip before he caught himself, and swallowed thickly.
“Sometimes everything just catches up all at once, and it’s like I’m a teenager again. Like I have nowhere to go,” Boombox continued, his voice becoming quieter towards the end. His gaze darted away, then back at Subspace, then back down at the sheets. It was strange seeing Boombox so embarrassed, so small.
Subspace opened his mouth to respond, a million questions on his tongue, a million apologies. But Boombox must’ve seen the way the cogs were turning in his mind, as he’d always been better at understanding Subspace’s emotions than Subspace himself, and cut him off with his next words.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Boombox explained, but Subspace couldn’t help the gnawing guilt in his mind, “it just happens sometimes.”
Subspace looked away, and his eye trailed the wall, the doorframe, the decorations on the walls. He didn’t understand how Boombox’s brain worked. But then again, how could he? He obviously couldn’t control his sudden mood change, but it seemingly had little to do with Subspace. Still, he wanted nothing more than to take away Boombox’s ills and sorrows. He never wanted to see Boombox so unlike himself again, so lifeless and sombre.
“Thanks for looking after me,” he heard Boombox say, a smile in his voice, and a weight found itself in his hand. Subspace glanced down to find Boombox’s palm within his own, a comforting gesture, and he looked up to the inphernal beside him once again, valuing the way the light danced in those eyes that stared at him with such unadulterated care.
His face felt flushed at the action, and Subspace prayed that Boombox couldn’t quite see it in the dim morning light. He swallowed, then swallowed again, steeling himself to answer his partner.
“You’re always looking after me . What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t do the same back??” he managed to say, the explanation stumbling from his mouth awkwardly, like such affectionate and caring words were entirely foreign to his lips.
A squishy feeling rose in his chest, and Boombox chuckled, a familiar, sweet, and sonorous thing, before he felt lips on his own. Subspace couldn’t help but sigh into Boombox’s touch, his eyelid fluttering closed at the gentle touch. No matter how many times they shared such an intimate gesture, Subspace was almost certain his heart would always pound as furiously as it did the very first time they kissed.
He wanted nothing more than to fall into Boombox, hold him tight, comfort him in his arms until the end of time. Subspace realised with a start that he would probably do anything for Boombox, anything to bring his partner the affection and contentment he so deserved. Screw the world, screw Blackrock, screw every other inphernal. If he could stay by Boombox’s side until the flame that was his life flickered out, then that would be enough.
“I love you,” Boombox stated when they finally broke apart, their faces only inches away from one another, enough so that Subspace could confidently discern where green mixed with brown in the musician’s almost hazel irises. Boombox spoke the words with genuine care, like it was a truth he was absolutely sure of, and Subspace melted a bit under his gaze.
“I… love you too,” he managed to reply after a few seconds, heart heavy with all the adoration he held for the other inphernal.