Work Text:
When you get home after a mission outside of the city, all you want is to see Sylus and Zayne.
You’ve got an ungodly ache in your bones that sees you stumble through the front door. Leaning into the door frame, you scrub at your eyes for an instant, trying to will the tiredness right out of your body. Can’t it leap up out of your bones and flee?
When this, pointedly, does not happen, you sigh and trudge on into your apartment.
You’ve stripped down to your undershirt and underwear before you even reach your bedroom; your Hunter’s uniform is bundled under your arms. Upon entering your room, you toss the uniform to the side. Maybe it hits the end of the bed, maybe it hits the laundry basket in the corner, maybe it just goes spilling onto the floor. You don’t know or care.
You’re not expecting the bed to be occupied by any means, and of course, it isn’t. It’s 10pm anyhow – both Zayne and Sylus will be up. Sylus because it’s essentially 6am for him, and Zanye because he never sleeps anyhow.
Hell, Zayne’s probably pouring over medical texts, or a research paper at his desk. And Sylus is… cleaning a gun? Well, no, given that his day’s only just starting, Sylus is probably doing something a lot more important than cleaning a gun. You’re too tired to really reason through that last one, though.
All this is one painfully long way of saying that as much as you expect to find the bedroom unoccupied, you also expect to find the en-suite bathroom unoccupied. Not that it really matters. Just knowing your partners’ are nearby eases some of the wrung-out feeling and soothes the itch in your eyes.
You’re intending to wash your face when you reach the bathroom door, but the sight you’re met with stops you in your tracks.
The counter’s to the left of the doorway; Zayne and Sylus are both there, brushing their teeth in unison. Sylus is dressed for the day, in pressed slacks and formal shoes; just his shirt is missing (presumably so that he doesn’t get any toothpaste on it). Zayne’s dressed similarly, though his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Ironically, he and Sylus wear the same “uniforms” to work, albeit for very different purposes.
They look… relaxed. Zayne’s hand is lax on his toothbrush from what is a mix of being relaxed and exceptionally tired. You can see it in his eyes, which are more droopy than usual.
Sylus hums, dreadfully out of tune. He gets so into it that he closes his eyes and promptly hits the inside of his cheek with his toothbrush; when Sylus stops humming to hiss in pain, you stifle a laugh behind your hand. You don’t want to be caught out just yet. Zayne also chuckles, though, and shoots Sylus a fond look.
Then the pair resume brushing their teeth, sans humming. Sylus finishes first, puts his toothbrush aside and moves to wash his hands. He’s towelling off his hands when Zayne finishes. Zayne deposits his toothbrush, braces his elbows on the countertop, lets out an almighty yawn. Seriously, he sounds so tired that you suddenly feel more alert. Sylus shoots a look Zayne’s way; his expression’s neutral, but there’s a sudden tightness around his eyes and he doesn’t exhale for a second or two. When Sylus finally addresses Zayne, his tone is equally neutral, “Are you going to sleep anytime soon?”
You straighten up against the doorframe and go stiff, as if preparing for a blow. In a way, Zayne’s response will be a blow, even though you and Sylus both know what he’ll say.
True to form, Zayne shoots Sylus a look that is a mix of askant and resigned, “No. I’ve got an article to review.”
“You can barely stand.”
He’s right. Zayne’s arms have the slightest tremor to them; there’s a layer of ice coating his skin, from his fingertips to his forearms.
Zayne exhales shakily, “I’d rather not sleep.” Then his knees buckle. You lurch forwards, but Sylus is quicker, is there in a flash. He scoops Zayne up into his arms, and deposits him on the countertop. Then Sylus is massaging Zayne’s temples, “Love. I –”
Zayne interrupts him in a mumble, “Can’t sleep, Sy. Can’t.”
Something in Zayne’s tone – the strained undercurrent of fear – tells you that his night terrors have gotten worse while you’ve been away.
Sylus just sighs, “Okay.” He releases Zayne’s temples and takes a hold of his wrists, massages his pulse points, “This might hurt a little.”
Sylus’s power seeps from his fingertips in a swirl of red energy that encases Zayne’s lower arms. When the energy retreats, the ice on Zayne’s arms has cracked. No, actually, it’s melting off his arms, in a steady drip, drip, drip . It’s not as effective a remedy as your own Evol, but does the trick for now.
Zayne manages a grateful smile, “Thank you.” He leans forward to kiss Sylus’ cheeks, but Sylus turns his head and kisses him on the mouth instead. The kiss is chaste and languid, and Zayne’s shoulders go slack as he returns it. You avert your eyes; you’re all together, have been for over a year now, but sometimes you feel like a voyeur in moments like these.
When they break apart, you make your presence known by clearing your throat softly. Sylus raises his hand into mid air and crooks his finger at you. You go as if beckoned, with hurried steps. You kiss Sylus on the cheek, the same as Zayne had meant to, and ruffle Zayne’s hair. Then you hop onto the counter alongside Zayne, drape an arm around his shoulders.
He lets you and Sylus envelope him.
“I’ve been here for a while,” you admit quietly as you resume stroking Zayne’s hair. Sylus and Zayne chuckle simultaneously.
“We know,” Sylus says.
“We always know,” Zayne adds.
You’re too tired to reply in full, “Hmm. Okay.”
You look at Sylus, “You should go to work. I’ve got him.”
When Sylus raises an eyebrow in mild outrage, you chide gently, “Sylus. It’s…” You check your watch – you forgot to remove it earlier – “the 12th. Don’t you have a big meeting today? An acquisition?”
Sylus sighs; the sound is deeply regretful. He’s going to insist that his time is flexible. You know it in your bones. You cut him off, “Sy. Let me take care of Zayne. You have to be in that meeting.”
Sylus looks from you to Zayne, brow creased with concern. “Love. What do you think?”
Zayne assesses Sylus for a moment, gaze sharpening, his mind turning over an equation of some sort. Does his need outweigh Sylus’ responsibilities?
“Go.” Zayne says evenly.
When Sylus nods with a tinge of reluctance, Zayne adds sternly, “Don’t die.”
That teases a genuine laugh out of Sylus. He looks between you and Zayne and adds a warning of his own, “I’d best not find you two passed out on the floor when I return.”
“No promises,” Zayne murmurs as you cuddle closer to him.
“Go already, Sy. So that you can get back to us.”
Sylus nods again, “Alright. I’ll be off.” He presses a fingertip to your cheek, “Love you.” Then Sylus kisses you. You arch up into him and return the kiss with what can only be termed adolescent enthusiasm. Neither of you can see it in the moment, but Zayne watches you both, with his chest expanding.
When you and Sylus part, he kisses Zayne a final time, “Love you.”
You and Zayne murmur the sentiment back in tandem.
Then Sylus is sweeping out of the bathroom; he pauses in the doorway for a split second, but doesn’t look back. He can’t, you know, or he’ll never leave. Then he’s gone, and it’s just you and Zayne.
You lean into Zayne for a minute or two. A content silence fills the en-suite, until Zayne yawns yet again. You take that as your cue, and push yourself off of the counter, and lead Zayne to the bedroom, with an insistent tug. He’s a bit shaky as he follows, but his knees don’t give in this time.
You curl into the bed together; you’re too tired to lecture Zayne to get changed. Instead, you let him flop against you, let him press his head to your middle.
You rest your hand atop his head, “You don’t have to sleep. Just lie here.”
Zayne’s reply is quiet, but grateful, “Alright.”
You both settle in, and time begins to stretch and blur all at once, into a warm sort of in-betweenness. A sudden yawn, this time from you, interrupts the silence. Around the yawn you say, “We should have slept on the floor, just to piss Sy off.”
The last thing you hear is Zayne’s laughter.