Chapter Text
Wreck has been in love with Nice for the better part of a decade.
He’s liked Lin Ling for approximately four days.
In reality it probably works out to be longer than that, but it’s been four days since the words that chucklefuck is actually cute popped into his head and that’s a more significant moment of realization than he had with Nice, so he’s content to use it as a marker.
He’s taking his frustrations out on the ethereals that won’t get off their asses because that’s healthier (and less obvious) than glaring murderously at Commoner, who’s earnestly trailing after Moon at the moment and likely completely ignorant of Wreck’s ire toward its owner.
“Hey, hot head, save some for the rest of us!” Nice calls out. He glides past and executes a needlessly complex series of spin-kicks immediately after that, blasting an ethereal in the face with ice and freezing them against the side of an overturned shipping container. Another high (and it’s high, fucking show-off) kick and he takes the head clean off, the momentum carrying him through a final revolution, which he ends in a perfect fourth position stance.
Scowling, Wreck stabs his sword into the chest of the ethereal he has pinned under his boot and twists until the thing quits twitching. He wants to take a swing at Nice, for infecting him, but Nice is a) a fast little shit, and b) the previously undisputed love of Wreck’s life. He wouldn’t get any satisfaction from cutting him down even if he could catch him.
As he retracts his sword, shaking it free of the fast-dissipating goop of fallen ethereals, he realizes Moon’s cover fire has stopped. A quick scan of the field tells him he and Nice took out the last of the ethereals. Finally. Damn things just wouldn’t stop swarming them; they’re lucky no one got hurt in all that time.
Moon trots over from her sniping position on another shipping container, swinging her rifle over her shoulder and palming the grip of the handgun holstered at her hip. She has Commoner dogging her heels, as usual, and Wreck’s lip curls up in a half-snarl just looking at it. Moon gives him a withering look in response, knowing full well who he’s really looking at, and he subtly flips her off before turning away to sheathe his sword.
“Everyone okay?”
Lin Ling’s voice buzzes directly in his ear, and Wreck has to stop himself from slapping his hand at his earpiece the way he would an annoying fly.
“All good,” Moon confirms, bending down to stroke her hand over Commoner’s head. Commoner practically vibrates in place at the attention. It reaches up to pat Moon’s hand in turn and Moon smiles, so unreservedly fond of this bangboo Wreck feels a little embarrassed on her behalf. She’d shoot him in the ass for saying anything remotely like that aloud, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut as Nice gives his usual, rambling answer, remarking he’ll be right as rain the second he gets back to Lin Ling’s shop.
God. Nice is so—
He can’t say pathetic, he can’t, not when ten minutes ago he was distracted mid-battle by the thought of Lin Ling laughing at one of his not-jokes.
Nice is so fucking obvious, he mentally amends. He’s been chasing after their proxy since the day they met, clearly encouraging Lin Ling to make the first move by flirting as obnoxiously as possible and wearing the most impractical clothing to debriefs.
It’s been a year of this bullshit, a will-they-won’t-they saga worthy of the trashy sitcoms Nice and Wreck grew up watching, and he’s sick of it. Been sick of it. The moment he realized Nice was infatuated with Lin Ling — a man he’d just met, who barely looked reliable enough to deliver takeout, let alone guide them through Hollows — Wreck also realized Nice was an idiot. Because he’s not cruel, Nice. Vain, bitchy, sometimes a downright asshole, yeah, all of that. But never cruel. Which meant he was somehow completely and utterly unaware of Wreck’s feelings for him, and had been for a decade, despite Wreck’s entire world revolving around him for the same amount of time.
Is that his type? People who are very clearly masters of their respective craft but have the situational awareness of a walnut?
God help him.
“Wreck? Can you check-in?”
Wreck looks up to find both Moon and Nice eyeing him curiously. Nice stands with his elbow propped up on Moon’s shoulder, letting his specialized skates vent excess cold air while they’re stopped. Tilting his head, Wreck can also see Commoner standing just behind Nice, evidently basking in the free AC, its stubby little arms raised happily, ears flopping gently in the artificial breeze.
Shit, that’s cute. No wonder Nice fawns over Lin Ling’s bangboo (aside from the fact that he’s clearly doing it to score brownie points).
He touches a finger to his earpiece, switching on his mic. He’s had it off for most of the fighting since Nice makes himself known loudly enough their comm is irrelevant and Moon tends to just spam them with critiques — oh, you totally fumbled that one, should’ve gone for the legs, don’t worry I’ll clean up for ya like I always do.
“Fine,” he grunts. He definitely sounds as churlish as he feels, which. He could stand to tone it down, he knows that. Lin Ling hasn’t exactly done anything to him, he’s just… been himself. Eager to please, surprisingly grounded, level-headed even they’ve got their feet to the fire in the middle of a Hollow. Kind, more than anything else he’s kind. Even with how shitty Wreck’s been to him in his jealous fugue. Clearing his throat, he says, “I’m alright. Nothing we couldn’t handle.”
Lin Ling sighs over the line, relieved. “That pack came out of nowhere. I have Commoner monitoring for threats but the feedback from the Hollow is getting worse the deeper you guys go, so everything’s getting a little fuzzy.”
“You still know where we’re going?” Wreck asks, glancing around for the visual markers Lin Ling had asked them to watch out for just before the horde of ethereals descended on them. Three car pile-up (literally), cement truck with cracked barrel, wooden shack… check, check check.
“No worries on that end. The carrot Commoner’s carrying hasn’t been affected. The visual and audio components are just acting up. They’re not designed to connect to anything outside of the hollow in the first place. The enhancements I made can only do so much…”
As if on cue, a burst of static crackles down the line, and all three of them visibly wince.
“Sorry, sorry! Feedback, like I said. Is it easier if I switch to having Commoner just guide you? We can use the visual display to communicate.”
Nice and Moon exchange glances, a silent conversation Wreck can’t interpret beyond them seeming vaguely (and weirdly) hostile towards each other. After a moment of staring each other down, Moon sighs, gives Nice a look so condescending Wreck feels himself bristle in response just from his proximity to Nice, then taps at her ear piece.
“Stay on the line, Lin Ling. All of us would prefer to hear your voice.” She slants a sickly-sweet smile at Nice, though her tone doesn’t carry even a hint of that venom . “If something goes wrong with the comms we’ll deal with it then, okay?”
Lin Ling agrees, even though he sounds more than a little doubtful over how useful he can be, given the circumstances.
Turning off his mic, Nice taps two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, grinning unabashedly at Moon. “Thanks, Moonie, I owe you.”
“If I collected on everything you owe me, I’d be living it up in the Caribbean right now and I’d never have to see either of your disgustingly attractive faces again.” She flicks her pony tail over her shoulder, unmoved by Nice’s (exaggerated) wounded expression. “I’d take Lin Ling with me, by the way.”
Nice rounds on her, wide-eyed, his mouth already pulling into a frown. “Why would you say that? Haven’t I suffered enough over the past year just trying to get a measly innuendo past that titanium skull of his?”
In answer, Moon bends down to hoist Commoner into her arms, holding it to her chest the way a child would a stuffed animal. If the fuzzy static that overtakes its visual display is any indication, it’s happy with the new position. “Because if I get Lin Ling, I get Commoner. It makes me happy, it makes Luna happy, and it makes Commoner happy. Win, win, win!”
“So my misery would mean nothing to you?”
“Nope. It’s your own damn fault for not doing something about your ridiculous crush in twelve months of knowing him. Suffer more, actually, at least that part of it’s entertaining.”
The bickering continues as Commoner — held aloft by Moon as though she’s searching for cell service — points the way to their destination. Wreck tunes them out for the most part, only vaguely listening out for his name, the tip of his sword trailing through the dirt in his wake. He finds his gaze lingering on Nice (nothing new there), but it strays almost as often to Commoner, to what — who — it represents.
Here’s the thing: Wreck hates Lin Ling. Has since the moment he caught Nice’s eye. Effortlessly, too, without an ounce of self-awareness or affected charm, just a dumb smile that belied a wicked sense of humor and a sharp tongue.
Nice practically fell all over himself trying to impress Lin Ling — instantly, incandescently infatuated. So much so it made Wreck’s stomach turn over violently just looking at him leaning against Lin Ling’s counter, extending himself into Lin Ling’s personal space as much as the proxy allowed.
(Lin Ling allowed a lot.)
The jealousy hasn’t left him; it seeps into his thoughts, his blood, the marrow of his fucking bones like poison. Eating away at him, slowly, painfully. Corroding even the most innocent of feelings he has for Nice.
He hates Lin Ling, but not half as much as he hates himself.
Over the past year, he’s also learned more about Lin Ling (almost all of it against his will). That he’s clumsy as all hell when it comes to anything remotely athletic. He tolerates spice like a toddler — always has a glass of milk on hand and chugs it unrepentantly even when Moon shit-talks him for it. If they catch him any earlier than eight in the morning he’s no different from a zombie with half its brain devoured.
That he smiles like the fucking sun at anything and anyone who gets him to laugh.
Nice likes him. Nice loves him, whether or not the moron has actually figured that out already. And as much as it gauls him to even think it, it’s a good thing. He hasn’t seen Nice this happy in years. Their work — both legal and not-so-legal — hasn’t brought that shine to his eyes that Wreck adores far too long, and it’s Lin Ling’s presence in their lives that brought it back. He’s grateful for that, he is. Bitter, but grateful.
So already he was starting to tilt into a mindset where Lin Ling was not, in fact, the most vile person alive, and actually could be someone Wreck tolerated being around, if only for the sake of bringing out that smile from Nice he’d dearly missed.
And then came four days ago, when Lin Ling joined them in person for an expedition into a newly-formed Hollow.
___
“This is so fucking stupid,” Wreck says, directly to Lin Ling’s face, as Moon and Nice draw fire from the ethereals trying to swarm through the narrow warehouse entrance.
Lin Ling is, evidently, in too much pain for any sort of witty retort. His face has gone pale, his expression strained at the edges. He’s gripping the stun baton he claims is for home security with one hand in a death grip, the other clutching at the ripped portion of Wreck’s jacket like a lifeline.
Wreck flicks a glance down, takes in the crimson gashes striped across Lin Ling’s left thigh, the blood soaking through his jeans, the visible tremors as he struggles to keep himself standing.
“Sorry,” Lin Ling says, forcing a shaky smile that only really serves to draw attention to the fact he’s bitten through his lip in some dumbass attempt to keep his shit together. Blood smears across his teeth, dribbles onto his chin. “I’ll give you guys a discount on your next job, yeah?”
“You think we’re paying you after we’ve saved your ass?”
“Okay, one freebie, next job discounted. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
It’s ridiculous, is what it is, even if Wreck gets why Lin Ling’s trying to make light of things right now. Angling his sword as a deterrent for anything brazen enough to get past Nice or Moon, Wreck grabs Lin Ling by the shoulder and jerks him closer. Too rough, and not clearly translating as get-over-here-so-I-can-take-some-of-your-weight-you-fuck , but it works. Lin Ling hisses out a breath through his teeth, leaning more into Wreck’s side as his knee nearly buckles.
Fuck. The self-hatred has gotta move back to being internal, or Nice is going to freeze his balls off for hurting Lin Ling.
Things come to a head when Moon shoots down a stack of crates from the second floor, sending them crashing down on top of the few ethereals that had made it through the entrance and creating a stop-gap measure to keep the rest out. For a few minutes, at least. Enough time for them to split and find an exit.
Moon picks off the remaining stragglers, yanks Nice away from a corpse he’s smashing into with the retractable blade of his skate, and rejoins Wreck and Lin Ling where they’re positioned in a protected corner of the warehouse.
“Lin Ling!”
“Oh my god,” Moon says, dropping to a knee in front of Lin Ling while Nice, frozen, stares at the pathetic scene they make — Lin Ling half-draped over Wreck’s shoulder, still with that weak, bloody smile on his face. Nice gapes at them, utterly useless, as Moon undoes the ribbon in her hair and begins winding it around Lin Ling’s leg in a makeshift bandage.
“Commoner gave you that,” Lin Ling points out, sounding genuinely upset over the fact that he’s soaking through his bangboo’s gift with his own blood.
Moon wrinkles her nose, tying off the ribbon and resolutely ignoring the frankly awful noise Lin Ling makes as a result. “Somehow I think he’ll forgive me. Come on, we need to get you out of here. Is there an exit nearby?”
Wreck looks to Lin Ling. When Lin Ling just blinks back at him, dazed, he shuffles his unmoving charge around until he can slide the backpack off his shoulders and toss it to Nice, who catches it on instinct alone. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed, looking like every inch the idiot Wreck thought him to be for the last year.
“Nice. Directions. Now.”
Whether it’s the sharp tone of Wreck’s voice, or the spreading red stain against the pale pink of Moon’s ribbon, or just his brain finally rebooting, Nice complies, yanking out Lin Ling’s laptop and scanning through the route Lin Ling had plotted for them once they were inside the Hollow. He very deliberately does not disturb Commoner, resting in sleep mode and connected to the laptop via several thick cables.
The whole reason Lin Ling is even here , in person, is because Commoner needed repairs and couldn’t function as a guide remotely.
Not for the first time, Wreck wonders why the fuck they couldn’t have brought Luna or Niceboo instead.
“Got it,” Nice says, snapping the laptop shut, “there’s a fissure nearby that’ll drop us right by an exit.” He stows the laptop and slings the backpack onto his shoulder, approaching Wreck with his hands already reaching for Lin Ling. “I can take him. You and Moon flank us and we’ll—”
Wreck doesn’t know what possesses him to do it. To say it. Petty satisfaction over watching Nice’s face contort in confusion when Wreck doesn’t immediately give up Lin Ling? An ugly desire to inflict some of the same, selfish hurt he’s been dealt over twelve grueling months? A reluctance to part with the solid warmth he feels from shoulder to hip, tangible proof their dumbass proxy hasn’t gotten himself killed?
“You handle the ethereals, I’ll take care of the proxy.”
Nice opens his mouth, undoubtedly to protest, but Wreck averts his eyes, sheathes his sword, and in one swift motion sweeps Lin Ling into his arms.
(Moon will, later, lose her ever-loving shit over him choosing to princess carry Lin Ling, of all things, and Wreck will want to walk straight back into the Hollow to await inevitable corruption. For now, though, she’s too distressed over Lin Ling’s health to comment and Wreck is actively distancing himself from the reality of his own actions.)
Lin Ling squeaks. Because of course he does. It’s not a hurt noise, at least. The look on his face screams surprise more than anything else. Maybe a hint of fear, if Wreck is being honest with himself.
“Uh,” Lin Ling says, blinking rapidly as Wreck stares him down, one brow raised in challenge. Go on, it taunts, question me. Make a big deal out of this. All you’re doing is wasting time we could be using to escape. Whether or not Lin Ling gets more than the gist of the gesture is anyone’s guess, but the tense lines around his eyes and mouth soften after a moment. “Thanks for the lift?”
Wreck snorts a laugh before he can stop himself. The look of shocked delight in Lin Ling’s eyes does something inexcusably funny to his insides he refuses to acknowledge right now. Instead, he angles himself towards Moon, gesturing sharply with a jerk of his chin. “Let’s go already. The longer we stall here, the more likely those fuckers are gonna break through and skewer the rest of us.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” Moon sing-songs, snapping off a half-assed salute before tugging her gun from its holster and heading towards the back of the warehouse, where they’d clocked a backdoor in their initial sweep of the space. She drags a reluctant Nice along with her, loudly reminding him they’re on a time crunch to reach the fissure when he says something too low for Wreck to hear.
“God, he’s hopeless.”
Wreck only realizes he’s said that aloud when Lin Ling laughs, his entire body shaking gently in Wreck’s arms. “He’s not that bad. He just likes playing the hero.”
“Uh-huh.” He has no interest in engaging with that delusion (Nice likes the attention , not being a hero), so instead Wreck adjusts his grip on Lin Ling, spares one last look for the rapidly-deteriorating barricade, and starts after Moon and Nice. “Hold onto me, idiot. If I need to run I can’t have you going flying.”
He can feel Lin Ling’s searching gaze like a brand against his skin. Curious, uncertain — studying him like a damn bug under a microscope. It would be more annoying if it wasn’t warranted.
Jostling Lin Ling’s shoulder, he asks, “Do you want to go flying? ‘Cause if you do, say it now and save me the trouble of hauling your ass to the exit.”
In response, Lin Ling releases a sharp breath and snakes his arms around Wreck’s neck, holding on as requested. His skin is warm and clammy against Wreck’s, and this position puts his head on Wreck’s shoulder, his mouth close to the hollow of Wreck’s throat. Wreck has never been more grateful for the high neck of his combat gear.
They don’t speak again as they navigate their way through the Hollow, warping through the designated fissure and then stumbling out into the abandoned middle school the Hollow swallowed.
Nice gives Wreck the cold shoulder, which doesn’t hurt as much as he expected it to. It’s not the first time it’s happened, for one, and more than that he’s distracted with properly disinfecting and bandaging Lin Ling’s wounds. The cuts are shallower than they’d thought at first, meaning he’s not in any danger of bleeding out. He’s just a mess, really, shaken from the experience and fumbling apologies for cutting their job short.
“Dummy,” Moon says, tapping the back of Lin Ling’s head with her open palm in a mock-slap. Her voice is laced with clear, undiluted affection, and Wreck can see the red rising in Lin Ling’s cheeks. He looks startling like his bangboo in that moment.
He looks cute.
Whatever else Moon says is lost to the static that overtakes Wreck’s brain as the reality of that thought sinks in.
God. He’s fucked.
_______
He’s absolutely still fucked. He’s just not as freaked out by the prospect as he might’ve assumed.
Watching as Moon and Nice debate the merits of taking a supposed shortcut (not Lin Ling approved, given the nagging voice in his ear and the panicky movements of Commoner’s stubby arms), Wreck allows him the luxury of a little bit of honesty.
He likes Lin Ling. When or how it happened, he doesn’t know, but he’s sure of his feelings. And he could let this go. He could pretend nothing has changed, keep his distance, growl or snap or glare whenever Lin Ling directs a comment at him. He could continue pining after Nice and hope, pray that one day his best friend grows bored of his current infatuation and looks his way.
Or he can get what he wants and piss Nice off in the process.
Wreck turns on his mic again and adjusts his settings so his feuding teammates won’t overhear. “Proxy.”
The interruption stops Lin Ling mid-rant. What follows is a loud-ass noise that Wreck interprets as something heavy and therefore valuable crashing to the ground. Before he can decide whether or not this is something he needs to address, he hears Lin Ling scrambling to right something before he says, “Wreck, hi, yeah, what can— do you need something?”
Ah. Right. Wreck’s using the private channel with their proxy, which he’s never once done in all the time they’ve worked together. No wonder Lin Ling’s thrown off.
“Your leg healing up alright?”
“Oh, uhhh, I think so. No, yes, definitely is, thanks for the emergency treatment after we got out of the Hollow!”
Wreck fights the urge to drag his hand through his hair. “Don’t tell me you didn’t go to a doctor afterwards. I’m not a fucking medic, proxy.”
“Huh? Of course I went to a doctor! Not that I don’t trust you — I do, totally, you’re really capable — but I’m not interested in dying from preventable causes, and an infection is pretty high up on the list of terrible ways to go. I just wanted to thank you again, since I think I was too, y’know, in shock to do it properly that day.”
Warmth unfurls behind his breastbone at the sincerity in the proxy’s voice. His first instinct is to squash it — smother the embers with both hands, snuff it out before his next breath sparks a wildfire.
He takes a moment to let it sit, instead. Closes his eyes, savors the gentle heat he can feel creeping into his face. He breathes.
“Proxy,” he says, cutting through the awkward transition Lin Ling was failing to execute, “you gonna be at the shop when we’re done here?”
“Yeah? Where else would I be? I need Commoner back. Oh, unless Moon wants it for the night? That’s fine, I know she’ll take care of it, I just need a heads up so I know whether to send over a—“
“I’ll bring Commoner back, and that’s not what I’m asking.”
The confusion is a physical thing between them, a string drawn taut. Each new weird thing out of Wreck’s mouth is like plucking out discordant notes on a violin, given Lin Ling’s obvious hesitation and the uncertain edge to his voice.
“Moon or Nice usually does that… I kind of figured you, uh. Didn’t like visiting the studio.”
“I didn’t,” Wreck agrees, and decidedly does not elaborate on that, steamrolling ahead before Lin Ling can get all twisted up over that confession, “but I want to take a look at your leg and I’m getting sick of listening to Nice and Moon threaten to desecrate each other’s hygiene products. So let me have the excuse to get a little breathing room.”
Silence. And then: “Are you gonna desecrate my hygiene products if I say no thanks?”
Wreck can’t help it — he barks a laugh at that, and he knows without having to look that both Nice and Moon’s head have snapped around ogle him. “That’s assuming you use anything ‘sides that nasty five-in-one shit.”
Lin Ling splutters. “I am super fucking hygienic, I’ve only ever used that stuff when I was flat-out broke!”
“But you’ve used it.”
“If this is what I get when you’re feeling talkative, I might actually prefer you all silent and murdery when I’m around…”
It’s a joke. Lin Ling clearly only says it to match the energy Wreck’s giving off right now, and even if he meant it, he’s not saying anything that isn’t true. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting to hear it, to have his awful, petty behavior thrown back at him by the person who never deserved any of it.
Taking in another deep breath, Wreck says, “Yes or no, proxy? You want me to swing by with Commoner and the med kit?”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, yeah, come over. I’d, uh. I’d appreciate the help. Thanks… Wreck.”
After hashing out a time that works for them both, Wreck clicks out of the private channel and allows his teammates’ playful shit-talking to drown out the doubtful voice in the back of his head reminding him he’s at a disadvantage here. Lin Ling has only ever seen the worst of him, and two mildly civilized conversations aren’t going to make up for twelve months of acting like an unmitigated disaster of a human being.
He wants to try, though. To start fresh, if nothing else, and see where things go once he’s started proving he’s more than his acerbic quips and death stares. If it goes badly, he’s no worse off than he was before, really. And if it goes well…
If, if, if. No use in dwelling on what ifs, not with the kind of life he leads.
He’ll just do what he does best: cut through any and every obstacle in his path. Even if that means falling on his own damn sword.