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Kerry wakes before the light finishes cresting over the hills.
His body screams bloody murder.
His spine protests as he sits up, hips stiff, lower back slow to unfurl. He sighs and reaches for the tray on the nightstand and dry-swallows the three pills lined up neatly from the night before. Magnesium. B12. Something to keep his blood pressure in check. Nothing dire. Simply a part of his routine now. Signs of age.
Downstairs he hears V moving, coffee mugs clinking, the soft whirr of a machine coming online and pouring. Something pop-y and upbeat playing too early for his taste. Kerry doesn't move to join him.
And thankfully he doesn't have to.
The stairs creak like they've started to do now—the wood narrow, slightly warped from overuse and time. Kerry doesn't look up when he hears the footsteps, but he knows them like he knows his own heartbeat.
"Morning, old man," V says as he enters, voice warm and teasing. He's got two mugs in hand, espresso scented steam curling up from both. Towel slung loose around his neck, hair slightly damp from his early shower. Bare chest contrasting against his military grade cyberware. Basking in that damn post-sleep glow Kerry could never fake—even in his prime.
Kerry offers a lopsided grin, just genuine enough to pass as real.
"Figured you'd be halfway ready and out the door for one of your merc gigs by now."
V snorts. "And miss this?" He kicks a gaudy pillow aside and crosses the room, setting his mug down on his nightstand. With a warm smile he leans forward to place a long kiss on Kerry's temple, then presses the other mug into his hand.
"You sleep okay?"
Kerry nods. "Fine." It's a lie.
V sits beside him on the bed. Close—knees brushing, casual like always. Thankfully he doesn't press further and just sips his coffee, grabbing
his data pad from his own nightstand, content to share in their mutual silence as he goes through his messages.
Kerry watches a bead of water trail from V's temple, down the curve of his throat. Something stirs in his chest—tender, raw, and self-loathing all at once. Not for V. For himself. For the ache in his joints. For the way his skin doesn't bounce back like it used to. For how easy V makes it all look.
He should be out there—on a bike, out on the open road, wrapped around someone whose body isn't crackling and frayed like old stage rigging and wires.
Kerry pulls his knee back from where they barely touched. V doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he just lets it slide.
——
The unraveling between them begins in quiet moments over the next week.
Kerry's thumb hovers over the message V sent longer than it should. He knows V was looking forward to dinner tonight—the place was picked out weeks ago, energetic, rustic and loud, a little too much for Kerry's nerves these days.
-Ker<3
~Can't make it tonight. Sorry.~
The words feel small and he types them out. A little empty. No explanation. No softening. Just a sentence that tugs a thread loose between them—and doesn't tie it back.
V still doesn't press.
When V suggests Kerry join a mutual friend's art exhibit, something bright and chaotic in Night City's nightlife blur, Kerry declines again.
-Ker<3
~Not feeling up to it.~
He can't bear the thought of stepping back into that world—bright, wild, untouchable.
Their messages slow down, becoming less frequent, less warm. The pet names that once dropped into texts—baby, love—fade away. Replies get clipped, distant. The easy rhythm of their conversations warps into something ridged in just a few days.
One night, at a bar V dragged him to against his better judgment, Kerry stands out, nursing a drink, feeling the walls close in around him.
V laughs across the room while getting a refill—head thrown back, eyes sparkling—with someone young. Maybe a joytoy, or a fresh-faced legend, all fire and bright eyes and endless nights ahead of them. A future.
That laugh hits Kerry like a blow to the diaphragm.
Not with jealousy. But with bitterness.
It's cold and sharp: the quiet despair of watching someone belong effortlessly to a world you're slipping out of, one slow, aching step at a time.
He leans back against the cracked and dingy plaster wall next to the bar, breathing hard, chest tight.
'You should be out there, with them.'
A ghost visits him—a haunting memory of his younger days.
His youth had lived on rooftops, on the edge of night. Luke-warm bottles of synthbrew passed from hand to hand, music buzzing through half-dead speakers, laughter reckless and sharp as broken glass. Johnny would hand over his cig for Kerry to smoke, lean back, squint at the stars like he meant to swallow them whole. And Kerry—Kerry had felt limitless. Golden. Like the city could burn down around him and he'd still be there, untouched, rising from the smoke.
Now, it's a small victory just for him to get out of bed without his spine locking up.
"Never getting old, man. Fuck that noise."
The old line echoes in his skull, ragged at the edges. And the ghost of who he'd been? It laughs back.
You did get old.
Back in the studio the next day he tries to breathe life into a new song for the album. Meant to be for V or maybe just to symbolize something new. Something soft, something hopeful.
But the melody contorts—twisting, falling into a mournful dirge dressed up as love.
He slams the keyboard so hard it rocks off its pedestal and he sends it crashing into the drum set mid-recording. It all crashes around him, thick and raw. His manager suggests they stop recording for the day.
The ache settles heavier in his chest.
——
Kerry leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes and ears fixed on a sound—the faint trickle of water still running in the bathroom. A few drops hit the floor somewhere, echoing soft and hollow.
It grates on Kerry's grated nerves. Not because of the water bill or because of the waste. Because it's something else for his mind to focus on. Something easier than the growing, gnawing ache he's felt in his chest for days.
V steps out a minute later, hair pushed back and dripping down the slope of his neck. He looks relaxed—on the surface. But Kerry sees the tension stitched in at the corners of his mouth, the faint hitch in his breath when he notices Kerry standing there.
"You left the shower running too long—again," Kerry says.
It comes out angrily. Too quick. Too thin.
V blinks, then halts mid-motion, towel tucked halfway on his hip.
"I'm... sorry?"
"I'm tired of there not being enough water for my showers, V."
The pause that follows is thick. Like the week's worth of tension finally found somewhere to settle.
There's no bite in V's response—just quiet clarity, steady as a pulse.
"You sure this is about water?"
Kerry's jaw tightens. He looks away, down at the tile where a faint splash is spreading into a threadbare bath mat.
The silence yawns between them—uncomfortably wide, too big to step over now.
And something in Kerry cracks.
It starts small. A tremor in his voice, a fracture right beneath the surface. "I need hot water. I'm just—" His throat tightens around the rest. He swallows hard, but it doesn't help.
"I'm old."
The words land like stones, hard and heavy. But once they're out, it's like something unspools in his chest. He keeps going.
"I mean, look at me, V." He gestures to himself, almost like it's an accusation. "I've got more years behind me than ahead. You could be out there, living however the hell you want. Being with someone who doesn't creak when he gets out of bed. Someone who doesn't need pills to keep his knees from locking up."
His voice breaks, but he pushes through. "You're a fucking catch, V. You could be with anyone. Why the fuck are you wasting your life with someone who's already got their whole body halfway out the door?"
His hands clench at his sides, fingernails digging crescents into his palms. He feels the burn but doesn't stop. It anchors him. Grounds him in this stupid, brutal truth he's tried to swallow for days now.
He turns away before V can answer—ashamed, heart hammering in his chest like it's trying to escape.
The words hang there, ugly and honest.
He hates himself for saying them, but hates the thought of V staying out of pity even more.
He stares hard at the wall, breathing uneven, shoulders drawn up like he's bracing for a hit. What he doesn't expect is the silence behind him—the stillness of it.
Behind him, V's silence stretches, full of unspoken understanding and a tenderness that makes Kerry's feel numb.
V doesn't rush to fill it. Doesn't argue. He just stands there, quiet, the bathroom steam still curling at his shoulders.
Finally, he moves—slow and deliberate—crossing the room until he's just behind Kerry.
"You think I don't know how old you are, Ker?" V says softly. "Like I didn't choose you with my eyes wide open?"
Kerry huffs a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a swallow of guilt.
"This isn't just about age, V. It's about time. About what I can't give you. You could be in the Badlands right now—raising hell with Nomads. With someone like Panam. Someone with a future. You could be with someone who has far more to offer you."
V steps closer, finally reaching out, a hand light on Kerry's shoulder. His thumb presses gently into the tension there.
"You think I care about that? The fuck does that have to do with what we have?"
Kerry turns to face him, reluctantly. His eyes are glassy but hard.
"Because I don't want you to regret this. I don't want you waking up here, with me, in ten years thinking you wasted the best part of your life in a house with some has-been rocker who needs meds and a cane to keep his bones from grinding to dust."
V exhales, deep and steady.
"Baby...I don't regret much in my life. But you know what I do regret?" he says. His gaze softens.
"That I wasn't born decades sooner. But I can't change time, neither of us can."
Kerry's throat works, a flash of vulnerability cutting through the spiked armor. He shakes his head.
"You're still young, V. You don't see it yet. But one day, you'll blink, and—"
"I have blinked," V interrupts, quietly. "And I'm still here. Somehow. After everything fucking thing I've been through. I wake up most mornings half-expecting the clock to have run out."
He laughs softly—bitterly, but not unkind.
"You're worried I'll look back and wish I'd done something else with my life? Fuck... I wasn't supposed to have a life. Not a long one. Not a real one either. But now I've got this—I've got you."
He draws in a shaky breath, thumb now tracing circles into Kerry's collar bone and up against his throat.
"So yeah. Maybe I don't know how many years I've got left. But whatever time I do have? It's mine. And I'm not spending it wishing for someone else, somewhere else."
His voice drops, gentler now.
"You think I'm wasting my goddamn life? This is my life. Right here, with you."
Kerry's whole body trembles—not from anger, but from the relief he longed for.
He leans forward just a little, and V meets him halfway, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"Please. Don't ask me to let go of one of the only things that makes anything make sense," V whispers.
——
The next morning breaks slow and golden.
Not with dramatic revelations or grand declarations—just the warm weight of sheets tangled at their waists, and the pale desert light slipping in through slatted blinds.
V wakes first. He lies still for a moment, taking in everything.
Kerry's back is to him, shoulders rising and falling with steady breaths. He's clad in one of V's old clan shirts, it makes his heart swell. The room smells like sleep and skin and the faint chemical hum of the air purifier kicking on. The villa is quiet.
For once, V thinks, his mind is too.
He reaches over—not to wake him, or to startle—just to feel. His fingers settle gently on Kerry's waist, warm and solid beneath the thin cotton of the shirt. The touch draws a small noise from Kerry, a grunt more than a word, as he shifts and half-turns.
"You're up early," Kerry mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
V smiles, brushing his thumb along Kerry's hip. "Didn't want to miss this."
Kerry cracks one eye open. "What, me drooling into the pillow?"
"Nah," V says. "Waking up to you. Knowing you're right next to me."
That earns him a soft, crooked smile, sleep-softened and still faintly surprised. Kerry exhales, then slowly turns to face him fully. His eyes are tired but clearer than the night before—like something has loosened inside him, unknotted in the sunlight.
"I meant every word I said last night," V murmurs.
"I know," Kerry says. "I'm... tryin' to let that be enough."
There's a long moment between them. Kerry's hand finds V's beneath the sheets and their fingers interlock.
"I keep thinking one day you'll wake up and come to your senses," he admits. "Realize you don't have to keep choosing this. Choosing me."
"I do," V says. "I wake up and I do. Every day."
Kerry doesn't say anything. Instead, he reaches for the small pill case on his nightstand, flipping it open with a sigh. The low click of the plastic lid is familiar now—joint stabilizers, vitamin infusions, a slow-acting anti-inflammatory for the cartilage in his knees. All of it part of the same quiet ritual.
V watches him. He doesn't offer anything—he knows Kerry's pride—but he stays close, hand steady on Kerry's thigh as the older man washes down the pills with a gulp of bedside water.
Then, casually, V leans across him and grabs one of the spare bottles off the nightstand. Shakes two tablets into his palm.
"Magnesium," he says. "Figure I should get ahead of it too. That way we won't creak in harmony."
Kerry huffs a laugh. "Your knees don't creak, babe."
"Yet." V grins, pops the pills into his mouth, dry swallows like it's nothing and looks Kerry up and down with a playful smirk. "Still sexy, even with all the dad meds."
Kerry snorts, coughing once on his water. "You're the worst."
"I am," V says, leaning in, "and you're stuck with me."
They kiss, and it's not frenzied or hungry—just slow, anchoring. The kind of kiss that speaks the truth about V choosing this, and him. Of waking up tomorrow and doing everything again.
When they finally pull apart, Kerry rests his forehead against V's for just a moment.
"I've got a song to work on," he grunts as he moves slowly. Rising from the bed.
V smiles. "Hope it's not gonna be a death march."
"Nope," Kerry says, stretching in the morning sun. "Think it's gonna be a love song."