Work Text:
When X helps Nice home with a snap of his fingers, it was with nothing in mind. It was only because he had continued to mourn loudly with a cry that made him stay for a little longer until he slowly quiets down and wobbled to his feet.
"Do you know senior Smile?" Nice finally open his mouth, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that X would probably miss it if not for the silence of this room. Nice sniffles once more under X’s scrutiny before he settles on an answer that’s not quite one, lifting the corner of his lips into his usual easy smile despite the way his eyes search for an answer through Nice’s pale countenance, "why do you ask?” The locket necklace feels heavier in his hand inside the pocket of his pants.
X mentally counts Nice’s long lashes, downcast and trembling ever so lightly from his answer. Hero Nice that X knows from his many commercials loitering the streets should be better in hiding his emotions, but this one nearly folds from overwhelming distress, the barely dried trail of tears down his cheeks not helping. X continues, half-heartedly hounding for an answer he wasn’t particularly interested in, “do you want to make a connection about my identity and snitch?"
It was supposed to be a light-hearted question, but it also serves as a subtle warning, earning a flinch from Nice.
"N-- No, I don't..." Nice stumbles back, words dying in his throat as renewed remorse and anxiety fills his chest until he can barely breathe, until he falls into his knees once again and starts heaving for something, for anything. For a moment, it feels like it'd probably be better to dig his heart out and let his chest hollow so that he would no longer be such a failure, so that he'd never be bothered by anything. Why was it so hard? Why was everything so hard when he only wanted to make Mr. Shang happy with his hardwork? He would and had done everything he could just so he could earn a simple praise, just so he could beg for acknowledgement, but he could never do anything right despite his best effort. (Why is he even a Hero?)
Grief coils in his guts once more, filling his throat with bitter bile but Nice continues to swallow, swallow, and swallow until he breaks, until a new, hot stream of tears wells heavy once more in his eyes, ripping a broken sob from his lips.
Maybe out of shame, he allows the blunt edges of his nails to drag across his neck down to his chest where he starts to dig and claw his heart out through the pristine cloth of his costume.
Snap.
A (by now) familiar click of fingers jolts Nice back to reality, realizing that both of them have been transported to his sofa as X slumps deeper into his couch as if he owns the place, spreading both his arms and legs until his fingertips nearly touch Nice’s shoulder.
X sighs, and much closer like this, Nice could smell the faint tell-tale of alcohol from him. Too surprised to even speak, he stares at the way X’s orange lenses glint under the light, the way his lips turn into a frown and the way he tucks a hand into his pocket and seemingly plays with something inside.
“Maybe a drink buddy.”
X wonders if it’s too light a word, and Smile would have probably rebuked him if he’s still alive, demanding like he’d always done when he came in the middle of the night with beers and meat skewers.
“I see.” Nice finally hums after a while, their words like a whisper and secret between them as Nice hugs his legs then shuffles closer, just a little closer until X could feel the soft strands of Nice's hair tickling his finger.
X laughs fondly. Grief is a funny thing, after all, and yet X allows himself this moment, tilting his head until his gaze meets Nice’s swollen, red eyes until something in him itches to reach a hand out and help him wipe the remnant of tears clinging to his eyes. He settles with leaning closer slowly until their shoulders touch, until both of them can feel the comfort of each other’s warmth.
“I’ve never seen anyone like you before.” Nice says.
X chuckles, “I am one of a kind, after all.”