Work Text:
Eve had enough.
She had told herself she’d wait—that he needed time, space, freedom to adapt—but after weeks of watching him dodge every attempt, she was at her limit. If she didn’t do it now, she’d lose her mind.
It was for the best. She kept repeating that in her head like a mantra. For the best. No matter how much he’d probably protest, no matter how big those blue eyes would get, or how broken he might sound when he realized what she’d done—it had to happen.
She left the door open, ready and waiting.
“Ares,” she called softly.
He looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, his focus breaking from the intricate 3D puzzle she’d bought him yesterday. His bright eyes flicked to her, a smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes?” he said, head tilting. His hands hovered over the puzzle pieces, careful not to disturb his half-finished work. He’d been pacing himself, trying to enjoy something rather than simply finish it. And she was about to ruin that.
“I’m…” she began, stepping closer.
Ares reached out instinctively when she extended her hand, his fingers brushing hers, holding on with gentle warmth. A small frown creased his face, one that made her chest ache. He looked like a kicked puppy, and it nearly shattered her resolve.
“Eve, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, shifting to face her fully. She saw his eyes narrow, knowing his system was scanning her.
She swallowed hard. There was no easy way to do this. He’d resist, maybe even fight her—but this needed to happen.
She crouched down and wrapped her arms around him suddenly, resting her head against his shoulder.
“Eve?” His voice was full of concern now, hands hovering, unsure.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Before he could question it, she moved fast—her hands finding the hem of his sweater. In one motion she tugged it upward, halfway over his head before his reflexes caught up.
“Eve—what—wait—!”
He twisted, rolling away, but she went with him, using her weight to pin him just long enough to free one arm from the sleeve. He tried to escape, but she shifted her knees and sat on his hips, yanking again.
“No!” he barked, grabbing for the fabric.
“Yes!” she shot back, gritting her teeth.
It was a ridiculous, messy battle that lasted longer than it should have. Finally, she wrenched the sweater free and scrambled off him, clutching the balled hoodie like a trophy.
She bolted for the hallway.
“Eve!”
He was on her heels, bare-chested and indignant, as she dove into the laundry room. She threw the hoodie into the open washing machine, slammed the door shut, and hit start before he could stop her.
The machine hummed to life.
Ares skidded to a halt, kneeling in front of the washer like it had just eaten his heart. His hands pressed against the glass, eyes wide with betrayal.
The sight almost made her laugh—almost.
He was shirtless now, his chest rising and falling, skin still marked faintly from the night before. Normally, she’d have a comment ready, something sharp and teasing that he’d volley right back. But not this time.
This time, he looked genuinely devastated.
“It needed to be washed, Ares,” she said, trying to sound patient, not amused.
He shook his head, eyes never leaving the swirling tan fabric inside. “It was clean. There were no spills or dirt.”
“I know,” she admitted, softening. “But you’ve worn it every day for a month. Even if it looks clean, it still needs to be washed once in a while.”
“But if you wash it too often, the screen printing will deteriorate due to the chemicals in the detergent!” he argued, voice sharp with actual distress.
Eve exhaled a long, weary breath. “It’s on gentle, Ar. Gentle. And you know I use the plant-based detergent. One wash won’t ruin it.”
He didn’t answer—just stared mournfully into the machine as his beloved Music for the Masses Depeche Mode hoodie spun helplessly in the suds.
That hoodie was more than clothing. It was armor. She remembered how hard it had been to get him out of his grid suit when he first came into this world, how he’d clung to anything familiar. The sweater had become his replacement for that—a layer of comfort he could hide in, sleeves rolled when he worked, hood pulled up when he wanted the world to fade.
Eve’s expression softened.
“Ares…” she murmured, crouching beside him.
He didn’t move.
So she slipped one arm around his neck, leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered. “I promise.”
The washer hummed quietly between them, the sound of water sloshing like a heartbeat. And though Ares still looked wounded, his hand slowly drifted to rest over hers, fingers intertwining.