Work Text:
The church bells rang out, announcing the arrival of morning.
For Subspace, the sound was a relief—it freed him from the grip of yet another terrible nightmare.
But reality wasn’t much better. In fact, it was its own kind of nightmare.
He sat up on the uncomfortable bed, rubbing his temples before slipping into the neatly folded suit prepared the night before. A mask went over his face to hide the scars. The hallways of the church were already alive with movement. Other believers, freshly awake, hurried past, each busy with their own assigned duties.
Subspace followed behind them with a sluggish, reluctant pace.
“Keep walking like that and you’re gonna be late.”
A familiar voice called out from behind him. It was Broker—standing there with that same mischievous grin that always made Subspace’s day a little worse. One of the many reasons his life felt like an unending nightmare.
Subspace didn’t bother replying. He just gave a small nod and kept walking. Broker, already used to his cold attitude, simply fell into step beside him.
“Man, you look extra gloomy today. Come on, It’s your first family gathering! Isn’t that exciting?”
Broker’s voice was irritatingly bright.
Subspace only answered with the sound of his shallow breathing. He hated everything about this place—the suffocating corridors, the eerie devotion of its followers, the heavy air that clung to the walls like mold. He couldn’t understand their rituals, their “family” dinners, their ceremonies.
He found himself missing Blackrock more and more—the labs, the freedom to research without someone constantly watching.
“Whoa, hold up!”
Broker suddenly grabbed his collar, yanking him to a stop and snapping him out of his thoughts.
“What now?” he snapped.
“Your horns. You didn’t finish dyeing them.”
Broker pointed at them accusingly. The mint color he’d used to cover his two pairs of horns was fading, revealing the bright pink underneath.
“You stopped me for that?!”
His voice rose sharply.
“Hey, language!” she scolded. “You can’t show up to a family gathering with hot pink showing through! What if Father sees you?”
“Forget it. I’m going like this.”
He tried to shake her off and keep walking, but Broker quickly wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him back with surprising strength.
“No, Sub! You’ll get punished!”
She used that ridiculous nickname she’d made up—“Sub.” He hated it.
“What the hell is wrong with you church people?!”
Subspace shouted, struggling, but Broker only held him tighter, squeezing the air out of him.
“Please, Subspace! It’ll just take a second! Let me fix it, pleaaase!”
Her voice turned into an exaggerated whine. Subspace sighed heavily and finally pushed her off.
“Fine! Fine! Just stop whining.”
At that, Broker’s face lit up like nothing had happened. She immediately grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hall toward his room. He groaned in protest as she practically hauled him inside.
Subspace’s room was a complete mess. The bed was still unmade, papers and research tools were scattered across the desk, and half-empty vials rolled underfoot. Broker didn’t hesitate—she went straight to the second drawer of his desk and pulled out a bottle of mint dye, as if she’d lived there all along.
Subspace sat down at the edge of the bed, looking half-dead already. He just wanted this ordeal to be over.
Broker returned with a broad brush and the open dye container.
"Can you take off your mask?"
"What? No!"
"Please, Sub. I don’t want to mess your precious mask."
At her request, he was forced to untie the cord. Only then she dipped the brush in until it was fully coated with the mint color, then knelt in front of him, holding the brush up near his face. Subspace instinctively leaned back.
“Hold still,” she said softly, reaching up to grab one of his horns. The faded patches looked worse up close—uneven, blotchy, and streaked with leftover clumps of color.
“Wow. You really suck at this.”
Broker made the remark so bluntly that Subspace bristled.
“Hey! Maybe if your church didn’t make me dye them your stupid color, I wouldn’t have to!”
“Alright, alright, calm down, Sub,” she murmured, cutting him off before returning to work.
She went quiet after that—no teasing, no jokes, just focused silence. That was strange. It made Subspace even more uncomfortable. He didn’t know where to look, so he just turned his eyes to the side, pretending to study the floor.
Broker examined the messy coloring carefully, deciding where to start. She gently gripped the upper left horn and brushed on a smooth layer of dye. The cool, ticklish sensation made Subspace shiver. The soft bristles slid over his horns, and despite his best effort to sit still, his shoulders twitched and shifted.
“Would you stop moving?”
“It tickles! What do you want me to do about it?!”
Subspace growled at her, glaring sharply — but before he could say anything else, Broker suddenly leaned forward and plopped herself right down on his lap.
“Hey—hey! What the hell are you doing?!”
Her legs stretched back onto the bed behind him, bracing her weight in a way that made it impossible for him to move. The position was so unexpected, so ridiculous, that he thrashed even harder, trying to shake her off.
“Get off! I said get off!”
“Nope! That’s what you get for not sitting still in the first place.”
With the brush still in one hand, she used the other to grab his cheek firmly, forcing his head still so he couldn’t even turn away.
Subspace froze. The situation felt... strange. Too strange.
Her face was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. Every time he tried to avert his eyes, Broker tilted her head, catching his gaze again. It wasn’t intentional — she was only trying to inspect the uneven color on his horns — but to him, it felt like she was deliberately trying to make him look at her.
Once she had him completely still, Broker started painting again, calm and steady this time. The ticklish sensation returned, making Subspace’s muscles twitch. Every time he flinched, she tightened her grip on his face, keeping him trapped in place.
His heart was pounding — way too fast.
He swallowed hard, telling himself it was just the frustration, just the humiliation of being manhandled like this.
But his chest felt tight, his breath quick and shallow, each exhale brushing against her skin.
When even that sound became too much for him, he held his breath entirely and squeezed his eyes shut, silently begging for it all to just be over.
Honestly, this was probably the most sincere prayer he’d ever given in his life.
Finally, Broker gave one last careful stroke, inspecting her work. Satisfied, she released his face and leaned back with a triumphant grin.
“There. All done!”
As soon as she lifted herself off his lap, Subspace bolted upright, stumbling away as if to make up for all the movement he’d been holding back. His whole body trembled as he gasped for air. Without saying a word, he yanked open the door and stormed out.
“Hey! It’s still wet! Don’t touch anything!”
Broker’s voice followed him down the hall, but he didn’t dare look back. The sound made his skin crawl, and he sped up instinctively.
He didn’t even realize he’d left his mask behind.
He just ran.
And in his head, one furious thought echoed over and over—