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“Where the hell do you even sleep?” is what Z is asking Regect one particular evening.
They’re lounging in their living room, the sun having long since set. It’s just the two of them, since Moe had left after winning the shared game of Monopoly, honking out a goodnight before heading upstairs.
That left Regect and Z to sit and sink into their own chatter, their knees bumping on occasion, shoving each other playfully with every joking insult.
It’s no surprise that the late hour was tugging all sorts of random questions from Z’s lips, but he’s genuinely curious.
“What?” asks Regect, who was either not paying attention to his recent question, or was just plain confused.
“Where do you sleep?” Z repeats. “I mean, Moe’s got her room, and I’ve got mine. But where’s yours?”
“Oh. I don’t sleep,” answers Regect simply. “I wander the place. Build. Hang out with AM.”
“AM? The— the robot thing?” Z asks.
“Yeah,” answers Regect, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Also, you’re the worst roommate ever for just now noticing that I don’t have a room.”
Z scoffs. “You built this house. I assumed you had some chud lair for yourself hidden away someplace.”
Regect levels him with a look. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Are you telling me that you don’t ever sleep?”
“No.”
Z raises an eyebrow, leans back in his seat. “Maybe that’s why you’re always so pissy,” he wonders aloud.
Reject makes some sort of huffing sound. “I am not pissy.”
“You’re being pissy right now.”
“You know what? You’re a grade-A asshole.”
“You have no idea what the grade of my asshole is.”
Regect dismisses him with a lazy wave of the hand. “Whatever. What were we even talking about?”
In their combined blockheadedness, it takes a silent moment for them to remember.
“Sleeping,” Z eventually reminds him.
Regect snaps. “Right, yeah. As I was saying, I’ve never even slept in a bed. I have no clue how it works.”
It genuinely takes Z some willpower to not burst out laughing. “How it works? It’s a bed, dude. Mattress, sheets, pillow. You lay down. Close your eyes. Or, sorry,” Z sneers, scooting close to Regect. “Is that too many steps for you to keep track of?”
Regect crossed his arms. “Okay, now you’re just being a jackass.”
“I have a bed,” Z points out, as if this is news.
Z gets the sense that Regect is rolling his eyes. “Yes, I know that, bum.”
“You could always… Bunk with me,” says Z. “For a night. To see how it’s like.”
He’s not sure why he’s offering this. Maybe it’s because it’s late, or the way Regect’s knees are touching his own makes him hesitant to leave. Whatever it is, suddenly the prospect of trudging up the stairs alone is not appealing.
Regect’s reply is instant. “That’s gay.”
Okay, maybe that’s true, but Z is not exactly pleased that he pointed it out so quickly. Regect could have at least humored his offer.
“Oh my god, don’t be such a douche, Regect. Just try it.”
Regect stays firm on his answer. “No.”
“It’s not gay. You’re barely a dude.”
“You call me dude all the time.”
Z sighs. “Dude—“
A loud honk interrupts their bickering. Z and Regect spun around to face Moe, who’s wandered downstairs at some point. She’s standing at the bottom of the staircase, lowering her horn while shaking her head. She looked equal parts sleepy and unamused.
Regect nudges Z with his elbow. “See? You woke up Moe.”
“Me? You probably woke her up!”
Regect huffs and turns away, in a way that mimicked the sass in an eyeroll.
Leaving him to sulk, Z got up and went over to Moe, saying, “Moe, I’m so sorry. Seriously. You can go back to bed, we’re gonna keep it down.” He side-eyes Regect as he adds on, “Right?”
“Yeah,” mumbled Regect, not facing the two. “Pfft. Whatever.”
Moe gives a few honks. Z nods as he listens— He’s gotten much better at understanding her way of speaking.
“Right, no, yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry again. Night, Moe.”
“Goodnight, Moe,” pipes up Regect, because even if he’s being dramatic and sulky, he wouldn’t dare be less than nice to her.
With that, Moe glanced between the two, giving a small smile in thanks. She turns on her heel and started up the stairs, waving a final goodbye on her way out.
Z waves back— because of course he will— and then turns to glare at the entity standing across from him. Closing the distance between them, he punches Regect’s shoulder. Hard. But not too hard.
“Ow?” he says, staring down at the contact. “The hell was that for?”
“For waking up our…!” Z stops himself, starts over. “For waking up Moe.”
“Whatever. I said sorry.”
Z crosses his arms.
Now, as usual, a whole day of hanging with Regect and Moe left him a bit worn out. Not that he didn’t have fun with them, of course— and not that he would ever admit that out loud. If he ever admitted enjoying Regect’s company, he’d probably never let it go.
All that to say— Z was tired, and still hadn’t let go of their previous conversation.
“As punishment, I’m teaching you how to sleep.”
Regect’s posture slumped. “What?”
“Oh, I’m not kidding. Maybe a good night's sleep will make you less of an ass.”
“Doesn’t seem to work for you.”
“You’re only proving my point. Come on.”
He expects Regect to protest— and Z is ready to give in— but to his surprise, the entity is on his feet and at Z’s side, trailing up the staircase. Not without a few grumbling about this being no homo under his breath.
—-
As Z lead the way to his room, it strikes him that Regect is the one who designed the space. It gives him a new perspective, especially now that he was going to be sharing a bed with the guy.
The bed. It seemed smaller now that Z was looking at it— he glances between the sheets and Regect, wondering how this was going to work, exactly.
In any case, Z went to put on his pajamas following a lengthy bicker about whether Regect wears pajamas. Afterwards, Z found another pillow— because he could admit sharing a pillow would be sort of gay— and set it up on Regect’s side of the sheets.
That left them to stand beside Z’s bed, shoulder-to-shoulder, flicking their gazes from each other down to the sheets. The lights had already been turned off, but Z can make out the outline of Regect standing beside him.
Regect is also the first to speak up. “Yeah, no, beds are weird.”
Z huffs. “Shut it. Just get under the covers.”
He grabs a corner and pulls it off the mattress, leaving room for the two of them to lie down. Without having to say a word, they silently decide to leave a hefty amount of distance between the two of them.
Z grabs the covers again and pulls it over them. He never could have predicted that he’d be tucking an inhuman entity into bed, but, whatever.
With that, Z sighs, settling into the sheets. He turns his head to look Regect up and down— he’s staring up at the ceiling, static, as if he’s lying on a bed of nails. His hands are holding the edge of the sheet very, very cautiously.
Z scoffs. “It’s a bed. You gotta try and get cozy, dipshit.”
“I don’t know how.”
Z frowns. He had meant it half-sarcastically, but Regect’s reply genuinely sounded… unsure, and sheepish. His voice had never been so devoid of musing or jokes.
Suddenly, Z realizes he needs to be a little more gentle here. He sits up, staring down at Regect.
“Okay,” Z sighs out. “Fine. Let me… help you.”
After some fluffing of Regect’s pillow, Z takes the covers and pulls them over his shoulders, tucking them around him— stopping to wonder if Regect even technically had shoulders. Every time Z’s hands brush against Regect’s hand or collarbone, he feels something warm and decidedly non-heterosexual. He tries not to think about it.
After a while, he leans back to admire his work, like a kid who’s just tucked in their favorite teddy bear.
“You know,” Z muses, “you actually look kind of cozy.”
Regect says bluntly, “I swear to god, I will send you back to hell.”
He put his hands up in mock surrender, before lying back down. “Okay, okay. Jeez. My bad. Don’t remind me of that place— that was messed up what you did.”
“Sorry,” Regect says in reply to that, and Z swears he sounds genuine. That’s the second time now.
“Oh, so now you’re apologizing?”
“What, do you want me to not apologize at all?”
“No.”
“Alright. Damn.”
They lay in silence for a few moments, listening to the quiet, both staring up at the ceiling. Z doesn’t hear Regect breathe, exactly, but a similar sound fills the air. It’s muted, and it’s rough like his voice— a sort of quiet rumbling noise as he inhales and exhales. It reminds Z of an engine or a purr. If he’s being honest, it’s lulling him to sleep.
That’s before Regect speaks up and asks him, “So, you admit I’m scary?”
Z cannot find it in him to be mad that he’s shaken him from his almost-sleep. He sighs.
“I guess. Whatever.”
“I think I need to hear you say it.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“No, really,” Regect continues, and Z can feel him poking at his shoulder. “Say it. Admit that I’m scary.”
“This is stupid. I’m not saying it.”
“Say it or I’m putting you back in hell.”
Z turns his head to shoot him a skeptic look. “You wouldn’t.”
A sigh from Reject. “Okay, yeah, I wouldn’t.”
“See?” Z shoots back, nudging him with his shoulder. Ever since he helped him with the covers, he finds himself looking for excuses to touch Regect. But not in a super gay way. Duh. “That’s exactly why you’re not scary. You’ve got a soft spot.”
“Soft spot?”
“Yes. You’re soft for me.”
Regect gives a half-laugh. “Am not.”
“Yes, you are,” protests Z.
They sink into silence after that, and Z just lets it hang in the air for a while before adding on:
“Not that it’s a bad thing.”
This time, it’s Regect who shifts to look at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Z sighed, weighing his words. “Do you want to be scary, even?”
“Duh,” he says. It doesn’t sound very sure.
Z continues on. “It’s not like you put a whole lot of effort into being creepy. Ever notice how you’re mostly spending your days screwing around with me and Moe? Or building random stuff? You like it.”
“But I am scary. I’m the rejected antagonist. I can fly, and teleport and stuff. I’m all fucked up. Have you seen me?”
Z pushes past his words. “Yeah, yeah, hard not to miss that, but… don’t you like being… not-scary?”
“Not-scary,” Regect repeated flatly, mulling over that word.
“Moe’s not scared of you,” Z points out. “I don’t think she ever could be. We both like you as you are.”
Regect lets out another little laugh, like he’d just been told some bitter joke. “You like me?”
Z sighs, even though he didn’t entirely regret that little slip of words. “Can you just focus on the life lesson I’m trying to impart onto you?”
“Okay,” Regect says half-sheepishly. “Okay, damn. Pretend I never said it.”
“What I’m saying is that you’re good at being… you. Weird, and stubborn and clumsy, stupidly funny. I don’t think you should try and be something you don’t want to be.”
The words fell out of his mouth before he can think them over more properly. He probably couldn’t if he tried— he’s suddenly very aware of how close Regect is lying beside him, how his voice has gone quieter, how his limbs are closing to brushing against Z’s.
And from next to him, Regect has gone quiet for a long moment before he mumbled out his reply. “But that’s all I am. That’s my name. Regect.”
“Maybe you’re not a reject,” Z offers. “Maybe you’re the one doing the rejecting, instead. Like… refusing that you have to be this scary, evil thing.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah,” said Z, picturing a mic drop after he said all that. “Think about it.”
Regect gives a hum as he indeed processes all that. “You know, when you actually use your brain, you can give some pretty good advice.”
“Jerk,” Z shoots back, but he can’t smother his own smile.
Following that, they taper off into comfortable silence. Z turns onto his side, now feeling much less weird about sharing a bed with Regect. If he’s being totally honest with himself, he doesn’t mind it. At least he’s assured that Regect isn’t messing around downstairs, or blowing up something outside.
Instead, he’s lying right beside Z.
That feels right.
He’s about to drift off when he hears the rumble of Regect’s voice again, and once again he’s lost any progress toward sleep. (Why isn’t he mad about that, he wonders?)
“So, you do like me?”
Z really can’t even be mad at him for interrupting his sleep, even if it’s the second time now. He sighs. “God. You’re still on this?”
“Yeah. Kinda.”
Z flips around to his other side, face-to-face (in the most loose sense of the term) with Regect, who stares back at him. It seems he’d been staring at his back this entire time. Whatever.
“If I answer,” began Z, “will you finally shut it and go to sleep?”
“Maybe,” replies Regect, and the grin is evident in his voice.
Z wasn’t sure what other answer he was expecting from someone as annoying as Regect. He moves past that and gives him his honest reply, because for whatever reason, it’s not anywhere near difficult to admit.
“Yes, fine, I do like you. As much as I say otherwise.”
Regect makes some sort of half-choking, half-laughing noise. Z almost finds it endearing.
“Really?” he says. “Z, are you fucking with me?”
“No,” Z says, and the flippy feeling in his stomach suddenly won’t quit it. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this if I didn’t, at least a little bit, like you enough to stick around.”
“Technically, I’m the one sticking around.”
“You know what I mean.”
Regect then goes quiet for a really long while. They’re still facing each other, studying one another. Z’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to properly make out the details in Regect’s face.
It’s really only in direct light that anyone could trace out the details of Regect’s figure, but Z thinks he has it all mapped out by now. The limbs that he’s supposedly missing are usually visible only when the sun hits them just right, defining the outlines of fingertips, or a neck.
Z only ever remembers catching glimpses of it when they’re both outside after some latest stupid adventure, and Regect is so distracted with laughter that Z can freely let his eyes wander the contours of Regect’s features. He can spot a nose, eyes, a jaw. It’s thrilling.
Not that he seeks out chances to notice his body like that. Duh.
Right now, in bed, he can spot them again in the dim light that’s spilling from the window. His eyes, stuck on Z. His face, inclined toward Z. His mouth, which is starting to say something.
Regect’s voice is tiny. “If I’m being real, no cap, I think I like you, too.”
And, yes, Z already knew that to some extent, given the Christmas gifts and the builds and the fact that he hasn’t killed or hurt him with his entity-powers, but hearing it in his voice— all low and dark and rumbly and weirdly real— makes his mouth go dry.
When he finally finds his voice again, Z replies, “I know.”
They sit with that.
Then, because curiosity is getting the better of him, Z follows up and asks, “But, like, what do you mean?”
“What do you mean, ‘what do you mean?’”
“As in, homo or no homo?”
Regect scoffs, nervously shifts into the sheets a little. “Dude. I don’t know. I think it’s hard to tell.”
“Because, dude, we’re lying in the same bed,” points out Z. “I think we’re co-parenting a clown. We live together.”
“Okay. Maybe it’s homo, then. You’ve got a point. Might as well lean into it, right?”
This time, it’s Z’s turn to be confused. “What?”
In lieu of an answer, Regect shifts closer, past the invisible boundary line that separated them, and tucks himself into Z’s side, curling up like some stray puppy. He’s warmer than Z thought, and gentler than he assumed. A hand loosely wraps around Z’s center.
And Z’s brain went blank. He swore, for a second, that he forgot his own name.
All he can squeak out is, “Dude.”
“What?” Regect asks, faking innocence, and Z is not prepared for the feeling of Regect’s low-rumbly voice against his neck. “I thought you said I should be myself?”
“And that includes… cuddling up to me?”
He felt Regect scoff and start to pull his hands back, and the temporary loss of warmth is enough to make Z quickly tug them back around him.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Z says, and even he can’t deny that he’s truly snuggling into Regect’s arms, now, too. “Jeez.”
“Dick.”
“Asshole,” he shoots back, but the smile in his voice is obvious.
Even now, he can’t quit their usual bickering. He knows Regect never really means any insult he calls him, except maybe faggot, and especially not when he’s flush to Z like this.
Most things that have to do with Regect are odd, admittedly, but this is actually nice. They stay like that, tucked into each other's arms; it’s quiet and it’s comfortable.
It’s nice to drag his fingertips along Regect’s hands, trying to memorize the contour of them when he so rarely gets to see them at all. It’s nice to have something to hold.
Z can’t exactly tell if this is something they’re never going to talk about again, or something that Regect will tease him about for the rest of time. Honestly, whatever— it’s a problem for the morning.
The issue, though, is that Z can’t possibly fall asleep now. All these sappy, warm feelings are flitting around his chest and keeping his mind abuzz.
So, it’s no surprise that Z’s random thoughts began to voice themselves before he could stop himself.
“You know, I don’t even know where your mouth is.”
“Freak,” Regect mumbled. “Why are you thinking about that, huh?”
“Oh, shut up,” he says, no bite in his words. “It’s just, considering all the talking you do, I’ve never thought about the… geography of it.”
“Geography,” Regect repeated, and scoffed. “Alright, whatever, then, if you really want to know.”
Before Z can wonder what he means, Regect has his fingers wrapped around Z’s hand, guiding his fingertips up to his own face. They gently land onto the outline of Regect’s mouth.
Z’s throat is suddenly very dry.
Regect’s mouth is an even rarer feature to him, and so Z’s curious hands move automatically, gently. He’s hardly thinking as he traces Regect’s lips, fingertips moving across the shape of them. Z’s fuzzy mind almost describes them in some gay way like soft, or warm— not that they aren’t, but, still.
A very impulsive thought suddenly pops into his mind. Though, is it an impulse if you’ve been considering it for a while?
“If I do this,” Z says slowly. “you can’t make fun of me for it.”
It’s thrilling how Z can feel Regect’s lips part as he replies. “I won’t.”
“Then you know what I want to do?”
“I have an idea.”
Z tilts his head up and whispers, “And you’re cool with it?”
Regect laughs against his fingertips. “Just— fucking do it already, oh my god, you dramatic sap.”
Z fights the urge to rolls his eyes, then slides the hand that’s on Regect’s mouth down to his jaw. Cupping it, he shifts closer, until his whole face is angled toward Regect, who he swears is leaning forward in anticipation.
There’s a second of silence before he finally does it— Z dips in and presses a kiss to Regect’s lips. It’s a quick one, and it’s over as soon as it happens.
They both go still, not moving away from one another.
Right. Okay. Z just kissed the entity that’s been messing with him for the past few months. No biggie.
Regect is the first to break through the silence.
“Dude,” he says, “That was the gayest thing ever.”
Z splutters, “Of course it’s— I— the hell does that even mean?”
“Holding my jaw and everything? Bro. That was like a Christmas movie ending kiss.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t make fun of me, jerk.”
“Actually,” he says, obviously smiling, “I had my fingers crossed when I said that.”
Z is halfway through a scoff when he acts— he shifts on top of Regect, finds his hands and pins them down on either side of the pillow.
“Fingers crossed, huh?” Z muses.
Regect huffs a laugh, but makes no move to get him off. Z finds it infinitely endearing.
“I knew you were soft for me.”
“Am not,” Regect lies.
Z is stuck staring down at the thing that used to watch him from the windows, a hundred thoughts bouncing around his mind. Regect had taken an interest in him first, he remembered that— slinking around corners, keeping tabs on Z. Before, it was irritating, even creepy. Now, it was a thrilling thought.
The edges of Regect’s facial features just barely catch the dull moonlight, and with every breath his chest is heaving.
And, yes, the light is dim, but it’s enough for Z to know exactly where his mouth is.
“Fuck it, we ball,” is the last thing Z whispers before he dips down to plant another kiss, much less calculated than the first.
Also unlike the first, the kiss doesn’t end at one. Or two, or— Honestly, he’s losing track. For all the quick jokes Regect spits, his kissing was charmingly inexperienced, and Z can feel him smiling against his own lips. Z doesn’t realize he loosened his grip on Regect’s hands until he feels the entity pulling him back for more needy contact.
Z is the one that breaks away for air— he wonders if Regect even has to breathe?— and they stare for all of five seconds before connecting their mouths again.
The usual casualness behind his posture was a thing of the past— Regect’s mouth never leaves his own. It’s his hands on Z’s back and shoulder, his shaky breathing. It’s dizzying.
Z’s only propped up by his elbows now, melting further into Regect’s unorthodox figure, who himself is tilting and pressing himself closer to Z. His wandering fingertips trace up, and find themselves digging into Regect’s ribs, itching to get closer. Z swears he hears him whimper.
He breaks away just long enough to mumble out, “Jeez, man, you’re totally whipped for me.”
“Whatever,” Regect murmurs, and this time it’s his turn to take the back of Z’s neck and smash their mouths back together.
Z genuinely can’t think of anything funny to say, any quip to make— his mind is wholly centered on just Regect, Regect, touching and tugging and holding and kissing back, warm and hot and stupid and intoxicating.
Z could have never figured that this was where all their bickering and musing was inching towards. But they were always on the precipice of something, weren’t they? All this joking, all just excuses to get closer.
Ironically enough, Z finds it pretty hard to reflect on the nature of their relationship while Regect is making out with him. And before Z can further reflect on just how odd a sentence that is, he presses his lips to Regect’s again.
——
Waking up the next morning is… interesting. Z certainly can’t remember when they finally fell asleep, and even blurrier are the details before that. His lips are kiss-sore, but he doesn’t mind.
Z half-expected Regect to leave at some point in the night, but instead he blinks awake and finds himself spooning the entity, hands loosely wrapped around his center (or whatever the equivalent of that is for Regect.)
After some sleepy moments of just lying there, not too keen on moving anytime soon, Z feels Regect stir. He seemingly attempts a stretch before realizing he’s tucked within Z’s arms, then hums contentedly.
“Hm,” he says, and Z was not prepared to hear Regect’s sleepy-tinged voice. “Does sleeping include that… every night?”
Z clicks his tongue. “Not usually, no.”
“Can it, though?”
Z smirks, then promptly snatches up his pillow and shoves it into Regect’s face.