Chapter Text
The sky is black with a half-dozen stars piercing through the light pollution. It is only a few short hours until sunrise, but there's a decent amount of people on the sidewalk or behind the wheels of their vehicles. Chad is part of the former category. He walks among the thin crowds of regular normies. Obviously, he's not a normie himself, even if he wears their clothes; he simply he looks too good good in them (or because he can feel that unyielding flame burning inside his body).
Of the clothing he wears, there's a jacket. He doesn't need it. If there is a temperature that's too cold for him, Torrance will never achieve it. He wore the jacket because he thought it made him look good. Alice said he did. Robert did, too, but Chad doesn't care about Robert's opinion. He doesn't care about Robert at all.
Which is the reason why he's walking beside Robert, shoulder-to-shoulder, heading in the direction of an apartment that isn't his own.
Of course, Robert doesn't know that Chad is doing this because he doesn't care what happens to Robert, so the dispatcher has the audacity to say, "You can peel off whenever you want."
"I know," Chad retorts, scrunching his face up in Robert's direction. The brown-eyed man shrugs nonchalantly. He's always so… neutral towards everything, but that's especially the case when he's tipsy. Not drunk, Chad knows, because Robert's face is only caressed by a light shade of red, and he pointedly tells himself that he doesn't want to know what Robert would be like drunk. "But you're so fucking weak. A light breeze could you knock you out, so someone has to protect you from muggers."
"And you decided it needed to be you?" Robert asks. He lifts his arm out of his pocket enough to elbow Chad's ribs. As irritating as that is, Chad is more annoyed by how viscerally he wants to shove Robert's hand back into the warmth of his jacket pocket. It is not cold enough—even for a normie like Robert—for Chad to have any thoughts like that.
"Why not me? I'm the best and strongest hero on Z-Team," Chad rolls his eyes, making sure he's looking away from Robert.
"You know you don't get points for escorting your dispatcher home, right?" If only they did. Chad would have been walking Robert home from whatever bar or club the Z-Team dragged him to this entire time like he's doing now just for those bonus points. It's not that hard, after all. Robert can be annoying, but he isn't the most difficult person to be around for the relatively short amount of time it takes to walk to Robert's depressing apartment.
"I don't need the fucking pity points. Did I not just tell you that I'm the best? The top of the charts is my home, and I'm not leaving," Chad says because telling Robert that walking him to his apartment wouldn't be the worst thing in the world does actually feel like the worst thing in the world.
"I like the sound of that," Robert nods with a smile pulling up his lips. "Only, I think you should keep climbing. Don't just be the best on Z-Team; be the best at SDN. I know you can do it."
This is Robert's job, Chad reminds himself as he fights the blush starting to creep up his neck. Robert is supposed to encourage the Z-Team to rise in the ranks. It's actually better for him if they do. Something about a better paycheck which Robert desperately needs if his apartment and insistence on only ever wearing two outfits is anything to go on. It's only Robert being selfish—nothing more to it.
Chad's response is interrupted by a flash of quickly moving color in his peripheral vision. He turns his head to find a figure running in his and Robert's direction. Before Chad can react, the figure pushes through the two men. More out of surprise than pressure, Chad twists on his feet. Robert also twists, looking at the figure in a thick jacket running down the sidewalk. Chad nearly goes after them, but Robert places a hand on his shoulder. Chad usually gets an odd feeling in his chest when Robert touches him, but it's never been this… tingly before.
"Leave it," Robert says, lifting his hand off Chad's shoulder. He flexes his fingers, tucking his hand back into his pocket. "They're probably just in a rush. They didn't steal my wallet or phone."
"Shit," Chad says, suddenly remember that pickpockets exist. He moves his hands through his jackets. He finds his phone in his back pocket, but his wallet is missing. Chad is about to bolt after the pickpocket again when he hears giggling beside him. Robert holds a wallet between his fingers. It's hard to tell in the dim lighting, but Robert's shit-eating grin lets Chad know that he's the one holding Chad's wallet, not that damn brat who ran into them. "You fucking bitch."
"You made it so easy." Robert walks backward to keep Chad as the center of his attention. There's a harsh tugging in Chad's gut, but he ignores that in favor of rushing forward to grab his wallet. Unfortunately, Robert plays him like a bull with his wallet acting as a red piece of fabric. Robert's genuine smile is just enough to keep Chad from setting himself ablaze in his pursuit of getting his wallet back. "Come on, aren't you the Z-Team's best hero?"
"You bet your fucking flat ass, I am!" Chad says. And as the best hero, he realizes he'll have to do something more drastic to get his wallet back. After Robert swerves out of the way again, Chad reaches an arm out to grab him instead of reaching for the leather he holds above his head. Robert's surprised noise as the air knocked out of it as Chad throws his weak body over his shoulder. He barely even feels Robert kicking and hitting him in an attempt to be free (not once does Robert just offer the wallet back). Cheekily, Chad calls out, "Enjoy the view."
Chad starts walking forward. They aren't too far from Robert's apartment at this point, so he'll have to give the wallet back eventually. Robert must know this, too, because his body goes relatively limp (still tense, just his usual kind). He huffs out, "Well, I'm definitely not enjoying the smell."
"I do not fucking smell," Chad hisses, upset at the insinuation. Robert coughs like he's choking. Chad shakes his head. He pulls down Robert's legs—the same ones he was holding with one arm—until the man slips forward. Chad catches him, obviously, because he doesn't need any more crimes to his already extensive list. That does, however, mean he's holding Robert in a bridal carry.
Those brown eyes only squint at him. "Oof. Are you sure you're the sober one?" Chad thinks all of this is perfectly reasonable. "All that for a wallet, huh? Is there really something important in here?" Robert flips open the leather. Chad nearly drops Robert, but the dispatcher makes the wise decision not to snoop any further than that. He just coos at Chad's driver's license. "How adorable! You were so young."
"You're definitely the drunk one," Chad notes. Robert shrugs. He balances himself in a way a sober person would when Chad sets him down on the steps leading up to his apartment building. Robert tosses the wallet back to Chad. After catching it, he makes sure everything is inside where it belongs.
"I don't need to steal money from you," Robert notes, opening the door. Chad glares at him, but he decides against telling Robert that the money is the least of his worries. "Are you walking me all the way up?"
"We wouldn't want the elevator to take you out," Chad remarks. He slips his wallet back into his pocket, reminding himself to always be careful about it around Robert.
"How weak do you think I am?" Robert chuckles, shutting the door behind him. He presses the button for the elevator.
"Very. You're a little piss baby fresh out the womb. Your skull is soft enough for me to—" Chad sets his hands on Robert's head. Those brown eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and awkwardness. Chad squeezes just a little, not enough to actually hurt, while saying, "Pffft."
"Thanks for not doing that to my skull," Robert says, batting Chad's wrists away from him. The elevator doors slide open. Robert goes inside first. He presses the button so quickly that Chad almost thinks Robert wants him to stay down here. "But hey, next time I have a headache, my head is yours to squeeze."
"That doesn't sound like an innuendo."
Robert shrugs. "If there's one thing I've learned from Visi and Sonar, it's that anything can be an innuendo if you're delusional enough."
"I'm not fucking delusional," Chad crosses his arms over his chest.
"Then, I didn't say an innuendo. Good for you, no? I'm not your type, after all." He really isn't. He's the actually opposite of the people who flirt with Chad. This just means Chad's head, heart, and dick really need to get on the same page with one another.
The elevator doors open. Robert steps off first. Chad follows immediately. Robert gives him an odd look, "You really are walking me all the way there."
"Don't start thinking you're special. You fucking aren't. I walk Alice home like this all the time."
"Ah, but now Herm's escorting her home, so you need someone to make you feel like a gentleman."
"First of all, Alice is the one escorting Wetwipeboy home—"
"Stop calling him that."
"—second of all, I don't need the likes of you making me feel like a gentleman. I already feel like one because I am a fucking gentleman."
"They've really lowered the standards of what counts as a gentleman these days, haven't they?" Robert asks, pulling his keys out of his pocket. He unlocks the door to his apartment in one smooth motion (Chad has no idea why he locks it in the first place. There's nothing in that apartment to be stolen. He feels bad for whatever criminal picks this apartment as the one they're going to take from).
"Go take a shower because you stink of bullshit," Chad tells him, leaning against the doorframe.
"Sounds like a good plan," Robert nods. He pauses for a moment. Like an insane person, Robert shakes his head and chuckles to himself. "Thanks, Chad, for walking me home. You made me feel safe."
Chad wishes he didn't know how much of a compliment that is. Robert is one paranoid motherfucker who is always as tense as a live wire. He hardly believes anything or anyone, always checking over his shoulder. Chad should've known Robert felt safe because he was actually laughing and playing in the street like a fucking child.
"Yeah, yeah, of course you did. It's me," Chad turns away, refusing to let Robert see anything about his expression. He hears the door click shut. Chad starts walking away, stomping down that giddy sensation building in his stomach with all the strength in his body.
It becomes incredibly easy when he feels a pang of pain shoot through his body. He's not certain where it came from, only that his nerves are still tingling. The aftershocks seep right into wave after wave of this forceful pressure squeezing against him. His vision blurs. He can't breathe. He pauses, bracing his hand against the wall. He's barely made a few steps away from Robert's door. He tries focusing on the elevator at the end of the hallway. He takes another step toward it only for his knees to give it out. His shoulder thuds against the wall, a loud noise he can barely hear.
"What is—Chad?"
The pain weakens. It's completely absent again as Robert kneels in front of him. The dispatcher reaches his hands forward. Chad is too busy trying to regulate his breathing to pull away. He just feels Robert's finger press against the bottom of his nostrils. His other hand comes up to pinch the bridge of Chad's nose. The former criminal blinks, "What the fuck…?"
"It's called a nosebleed. Normies have them all the time," Robert explains. Chad didn't even realize his nose was bleeding, but he feels it now—the blood against his mouth, dripping down his chin, sticking to his fingers and palms. The blood is now spreading onto Robert's hands.
"I know what a fucking nosebleed is," Chad hisses. "I'm asking how the hell I got one."
"Dryness in the air, maybe? Have you been picking at your nose?"
"What the fuck, Robert?"
"I'm trying to give you the answer you asked for, asshole," Robert responds. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself. "Are you feeling better, or do you need to come into my apartment?"
"I'll be fine," Chad says. He pushes himself into a standing position without caring if he gets blood on the wall. He strides forward… until the pain hits him again. He powers through it as best he can, but he's collapsing sooner than he would like. Chad curses at himself. He refuses to fall to the ground, but he can't get his feet to move forward another a step. None of his muscles are responding to him with how absolutely blinded his nervous system is with pain.
"Yeah, you're coming into my apartment," Robert says. The closer he gets to Chad's side, the less pain the pyrokinetic feels. When Robert is pulling Chad's arm over his shoulder, Chad doesn't feel anything anymore. He's so dumbfounded that he lets Robert pull him towards his apartment. As Robert shuts the door with his heel, he says, "I have some medicine. I don't know if they'll work on a meta like you, but it's worth a shot if you're collapsing in the hallway."
"I feel fine." And surprisingly, he does. There's only a hollow remembrance of the pain inside his body.
"Now's not the time to be stubborn," Robert scolds him. He sets Chad down on the edge of his couch (apparently, Blazer brought it for Robert). Carefully, he rubs his fingers along the bottom of Chad's nostrils again. When he looks back at his fingers, there's only flecks of dried blood. The pyrokinetic rubs the area with his jacket, trying to clean as much of the blood as possible.
Robert walks off, heading into the hallway to look for that medicine. Chad doesn't fucking care what he goes in there for because the pain is back. He grabs a fistful of his shirt over his heart, legitimately terrified at how still it is. The pain chokes the life out of him. He feels like he's stuck in that sensory deprivation tank again, but it's so much worse because he's been getting better—he has the life that he wants now.
"Found the medicine. I also have something for if your nosebleed comes back," Robert calls out. He reappears in the living room. As soon as Chad's heart beats again, he throws himself forward. Robert doesn't realize what's happening until he's tackled onto the ground. Chad puts a hand behind Robert's head to keep him from hitting his head. Other than that, he doesn't protect the dispatcher, not even from the full weight of Chad's body on top of him, crushing him against the floor.
"Okay. This is fine, I guess," Robert whispers, patting Chad's hip since he can't free his arm enough to touch Chad's back.
"Do you not feel that shit?" Chad whispers. His voice sounds far too earnest because of how breathless it is.
"Feel what?"
"The pain when we're—" Chad bites the inside of his cheek. It sounds as stupid as Robert is, and Chad can't have Robert misinterpreting what he's talking about.
"Hey," Robert says softly. Chad jolts back out of surprise. He looks right into Robert's eyes. With his chest lifted, Robert can free one of his hands. Instead of using it to free himself, he brushes his fingers against Chad's cheek, a featherlight touch that brings a wave of comfort—not pain—with it. "Tell me what's wrong."
Chad exhales. He looks away from Robert, staring at the floor right beside the dispatcher's messy brown hair. "When we're… when there's distance between us… don't you feel that pain?"
Robert blinks. "Uh, my body's always in pain, so…" Chad looks at Robert. The dispatcher chuckles. "But yeah, I guess it was worse when we were in different rooms. We must have been hit with a superpower of some kind."
"It was that fucker, wasn't it?" Chad growls. He leans back onto his butt. He takes Robert's hand to pull him into an upright position. Robert winces, setting a hand against his back. In very few other circumstances, Chad would feel a tiny bit bad for tackling Robert to the ground, but this is one of the many situations in which he does not care. "How the fuck do we fix this?"
"In the morning, probably," Robert responds. He picks up the medicine that fell from his grasp when he hit the ground. He uses the arm of the couch to push himself onto his feet. "Just stay here for the night. If luck is with us, whatever is happening we'll be gone after we rest."
"What the fuck? I can't just—fucking stay here!"
"Shh, I have neighbors," Robert says, putting a finger over his lips. He drops it with a sigh, looking around. "Think about it logically. It's past midnight, so we shouldn't be out on the streets right now. We also have work in the morning—"
"You think we can fucking work like this!" Chad waves his hand between himself and Robert.
"I can work. You'll just have to sit in my cubicle with me or something. I don't know. We'll figure it out in the morning. I'm just… I'm tired, okay?" Robert sounds like he's a lot more than just tired.
Even still, he grabs Chad's wrists. He pulls. Chad would laugh at his failure if the situation weren't so dire right now. Chad just hooks his thumb over the couch's cushion to bring himself onto his feet. He has no choice but to follow Robert into the back room—the bedroom, supposedly. There's nothing in here except an open closet and stacks of clothes on the floor.
"What the fuck is this shit?" Robert picks out some clothes. He tosses a pair of underwear at Chad. He catches it because he's him, but Chad only holds it in one hand. "The fuck?"
"It's clean, okay? I don't even wear that one anymore since it's too big for me. I doubt any of my other clothes will fit you, so just put that on and I'll wash the clothes you're wearing for tomorrow," Robert explains. "And for your information, I'm only doing this so you don't complain about wearing dirty clothes. It's too late for you to complain about anything."
"I do not complain. I am always stating objective fact."
"Well, go state objective fact away from me. I'll change in the hallway. You change right here," Robert says, gesturing to the area in front of the door before he shuts it. Chad takes a deep breath. The pain returns, but it doesn't overwhelm him. It's at a manageable level. He doesn't need to be any closer to Robert in order to—
Is he actually doing this, he thinks to himself as he hangs his jacket on the door handle because there's no where else to put it. He continues removing articles of clothing, eying the underwear Robert gave him. It's a startling white, almost shining in the low lighting of the room (Chad would flip on the light switch, but he worries the bulb will shatter on him). When he's naked, he realizes it's far too late to consider his options. He puts the underwear on. A bit tight, but it'll have to do.
When Chad opens the door, Robert is leaning against the wall right beside it. He wears a white undershirt and his underwear without an ounce of shame. Chad's the one who feels shame when he has to look away from Robert's appearance. It increases tenfold when Robert doesn't even look at Chad, just grabs Chad's dirty clothes (everything except his jacket). He takes them with his own to a washing machine that must have come from the previous century. Chad hates to admit that he's a tad more fascinated with the process than he should be given his reputation. Robert says nothing about it, only rubs his eyes tiredly.
When he's done, he walks to the living room. Again, Chad can't do anything except follow, lest he nearly kills himself again. Robert brings them to the couch. He flops down in the lawn chair on one end of the couch. Chad stares at him incredulously. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Robert slumps, closing his eyes with his head tilted at the ceiling. "You can sleep on the couch."
"Couch and lawn chair? These are your only sleeping options?" Chad waves between them. Robert only hums in response. Chad sits on the couch, dropping his face into his hands. Why? Why did it have to be Robert, of all people? Why couldn't he be stuck in close proximity with literally anyone else (or better yet, why can't he be crushing on someone else)?
But there's nothing he can do. For the time being, they're stuck like this since neither of them know how to fix this issue. All they can do is get some much needed rest. Chad just feels like he shouldn't be accepting this so easily. He could be fighting it more. He should be forcing this power to snap through sheer force of will. He should control his body, not letting anything stop his heart from beating or his nerves from settling into calmness. He should stand up right now and march toward the door, proving once and for all that he's stronger than all the damned forces of his planet.
An echo of that pain renders him motionless. What if his stubbornness gets him killed, just like his sister said it would? What if he gets Robert killed, too, just because the dispatcher is so weak and so used to pain that he wouldn't know what was happening until he was falling lifeless to the ground? As troubling as the current situation is—as much as he would love to force his way back to his own apartment—the thought of pain and death and regret keep him locked into place.
Chad lies down on the couch. He balls his jacket up. He's about to use it as a pillow when he remembers what he slipped into the pockets. He sets his phone down on the ground (he'll have to charge it tomorrow). He, then, pulls out his wallet. He glances down at Robert. The dispatcher seems asleep. Chad doesn't know for certain, and he makes no move to check. All he does is angle his body away from Robert to flip the wallet open. The money, the cards, the driver's license—none of that matters to him as much as the piece of paper in the back does. It's a small, faded picture of his family, one without him in it. He once mourned his absence, but he doesn't mind so much anymore. He's just glad it exists, overjoyed that his sister saw fit to forgive him enough to send it to him in the mail while he was in prison.
Chad pushes the picture back inside his wallet. He closes it, tucking the leather back into his jacket. He balls it up around the wallet, using it as a pillow instead of the throw pillows behind his back.
The last thought he has is that this is going to be awful.
He is meant to be woken up by his phone playing his current favorite feel-good song, not by a sharp pain wrapping around his heart in complete silence. Unfortunately, that's exactly what rouses him from his slumber. Chad's brows furrow together. He coughs on his next breath, and the pain ricocheting back down his throat causes his eyes to snap open. He looks around for the source of his troubles, expecting a supervillain to be standing at the foot of his bed. All he finds is a stupid bitch squatting several feet away from the couch Chad seems to be sleeping on.
The events of yesterday flood in his mind causing the pained groan leaving him to temper off into an annoyed one. He glares at Robert. With a voice still caught in the throes of sleep, he demands, "What the actual fuck are you doing?"
Robert startles. He opens his mouth, shaking his head immediately. He gestures down to the measuring tape laid out across the floor from him to the base of the couch. "I, uh… I decided to see how far apart we can be without experience pain. It seems to be about five feet."
"Do you not feel pain squeezing around your heart?" Chad asks.
Robert sits back on his haunches. He pats his hand against his chest. "Hmm… I guess my heart does hurt a little right now."
Chad throws his legs over the side of the couch. He stretches his limbs, going through his usual morning routine despite not being at his own apartment. Robert watches him, more curious than reverent like Chad is used to people looking at him in the early hours of the morning. "I'll decide how far apart we can be, you masochistic fuck."
"I'm not masochistic," Robert admits. He shuffles forward on his knees, pulling the measuring tape with him to shorten the distance. "I'm just still figuring out what pain is mine and what pain is ours."
"This pain is not ours."
"Sure, call it whatever you want." Robert stops. He looks back up at Chad, and this is not an angle Chad needs to be looking at… ever. "Your heart still hurt?"
Chad glances away, pretending to be more distracted with plugging his phone into the wall. "No." His eyes widen at the time. It's earlier than he would usually get up but not by so much that he thinks trying to get more sleep would be worth it. "Now, get off your lazy ass. I need to take a shower."
Chad definitely hears something crack as Robert pushes himself onto his feet. He starts wrapping the measuring tape again while following Chad. Luckily, Robert put Chad's clothes in the dryer before he did whatever he was doing in the living room. It's hard to tell with how hot his body runs, but Chad believes they're warm in his arms. He can tell that they don't smell as they normally do, though. Robert must buy the unscented stuff. Chad resists the urge to shudder, reminding himself how basic Robert is.
They go to the bathroom next. Unfortunately, the shower is on the other side of the room, so Robert has to go with Chad to keep both of their hearts from rupturing. Robert would've had to follow him in, anyway, to point out where the towels (there's only three of them, and one of them looks disturbingly stained with blood). Once he's done with that, Robert steps up to the sink. Chad turns the water on, making sure it's as cold as it can go just so he can feel something. He turns back around and crosses his arms over his chest. Robert freezes when he notices with his toothbrush under the stream. "What?"
"Bitch. Fucking turn around."
Robert snorts. "I've seen you naked before. You're literally just wearing underwear right now."
"Turn the fuck around," Chad demands. Robert rolls his eyes. After he obliges, still brushing his teeth, Chad removes the underwear he was loaned. He leaves it in the corner since he doesn't see a hamper (nor does he care to go looking for it). He pushes the curtain completely open. He's about to step inside when he notices a sheer lack of… anything. He only finds one bottle. He grabs it, whirling around to face Robert. "What the fuck is this?"
Even though Chad forced him to turn away, he doesn't say anything when Robert glances over his shoulder just long enough to see what Chad is talking about. Through the mirror, Chad sees Robert's expression when he turns back toward the door. "It's a 3-in-1."
"It's for children," Chad hisses.
"It works." Robert shrugs.
Chad nearly melts the plastic. He's much closer to simply setting Robert on fire. He already knew Robert was depressing, but this is a new fucking low. Shit, maybe he really would rather die than deal with this bitch.
To keep himself from committing suicide, he says, "You don't fucking deserve your hair."
"I—ouch?" Robert doesn't sound offended at all. Chad shakes his head in sheer disbelief. He throws the 3-in-1 back into the shower stall, listening to it bang its way down the floor. He lifts his hair, slipping the ponytail around his wrist over the messy bun. He definitely isn't washing his hair with that thing on the floor that he will be using as the weapon in Robert's murder.
Since he can't actually wash himself, Chad just lets the water do what it can. His face directly in the cold stream (it feels lukewarm to him) does finish waking him up. It's going to be a terrible day, though, so he's not sure what the hell anything he's doing is for.
When he's done, he wraps the towel around himself. Robert sits on the toilet lid, doing something on his phone. Before Chad can say anything, he swivels until he's facing away from Chad. The pyrokinetic is grateful, but he will not say it. He puts his clothes on. Although Robert washed them, he feels disgusting for doing this. He can't wear the same clothes twice in a row! The Z-Team is going to tease him all day long—unless they're too busy teasing him about his current predicament with Robert.
"Why do you keep sighing?"
"What kind of question is that? Are you trying to be more of a bitch than normal?" Chad asks, throwing his hands into the air before pulling his shirt on.
"Less of a bitch, actually, but it doesn't seem like I'm succeeding."
"Yeah, you're fucking not," Chad huffs. He steps around Robert to stand in front of the mirror. He pulls his hair loose from the ponytail, watching it fall across his shoulders. "I just… Why aren't you reacting more? Yes, I'm amazing and hot, but… you can't really be so pathetic that you want to spend all that time around me. I'm not going to make you cool somehow."
"I've left wanting to be cool behind in high school."
"You must have been such a loser in high school."
"I was, actually. Went from a loner to a dropout. At least I didn't shoot up the place like at least half the people there thought I would."
Chad pauses. He looks at Robert. Those warm brown eyes are looking right back at him. He's not joking. There's none of that in his gaze or expression. There's not much of anything, though. It's like he doesn't even care. Chad doesn't know why that makes him care more. "Who the fuck took a look at your scrawny ass and thought you could be a school shooter?"
"I went to a normie school. All normies are equal beneath a gun." There's a flicker of care now, but Chad knows it's not for Robert himself. It's not for his high school experience or lack thereof. It's for another normie who was shot with a gun that was close to Robert.
"Stop changing the subject to your depressing life," Chad says. He looks around the sink. Robert offers him a brand new toothbrush straight from the package. That wasn't what Chad was looking for, but he takes it since he does need to brush his teeth. As he's wetting the brush, he continues, "I asked you a fucking question. Answer it."
"Look, I don't really know. I guess I'm just in a non-reactive mood. Maybe I'll start having a bigger reaction when I start feeling the consequences of whatever this is, but honestly, it'll probably disappear before that even happens." There's a deep apathy to his voice. Chad's glad for the toothbrush in his mouth because he doesn't want to respond. He doesn't want Robert to have any idea that he's familiar with that kind of apathy. The only difference is that Robert sinks into it; Chad continues to struggle like a drowning man. But no amount of parties and sex and near-death experiences can truly erase this quiet whisper that he shouldn't let anything bother him because nothing matters, because he—
Chad spits out the toothpaste. After rinsing out his mouth and wiping his face, he glares at Robert. "Get a better a flavor."
Robert snorts. "Assuming we're still stuck together then, are we even coming back here after our shift?"
Chad considers it. He shakes his head immediately. "Absolutely not. We're going back to my place. And don't even think about bringing any of your shit because I promise you I have better, actually usable stuff."
"Counterpoint, Beef will have to come with us, and I need to bring his stuff."
Chad doesn't remember what his opinion of Beef is supposed to be. Alice will remind him later, but for now, he thinks he has a begrudging fondness. "We'll pick it up later. And anything that comes out of that fat fuck is yours to clean."
"Deal. I'll have to call my landlord to let him know the situation."
As he's typing on his phone, Chad gestures to the shower. "Aren't you going to take one?"
Robert glances at it, putting the phone against his ear. "No. We're going to the gym later. I'll take my shower, then." Robert turns away to start talking to his landlord.
"Oh, we are, are we?" They're going to have to plan their schedules around each other. Chad is certain Robert's social life is as depressing as everything else about him. Chad, on the other hand, has a thriving social life. There are people who are going to realize he's missing if he doesn't go out tonight. Or any other night. At the same time, does he really want to bring that sad fuck over there with him. It's not like he could pick up guys like this, either. He'd have to find one who doesn't mind a voyeur, convince Robert to be a voyeur, and honestly, the idea of Robert being there does too many things for Chad—things he can't let anyone know about.
"Are you done?" Robert nudges Chad out of the way to open the door. He didn't even get to answer, but now he's following Robert into his bedroom again. Unlike him, Robert just starts changing, unbothered by what Chad might see. The pyrokinetic still turns around because one of them has to have some fucking dignity.
Robert walks past him wearing his SDN uniform. This, Chad thinks, is why Robert hasn't reacted to their current predicament. He hasn't realized that they're in one. It's so easy for him to ignore that he's bound to Chad—to forget that Chad is even there. 'My pain and our pain,' he mentioned earlier. It hasn't hit him yet how painful it genuinely is to be apart. That, or he just doesn't care.
And that pisses Chad off for several reasons. He's going to focus on the part about Robert ignoring his presence because that feels like the most justifiable reason to be as angry as he currently is.
Chad marches after Robert, making the pain surrounding his heart dissipate into an only echo of a reminder. Robert is currently tugging his shoes on. "We'll call Blazer on the way."
Already upset, Chad gestures rather aggressively to the lackluster kitchen where all culinary dreams go to die. "Back the fuck up—what about breakfast?"
Robert finishes putting his shoes on. He stands in the mudroom, staring into his kitchen. The surprise is so potent on his face that Chad has to wonder if Robert even remembered he has a kitchen. "Oh… er, I don't think I have anything. I usually eat at SDN."
Chad drops his face into his hands. "This is hell. This is actual hell. Malevola opened one of her portals and sent me to hell."
"If this is hell, the devil should really step-up his game," Robert opens the door. Chad glares at him between his fingers. Robert looks around helplessly. "Can't you just skip breakfast?"
"I'm so going to kill you by the end of this," Chad promises. He turns away from Robert. He fights through the pain to reach the couch. Luckily, Robert shortens the distance before Chad goes catatonic. He's able to pull his jacket over his body and grab his phone. He double-checks for his wallet. Once his fingers close around the leather, he points at Robert, "I'll buy breakfast this time, but you owe me, bitch."
"We can stop for you, but I'm not eating." Robert admits.
Chad walks past him into the hallway. Robert turns to close the door and lock it. Chad braces one arm against the door beside Robert's head. When the man looks over his shoulder, Chad crowds around him. His shadow falls over Robert's body, illuminated briefly by sparks Chad can't bring himself to put out because of his emotional state. "I said I'll buy you breakfast. I'm doing that. You're going to eat it. And you're going to like it." Robert doesn't seem impressed or amused. Chad leans further down, letting the heat trail across Robert's features. "And you're going to fucking like it, right, Bob-Bob?"
Robert sighs so heavily that it blows away some of the hot air surrounding Chad. He reaches a hand to wipe down the side of his face. "Fine. This is not an argument I want to have. Just… nothing extreme, okay?"
"Nothing extreme? I'm not buying you white bread if that's what you mean," Chad rolls his eyes. He removes his arm from beside Robert. The brunette immediately starts walking down the hallway. His brown eyes flick over to the blood Chad left on the wall. Chad hurries forward, standing in Robert's way. "You'd think your ass is the flattest part of you, but your stomach is giving it a run for its money."
"Can we not talk about this?" Robert asks while pressing the elevator button.
There's something… off about Robert's voice, but Chad barrels right through that. "Why the fuck not? Your ass is flat, and you've got no meat on your bones. It's part of the reason why you're so fucking weak."
Robert exhales sharply at his nose. When the elevator doors slide open, he steps inside immediately. He turns around, pressing the button and leaning against the railing. "You really are going to have to kill me by the end of this."
There has never been a moment when he's walked into the SDN building as Chad rather than Flambae, and it's noticeably strange. There shouldn't be a difference between the two, he thinks, but there are certain… distinctions that he doesn't dwell on. He just feels like different people depending on the clothes he's wearing. It's easier to maintain certain levels of confidence and composure, that's all. It might be just because they have two different reputations… stories, even, because one is a prodigal son and one is a reforming criminal. Both are arsonists, but they have set fire to two very different kinds of places. At the very least, Chad and Flambae are both phoenixes still finding their way out of the ashes.
"Did you want to talk to the others first?" Robert asks, looking up from where he's clocking in. Chad has never actually seen the place where the dispatchers clock in. Or, well, he's seen it, but he's never paid attention to it. For a good reason, too, he thinks, looking around the station. There's nothing interesting here. Nothing except Robert, he supposes.
"Nah, those fuckers will find out on their own," Chad crosses his arms over his chest. He glances around as if any of the Z-Team are lurking in the lobby. Waterboy might be. The others are less likely. Invisigal does appear where she's never wanted, though, so he carefully sweeps his arm forward, knowing damn well she has enough time to get out of the way.
"Fair enough," Robert shrugs. When he turns, Chad sees a part of his face he didn't often see while they walked from the bakery to the SDN building. Robert chokes for a second when Chad grabs the back of his collar. Coughing into his fist, he glares at Chad. "The fuck was that for?"
With a motion as gentle as the one Robert used to wipe the blood off Chad's face, he wipes off the crumbs from the muffin Chad bought him. "Is this why you never eat breakfast? Because you're a messy bitch?"
"Yeah, that's the whole reason," Robert says. He looks away from Chad, but the pyrokinetic saw the slight hint of red creeping onto those cheeks. Chad's victorious is drained almost immediately. He's been effectively naked in front of Robert with his absolutely rocking bod, but it took wiping crumbs from his face to get even the slightest hint of a blush. Robert is simultaneously the easiest and hardest guy Chad has ever tried getting with.
Not that he's trying to get with Robert—he's just trying to make a point. Form a connection with what he's familiar with.
"Robert!" A voice interrupts them (and thank the flames for it because Chad has no idea what his brain was doing just then). "And Fla—er…" Blonde Blazer—Mandy—says, approaching them from the lobby's doors. She looks between them with a worried expression. She looks a lot more… human without her amulet basking her entire being in celestial light.
"Just don't call me anything," Chad murmurs, unwilling to tell anyone his secret identity while also not wanting anyone to know that this civilian trailing behind Robert is the Flambae.
"I'll keep that in mind. Are you okay?" Mandy asks Flambae first. He stares at her for a long moment. When she doesn't get an answer from him, she turns toward Robert. "Are you both okay?"
"I'm fine, for now, I guess," Robert rolls his wrist to move his hand. "The Z-Team are going to have betting how long it takes for us to kill each other."
"They do love their bets, don't they?"
"This is all we fucking have since we legally can't gamble anymore," Chad adds. Mandy gives him an odd look. He eyes her warily. It's like she's forgotten that he's part of Z-Team just because he's not wearing his costume. Or maybe she's surprised that they gamble (or that they "don't").
"Ignore him," Robert says, and oh, if Mandy wasn't here, Chad would really let Robert have it. "We're fine. I should get to dispatching. It's going to be difficult with one less hero, but I'm sure we'll manage."
"If you want, I can have Star Blazer switched over to your command to fill the space," Mandy offers.
Robert smiles, small and soft and sincere. "I'd love that. Thank you."
"It's nothing. Be good, both of you," Mandy says, eyes flicking over to Chad. He'd feel patronized if it didn't genuinely seem like she's talking about Robert, too. Her concern is genuine, unfortunately, leaving Chad silent as she returns to her office.
Robert and Chad go in the opposite direction to the most lonesome, boring cubicle of them all. Chad hopes that there is just one aspect of Robert's life that isn't fucking depressing. He hasn't found it yet, but he knows that he'll eventually… probably won't ever find it.
"Where the fuck do I sit?"
Robert kicks his rolling chair toward Chad. "You can sit there if you want."
("My pain and our pain.")
Chad shoves the chair back to Robert. "The weak little baby needs the chair more than me. But I better have one tomorrow."
"I'll see what I can do," Robert sits down. He pulls the chair to his desk. He turns everything on and slips his headphones on, clearly going through the motions of a daily routine (so he does know what they are. Chad just needs to get him to have a morning routine). "Good morning, team."
There are muffled noises as the team responds. Robert interrupts them. "Flambae is temporarily out. Something… happened." More muffled noises. Robert sighs. "No, he did not go back to prison. No, he's not dead. Can you guys—" As the others grumble to each other, Robert mutes them and look over at Chad. "See what I have to deal with every day?"
"You fucking deserve it, bitch."
Seeing he will receive no sympathy, Robert looks back at his computer to do his job. With nowhere else to sit, Chad flops onto the ground. He stretches his legs out in the limited space they have. He tilts his head back, letting it bump against the back wall. Barely been two seconds and he's already bored.
Maybe Malevola really did send him to hell.