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Golden hour washed over the Zones, painting the desert in rich hues of orange. Jet Star, Fun Ghoul, and Kobra Kid found themselves at the diner, playing cards in their idling while they waited for you and Party Poison to return from what was said to be a brief mission.
“Er… Jet, got any 9s?” Ghoul muttered, flicking through the cards he had in his hand.
“Go fish.”
“Damn it,” Ghoul groaned, picking up from the deck. “I swear you do and you’re hidin’ them from me.”
“That’s not how the game works,” Jet spoke flatly. “Kobra, go.”
“Kay…” Kobra mumbled. “Ghoul, got any 9s?”
Ghoul’s jaw dropped so forcefully, you’d think it fell out of its’ socket.
“I’m gonna murder you.”
Ghoul picked his three 9s out of his hand and slammed them on the table, giving Kobra his 3rd matching stack of the game. “I hate this game. You’re a bastard. Get out of my sight.”
“Don’t talk to me like it’s my fault, stupid, it’s all luck.”
“Choke and die.”
…
The (relatively) peaceful late afternoon that the three were enjoying back at the hideout only lasted for so long.
The front door of the diner was shoved open forcefully, alerting everyone inside to your return as you stomped inside.
“Does it even matter?” You complained over your shoulder, peeling off your jacket and dumping it in a booth. “Get off my butt about it, god, I’m so sick and tired of you!”
Poison trailed in some feet after you, and the scowl he was sporting was absolutely lethal.
“You? Sick and tired? Aw, poor baby, let me just forget all about how stupid that was, since you’re so exhausted—“
“I don’t know what you want me to say!!” You shouted, pulling off your motorcycle helmet to glare at him. “It worked, didn’t it? Yes, it did, so shut up and be grateful we’re not dead!”
“It’s not about if it worked or not, idiot— you do that again and you’re dead. The only reason it didn’t kill you is because I was there!”
Ghoul and Jet deadpanned at each other, while Kobra sunk in his seat.
“What the hell are you arguin’ about?” Jet groaned, rubbing his temples to combat the incoming headache.
Both you and Poison looked at each other, and then started talking at the same time.
“The old bar in Zone 3, it got ransacked by Dracs—“
“Draculoids showed up outta nowhere, like, 7 of ‘em—“
“I had it under control, I just needed them to get out to the car—“
“He was getting cornered, and I’m not stupid enough to just leave!”
“Then this stupid idiot activates a goddamn bomb, and I had to haul us out—“
“I took care of it! No one shoots fast enough to take on 7 armed Dracs by themselves, the explosives were necessary!”
“If we were a second too late, the building would’ve came down on us too!”
…Jet and Ghoul stared at the both of you blankly, while Kobra pretended he was somewhere else.
“I understood none of that,” Ghoul griped, and Jet pressed his fingertips into his eyelids.
“Can you guys not fight, please?” Jet complained, “You came back alive! Yay! Look, we’re playing Go Fish. We can start over, deal you in—“
“Next time you pull something like that, I’m leaving you there,” Poison spat, jabbing a finger in your direction. You rolled your eyes sky high, then turned to hang your bag up.
“I hope you do, I’d rather be put out of my misery than hear one more word out of your mouth,” you shot back. Jet threw his hands up exasperatedly and gave up right there, while Kobra pulled his flask out of his jacket.
“If you bothered to listen to me for two seconds, we wouldn’t keep ending up in situations like this!” He yelled after you as you stomped off towards the bathroom. He didn’t follow you, though, and a slam resounded through the building shortly after your departure.
Poison just stood in the middle of the room for a moment, holding himself taut.
Jet, Ghoul, and Kobra all looked at each other, unsure if he was about to explode at them, too.
…But he just turned on his heel and heading towards the back, too.
“Put ointment on that scrape of yours, you’re gonna get an infection!” He called out, shoving into the bathroom and away from sight.
…
“Damn,” Ghoul muttered, swiping Kobra’s flask from his hand so he could take a swig himself.
“I don’t think I can take another day of those two before I kill them myself,” Jet grumbled.
The morning to follow, you and Poison were the last two to wake.
So he was, unsurprisingly, in a sour mood, given that he normally sleeps much better than that— and you were still prickly from the events of the previous day.
The other three killjoys felt the physical presence of your shared malevolence with Poison as you two entered the kitchen, and the good mood instantly died. Vaporized into the air.
You both approached the coffee maker, only to see that there was enough left in the pot for about one cup or so.
“…We don’t have any more in storage,” Jet muttered, “I checked.”
You and Poison turned to each other; no words were said, but the atmosphere grew twice as toxic.
“Just share it,” Kobra huffed, then sipped from his cup.
“What am I supposed to do with half a cup of coffee?” You whined, and Poison scoffed.
“They don’t even actually like coffee,” Poison argued, “They put so much sugar in it that it doesn’t even taste right.”
“Sorry I don’t like drinking dirt water first thing in the morning like you, maybe if there was more sugar in your cup you’d feel some joy for one second of your miserable life—“
“You’re callin’ me miserable? First of all— pot, kettle. Second of all, maybe I just actually like coffee? You ever think about that?? I don’t need to dilute it to drink it, I’m a grown adult.”
“The same grown adult who woke me up last night to accuse me of taking the ‘good blanket?’ Get a goddamn grip.”
“I wouldn’t think to accuse you if you’d stop takin’ stuff in the first place!”
“Ohhhh my god,” Ghoul interjected before you could open your mouth in return, and he turned to you both.
“If you two keep arguing I am literally going to blast my brains out with my ray gun,” he threatened, raised two fingers to his temple in demonstration. “I’m paintin’ the wall with my brains. And you guys will have to clean it up, and it will be your fault.”
Despite how absolutely ridiculous that claim was… it shut you and Poison up pretty quickly. The visual effectively disturbed you enough.
“Whatever,” you mumbled, and turned to the pantry for a stale granola bar. “Just take it. Don’t even want it if it’s just half a cup.”
Poison rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest, but silently moved to go fill his cup regardless.
…
The both of you got what you needed and left the kitchen without another word. You went outside to take off to the crash track, while Poison just holed up in the common area to revise a plan of action for an upcoming raid.
Jet slumped all the way forward, until his forehead pressed into the cool countertop. Kobra just kept sipping at his cup, and Ghoul was… pensive.
“You guys are thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, right?” The latter spoke up, careful to keep his voice contained inside just the space of the kitchen.
“That we need to spray them with water the next time they start growlin’ at each other?” Jet muttered, and Kobra snorted.
“No,” Ghoul huffed. “Not a bad idea, but no.”
Ghoul finished off the last of his own coffee and pushed the mug aside, and drummed his fingers against the counter to increase the drama.
“I think…” he started, “Those two totally have got the hots for each other.”
…
Kobra blinked at him, unmoving, and Jet burst out laughing.
“What?!” Ghoul puffed. “Think about it!”
“You’re insane, dude,” Jet chortled, shaking his head and taking a sip from his cup.
“No— you don’t see it?” Ghoul stood up straighter, laying his palms flat into the countertop. “They’re always goin’ at it. Like, constantly. They can’t get enough of each other!”
“Yeah, because they’re always two seconds from snappin’ each other’s necks?”
“But why would you seek out somebody you claim you can’t stand to be around?” Ghoul countered, gesturing emphatically. “Yeah, they bicker like crazy, and they like it.”
“Are you bored, Ghoul?” Kobra questioned. “Is this fun for you?”
“A little— but! That’s not the point!”
Later that evening, Ghoul caught sight of you and Poison outside, doing what appeared to be target practice. Of course, that could only go so smoothly with you both.
He cracked the front door open, just so he could take a listen.
“What are you doin’?” Kobra called out as he walked over too— and Ghoul shushed him that very second.
“You’re not even holdin’ it right,” Poison chided, as yet another one of your shots missed by a few inches. “You’re gonna end up with a hole in your head one of these days if you can’t figure out how to aim.”
“…”
You redirected your hand and fired off about 7 consecutive blasts before one landed, and Poison ‘tsked’ at you.
“Yeah, you’re gettin’ shot,” he snarked.
“Who gives a damn about ray guns anyway? I can fight. I can use a knife. I’ve got bombs,” you muttered, petulant. Poison shook his head and positioned himself in front of a different dummy.
“None of that stuff is useful in a gun fight, genius, there’d be a bullet through your heart before you could blink.”
As if to emphasize his point, he drew his gun and fired right through the center mass of the dummy. Then he blew at the barrel with all the sass in the world, and you kicked up sand at him.
“Hey—“ He returned the gesture, and you sputtered as a big enough dust cloud formed to get into your mouth. “You’re such a child!”
“And you’re a showoff.”
“I was trying to help you, idiot.”
“How was that helping me?? Huh? ‘Oh look at me, I’m Party Poison, I’m sooo hot and cool and I can shoot a gun!’”
Ghoul wasn’t sure if it was just the lighting, but he could’ve sworn that Poison was a little more flushed than usual.
Kobra just shook his head and left to find something else to do; not like he could make sense of why your incessant fighting was so interesting to Fun Ghoul.
“Yeah, alright—“ Poison walked over to you and snatched your gun away, then he led you over to a different dummy and planted you firmly in front of it.
He slid the ray gun back into your dominant hand, and his other hand rested on your waist to turn your body just a little more.
“Close one eye,” he explained; he positioned his head right next to yours, so he could see from roughly the same angle. “Use both hands. Don’t lock your knees the way you always do.”
He guided your hand into the right position, and when your aim was about decent, you took the shot.
It went straight through the center of the dummy, the same way Poison’s shot did.
But he didn’t quite move away from you just yet. Only when you lowered your gun completely, did Poison step back just a bit.
“So.” He kicked more dirt at you. “There you go, jerk.”
You jabbed your hand into his gut, which turned into you sprinting across the desert landscape to get away from him before he could mess you up completely. Poison was faster, though, and he had you tackled to the ground in seconds.
…Yeah. Maybe there wasn’t much to be said about watching you both roll around in the sand like feral dogs, but Ghoul still had his hunch, and you couldn’t pry it out of his cold, dead hands.
Normally, random shows were a happy place for Poison. He liked things loud. He liked how the bass pounded the thoughts out of his skull; it was truly an escape from the grim reality of living out in the desert.
But he was sulking. Not even vaguely irritated or distracted. Sulking. Like a child who was sent to time out in the corner.
“These guys’re awesome, seen ‘em more times than I can count!”
Meanwhile, you were apparently getting cozy with the other concertgoer at your right, who had been chatting you up since you arrived at the place.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you ‘round here before,” you replied, yelling at the guy over the music.
“Seen me?” He grinned, sly. “You’ve been noticin’ me, or what?”
“That’s—“ you barked out a laugh, caught off guard. “Didn’t mean it like that. Like— you’re always up here, ‘n stuff. With your, uh…”
You gestured around your head, referring to the man’s scalp of fading blue hair. He raised his eyebrows in a way that implied he would let you off with that one, even if he didn’t really buy it.
You were clearly tipsy, too. Not drunk. You were smarter than to get wasted at a show with a crowd full of randoms in the middle of nowhere, but you had a few sips of something. Just enough to make you chatty. If you didn’t drink at all, you wouldn’t even entertain the dude. You weren’t the world’s biggest talker for one, and you hated when people flirted with you. It made you squeamish.
That’s what Poison told Ghoul, anyway, who finally gave into asking what the hell his problem was for the past twenty minutes.
“…Okay?” Ghoul’s expression fell flat. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing. I’m just sayin’ he’s thinkin’ he’s gonna get somewhere with them, but it’s a fat waste of time,” Poison reiterated, crossing his arms against his chest. “Like, just leave ‘em alone already. More trouble than it’s worth.”
“And you care why?”
“I’m making sure no one in our crew gets drugged and dragged out into god knows where? You need to pay attention to these things, dude, could happen to anyone at any time.”
Sure, that made sense. In theory. But Ghoul didn’t believe a word out of Poison’s mouth about his intentions.
Party Poison was jealous.
Ghoul couldn’t prove that, but he just knew it. Up until that point, nothing could ruin a live band experience for Poison, but all of a sudden he can’t wipe a pout off of his face, and it just so happens to be when someone else takes an interest in you?
He had it bad. Ghoul wished that Jet and Kobra were there to see it with their own eyes; he knew they wouldn’t believe it based on his word alone.
“Y’know… maybe y’could come back to my hideout with me,” the blue haired guy offered. “We can hang for a bit. Drink. I’ve got good stuff.”
A hand landed on your shoulder frighteningly fast, head whipping around to meet the hazel eyes of Party Poison.
“Help me find my sunglasses, stupid, I dropped them around here.”
Your expression soured instantly. “They probably got trampled on, idiot. God forbid you don’t just wear ‘em on your face instead of on your shirt.”
“God forbid I don’t feel like it.”
“Why’re you always dragging me into finding your garbage when you lose it? Not my damn problem!”
You proceeded to help him anyway, of course you helped him anyway, and the guy you were engaged with faded into the background like he was never there.
The evidence in Ghoul’s case continued to grow.
“Ghoul, we can find another hobby for you. Maybe crochet?”
“No!” He groaned, near gripping into his hair with frustration. “Jet, I’m not crazy. They like each other!”
“Even if you were right, what’s it matter?” Jet pinched the bridge of his nose. “They fight like feral cats.”
“Are you guys so simple minded that you think all the bickerin’ is just that?”
“I am not simple minded, I just prefer to not make assumptions about—“
The front door was thrown open in a frenzy. Looking over, the pair spotted Party Poison first, who was sweating buckets, following by Kobra, and you, who the latter was assisting into the diner.
“…told you to stop doing that! God— I can’t believe you! You have a deathwish!” Poison complained, yes, but it was less angry and more frantic.
You were not responding, not keeping up with anything he was saying. You looked out of it; Jet rushed right over to you in alarm.
“Woah, woah, hey—“ His hands planted firmly on your shoulders. “What happened?”
“I, um… I hit my head?”
“They crashed,” Kobra cut in gently, “Pretty rough. Out at the track. Might be concussed.”
“This is why I keep saying— you guys need to— I can’t just—“
All of Poison’s main arguing points came out of him in half-formed sentences and stammered speech. Worry was radiating off of him in waves, leeching into the air. In a world where everyone knew and accepted they lived on borrowed time, he never looked more petrified by the idea of death.
Jet whisked you off to the back to get you as much medical attention as possible, and that left Kobra and Ghoul to deal with Poison. A shaking, sweaty, irritable Poison.
“You need to breathe,” was the first thing out of Kobra’s mouth, with a slow step towards his brother. “They’re going to be fine.”
“If they’re concussed, they can die,” Poison hissed. “Over what? The stupidest thing on Earth? Something preventable?”
“Let Jet check it out first before we draw too many conclusions.”
Ghoul tried to approach him, put a hand on Poison’s shoulder, but he flailed away the second a finger was laid on him.
“They have no common sense. The only reason they’re not dead is because I work my butt off to keep it that way. All for what? For this? It’s like nothing I say even matters!”
“We need to wait it out,” Kobra reiterated, gentle. “Okay?”
Poison’s expression didn’t unsour, nor did he relax his body whatsoever. He silently stormed away, straight into the kitchen, and Kobra was quick to follow.
…
Ghoul’s feet carried him to the back of the diner, where Jet had you propped up on a cot. You appeared more responsive than you were a few minutes ago, so that was a good sign; maybe the rush to get you home mixed with the injury itself and everyone’s (Poison’s) panic was just disorienting at the moment.
“So, uh.” Ghoul stepped in, coming up at Jet’s side. “What happened, exactly…?”
“I won the race, that’s what happened,” you grumbled, slumping back against the wall. “Brought home 250 carbons. Dude can’t even be grateful.”
“In Poison’s defense, you could’ve split your head open,” Jet reasoned.
You waved a dismissive hand at him. “I was wearin’ my helmet, literally what else could you want outta me?”
“A helmet can only do so much when your whole body goes flyin’. You’re lucky you didn’t break any bones.”
“Wait, so you won?” Ghoul cut in, “How’d you crash if you won?”
“Couldn’t slow down fast enough to not hit the pot hole some feet from the end of the track.”
Jet hummed, and Ghoul’s eyebrows ticked up.
“Is that what Poison’s upset about?” He scoffed.
“In Poison’s defense,” Jet spoke up again, “He is always tellin’ you to not go crazy on the speed like you do.”
“In Poison’s defense!” You mocked, high-pitched and petulant. “What are you, his lawyer? I won the freakin’ race, we’re 250 carbons richer!”
“That’s great, we just don’t want you to trade your wellbeing for money, okay?”
“Genuinely. Genuinely. You are the world’s biggest buzzkill.”
You drew your knees up to your chest, resting your chin at the top. “He was the one complainin’ about how expensive everything is, anyway. I win money so he’ll shut up, and he’s pissed? Okay.”
Ghoul shot Jet a look that was so pointed, so diabolical, that Jet was forced to roll his eyes when he caught Ghoul’s drift.
“I’m sure he appreciates it, but that’s not what this is about.” Jet was audibly getting fed up between the both of you, so he made the wise decision to wave a ‘goodbye, get out of here,’ gesture at Ghoul.
It didn’t matter anyway. Ghoul was excited with what he had heard.
So… to recap. You went out of your way to recklessly win a first place prize at the crash track, on account of Poison’s own dissatisfaction with the gang’s current lack of money. And Poison, who was never one to fear death so blatantly, lost his mind about it.
He was well aware Jet would call him crazy, or at least say it was a stretch, but Ghoul’s case was growing by the minute.
“Are they even supposed to be asleep right now? Couldn’t that kill them?”
As soon as everybody (except for you) was gathered in the common area and back to normal, Poison jumped at the opportunity complain again.
Jet sighed, and pushed his hair out of his face. “They didn’t show any of the major life-threatening signs. No slurred speech, they could answer questions, no worsening headaches according to them. They can sleep. They’re good.”
“But you’re leavin’ them alone in there?” Poison pressed. “You’re not monitoring?”
“I am monitoring, Party,” Jet scoffed. “I’m gonna wake them up in an hour, make sure they’re responsive still.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there to do?”
“You’re not going to sit in there? Not even for the first couple hours?”
Jet Star was not going to throttle Party Poison. He would not do it. Even if his heart came very close to putting that in motion.
“Poison,” Jet said, slow. “You can go sit in there if it worries you so much. Alright?”
“Who said I was worried?”
“Go sit in there or shut up, I’m tired of your questions.”
…The faintest of smirks caught onto Kobra’s face as he sat on the couch, pretending to read. Ghoul had to reign in his own urge to laugh right next to him. The only person who would ever dare to put Poison in his place like that was Jet, and he was good at it.
Poison slowly slinked off in your direction, presumably to sit in the corner in the back while you napped off your injuries on the cot. Jet made his was over to the couch and dropped himself next to Kobra with an exasperated sigh.
“He’s really on one lately,” Jet mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
“Yeah, if by that you mean the shine he’s taken to—”
“Ghoul, shut up.”
Kobra turned the page in his magazine, pushing his slipping sunglasses up his nose. “I talked to him. He’s workin’ on it.”
…Jet and Ghoul looked at each other, and then at Kobra.
Jet spoke first. “Working on what?”
“The attitude,” was Kobra’s simple, vague answer.
The conversation stalled in the expectation that Kobra would have more to say, but nothing came out of his mouth.
“Right,” Ghoul nodded, snark tinging his tone. “Gotcha.”
Kobra Kid was so good at keeping things to himself that Ghoul knew there was no shot at pulling anything out of him, and he knew it. No matter how long Ghoul has held this theory of his high, it would always end the same. You and Poison would remain in this limbo of a ridiculous amount of tension, because you got a kick out of pissing each other off. He’d stop beating a dead horse if it made the rest of the crew mad at him; it just sucked, because he knew he was right. He knew it. Nobody else cared enough to dig around with him.
It was late.
Jet Star and Fun Ghoul conked out a long time ago. You were— presumably— still laid up on your cot, and Poison in there with you.
Kobra Kid was wide awake.
He was never the deepest of sleepers. You could wake him up just by standing in his room silently.
After 30 minutes of laying awake, in a pool of his own sweat, he decided to get up and wander. A lap around the building would get his mental gears settled, back into sleep mode. Maybe.
The day had taken its toll on him too. Though he kept quiet about it, he worried for you just as much as Party Poison did. Having been there to witness the tumble you took, he had the same concerns about your wellbeing— he just managed better, at not overloading you about it.
And he worried about his brother, too. Poison carried so much of an emotional load on his shoulders every day that his knees could snap under the weight. He’d never talk about it. It surfaced in other ways.
Checking on you both wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Kobra’s feet carried him towards the very back of the diner. He approached slowly, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible; there was a faint light emanating, he’d noticed, but it was quiet. Maybe you and Poison were fast asleep, and forgot to turn it off.
That’s what he expected to see, but peeking his eyes around the corner provided him with an entirely different scene.
You sat up straight against the wall behind the cot, Poison standing between your legs— the pair of your lips were locked.
It wasn’t overly steamy or something that Kobra felt he needed to shield his eyes from, but it was feely. Intimate. Poison held you at the ribs, thumbs kneading into you with every shared movement of your lips. Your arms were thrown around his neck, keeping him there. There was no indicator of how long you both were up and alert, kissing like the world was ending, but Kobra got out of there before you guys decided to part.
He couldn’t say he was surprised. Kobra was smart. Kobra knew that Poison’s efforts to become less uptight would involve clearing the air with a certain someone. He just had to work through it on his own time.
Kobra also knew that being the one to break the story would wreak havoc on his friends.
Kobra was smart. Smart enough to go straight back to bed, as if he had seen nothing at all.