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Zahir hadn’t realized exactly what he was getting into before he got into it.
He knew that he didn’t know how being a hero worked. He didn’t know their schedules or the ways that they found out about crimes happening. And he didn’t always know where the hero ended and the person began. Maybe his perception was skewed because he’d never been anything close to a hero before. Maybe it was skewed because he’d only seen heroes on TV.
But Zahir was sure that being a hero wasn’t this.
He’d known Robert for about three months. In three months, Robert has self sabotaged himself at least four times a week, has gained new cuts and bruises across his body every time that he went out, starved himself, and had to go to the hospital for a back injury. He remembered how Robert had told him, high off of morphine and oxy together, that he’d only gone because Zahir had dragged him there.
He could still recall the argument that they had about the situation. How Robert had told him he was completely out of bounds—despite the fact that Robert would have died if he hadn’t gone to the hospital—and that Robert had had everything handled on his own. Zahir hadn’t even been able to get a word in before Robert had run away with just his jacket and keys.
Zahir hadn’t followed him. The man needed space. So he waited and waited until Robert came back in tears and bloody fists before he did anything—nothing more than a small bowl of rice and a pair of open arms. It was that night that Zahir had decided on what he needed to do—for him and for Robert’s sake.
“What are you cooking?”
Zahir hummed quietly as he topped off the dumplings with lamb. “Aushak. Like ravioli.”
“Right.” Robert groaned as he sat down at the counter. Zahir had stolen a couple of chairs for them to use at the man’s counter. There wasn’t much but those chairs and Beef’s dog bed. Maybe the pans and pots, but he bought those for him to use. He’d tried to get the man to use a bed—truly, it wasn’t anything fancy at all. No high thread counts or fancy silk cases. Just a bland comforter and an even blander pillow on some dollar store bedsheets. Nothing about it would make him groan about how expensive it must’ve been. And yet the mattress had been gone in a week.
Apparently he needed to break someone’s fall. Zahir wasn’t sure if that was a common habit that he had or not—though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to question it either.
“Did you get hurt again?” Zahir asked him.
“It’s nothing,” he said as he leaned forward. “How do you eat these?”
Zahir made him a plate, made Beef a bowl of kibble, then sat down next to Robert to eat. Robert never ate his food until Beef had his first bite—a habit Zahir had picked up on himself. He was glad that Beef quite liked food, if only to get Robert to eat more.
“This is really good.” Robert hummed to him.
Zahir smiled. “I’m glad.”
“Christmas cookies?” Robert asked confusedly.
Zahir nodded. “You said that you celebrated Christmas as a kid, didn’t you?”
“I mean, my neighbor did. Not that I did.”
“Oh my God, you sad winter child.”
“What does that even mean—“
“Hush,” Zahir said with just a finger raised. It seemed to shut Robert up rather well. “I may hate Christmas, and you may have never celebrated, but you deserve Christmas cookies. I’ve even got a recipe for Beef too!”
Robert huffed. “Why did I go to tacos with you?”
“Because you were intrigued, and I haven’t told you enough about me yet to sate your curiosity.” Zahir answered simply as he pulled out a baking sheet. “Do you want to do these cookies with me?”
“I have to get to work—“
“You really don’t.”
“I’ve spent too much time here.”
“You should spend more time here.”
“I’m heading out.” Robert said with a wave of his hands.
Zahir sighed quietly as he looked down at Beef, whose collar was currently jingling as he tried to follow Robert out of the house. The dog had made his way over to Zahir when he heard the door shut.
“Looks like it’s just us again, huh Beef?”
Beef yipped happily.
Zahir loved his treasures.
This was typical for any dragon. They were very possessive of their treasures—often having caves filled with gold and jewels. Zahir didn’t have a cave, nor did he have many jewelry that he found valuable.
He did, however, have his Robert.
“What are you doing?”
Zahir buried his face into the crook of Robert’s neck. “We’re cuddling.”
“Is that what this is?” Robert asked him, though his arms were still wrapped around him. He’d just come back from missions, not cut or injured in any important way. Just a small scrape or bruise. “Cuddling?”
“I would call it staking my treasure, but I doubt you’d understand.” Zahir snorted at him, nuzzling himself closer into Robert.
He was sure that, if he could, he would bury himself into Robert’s skin and live there forever. Maybe this obsession wasn’t normal for someone to have so early in a relationship—they weren’t even considering themselves that. Zahir had promised to be normal, and he was trying! He hadn’t kidnapped Robert away from his horrid apartment. Zahir found this to be a win.
He wasn’t sure if Robert found it a win though.
“You’re so warm, dude.” Robert huffed.
“I control the fire and the flame and my skin does not burn.” Zahir said simply, yawning. “You’re okay with this, right?”
Robert hummed. “The cuddles?”
“Yeah.” Zahir murmured.
Robert nodded. “I’m okay with it.”
“Have you ever considered the possibility that things won’t implode if you stepped away from them?” Zahir asked Robert casually.
Robert was currently trying his best at making food. Zahir wasn’t sure the exact reason as to why—something about feeling guilty that he cooked way more, that Robert shouldn’t be so weak and that he needed to learn. Zahir thought it was some childhood trauma bullshit, but he digressed.
“The world needs Mecha Man.” Robert said. Some days Zahir was certain that he’d spent so much time in the suit that he became a robot himself.
Zahir scoffed at that. “Do they need you twenty four seven, three sixty five?”
“I don’t have a choice, Zahir.” Robert spat out. “I either fight or I don’t. This is my job—“
Zahir rolled his eyes. “Oh please. A job that you’re killing yourself over? You know most jobs give people paid time off, right?”
The only thing that was preventing the fire from burning hotter was Zahir absorbing the flames—something he’d remembered how to do when he learned Robert’s method of cooking was faster is better. “The fire’s too high again.”
“I swear to God.” Robert groaned at the stove before turning it down. “How do you do this every day?”
Zahir snorted. “How can you pilot a Mech every day?”
“Real funny,” Robert said.
“One’s way more complicated.” Zahir shrugged as he picked Beef off of the floor. “You seriously need to consider taking a break, even just one day. My family’s been dying to meet you anyway.”
Robert looked up at that. “They have?”
“Yeah.” Zahir smiled. “I talk about you.”
Robert had turned off the stove. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re an important person to me and I like talking about important things?” Zahir shrugged, hands scratching Beef’s fur. “Plus, my sister likes giving me recipes to try out for you. She cooks a lot. She’s like a content creator, you know? Posts videos and shit about it—“
“You talk about me.”
Zahir looked up at Robert, noting the way that his hands shook against the pan’s handle. How his eyes were boring into Zahir’s as if he was trying so hard to unravel a piece of thread sewn into a knitted sweater.
“I do.” he whispered. “All the time.”
“Oh.” Robert murmured.
Zahir looked at Robert, at the utter confusion and disbelief written on his face, before looking back at the pan. “Your food’s burning.”
“Oh shit—“ Robert cursed. “Fuck!”
“You’re bleeding.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are, bitch.” Zahir sighed, a first aid kit already in his hand. “Lift your shirt up.”
Robert groaned and rolled his eyes as he undid the buttons on his shirt and left it on the counter—neither of them wanting Beef to lick the blood out of his shirts. It was a habit that Beef had.
The cut itself was bad. Bad. It was just under his rib across the half of his chest, maybe stopping just under the tip of his sternum. He’d been cut into deep too—the flesh a bright red from the blood wrapping around the skin next to the open wound.
“You’re hopeless.” Zahir whispered as he threaded the needle. He blew a bit of fire on the tip to disinfect it.
Robert hummed. “I’d be doing this myself.”
“I know you would.”
“I can do this without you.”
“You can.”
“So why are you still here?” Robert asked him, looking down at the needle as it entered and exited his skin at each point. The way that it slowly closed up was odd—but it was a sight Zahir was getting used to.
Zahir looked up at him through his lashes for a moment before returning to the wound. “Because I care.”
“You’re funny.” Robert snorted.
“Would you even do any of this for me if it wasn’t for your culture?”
Zahir looked up from his bowl over to Robert—a Robert who had an extremely tired expression on his face. He hadn’t really done much. Nor was he sure what Robert was even talking about.
“What do you mean?”
“Feeding me. Taking care of Beef.” Robert said, gesturing around the apartment as if the cracked concrete walls were going to give the answer to everything Robert was trying to say. “Would you even do it if we weren’t, I don’t know, bound or whatever?
Zahir hummed quietly. “Probably not, no. Our fight wouldn’t be nearly as good, cause I would’ve gotten my ass kicked,” Zahir said with a bite of chicken on his fork. “And I wouldn’t have been able to break out of prison either. I’d say it’s not a nice combo.”
Robert huffed.
“You’re not going to use that to justify some self sacrificing bullshit behavior, are you?” Zahir asked.
“I’m literally forcing you to do this—“
“You aren’t forcing me to do shit, Robert.” Zahir said to him. Not loudly, but firmly—moreso a reprimand than anything close to anger. “I’m doing it because I want to, regardless of whether you’re my mate or not. If we met just like us, no hero or villain titles, I would do the same.”
Robert snorted. “Would you?”
Zahir rolled his eyes before looking at Robert. “You deserve to be treated like a human. Even if you don’t believe me, and I know you don’t judging by that snarky smile on your face—“ he said as he pointed at Robert. “You deserve love. Just like me or any other person. You’re not forcing me to give it to you, nor am I inclined towards it just because you’re my mate. Even if I’m here because of that doesn’t mean I’m staying because of that—there’s still at least three other rituals to perform before we’re considered tied, much less bonded.”
Robert wasn’t looking at him as he spoke, nor did Zahir expect him to. He had a nasty habit of not listening when someone showed him care.
“I don’t believe you.” Robert said.
At least he learned how to communicate that. It was the small things that Zahir was grateful for.
“You don’t have to believe it for it to be true.” he whispered to Robert. “You don’t have to believe me. I know you won’t for a long time.”
“I can’t.” Robert whispered.
Zahir smiled, his hands holding Robert’s. “That’s okay.”
Robert could only seem to laugh. “Is it okay?”
“Maybe not completely.” Zahir agreed. “But it will be.”