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They say hindsight is 20/20, and man is he learning that the hard way.
The relationship between him and their Arts Floor patron could be described as.. kinda close. When you drink with someone enough times you tend to develop some fondness for them, believe it or not. Though lately it’s been a bit more than that, closer to a hesitant attempt at courting each other. Two alcoholic men with a thousand issues each. What could possibly go wrong.
And here he is now, staring through the seemingly impenetrable darkness ahead. The rest of the floor remains unchanged, artists and alike sorting through books and working on their own projects. It’s all the same relaxed mess it always is. Unless you’re looking for Netzach.
In which case, you’re faced with an unlocked door to his room already creaked slightly open. As he is now, standing in the doorway, blinking dumbly at the complete lack of light ahead. He can’t see a lick of what’s inside. And for a long moment, he considers turning back. Pretending nothing’s there, walking away and waiting until the other man is out and about again.
But it just has to be Netzach. The only person here who can drive him forward, and step into whatever horror he’s about to witness.
The room is silent, the only momentary disturbance being the quiet clicking of his shoes. Roland thinks for a moment, he could look for the light switch. He could. But the thought of lighting up the room and having to see in vivid detail what’s inside makes his nerves tingle with the urge to run. He’s saved from the thought by a tiny amount of yellowish-green light flickering to his side, in a few different points, all circling around something. The second he looks at them, the lights brighten significantly. Oh.
Those little.. things? creatures that he’s only ever seen on Netzach’s floor, they’re usually off somewhere living their own little lives, either climbing through bookshelves or crawling around the scattered empty cans of beer. They look like bioluminescent slimes, and are friendly enough when faced with anyone other than the green haired man. But they never seem to stray too far from him. And beneath that familiar light he spots a figure lying on the bed.
What little he can make out is enough to make his hair stand on end. The other man is on his side, eyes locked onto nothing as he doesn’t even react to the new presence. No twitch in his expression, nothing. Only the little fairies move partially off his limp form, their light flickering like they’re trying their best to communicate with Roland. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the man was dead.
All he can do is stare, frozen in place until something’s tugging at his pant leg. He’s not sure how, and whether the little creatures even have hands to begin with. But they’re very insistent, only letting up once he takes another few steps forward.
The man in front of him is so lifeless, still not showing any signs of being there at all. His hair is sprawled across the bed with no tie in sight. And with the stiffness of his position, it looks like he hasn’t moved at all since.. whenever he woke up. The thought makes him swallow uneasily.
“..Hey.” His own voice sounds strained, almost alien as it croaks out. But then there’s a twitch, and he watches with nigh on overwhelming relief as Netzach’s eyes finally move to look in his direction, even if it took him entirely too long.
“..Roland.” And somehow he sounds even worse than he looks, the other man’s usual monotone voice holding nothing but exhaustion. Roland scrambles to respond.
“Y-yeah. Yeah, it’s me.. uh..” he pauses, unsure how to phrase it, but ends up with an awkward “you okay..?”
Obviously he’s not, but he doesn’t know what else to say in this situation. There’s a moment where they just stare at each other, a sort of trepidation obvious from both sides. Then he sees movement, and the little creatures around them suddenly scramble in alarm as Netzach tries to sit up. Somehow even that little bit of effort seems to exhaust him further, arms rigid as they press against the mattress like he’s actively forcing himself to stay up. It almost looks painful, and Roland’s hands hover in the air in front of the shorter man, not sure if he should touch.
Netzach takes a breath, audible and shaky as it seems to claw through him. “Been worse.”
If they were anywhere else, and the mood was even a little lighter, he would’ve laughed. But instead the taller man settles an incredibly careful hand on the other’s knee. “Well I don’t doubt that. Not what I asked though, is it.”
They sit there, both pairs of eyes locked onto the point of connection. Slowly, his thumb moves to rub against the bare skin of Netzach’s leg. “..Wanna talk about it?”
Something happens in the shorter man’s expression, the tiniest movement. But then his head falls forward, caught only by his own scarred hand. Everything about the way he’s moving feels heavy, and Roland has to wonder how much energy it’s taking him just to talk. And how and why this happened, because he could swear the man was fine the last time he saw him. Just a few days ago they were hanging out, and nothing seemed amiss.. unless. Unless he’s getting better at hiding it. Another breath seems to rattle through Netzach.
“It’s always the same. I just..” he nearly sinks into himself, and the taller man has to put conscious effort into not moving closer. “I thought I was getting better. I’m supposed to be better.. than this.” Netzach gestures towards himself with an air of defeat that feels nearly oppressive. Oh.
It hits him like a brick. He’s heard of people like this, all the time as unfortunate stories of those who suffered with their softer skin. The people who didn’t fight as he did, who felt every single death on their hands as an added weight to their shoulders. People like Netzach.
None of them survived.
Either wiped out by someone more ruthless, or their own hand, they all end up dead not even a day out of their Nest. He never had to think about it so much though. Never been this close. And now he’s face to face with a man like this, a soft heart kept alive against all odds. Against his will. The realisation settles heavily into his bones.
He.. maybe it’s stupid. Not maybe, definitely. It’s stupid. But he thinks for a moment..
If I could be your sword..
It’s a dangerous thought, teetering on a level of devotion he really shouldn’t be feeling for anyone again. Nothing good could come of it. But the way the other man holds his head in his hand, looking like he can hardly keep himself from slumping forward, it grips his heart painfully.
And he knows he’s going to be awful at this. Can’t be good at something you haven’t ever done. But wings above he has to try or he might actually go insane before Netzach has the chance to. His hands move to grip the other man’s arms, pulling them away from his face. The hold is careful but still firm, gaining his companion’s attention. The sight of his eyes, dull with so much weight as if the light in them has been long snuffed out, it stings something behind his ribs. Something that beats with overwhelming want.
Words struggle to form in his throat, anything other than “You..” because it’s somehow all he really means to say. But he knows Netzach can’t read his mind, so he does his best to clarify. “You don’t have to hide stuff like this. I mean, just in case.” in case you thought it’ll fix anything, because it won’t. I’d know. But he leaves that part unsaid, waiting until their eyes meet again to squeeze the arms in his hold lightly.
“..I don’t know how close you all are, exactly. Like, you and everyone else from L Corp. But..” he’ll probably worry about the awkward wording later, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. It doesn’t matter. It’s just this next part he needs to get right, even as sappy and painfully raw as it feels to say.
“You.. mean a lot to me.” And that is already much more than he was supposed to say or feel, but it spills out of him like a dam finally broken. “I don’t know how much help I can be with.. this. But I’m here.”
There’s another sentiment here, the ghost of a confession settling into the air between them. Their eyes move down at the same time to the point of connection, barely illuminated scars in a gentle hold. It’s incomplete somehow, too many things still left unsaid and he feels another urge to do something unbelievably stupid. But at this point, what’s one more.
One hand reaches up, hovering around Netzach’s chin for a moment. Brown eyes follow the movement, then meet his gaze with a sort of hesitant trust. Further up, and he slowly brushes away some of the shorter man’s hair for better access. More shuffling, more quiet movement in the dark and then his lips brush against unblemished skin. Three words, whispered so softly they barely make a sound as he mouths them against Netzach’s cheek.
He stays still for a moment, heart nearly beating out of his chest before pressing one final peck there, every motion teetering on the edge of reverence. Like the man in front of him is something to be held with care, as selfish and foolish as the desire really is. The previous want melting further into a need, pleading with his eyes as he pulls away just enough for their gazes to meet again. Each breath stays in the pocket of space between them, mixing into one. Those exhausted eyes reflecting his own.
There’s a lingering horror at just how deep this goes, every sign of life, all the tiniest movements reaching through his walls. Making his heart beat with a renewed purpose. He doesn’t deserve this. It’s stupid and reckless, letting himself fall again.
His hand remains on the other man’s face. Looking at him, holding him. Stewing in the same murky, unyielding pot of misery that’s kept him trapped all this time. Almost unconsciously, his grip on Netzach’s arm moves to trace the skin, fingers ghosting over the deepest gashes, all old and healing. Thank god.
Their gazes remain on one another. The words feel too fragile to say out loud, and he has to hope just his eyes and hands somehow reach the man. Please he thinks, tries to channel through the air while gently smoothing over a particularly long scar. Let me be here.
There’s an audible breath tickling his face as they remain close. His grip is then returned with delicate fingers, pulling both men down towards the bed. Roland lets himself fall against the other man’s chest, angling his head so their eyes never part. Staring up at the green-haired man like the pathetically loyal dog he really is. He would do so much.. go lower.. get on his knees even, if Netzach let him. And with each second their touches linger, it will only get worse.
A hand on his face, holding him in return. He feels his entire body freeze with barely hidden desperation. Please. His prayers are finally, mercifully answered in the form of those soft hands pulling him closer, their faces nearly meeting in the dark. Roland’s own, more muscular hand pulls them even closer until two pairs of lips ghost over each other. Please.
It only takes one more push. The artist’s hand pulling just that much further until they meet all the way.
..Finally.
It’s the first thing that comes to his mind. Because god yes, this is everything he could’ve wanted. Not perfect, or forced, just the feeling of Netzach relaxing against him. Keeping him there. Wanting this. The faint aftertaste of chemicals as their mouths slot together into one, it’s not delicious per se.. but it’s distinctly Netzach. And he’ll absolutely take it. God, Netzach.. Netzach.. Netzach…. on his lips, in his hands, warm and soft and maybe, just maybe more alive than how he found him earlier. He doesn’t even want to remember it now.
When they part, it’s a slow movement that leaves them just enough room to breathe. Look at each other again. Then, a beautiful sound graces his ears.
“You’ve got some weird taste, man.” It rumbles through both of their chests pressed together, a quiet laugh that feels as though the sun poking out after a particularly violent storm. He is mesmerised for yet another moment.
“..Maybe” is all he can manage to say. That same glow gathers closer, making him blink in a bit of a stupor. The fairies settle on both of the men, their light quieting down as they’re clearly satisfied with the outcome. Though they don’t get in between them, only providing a clearer view of each patron’s face. Tired, and maybe.. a hint of happiness. He’s not sure he deserves it, but still lets his whole weight rest on the shorter man, successfully shielding him from whatever remains outside this room. None of it matters. Not right now.
And as their breathing syncs up into a calm rhythm, holding each other, he lets himself have this peace.
The world will simply have to wait.