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The rooftop is empty, all grey concrete and high walls. It had been Niran's idea, his intuition that had brought them to this side of the city, and his advice to get up high, away from the bustle of the streets. If Qi Rong was the storm clouds above them, the higher they could get, the better.
No one had been guarding the back stairs up to the rooftop; the building isn't abandoned, but it might as well be, with how little anyone cared for where they were going.
They had, of course, raced each other up the metal steps, loud laughs and iron clangs the whole way up. But as soon as the fire door had opened out on to the roof, something had slowed and silenced them both.
Pete isn't sure what it is that nestles into his mind at the feeling of the breeze brushing his ears. Something about anger, perhaps, but this time it's not his. He walks further towards the edge of the roof and knows, somehow, that he's walking to his doom.
Niran stays a few steps back, a protective force, but too distant, even with the tether of their souls.
Still, Pete is here for a purpose, and he won't let them all down again. He cups his hand to his ear, lets his awareness drift out to the surrounding air, the clouds above, the rumbling storm. Before he even hears it, he can sense it there.
But hear it he does. Storm clouds, the metal clash of swords, a battle.
Screams. Tortured, unrelenting, overwhelming.
He breathes in. Out. Tries to hold off the tension coursing through him.
"How is it? Did you hear anything?"
He turns his head, not enough to see Niran, but enough that he will see the nod Pete gives in response. If he speaks now, the sound will tremble through his whole body, the vibration of the sound might kill him from the strength.
Still, surrounding him, all he can hear is Qi Rong. The screams. One of those screams could be Ploy's.
Every other sound he has tuned into he has been able to brush away as quickly as he beckoned it, every other sound has been fleeting, has left his his mind as soon as his focus wavers, but even turning towards Niran, even the sound of his voice, it hasn't drowned out Qi Rong. The demon is only getting louder.
Before he realises it, the hand that was to his ear as a satellite becomes a clenched fist pressing into his skull. His other hand mirrors and clamps to his other ear, his last line of defence against the bellowing of the sound. His eyes squeeze shut, his breath quickens.
It does nothing. All he can hear are screams.
He crumbles, buckling to his knees, fists pressing tighter and tighter. He can't speak a word, can't let out a cry of pain. It would just be more noise. Still, he can't help the whimper that he feels in his throat, but he doesn't even hear it.
He doesn't hear Niran's footsteps behind him, doesn't see him crouch in front of him. Flinches at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, and opens his eyes because maybe seeing him will help.
Niran is frantic and shaking, his hands on both Pete's shoulder's now. He's saying something - Pete can't hear anything but Qi Rong, but he knows the shape of his name on Niran's lips.
It does not drown out the screams. It does not even compete. The slide of metal is inside his brain now, the swords driven into the soft tissue, splintering his skull. If he moves his hands they might come away wet with blood. If he doesn't, maybe the sound will be trapped inside him forever.
Niran's hands tighten, as if he's about to try and shake Pete out of it, but then his grip softens, and moves. His left hand circles Pete's right wrist, golden thread warm against his palm. His right hand moves under Pete's ear, under the hand still clamped there.
The battle echoes on, roaring, howling. The storm clouds roil and darken, the lightening crashes. It's all he can hear, and it's louder and louder and Niran still holds on tight and his skin against Pete's, the gold thread wrapped in his palm, it - it - overwhelms the noise. It swirls Pete's awareness into an overdrive of his touch - it doesn't compete with the sound, it doesn't drown it out - it just is. Gently, carefully, is.
Niran presses two fingertips in to the skin under Pete's ear, firm enough to feel but not hurt, and Pete starts to hear him above the noise, starts to feel the vibrations of his voice through his touch.
"- hear me, Pete, focus on my voice."
The comfort of hearing him is almost more than Pete can handle. It doesn't add to the noise, but replaces it, the top most layer of it screeching back in frustration at the defeat.
"You don't need to listen to Qi Rong anymore," Niran says, and his voice comes yet louder, taking away the clash of metal against Pete's skull. "You're strong enough to let go of that sound. It's my voice that matters, I need you to come back here, and hear me."
The storm clouds abate, their rumbling distant now.
"You control what you hear," Niran continues. "You found him, and now you can let him go. I'm here, listen to me, hear my voice."
The screams die out. Pete's fists unclench. He keeps them to his ears, for now, but lets the tightness subside.
Niran breaks into that lopsided smile, huffs a relieved laugh. "Better?"
Pete nods. "Thanks." His voice comes out hoarse and breathy.
He finds himself wishing he hadn't agreed that he felt better when Niran lets go of him. His skin feels cold where it's no longer being touched, and he no longer has the strength to hold himself up anymore, feels himself sway, Niran watching him warily, darting his hands back out, this time to Pete's waist, one arm curling round his back to half-catch him and let him slump against him with a quiet "woah."
He's so fucking tired now, he can barely keep his eyes open. Niran shifts so that he's sitting beside Pete, cradling an arm up behind his neck and pulling his head down to rest against his shoulder. He can't help but retune his hearing to the thud of Niran's heartbeat, steady and grounding.
"Shit," Pete murmurs. "That was a lot. Thanks for saving me. Again."
Niran just hums, quiet and soft, but his heartbeat jumps a little, almost imperceptible. Maybe Pete should be listening to something else, but he can't stop now that he's started. Which is probably what got him here in the first place.
"I didn't realise," Niran's voice is quiet, barely more than a mutter. "I mean - I didn't think it would affect you like that."
"I know," Pete says, forcing the words past the dam of exhaustion in his throat. He does know, and he needs Niran to know he does. "I'm okay. I just need to - learn to control it, I guess."
Niran's voice is fond as he replies "You're getting good at that."
"Not without you." It comes out before Pete has a chance to think it through. "I - I mean -"
Niran shakes his head - Pete feels the movement, the brush of his hair. "It was you. I just gave you something to focus on. You'll find it for yourself next time."
Pete turns his face further into Niran's shoulder with a low noise, something close to a hum, but not quite a noise of agreement.
He finds something else to listen to. The distant sound of traffic, air rushing through the vents on the roof, but can't help but hear Niran's heartbeat above it all, loud, clear, ringing in his ears.
It's probably the sound he'll find next time he gets overwhelmed by Qi Rong. There are worse things. Niran's heart will stay beating for as long as his does, after all. It will always be constant. Even the skips and jumps are reassurance that he's real and alive and feeling.
"Are you ready to go, or are you going to sleep on me for an hour like you did when you were drunk?"
"Asshole," Pete mumbles. "I'm drained, man. Just let me chill for a minute."
"How long's a minute?"
"Asshole," Pete says again, ignoring Niran's smirk in response.
Despite the teasing, Niran's hand turns soft on his arm, runs up and down in peaceful patterns. Like he might be trying to soothe Pete to actual sleep.
But the sun is far too high for that, the city too awake. It's longer than a minute that Pete stays silent against Niran's shoulder, breathing deep and synchronising their heartbeats, but Niran says nothing, and doesn't stop his soothing touch on Pete's arm.
"Is it enough?" Pete finds himself asking, when enough strength returns to him. "I mean, knowing that he's just - somewhere near?"
"Yeah, should be. We just need to be able to beckon him."
"What if he moves?"
"We can find him again. But it's unlikely, given how many sacrifices he's been offered."
"Okay," Pete says, and still doesn't move. He's comfy here. It's calm and still, tranquil. Niran is touching him. and it's nice. Nicer than it should be, perhaps. "I'm glad you know about this stuff."
"I didn't know about how loud it would get for you," Niran points out. "I didn't know about what would happen when you fell asleep- before -"
He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Pete feels the thread brighten between them as if responding to a nameless summon.
"You knew how to fix it, though."
"I guessed. I haven't exactly had much prior experience with -" He tails off again, but still Pete knows what he means, and he knows there's no nice way to say it.
He smiles wide knowing Niran doesn't want to upset him, and lightens the mood however he can. A laugh, a tease.
"That's because there's no one like me, right?"
Niran's heart doesn't jump this time, but it gets louder, somehow undercutting the roll of his eyes to reveal something far more earnest in his deadpan response.
"Mm," he replies, and it's impossible not to hear the subtle smile in his voice. "There's no one like you."