Chapter Text
Sunlight was a rare, valuable commodity in Bacon's old home.
The small, rural, coastal homestead that he spent his early years inhabiting was clearly not favored by the heavens. Whatever angels that looked upon his abode must have seen something terribly woeful, for their tears came as often as spring winds and winter chills. Even when their sorrow dried out and floods ceased, the sky would not show its face; a veil of grey, serene clouds encasing any inch of blue that attempted to peek out.
Bacon didn't mind it, though. There was a comfort to such a repetitive weather cycle, even if it meant his skin didn't know the feeling of tanning. It prickled up anyway, so what did it matter how bright his sky was? Plus, it made the rare slivers of light all that much more ravishing.
Right now, though, he'd rather call them ravaging.
He swung a limp arm over his eyes in a sad attempt to save his burned retinas, but the kind sun continued to char him anyway. It didn't help that his thin sheets were still clinging onto him too, adding just enough heat to be a right bother without the need to push them off his bed. Whatever, he thought, I guess the world hates me.
“Morning.” A brutally cheerful voice chirped from somewhere across the room. Bacon groaned in a torpid, listless response, which only served to upset his newborn chapped lips. Thirst clawed at the bottom of his throat, rowdy and bubbly like it had a reason to be there. Bacon would disagree if he had a say in the matter. “You’ve got an hour until we leave.”
Gods, why did Bacon agree to take data analysis at eight AM? Not even birds were awake yet, judging by the harsh sound of silence grating on the windowsill. Not yet defeated, Bacon groaned again and turned away from the malicious sunbeams. It didn’t help much.
With a good, hearty sigh and a wave to his achy body, Bacon suffered through the process of hauling himself upwards to a sitting position. His hands, balled into fists for comfort, came to rub at his eyes pitifully, as if a bit of pressure could ease the tiredness from his system. Unsurprisingly, the venture failed. Still, Bacon was nothing if not persistent, so he opted to rub a little longer. Then, when that seemed a dead end, he swung his legs over to the edge of the springy mattress. College, as bright as it seemed to shine, was still a victim of low state-sponsored educational funding.
Wearily, his arms stretched out to the space surrounding. One of his hands–the more unfortunate brother, who was already blessed by several small bruises around the same spot– whacked against the metal posts that held up Planet’s bed above his.
Bunk beds had some advantages, like being sick as hell and pretty good for sleepovers, but they were quite bothersome when it came to times where one may have a bit less bodily autonomy than usual. Which was, for Bacon, almost every morning.
“Ow,” Bacon mumbled as he cradled the injured hand close to him. Partially hunched over and at risk of falling back asleep if in contact with anything even remotely soft, Bacon had no clue how Planet could survive so gaily in these harsh conditions.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Planet joked, swivelling his chair around slightly so he could watch Bacon pick away at his own vanity. Then, and with great effort, Bacon hauled himself up to stand, Planet continued with a small gesture. “You know, we could always just ask the dean to switch our rooms.”
Somehow, Planet knew the dean of their university personally. Perk of growing up in the deepest, most desperate slums of the city, they'd exclaimed when he'd asked about it once (offhandedly, mind). Bacon wasn't sure how that really connected them with the dean, but his curiosity wasn't really set on the topic.
“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged it off because they'd had this conversation nearly a dozen times in the past month. It was too close to finals season (they hadn’t even hit spring break yet), Bacon couldn't be blamed for letting a lack of sleep wound his ability to avoid meaningless injuries! Yet, by that logic, Planet couldn't be blamed for letting Bacon’s lack of sleep wound their impersonal authority either. Planet was a doer, a fixer, a helper. It was just in his nature, even if he was just as exhausted by the piles of books and research papers hoisted upon his back as Bacon was.
Planet turned back to (what Bacon assumed was) their homework, so he took it as a sign to go ahead and take a quick shower.
A string of liquid beads dripping down his shoulders, the low buzz of the fan wedged into the overhead concrete, a familiar convict holding its hand to the tap and drinking up gold. Bacon’s pajamas draped over the sink and dipped into the metal cavity, praying that its pipes froze up the last night (they didn't, but pipe dreams were plentiful in the early morning daze).
Bacon thought the drops of water were kind to him most days, no matter their temperament. There was always a hollow, warm chill to the feeling, like he was falling asleep and being tapped awake at the same time.
By the time he was out of the shower and stepping back through the gate between humid air and dorm room air, the (first) alarm on his phone had gone off, meaning 7:10 had just passed giddily. The third groan of the morning was working its way up his esophagus, ready to be spilled onto the thin welcome mat right outside their dorm room like so many liquids that preceded it. Planet had put on his headphones and then turned them up to an absurd volume, judging by the soft echoes of McCafferty that were working their way into the cracks of their already worn dorm room walls.
Bacon didn't mention it, though, and instead opted to slide over to their shared breakfast stock and rummage through his options. A few stale Pop-Tarts, one or two packets of ramen, and- oh, that would do. The shiny new muffin fit perfectly into his hangry grasp, then perfectly into his mouth. As he chewed, he made the intelligent decision to plop down on their small, creaky couch and check the plentiful notifications on his phone. 7:10 turned to 7:40 in a matter of seconds, and then Planet was jumping out of his seat and rushing for his tote bag. He nestled through it for just a moment, then looked up to Bacon with a wild look bright in his eyes.
“Dude, have you seen my pen case?” He worried. It was almost pathetic, if Bacon didn’t know they were just putting on a pretty little show (the same one they’d been rehearsing nearly every morning this semester).
“Is it not in your bag?” He smiled softly, playing into the game they were laying out. But, then, in the same thought, “hey, we should get going, I think.”
“Yeah, okay.” Planet huffed, disappointed that Bacon wasn’t challenging him back. Sarcastically, he added, “Thanks.” Then, with a performative flick of the wrist, the room lit up.
See, the thing about his game was that he always had a way to win: his power. It had a name-- something long and spiralled and far too excited to twist a tongue that Bacon never cared to memorize. He wasn’t a studying pharmacologist or anything of the sort. Instead of what some prissy professional deemed his friend’s power, Bacon preferred to call it Constellations.
“Oh, hey, here it is!” Planet pounced on the top drawer of his desk with vigor as Bacon watched the case glitter, then wane, then droop. His power was to make things glow, no matter if he could see them or not. When he made more than one thing glow, a thin string of fate wove around each object and strung them together. Not physically, of course, but visually.
“You know, you could just drop the performance.” Bacon finally picked himself up and grabbed his bag, already pre-packed from the evening before. “It’s getting kind of repetitive.”
“Well, your hand injuries are getting repetitive, too. Plus, when else am I going to practice my dramatic flair?” Planet grinned as they skirted around Bacon to drop the case in their tote bag, then swung it over their shoulder in a way that made them wobble just a tad. As they were momentarily preoccupied by their luggage, Bacon went ahead and made his way to their dorm door. One twist of the knob, and the sluggish wood creaked open to reveal the same hallway that Bacon had grown accustomed to. Despite it stinking like pungent body odor and last night’s (every night’s) alcohol fueled extravagancies, Bacon still took solemn comfort in the familiarity of opening his door to the same hall as any other day. It murmured to him that today would be a day just like any other, which might’ve been Bacon's biggest comfort.
“Let’s just get to class.” He kept the door propped with his foot as Planet pranced past, just as joyous as they were.
As the two began their short trek to the mathematics building, starting with the stairs down (a daredevil’s mode of elevation scaling), Planet started on a rant targeted towards one of their mutual friends.
“I mean, seriously, why does he care about all that stuff?” He was saying as they reached the stairwell exit doors. Sunlight was too bright, Bacon thought; somebody should turn down the sun.
“Maybe he just wants to stay informed on current events?” Bacon guessed, only partially paying attention to the conversation. His gaze, once accustomed to the new level of light, was wandering from college student to college student as they passed. Morning classes always sucked, but it was a good time for people watching.
There was one student who sat on the same bench nearly every day, talking to the indifferent pigeons pecking at scabs between concrete as if he and the birds went way back. His hands were always shaking, Bacon had noticed one time, like he was afraid of the truth those beaks would one day hack out into his waiting arms.
Across the way, a gaggle of short, dainty cosmetology girls were all waving their arms high up to anyone passing the booth they’d set up. If Bacon had to guess, there was probably some sort of sign-up sheet to be a test animal for their next beauty product line or hair styling technique. Bacon preferred to stay in control of his own (kind of hard to tame) hair, though he did know that a close friend of his, Hannah, often liked to sign up as a canvas for their makeup tests.
The rest of the courtyard was animated by students trudging along at various paces, all being affected by early hours in different ways. Exhaustion seemed to be a staple, though that wasn't much of a surprise, especially not on a college campus.
“Hey, don't pretend that you don't agree with me on this,” Planet whined through a laugh. Their shoulder met his playfully, then Bacon took a step sideways to kick an especially kickable rock.
“I'm just playing devil's advocate here.” He shot back innocently.
“Nobody needs you to fight for Jaron's stupid side. Like, they don't even come to the southern part of town! I bet they think our incomes are too low to be worth saving.” Planet snarled, looking rather sick as he mimicked Bacon and kicked his own pebble.
“Uh-huh. Or maybe the villains just tend to go for robbing richer banks? No offense, but I don’t think they want to steal up all our student loans.” It was pretty sound logic, but for some reason, Planet looked personally offended at the statement.
“How would that be offens- you know what, never mind. That’s not the point. It’s the principle. We, as the- uh- citizens of meager wealth, are being ignored, and thus we should ignore the superheroes back.”
Yeah.
Superheroes. Like Marvel and DC, but somehow even stupider because it was in real life, right outside your deadbolted door.
Why did Bacon have to move to the city again?
“Look, I agree that it does no good for us to try and keep up with whatever spectacles they’re putting on, but I don’t think they specifically have anything against those in poverty or debt or whatever.”
“You just want to argue with me.” Planet countered.
“Maybe.” He reflected with a grin. After crossing the courtyard, the two b-lined across a section of grass towards their destination: the mathematics building. Or, the primary one. A few trailers were also home to minor mathematics courses that absolutely no one took, like ‘the history of math’ or ‘advanced topology’ or ‘nuclear data research’ (he knew that one from Hannah). Behind the man building ran a serpentine river which flowed from the far east to the coast westward.
Over spring break, a lot of students lived by that river, sipping from rapids and feeling the eager water rush through them. Revitalizing, or at the very least energizing.
“No matter what their motives are, they still piss me off. There’s something so fake about real-life superheroes, you know? They’ve gotta be up to something.” Planet reached the door first (it was a side door to the building, the front was always cramped with people smoking on the steps or fighting to prop the doors open chivalrously or etching slurs into the bricks) and turned around so they could hold the door open as they waited for Bacon’s imminent rebuttal.
“...Like crime fighting?” He passed through the door into the stairwell.
“Boo, you’re no fun.” Planet punched his arm, then began to scale the stairs to the fourth floor. His and Bacon’s steps sound mingled quite pleasantly, a short harmony of faint strides slowly crescendoing as they began to race upwards playfully. Bacon wasn’t the best at most sports, but he was pretty fast, though stairs weren't the easiest thing to race up. Even if he were terrible at speed, it wouldn’t matter anyway, because he knew Planet would never leave him in the dust. They had a good dynamic going. Bacon appreciated the friendship.
“Are you planning on attending the party Hannah’s hosting this evening?” Bacon asked as they got to the right floor and began their awkward scurry through the crowds of helplessly shuffling students.
“Dude, you sound like you’re asking if I'm going to,” their voice flipped from normal Planet to emphatic, high-pitched, over-emphasized Planet, “take my chariot to the gala!” Laughing, Planet took their hand– the one not encumbered by a tote bag– in his and guided him towards room 405. A smaller lecture space, compared to those in other parts of the campus, but it felt bigger due to the two relatively large windows on one side. They overlooked a rather ignored part of the river, which, because of the drop to the waters rather than a sandy inclined shore, many students often disregarded. On particularly sunny days, a few loose crowds could be found lounging about on picnic blankets, but usually the strip of land was left contentedly barren. He was sure the ants enjoyed their peace. Across the way was just a bit more of the college’s property, then the expanse of the furthered city.
“Well, fine sir? Are you?” He pushed the weight of his backpack to one side so he could properly tip his imaginary hat gracefully. Planet just giggled even more.
“Probably? I dunno, I guess if Jaron goes, I go.” Jaron had some sort of flair for social events, no matter if they were caked with ornate flower arrangements or strung up beer bottles. Sure, neither Planet nor Bacon was especially isolated, but compared to Jaron, they were lonely, introverted husks.
“And then I follow you.” He relayed the fact as if it were savory on his tongue.
“Mhm! Like a puppy.” Planet countered knowingly.
“Like a chivalrous chauffeur, actually. I'll even drive you all the way over there.” He winked as he slid into his usual seat. A little higher than some, a little closer to the window, a little lost in the mix of college collages. The seat didn't stand out; it was perfect.
Planet sat beside him, as they usually did. Those off days they didn't were set aside as outliers, little blips in a comprehensive history of friendship pacts and squished shoulders. “All the way to the dorm beside ours?”
Ignoring the skeptical look, “in a chariot and everything.”
“Wow, how special am I?” Planet joked as he rummaged through his bag and pulled out a computer drowning in stickers. Bacon would feel bad for it if he didn't know any better than to pity an unfeeling entity.
“Pretty special, Planet Lord.” He emphasized the Lord with a grin, then unpacked his own supplies as well. His computer was far less… accessorized than Planet’s. He had one measly sticker hanging off the precipice of adhesive safety, which he'd been given as a welcome gift to the University. It was a simple sticker, too, maybe as simple as they got. All it had were two words surrounded by a dramatic gold flair. Those two words: Steele University.
He'd heard it was named after one of the two guys who founded the town, or something like that. There was a sappy story attached, of a Romeo-and-Juliet-esque ballad, except that instead of killing themselves over each other, they just manned up and started two rival universities. Bacon found that solution far more reasonable than a double suicide. He really couldn't get how anyone could get to that point of “love”. It just seemed like unfiltered obsession to him if one was that crazy.
Bacon was snapped out of his thoughts by the insistent shushing of his professor. Somehow, this particular professor had realized that, to really shut up a class, yelling was completely unnecessary. All he needed was to stick one wily finger to his pursed lips and exhale.
Pretty soon, the room had softened from a blaze of conversation to a dull murmur, and the instructor began his recounting of last class's assignments. Bacon had already gotten all of it done, so he instead chose to spend his time people watching, if only briefly.
Beside him, Planet was already engulfed in a raging game of 2048, of which he seemed to be winning. To his right, on the other side, were a few empty chairs and then several students squished up against one of the windows, all chattering softly about something Bacon didn't care to hear. A few rows in front of him, he could see one girl absolutely bashing the looks of the guys her friend was offering up pictures of. Somewhat near them, three guys were jabbing each other's sides in ditch attempts at stirring conflict, despite the professor giving them dirty looks each time one made any sort of noise. Behind Bacon, he could make out the shuffling of bags as students shoved their hands in already defiled pockets of pens and phone chargers and dread.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. There was resonating peace, and an air of dry morning that calmed even the most hyperactive individual. It was a day like any other, and Bacon was loving that fact like a close friend.
Not one single thing could mess up his perfect, average day.
That was, until the glass windows shattered.
-.-.-.-
This was not how his morning was supposed to go.
Planet had pulled him down under their desks before the glass had even hit the floor. All through the room, there was screaming. Distantly, Bacon could hear his professor shouting out drill instructions like they were mantras, but everything was suddenly getting pretty fuzzy. He knew he wasn't actually hurt, that would come with a whole other palette of sensations, but Bacon was not mentally prepared for this at all.
Clutching onto his arms tightly was Planet, a look of fear rivalling that of a sinner meeting God struck through their face. Their eyes peeked up over the desk just a bit, low enough that they could also still see Bacon perfectly well.
Around them, Students were rushing for the door in a harsh panic, dashing from cover to cover as if the measly university desks would protect them from fucking supervillains, of all things.
Speaking of, “PRINCE!” the villain roared, a shot of elation dripping from their tone. Cautiously, Bacon shuffled around and peeked over the desk alongside Planet.
The supervillain in question was perched on a desk painfully close to the exit door, grinning like a maniac and staring down the hero as if he were fresh prey. ‘Prince’, as he'd been called, was regaining balance by a desk far closer to the
destroyed windows, leaning on the wood for moral support. He looked pretty beaten up, but so did the villain.
“BRO, COME ON, DON’T WIMP OUT ON ME NOW!” Jeez, did he really have to project so strongly? Bacon could hear him just fine, and he was much farther than the hero being yelled towards.
Prince scoffed, even though he was wobbling on his feet. Then, once he seemed to have some semblance of balance, he shot his hand out in an inviting challenge. “Well? Come on! Give me your best punch.”
The villain somehow grinned even wider as he began barreling towards Prince. Immediately, they were locked into an intimate game of combat, spinning around each other in such a daze that Bacon had to wonder how neither of them threw up. Punches were thrown and dodged, kicks were grabbed and used as leverage, snarls were seen and echoed. It seemed almost animalistic, their dance.
Bacon didn't have much time to think on it, though. Suddenly, the exit door was unblocked, and a wave of students were rushing through to safety, and Planet seemed dead set on being part of that wave. Without even asking, they grabbed Bacon’s hand and pulled him along, not even pausing for Bacon to stop stumbling behind them.
“Dude, wait.” He tried to whisper, but with all the hubbub of panicked students, mixed with two very vocal enemies and a blaring alarm (when had that started?), there was no hope of his pleas getting to Planet's ears.
They were about to pass through the door along with the last of the herd of fleeing students when Bacon finally gave up on getting Planet’s attention and instead opted to yank his hand out of their grip. They looked back with something like a perplexing amount of fear, as if they were afraid that they’d be staring at a corpse rather than a friend.
“Bacon?” He whispered, hand already reaching out again with desperate agitation. Bacon watched his fingers shake.
“I need to get my computer. It costs, like, a mini fortune.” Planet looked horrified (and a little offended), so to shut him up, “I’ll grab yours too.” And before Planet could even get a sentence out, he was dashing back into the minefield of unsturdy desks and abandoned bags.
He knew he’d get some sort of berating from Planet as soon as they reunited, but for now, that wasn’t the largest threat on his mind, because at some point, when he’d been distracted by a firm coil of escape, another supervillain had shown up.
Just his luck.
Good thing Bacon always had a plan. Because the battle had gravitated to the center of the room, Bacon had a clean path around to his bag as long as he hugged the walls. It would be out of his way, sure, but he knew he needed to grab his stuff.
Or, really, he needed to grab Planet’s stuff.
See, Planet hadn’t grown up as freely as he had. While Bacon was spending his summers riding around the coastal countryside and drinking lemonade, Planet was working their parents’ restaurant as a waiter, trying to scrounge up enough loose pocket change to send themself to college. All their college debts were bone-crushing, all their savings were spent, and all their textbooks were borrowed. The only thing they’d been able to afford without a big glob of help from Jaron (resident rich-ish boy) was their computer, of which they took great pride in.
And Bacon knew that if it got destroyed, Planet would be silently devastated. He’d lock his mouth and throw away the key and make sure he said no word of his sorrows, but they would hollow him from the inside out like he was an ant-infested carcass.
So, really, this stupid solo mission had a good reason, even if the risk was starting to tick a bit higher than the reward.
As he pushed his shoulder up to the door’s wall, exactly opposite from where he needed to be, and began to climb, he prioritized hiding behind desks rather than getting a good view of the fight. What he did see of it, though, he certainly didn’t like.
For one, there was a lot more fire than before. The two villains, now fighting together in a raging typhoon of flames and sucker-punches, seemed to be far more powerful than Prince and were pretty much dominating the fight.
Another thing, they were slowly getting closer to the exit, almost as if they were rotating around the room exactly opposite the way Bacon was. If they continued their trajectory, it would be far harder to escape than Bacon had anticipated.
Still, he had to continue on. No going back now, thrummed in his ears pitifully. He hit the far wall and almost started to smile, until he realized he still needed to inch all the way across that wall, too.
Bacon dashed dangerously from one row of desks to the next, which was the longer row that took up most of the room. Meant he had secure cover for most of the rest of his mission. But, turned out that might not help him as much as he thought, as yet another person was added to the mix of fighting.
He spared one quick glance over his cover, then immediately ducked back down as a spur of fire came hurdling all around the room. Great, can’t even lift my head anymore. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to, because- seriously, why was this alarm still going? It felt like it was getting louder and louder every passing second. For half a moment, he clutched his head to ease the growing ache, then gave up on that and continued to push forward.
Sooner than he’d expected, Bacon was turning at the far corner and climbing back down by the broken windows.
This was the hard part.
He had to successfully lower himself down several rows of desks without getting seen, slither across the row to get to his and Planet’s seats, and grab both computers from their very visible points on the tables before they were inevitably charred to a crisp. At that point, he was probably in the clear to run all the way back to the door (as long as it wasn’t being guarded), but before that, there was a stupidly hazardous path in front of him.
Slowly, with great ease, he ducked as low as he could and balanced down each step. If he raised his head just a bit, he could probably see the entire spectacle happening, but, judging by the heat slowly radiating through the room, Bacon didn’t think he wanted to.
As soon as he found shelter in the correct row, he slumped downwards and sighed. Though he never thought of himself as the anxious type, his heart was beating far quicker than it usually did. That beat only amplified as he heard the shouts of a fourth fighter, who he wasn’t even sure had arrived just now or had been there for a while. Either way, the spruce kept him safe enough, so it didn’t matter.
Then there was some large uproar, and most sounds suddenly faded away. There was still a giddy alarm and a distant ruckus of panicked citizens, but the room had devolved into an eerie, desperately false silence.
Bacon didn’t trust it.
As quietly as he could, he inched forward to his seat. He studied the silence carefully, acknowledging and fiddling with it with little shaky breaths that probably could have been mistaken for the room exhaling smoke out of its shattered windows.
With as much confidence as he was going to have, he slowly inched upwards to look around the room…
And was met face to face with villain number one.
He froze.
“Hi!” The villain said quite cheerfully. He was crouched on top of the desk, hovering right beside Bacon and Planet’s computers and right over Bacon. Compromised, his brain shouted at him, abort!! Abort!!!
“Uh.” Was all he could say.
“I noticed you creeping around, like, way earlier, you know. You’re not very sneaky.” The villain smiled at him, but he flashed his fangs in such a way that it felt purposeful.
So close to him, Bacon couldn’t help but take note of his very distinctive features. Most obviously, the guy was a lion. Orange ears flattened slightly, fuzzy tail flicking erratically from side to side, and whiskers shivering excitedly-- telltale signs of a lion hybrid. He also had a distinctive mane-esque mop of hair, which cascaded from his shoulders down to close to his waist. The other interesting aspect of his character was the blindfold hiding his eyes. Bacon had to assume it was partially see-through from the other side, because he was almost completely certain this guy wasn’t blind. Even if he couldn’t technically see his eyes, he could feel the unnerving stare trained on him (almost through him, even).
“Are you going to kill me?” He uttered, hoping it verged on sarcastic rather than scared. He wasn’t all that scared, in complete honesty. Sure, supervillains were terrifying and terroristic and all that, but they rarely (if ever) actually did any harm to civilians. Bacon was just hoping that the guy hadn’t figured out his objective, or else his and Planet's computers might be toast.
The lion hybrid laughed, clearly toying with him. Of course, Bacon was his prey. “Bro, you’re pretty funny.” Then, in the ensuing silence, “You don’t seem all that scared, for someone who’s cornered and all alone with one of the highest ranking supervillains in the city.”
Bacon resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that. Overconfident jerk. “I’m terrified.” He deadpanned, biting his tongue afterwards so the river of snark resting in the hollows of his mouth couldn’t escape alongside the single comment.
“You- bro, do you not know who I am?” He seemed genuinely confused now, as if everyone was perfectly up to date with every masked figure in the city. “Lion? The Lion?”
Bacon shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t really go to the zoo that often.”
At that, the supervillain, or Lion, as he’d called himself, stilled. His grin vanished, and he seemed to suddenly present himself as larger, like he was trying to threaten away a fellow predator. Bacon knew that superheroes and villains had fragile egos, but this seemed performatively laughable.
“You’re a funny one.” He snarled. “Hey, why don’t you go ahead and run away now, or else I’ll break-”
he started to lean closer,
“-your-”
and bare his teeth,
“-pretty-”
and tap Bacon’s chin upwards,
“-little-”
and stare him right in the eye, and with the most intimidating tone, he whispered,
“-jaw.”
…Now, if Bacon were anyone else, he would take this opportunity to stand his ass up and run straight out of the room.
But.
Bacon was Bacon, and he had a certain set of morals about dimwits that he liked to follow even in the harshest of situations; and thus, despite the danger staring him straight in the face, he couldn’t let this idiot get away with thinking he was anything more than a cringe, harmless mewling kitten.
“Really? Because it seems more like you're trying to kiss me.” He challenged stupidly.
Lion recoiled at that one, and, with the sort of shock that left one with a higher voice than before, said, “Oh. You're really not afraid of me, are you? You're-” and then he cut himself off with a euphoric grin that spread all the way from one ear to the other and back again, and Bacon could feel a shift in his demeanor.
“Uh-”
Then, Lion was leaning back into his space, this time with drastic fervency, and resting calloused fingers on his cheeks. It felt quite intimate for the setting at hand, and even more intimate when he noticed how red Lion's face had become.
“Holy shit, you're perfect for me, aren't you?” Lion whispered reverently.
Bacon was so confused.
Was this guy about to recruit him or something?
Okay, just because Bacon was grossly overconfident (only at very specific times, mind), that did not mean that he was a good candidate for villainy, or henchmening, or- or whatever the hell.
Without much else going through his mind, the only sentence he could ask was, “Are you going to recruit me?”
Lion laughed again, this time softer and more breathy, almost as if he was in a daze. Bacon couldn't get one ounce of sense from that laugh. “Th-that is-”
“LION!” Someone interrupted him. They were standing right by the window, already gesturing for him to just fucking move (Bacon figured that part out by the visible irritation playing on their face).
“Here comes the fun police.” Lion tilted his head at Bacon like he'd just winked, leaving him even more confused than before. Then, with a tone that sounded far sterner than it should have been, “See you around!”
And then Lion and the pursuer were gone, hopping out the window to uncharted oceans of endless skirmishes. Bacon was left in the room all alone, with only the fading sounds of sirens swirling around him. He wasn't sure when the alarm had died off, but it was somewhat of a relief to have one less audible stimulant when his other senses were lit on fire.
He took a breath but got a good whiff of smoke instead, which, somehow, compelled him to stand up completely (legs were unhappy, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make), shake himself off, stuff the two computers in their respective bags, swing each bag over one shoulder, and calmly (shakily. Extremely shakily) exit the room.
Maneuvering the hallway was far simpler now that everyone was gone. The building must have been evacuated, Bacon reasoned as he pushed open the doors to the farther stairway. He trudged down those four floors with too much information flowing through his brain to process. A fair bit of questions, an assassination of previous adrenaline, a far-off dream to go back to his dorm and just fall asleep under his thin ass sheets with his head hung limp on his thin ass pillow.
Once at the bottom, he opened that door too and stepped out into the blinding light, where there was a very panicked-looking best friend who was already scooping him up into their embrace.
“Oh, thank God.” They mumbled into his shoulder. As he began to wrap his own arms around Planet in return (with a bit of jostling, he was carrying two bags), Bacon noticed that his hands were shaking. It didn't matter that much; he put them to Planet's back and held on tight. “Don't do that again dude, you almost killed me… What happened in there?”
“You know,” Bacon breathed, “I’d really like to know that too.”