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Humming underneath his breath, Skizz places down another block of black concrete for the innards of his pyramid, wings flared out to keep his balance. He’s perched precariously on an edge as he builds out more pathways, only one wrong step away from falling off. Sure, it’s not much of a long drop, he’s not that high up, but he’d rather not test the strength of his ankles today. He’s not as young as he used to be, okay?
It’s peaceful, all things considered, but he’s beginning to get the creeping feeling something is gonna go wrong. Call it intuition, dumb luck, whatever, but he can’t shake the feeling today isn’t gonna go the way he planned.
A small pulse—get it? pulse for Impulse?—of emotion comes through the soulbond he shares with his buddy, a straight shot of frustration, and Skizz pauses. He straightens up a little, wings settling into a relaxed position behind his back as he taps a little further into the bond, reaching out to his other half.
He’s greeted with exhaustion cresting like a tidal wave, all mixed up with annoyance and exasperation and fatigue. It’s a whole mess of upset-Dippledop, and he frowns as he sets his building supplies down, mind already far away as worry starts to sink in. Impulse doesn’t tend to broadcast his emotions this obviously—sure, he won’t close his end of the bond off, but he doesn’t send things through it all that often.
Not these kinds of feelings, anyways. He often forwards little flashes of amusement and fondness, a perpetual undercurrent of love always, always underneath it all, but he typically suppresses his less… ‘nice’ feelings.
Skizz has encouraged him not to many times before, and sometimes he listens, but sometimes he doesn’t. It’s hard to break internalized habits just like that, you know? But then again, Skizz occasionally ignores Impulse’s advice, too, so he can’t really fault him for it. Not that he could ever hold a grudge against Impulse, anyway—some relationships go too deep to allow for the existence of many petty grievances.
He packs his building supplies away haphazardly and as quickly as he can, fully knowing he’ll likely forget where he put them and have to search his whole base later. But it’s hardly his priority, so he spreads his wings and glides off the little platform he’d been building so he can get to solid ground. And, more importantly, reach an exit to the pyramid faster.
The sun hits his face as he steps outside, pleasantly warm on his skin, but there’s no time to really enjoy it when there’s a Dippledop in distress to find. On any other day, he might’ve sprawled out in the grass to take a power-nap despite the fact that Gem has (many, many times) called him old for doing so. But he always feels recharged afterwards! And on the extra-bright side, sometimes Tango will lay down with him, too, so that’s always nice.
With a few wingbeats and the aid of a firework rocket, he zooms up into the clouds, honing in on the bond and letting the pull in his chest guide him to where he needs to be. To no one’s surprise, he’s tugged towards the cyberpunk city, and he flies past Impulse’s storage room, for once unoccupied. Weaving through buildings, the magical link between them leads him straight to the sunken-in entrance to Metro Mayhem. Also known as the minigame Impulse has been pouring his heart and soul into, but Skizz has a feeling he’s gotten too sucked into the project. Again.
Skizz is, technically speaking, not supposed to be down here to avoid spoilers and such, but… Impulse’s wellbeing comes first. Always.
So he descends down the staircase, steps echoing off the stone walls as he wanders further inside. The entrance room is empty except for a bunch of chests and shulker boxes, and he sidesteps them as he continues on past the train, keeping his eyes peeled for a certain demon hard at work. He tries not to look at anything he walks past for too long as he proceeds, although he can’t help but admire the effort that’s gone into the finished portions of the game.
Fortunately for him, Impulse isn’t as far away as he thought he’d be. The sound of faint muttering is what first draws his attention, and he rounds a roughly carved out corner to find Impulse digging through more shulker boxes. He’s facing away, but he’s grumbling to himself about something or other too quietly for Skizz to make out, distinctly annoyed.
“Dippledop?” He asks softly as he ventures closer, hoping to avoid startling the other man.
Unfortunately, Impulse jumps anyway, whirling around to face him, and… he doesn’t look great. Well, he always looks good to Skizz, if you catch his drift, but the messy hair, eyebags, and generally frazzled appearance isn’t exactly reassuring. Skizz knows Impulse, and he’d wager a good chunk of diamonds that right now, he’s running on multiple cups of caffeine and stubbornness alone. Impulse’s tail is hanging low and lashing back and forth, and despite a sudden hush on his side of the bond, frustration leaks through the gaps.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” He blurts out, a decidedly unhappy twist to his expression, but a small pang of regret hits right after he says it.
Skizz knows he doesn’t mean any harm by it, and besides, he’s right. All the Hermits are supposed to stay out of Metro Mayhem unless they’re building part of it, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Skizz isn’t going to feel sorry about breaking the rules if it means Impulse isn’t left alone. Not when he’s feeling like this.
“Dop, buddy, what’s going on? When was the last time you slept?”
Impulse doesn’t answer the question, turning his back to continue rifling through his shulker monster. “I’m fine, Skizz.”
It rings false both in their bond and in his tone of voice, and Skizz just sighs, walking over to wrap his arms around Impulse’s waist and set his head on top of Impulse’s, instinctively avoiding his horns. “We both know that’s not true.”
“I just—I want to get this done so everyone can finally play it and have fun.” Impulse’s voice is quiet, laced with exhaustion, and Skizz squeezes him gently.
“All of us are willing to wait for that brilliant mind of yours, Dippledop. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for this, m’kay? We’ll be here when you’re done, even if it’s years from now.”
He can tell the exact moment his words get through to Impulse, because he sags in Skizz’s arms like a puppet who’s strings have been cut. Skizz holds his weight easily, wings flaring out for that extra little bit of balance to make sure they’ll both stay upright. Rocking them back and forth, he pushes a little boost of positive emotions towards Impulse through the bond, and gets grateful-tired-relief in response.
“I hate it when you’re right,” Impulse mutters half-heartedly, turning around to bury his face in Skizz’s chest, tail curling around Skizz’s leg.
Skizz smiles even though Impulse can’t see it, making sure the other man is thoroughly wrapped in his arms. “Aw, you love me.”
There’s a small pause, and Impulse tilts his head up just enough that Skizz can see his pretty brown eyes and a small, barely there smile. “Yeah, I do.”
Skizz never stops being appreciative of what they have, not just their soulbond but the way loving Impulse runs deep in his blood, a devotion that goes so far back he barely remembers or cares about what his life was like before they met. Impulse is the sun, the moon, the stars, someone Skizz cares about beyond words, labels, or anything else. Maybe it’s cliché, or a little too sappy, but it’s true, and he often likes to say it out loud just to see Impulse get spectacularly flustered.
Impulse is still looking at him, so he presses a featherlight kiss to the bridge of Impulse’s nose just to see the hints of pinkish red rise in Impulse’s cheeks. He gets a small huff of almost-laughter in return, Impulse’s nose scrunching up as his eyes sparkle in the light.
“What, are you only doing half-kisses now?” Impulse teases, something mischievous slipping into his voice, and Skizz grins at him, wings drawing closer to encircle them both.
“You should know I don’t do anything halfway, Dippledop.” Skizz uses one hand to tip Impulse’s head up slightly, the challenging glint in Impulse’s gaze and the anticipation in the bond encouraging him to lean down and close the gap.
Kissing Impulse will, in Skizz’s factually correct opinion, never ever get old, even after all these years. The way his stubble scratches against Skizz’s skin, the way he leans into Skizz’s touch without the slightest hesitation—the way his tail winds even further around Skizz like it’s claiming him as his own. And he is. Sure, he knows how to make Impulse melt underneath his hands, kiss him and compliment him until he’s redder than his precious redstone, but that doesn’t mean Impulse isn’t etched into every part of his soul. And he definitely knows how to get his payback and turn Skizz into putty in his own ways, too.
Their kisses are familiar in all the best ways, like coming home after a long day, like a billion other metaphors Skizz could probably come up with, but he’s more than willing to let those thoughts slip away and let himself live in the moment. He smiles against Impulse’s lips, tugging him just the slightest bit closer as Impulse’s hands come up to cup the back of his neck, sparks of euphoric happiness and an ocean of fondness that feels like it never ends coursing through the bond.
He lets Impulse decide when to finally pull back, his breathing heavier when he does and his usually slit pupils now dilated to nearly perfect spheres, a faint red flush across his skin. Skizz tilts his head just slightly, gaze sweeping over those features he loves so much, warmth blooming in his chest as he realizes there isn’t even a hint of Impulse’s previous frustration or upset anywhere on his face or in their bond.
Is kissing him until he forgets why he was so stressed a cheap tactic? Sure. Is it worth it if it means Impulse will finally take a break? Of course.
Never one to miss an opportunity to get a reaction out of Impulse, he waits for the other man to drop his hands from Skizz’s neck to his waist to take one of them, his scarred hands contrasting against Impulse’s tanned skin. Instead of leaning down, because Impulse is still too close for him to move all that much, he raises Impulse’s hand up to press a light kiss to the back of it, meeting Impulse’s eyes as he does so.
There’s a certain kind of pride he only gets from seeing that cute blush creep to Impulse’s pointed ears as love flows in an infinite current between them. Impulse’s lips curve up into a smile that’s both soft and full of things he doesn’t need to say out loud, and Skizz squeezes his hand before letting it go.
“You’re feeling touchy today,” Impulse murmurs, glancing elsewhere in a way that reads as a little bashful, and Skizz hums a contented note.
“Anything for my Dippledop.”
Impulse rolls his eyes lightheartedly, even though he hasn’t moved even an inch away from Skizz. “I’m guessing this is the part where you force me to take a nap?”
“When did you get so smart?” Skizz jokes lightheartedly, wings withdrawing into a more relaxed position.
Impulse just sighs exasperatedly, the pure affection radiating off of him making it more than clear how he really feels. It’s a little intoxicating, sensing Impulse’s love this strongly, and Skizz has to remind himself that they have places to be and can’t just stay like this forever. But he got what he originally wanted, to put a smile back on Impulse’s face and ease some of his stress before it reached a boiling point, so it’s all worth it.
Mission complete.