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1.
The training simulator room smelled faintly of ozone and scorched metal.
Boboiboy’s back hit the reinforced wall with a heavy thud, the breath knocked clean out of his lungs. Before he could even think about splitting into his elements or calling on his watch, a sharp, flickering edge of solid darkness materialized mere millimeters from his throat.
Fang held the hilt of the shadow knife steady, his chest heaving under his TAPOPS uniform. His purple hair was completely disheveled, a few strands sticking to his forehead with sweat. But it was his eyes that caught Boboiboy off guard—crimson, fiercely sharp, and dilated with the absolute adrenaline of winning their one-on-one spar.
Fang pressed forward, pinning Boboiboy against the wall. Because they were the exact same height, Fang didn't loom over him; instead, he brought his face right up to Boboiboy's, their noses almost touching, a smug, breathless smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yield, loser," he murmured, his voice low and vibrating right against Boboiboy's collarbone.
Boboiboy swallowed hard, his throat moving against the cold proximity of the shadow blade. He didn't look at the weapon. He just looked straight ahead into Fang’s eyes, bright and intense in the dim simulator lighting.
God, he’s so pretty.
“Any last words, Cadet?” Fang challenged, his breath warm against Boboiboy's lips.
A second passed.
"You're beautiful," Boboiboy blurted out without thinking. It wasn't standard combat banter. It wasn't even smart. It was just a stupid, unfiltered truth.
Fang’s smirk froze. The crimson in his eyes flickered, wide with sudden shock.
Boboiboy didn’t let him recover. Driven by a sudden surge of purely reckless confidence, he slid his gaze down to Fang’s lips and closed the remaining inches between their faces on a perfectly level plane. Fang’s shadow blade wavered, completely forgetting they were supposed to be training. Boboiboy leaned straight in, his eyes half-closing—
“Attention, cadets.”
A flat, metallic voice echoed from the overhead intercom, followed by the loud, rhythmic squeak of tiny floating boots.
“Both of you, do not kill each other. Commander Koko Ci requires a status report on the sector four perimeter, not a homicide investigation. Clean up the simulator immediately.”
Fang bolted backward so fast he nearly tripped over his own shadow. The blade vanished into thin air. Boboiboy slumped against the wall, sliding down a few inches, his face burning hot as he aggressively pulled his orange cap over his eyes.
Neither of them said a word about it on the way to the bridge.
2.
Staying on Earth was always an adjustment for Fang, considering his actual family lived light-years away on a completely different planet. But Tok Aba had practically dragged him by the collar into the house, declaring that no friend of his grandson was going to sleep in a cold spaceship bunk while on leave.
It was a quiet evening. Tok Aba was out front closing up the cocoa shop, and Boboiboy had taken it upon himself to cook. Specifically, he was standing over a bubbling pot of sup lobak merah. He knew it was Fang’s absolute favorite, even if the alien tried to act too cool to care.
Fang walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air. He stopped right next to Boboiboy, looking into the pot, then at Boboiboy, who was smiling warmly up at him, a smudge of flour mysteriously stuck to his cheek.
"I made it extra thick. Just how you like it," Boboiboy said, stirring the soup.
Fang stared at the pot, his expression softening in a way he rarely let anyone see. "That's really... nice of you, Boboiboy."
"Well, you're here. And you deserve a good meal," Boboiboy murmured, turning off the stove. The kitchen suddenly felt very small, very warm, and entirely too quiet. Fang stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against Boboiboy’s.
Boboiboy tried very hard to focus on the boiling soup.
Oh, look at that large bubble. Look at the carrot... just look at anything else, he thought frantically, his chest tightening.
Suddenly, Fang reached out. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as he brushed a stray lock of dark hair away from Boboiboy's forehead, slowly tucking it behind his ear. "You know, your hair is getting longer," Fang murmured softly, his tone unusually quiet. "We should really cut it soon."
Boboiboy took a deep, shaky breath and finally turned his head. He came directly face-to-face with Fang's eyes, their gazes locking instantly at the exact same horizontal line.
"Should I?" Boboiboy breathed.
Fang didn't pull his hand back. His fingers slid from the edge of Boboiboy's hair, moving around to gently cup the back of Boboiboy's head. The touch was steady and incredibly tender, his thumb resting lightly against the side of Boboiboy's jaw.
It felt good.
It felt glorious.
They were standing so close their clothes brushed, the heat between them completely unrelated to the stove. Boboiboy’s heart did a violent flip. Shifting his weight forward on a perfectly level plane, he saw Fang’s eyes flutter shut as the remaining distance between their lips began to vanish—
“Ahem.”
A loud, dry cough echoed from the kitchen doorway.
Fang’s hand dropped down , completely vanishing into his side, while Boboiboy instinctively pushed him away with a startled jerk.
Tok Aba stood there, leaning on his cane, holding a stack of empty cocoa tins. He looked at them, raised an eyebrow, and sighed deeply. "I know you youngsters are very open about your feelings these days... but please, do it somewhere other than the kitchen. I still need to eat dinner without getting diabetes from the atmosphere."
Boboiboy turned bright red, violently waving his hands in the air. "No! Tok Aba, it's not—we weren't—"
Fang, whose face was matching the color of a ripe tomato, immediately grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. "Okay, bye-bye!" he choked out, practically sprinting out the back door and into the garden.
Boboiboy just stared at the bubbling soup, wishing he could bend the earth open up and swallow him whole.
Tok Aba would probably kill him for ruining the kitchen floor, though.
3.
The mission had been grim. They had raided a rogue warlord's holding facility—essentially a makeshift concentration camp for displaced alien species—and among the survivors was a tiny, frail alien toddler whose parents were nowhere to be found.
Because the TAPOPS medical bay was overflowing, the task of nursing the kid back to health temporarily fell on them.
It quickly turned into a grueling, multi-day masterclass daycare. The kid cried relentlessly. He cried when Yaya offered him food, he screamed when Gopal tried to perform a magic trick, and he whimpered when Ying spoke too fast. The only time the universe knew peace was when he was held by either Boboiboy or Fang.
By day three, Boboiboy was running on pure exhaustion. He had heavy dark circles under his eyes, his hair was a chaotic mess, and he was currently sitting on the edge of the shared barracks bed, watching Fang gently rock the toddler.
Fang was humming a low, unfamiliar melody—probably a lullaby from his home planet. The harsh, sharp edge Fang usually wore around the station was completely gone. He looked gentle. The kid finally stopped whimpering, burying his tiny, glowing face into Fang’s shoulder before drifting off to sleep.
Boboiboy watched them, a strange, heavy warmth settling deep in his chest. "You know," Boboiboy whispered, his voice cracked with tiredness. "You'd make a really good father, Fang."
Fang paused his swaying. He looked over at Boboiboy, the soft ambient light of the barracks catching the tired, gentle line of his mouth. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Boboiboy breathed.
Fang carefully laid the sleeping toddler down in the makeshift cot right beside their bed. When he turned back around, the silence between them wasn't awkward; it was comfortable, heavy with shared exhaustion and something much deeper. Fang sat down on the mattress right next to Boboiboy.
They were so close Boboiboy could feel the heat radiating from him. Boboiboy looked at Fang’s lips, then up at his eyes. Fang reached out, his thumb gently brushing against the dark circle under Boboiboy’s eye. It was an unspoken invitation. Boboiboy leaned in, his eyelids fluttering shut, completely ready to finally, finally bridge the gap—
“WAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
The toddler shattered the silence, screaming at the top of his lungs as his forehead began to glow bright neon blue.
Boboiboy dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he groaned into his palms. Why the hell does this always happen to me?
Fang groaned, rubbing his temples before reaching back into the cot. They never spoke about it the next morning.
4.
The rogue faction’s fortress was collapsing around them.
Boboiboy had spent the last twenty minutes split into Taufan and Halilintar, tearing through defensive lines, and the leftover adrenaline was still humming violently underneath his skin now that he was back in one piece. The air was thick with smoke, and they had gotten cut off from the rest of the squad in a crumbling, dimly lit corridor.
Fang was leaning against a fractured stone pillar, coughing slightly as he wiped purple alien dust off his glasses. His uniform was torn at the shoulder, revealing a nasty scrape.
"Let me see," Boboiboy said, his voice coming out louder and more urgent than intended. He stepped right into Fang’s personal space, shoving his glasses back up his nose for him before examining the wound.
"It's just a scratch, Earth boy, get off me," Fang grumbled, though he didn't actually push him away.
Boboiboy didn't drop his hands. The battle high was making him entirely too bold. He looked at the way the alien sunset streamed through the cracked ceiling, painting the sharp line of Fang’s jaw in gold. Fang froze, his breath hitching as he noticed the intense, unblinking way Boboiboy was staring at him.
Fang's red eyes darted down to Boboiboy's mouth, his fingers twitching against his sides. Boboiboy stepped even closer, his chest pressing lightly against Fang’s. He tilted his head, leaning in with zero hesitation, completely done with waiting—
BZZZZZZT.
Boboiboy’s gauntlet communicator exploded with high-pitched static, maximum volume bouncing off the stone walls.
"BOBOIBOY! FANG! DID YOU FIND THE FOOD RATIONS? I’M STARVING AND OCHOBOT SAYS THERE'S A GIANT SPACE SPIDER BEHIND YOU guys—WAIT, YING, DON'T HIT ME—"
They scrambled apart like they had been electric shocked. Fang immediately summoned a massive shadow eagle, furiously commanding it to "scout the area" just to look occupied. Boboiboy aggressively slammed his hand over the communicator, his face burning a violent crimson as he yelled back into the receiver, entirely losing his composure.
The situationship remained thoroughly unresolved.
5.
A massive solar storm hit the TAPOPS sector, triggering an immediate, base-wide lockdown. The artificial gravity was fluctuating wildly, and the heating grid had completely short-circuited, plunging their shared quarters into pitch-black, freezing darkness.
"Move over," Fang muttered, his teeth chattering as he shivered.
"I'm trying! Hold on," Boboiboy whispered. He summoned a small, controlled spark of his fire element, letting a gentle orange flame hover between them like a miniature campfire.
They ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in the same heavy, industrial-grade TAPOPS blanket to keep from freezing. Without his usual hair product or his glasses, Fang looked completely different—messy, soft, and surprisingly small. The flickering orange glow of the flame cast long shadows across his face.
Boboiboy looked at him and realized, with terrifying clarity, that he was entirely, hopelessly gone for this guy.
"Fang," Boboiboy murmured.
"What?"
Boboiboy reached out from under the blanket. His hand found Fang’s cheek. It was surprisingly warm. He gently tilted Fang’s face up. Fang’s eyes widened slightly in the firelight, but he didn't pull back. Instead, his eyes slowly fluttered shut, his weight leaning slightly into Boboiboy’s palm.
Boboiboy closed the distance, their breaths literally mingling in the freezing air, his heart hammering against his ribs—
CLANG. BUZZZZZZ.
The station's backup generator kicked in with a deafening, mechanical screech. The overhead fluorescent lights flashed violently on and off, blinding them both instantly, before settling into a harsh, sterile white glare.
“SYSTEM RESTORED. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR DOCKING STATIONS.”
Ok, this is getting ridiculous.
The romantic lighting was thoroughly, brutally murdered. Fang instantly yanked the heavy blanket entirely over his head, turning himself into a defensive, motionless lump on the floor.
Boboiboy just flopped backward onto the cold floorboards, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering what cosmic entity he had pissed off in a past life to deserve this kind of comedic timing.
+1
It was a completely normal Tuesday back on Earth.
No alien warlords, no emergency blackouts, no crying babies, and no grandfathers interrupting them from kitchen doorways. The sun was setting over Pulau Rintis, casting a long, lazy orange glow over the quiet neighborhood street. They were walking back from Tok Aba’s shop after a long shift, the sound of their sneakers rhythmic against the asphalt.
Boboiboy was rambling about a mundane project he had to finish for TAPOP’s, gesturing vaguely with his hands. Fang was walking right beside him, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, occasionally kicking a loose pebble out of the way.
It was entirely ordinary. And that was exactly why Boboiboy couldn't take it anymore.
Five times. Five separate times the universe had weaponized bad timing against him. He thought about the shadow knife, the kitchen, the barracks, the ruins, and the blanket. He thought about the fact that they were in an ongoing, completely unacknowledged situationship, and if he didn't do something right now, he was going to lose his mind.
Boboiboy stopped dead in his tracks.
Fang took two more steps forward before realizing he was walking alone. He turned around, pulling a hand out of his pocket to push his glasses up his nose, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "What? Forgot your wallet at the shop again?"
Boboiboy didn't answer. He just walked straight up to Fang until there was barely any air left between them.
They were standing strictly eye-to-eye, their gazes locking instantly.
Boboiboy reached out, grabbed the lapels of Fang's jacket, and yanked him forward, crashing his lips straight into Fang's.
It was a bit clumsy at first, fueled by months of pent-up frustration and terrible timing. But within a fraction of a second, the shock melted off Fang’s face. His hands came out of his pockets and wrapped securely around Boboiboy’s waist, pulling him in close until their chests flat-lined against each other, perfectly aligned.
The kiss deepened, sweet and frustrated and entirely mutual.
The street remained perfectly quiet. No alarms blared. No space spiders appeared. Tok Aba didn't walk by with cocoa tins.
The universe finally, mercifully, minded its own business.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against one another. Fang’s face was completely flushed, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. He stared straight into Boboiboy's eyes, momentarily stunned, before a familiar, breathless smirk found its way back onto his face. He cleared his throat, trying to sound cool, though his voice shook just a little.
"Took you long enough."
Boboiboy just laughed, a bright, relieved sound. He reached down, intertwining his fingers securely with Fang’s, and pulled him along down the street. "Shut up and keep walking."
They continued their way home, hands held tight, the situationship finally, officially over.