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“…you- you came.”
“Of course.”
Branzy smiled, and it was strange, to see his lips. Almost purple, like he was frostbitten, matching the pallor that ran down his neck. Maybe his nails, too, if Clown had ever seen him without them painted solid black.
It was unnerving, to see him without a mask at all. Clown shifted, wondering how Branzy had even got a metal cafe table onto a rooftop. At least it was private. Private for whatever the villain was up to.
“Thanks.”
“You wanted to see me.”
“You- you are the hero assigned to my case.” When Branzy smiled again, it was almost sad, and he toyed with the glass in front of him with one painted nail. “Who else would it be?”
“Someone you haven’t been threatening. If this is really a peaceful meeting.”
Clown hadn’t come to this blind. Certainly, he’d come without backup, because Branzy had asked him not to. But he knew the possibilities. Branzy had spent nearly years, now, trying to disarm or disable him, always with the threat of abduction ready on his tongue if ever Clown jabbed at him being a little too possessive about the hero assigned the keep him in check.
None of it had ever seemed too serious. Clown liked his villain, more than most of his colleagues. He didn’t mind a little scaring, particularly when it kept him on his toes.
“It is.” Same dreamy smile. Branzy’s eyes drifted, across the rooftop, then shut, then over to Clown, still sitting stiffly, like a hero should. “Relax. Y- yours isn’t poisoned.”
“And yours is?”
It was like talking to a genie, when it came to Branzy. Everything he said meant something. He gave out information like gold, his real name a boon that had turned to a collar around Clown’s neck, binding him through the trust he’d had endowed in him by the villain who chose his own vulnerability as his method of attack.
“Mhm.”
Another careful blink. A faint murmur of danger in Clown’s ears, the faintest tightening in his posture. His finger began to drum, against his thigh.
“With what?”
“Sedatives.” Branzy picked up his glass, hand held carefully, and examined the clear liquid. “I- I’ve taken some already, don’t worry. This just… makes it a little quicker for you.”
“Why?”
“So you can trust me, Clown.” In an instant, those violet eyes were tunnelling into him, and Branzy didn’t need his voice to use his powers, but there was an icy edge that spoke of winter winds chilling Clown’s sense of agency, freezing him in place to be bent to Branzy’s will. “I- I’ll be asleep. In half an hour, tops. I can make it quicker, if- if you want.”
“Still not an explanation.”
Hardly thinking, Clown reached across the table, and removed the glass from Branzy’s hand. His villain was scaring him. In a way different to usual, for once, there was no direct threat to his being. Instead, it was Branzy he was scared for, with hazy eyes and a smile that only grew, as Clown set the glass carefully on his side of the table, alongside his own.
“You can have that. Please- don’t drink it.”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Clown considered getting up. Considered going to stab Branzy, seeing if his powers still worked, in whatever state he was in. Considered calling for help, loathe as he was to consider it, because sue him, he was worried. Branzy was acting like he was about to get up and walk off the edge of the roof.
“Don’t- move, either. Please.” Branzy’s eyes sparkled, but he seemed to genuine, so straightforward, that for once, Clown was inclined to believe him. “If- if you’re not here, I don’t… know if I’ll wake up.”
Fear flashed, and Clown was halfway out of his chair, before icy, candy floss mist descended on his mind, and he felt himself sinking back down, as if through layers of cobwebs.
Branzy’s smile was mournful, as he took the glass back, and went back to running his finger around the rim.
“As I was saying. I- I wanted you, because I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“Tell me what.”
“You win. This- this is it. I’m- handing myself in, I guess.”
A moment passed. Then two. They slipped by, like snowflakes melting and sliding down a window, and Clown was looking through it. At Branzy, so calm, so collected, for maybe the first time in his whirlwind of a life. At impossibility, his villain Neutron, at Branzy, with his purple eyes and lips and relaxed shoulders.
“Why.”
Branzy had to give him answers. Clown was always giving him them, bartering first scraps of real information to escape, then gossip, then trivia, then simple conversation, between traded blows and traps never designed to kill.
“Because I- I’m tired, Clown. I… had these pills anyway, I was- always going to do something with them. Now... you get to choose what happens to me.”
Branzy picked up the glass, raising it to take another sip, and Clown didn’t move to disarm, this time. He punched out, a knife slipping into his hand on cue, and the glass shattered under his blade.
It shattered into Branzy’s palm, and blood welled like scarlet blossoms through snow from beneath his skin.
For a long time, they were both silent. Branzy, staring at his own hands, in mild, placid shock. Clown, watching red rise on his villain’s skin, and feeling almost sick.
“You are not killing yourself, Neutron. Not under me.”
“You- you don’t own me, Clown. Despite your- very best efforts.”
Unperturbed by the glass or the blood, Branzy crossed his arms on the table, and leaned forward. The red smeared onto the white metal swirls, dripping through the gaps in the table’s design.
“Can- can we discuss my capture?”
“No. Not until you tell me what you’re really doing.”
“I told you, Clown.” Voice mild, Branzy pressed, like Clown was being errant, forgetful. “I- I’m surrendering. You get me, and- honestly, I couldn’t care less where or if I wake up. Is that good enough?”
“I want to know why. Then we can talk.”
“Because it’s- Clown, it’s this or I slit my wrists on live TV, and- and see what happens then.”
“Branzy-“
He was still smiling. Clown felt numb, and his ears were ringing, and Branzy just looked… tired. His eyes kept closing for too long, and for a terrifying moment, Clown could imagine the blood dripping from his hands had spread up his forearms, that too much was coming from him.
“It’s okay, Clown. I- I trust you. Just... not myself, not with…”
“Stop. Branzy, stop. Whatever you’re doing- or- you’ve done-“
“No.”
“Yes.”
This didn’t make sense. Again, Clown tried to stand, and again, he was shoved back down. Except now, he could see Branzy’s eyes flutter, as the mist forced him down. His villain looked on the brink of passing out, and Clown capitulated, fast enough to make himself shake, to save Branzy wasting more energy.
“Stay awake. Branzy. You want me to do something.”
“I- I don’t care, Clown.” Branzy hung his head, his eyes open, now closed, now he was laughing. “You can do whatever. If- it’ll really help you, to- to bring me in, then… go for it.”
At least he was here. Clown’s stomach flipped painfully, at the idea that Branzy might ever have killed himself alone. He couldn’t bear to ask, but his mind did it for him, and suddenly he was grateful, to whatever he’d done to give his villain this strange faith in him.
It hurt, even just to imagine, Branzy dead, and alone. Clown might have had to wait days, even to find out. He wouldn’t have this, now, desperate and distressed as he was, and still stupidly grateful.
“Branzy. Stay with me. You’ll wake up, won’t you?”
“I… really don’t know, C- Clown…”
“Allergies?”
Branzy shook his head, and Clown reached across the table again, to shake him. It seemed to help, although that might just be the fright of his touch, that rabbit’s-flash of fear in Branzy’s eyes vanishing as quickly as it came.
“Branzy.” His voice was coming quicker, knowing there was no stopping something Branzy had chosen to do. “You don’t… want me to arrest you. Trust me.”
“I- I’ve been tortured before, Clown.” Since apparently he wasn’t allowed to lean forwards, Branzy seemed to conclude tipping his head back would do him better, even if it only served to give Clown shivers, as he watched the villain laugh softly. “I can- handle a little pain.”
“No. No, Branzy, you won’t. I’m not…”
He was never going to do that. He’d decided, a long time ago, that he could never do that. It all came rushing back, now, a glacier hitting him square in the back and winding him, right when he needed to be thinking faster than he ever had before.
Clown was never going to turn Branzy in. Even if he finally won their endless game of cat-and-rabbit, he’d never find it in himself, to put out that spark of frozen fire in his villain’s violent, violet irises.
Especially not now, when strange, idiotic worlds felt like they were collapsing in on themselves. Worlds that only existed in his dreams. Where Branzy was somehow a hero, like him, or he a villain. Or where neither of them were anything, where Clown could touch his person without fear, his hands not an inhuman, freezing coldness to the touch.
Clown couldn’t bear for those to die with the hope he hadn’t realised he had.
“Hey, it- it’s your choice.” Another laugh, and Branzy was getting hazier. It couldn’t have been half an hour. He’d had more time than this. “I trust you.”
Clown had thought he could trust Branzy. With the things that mattered. But here he was, practically killing himself, and Clown could do nothing but watch.
“…I thought I trusted you.”
Branzy’s lips twitched. Clown was aware how desperate he must sound. He didn’t dare risk moving, didn’t risk forcing Branzy to waste his energy. He’d rather stay and watch than force his villain’s hand. It was awful, but it felt the merciful option.
“Any- any ideas? For me?”
“Yes. I’m not giving you to them.”
Branzy raised an eyebrow, yawning in some over-drowsy, unnatural way. Clown couldn’t stop staring at his sleeves, at his wrists. There were probably knives there, as there were in his. He no longer liked that idea, on a far more personal level than it had been before.
“M’kay. So...”
“I’m not.” Clown couldn’t believe Branzy was making him decide this. “How long, Branzy? Have you wanted to do this?”
“Most- most of my life.” Branzy flashed a grin, but his energy was dropping, and his head was supported by his hands, held up by the weight of his chin. “You- made it alright. For a little while. D- don’t worry, it’s- nothing to do with you.”
“Stay awake, Bran-“
“I- I’m glad it’s you. Really. I’m- so sorry, really, I just… couldn’t- couldn’t be alone. Not for this bit.”
“So stay with me. Where can I take you?”
“The-“ Branzy paused, shutting off for a moment, before twitching back to life. “The morgue?”
“Your house, Branzy.”
Desperate, truly, now, Clown grabbed Branzy’s hand, and held on. Slow pulse. Slow everything, eyes drifting lazily across the panicked hero, landing squarely on his heart.
“…no. You- you find somewhere else, my little jester. I- really believe in you.”
“Mine, then.”
“Mhm… that- that sounds nice…”
Delirious. Or too tired to care, Clown didn’t know anymore. Either way, Branzy seemed to be trying to drop his head to nuzzle into his hand. Clown substituted, swapping his grip to give his villain a hand to press his cheek against, alongside one to feel out his ragged pulse.
“Branzy, you… I don’t know. I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“E- EpiPen.” Branzy’s teeth caught the faint sunlight, almost hidden behind Clown’s hand. “Left sleeve. You’d have- found it anyway.”
Relief felt like a hammer to the ribs. Of course, Branzy wouldn’t be that stupid. He’d give Clown an out. He wouldn’t let him suffer like this.
“Fuck- yes, thank you, Branzy-“
“H- ha. Always knew you- you would care. Should be thankin’ you, really, god, Clown…”
“Still stay with me, Branzy, I’m not done with you yet.“
“Never thought you’d be. I- I’m still retiring, though, this… life is too much for me. My… old bones.”
They laughed in sync, and Clown’s head and heart ached. He was the only thing tethering Branzy to consciousness, now. He’d gone limp, his eyes were long since closed, his voice was coming breathier and breathier.
Maybe it would be kinder, to let go now.
Even if Clown couldn’t bring himself to. He could see, now, not a knife, but something else, lurking where his imagination feared to see cuts and blood soaking through white, lab coat sleeves. He could save Branzy. But he couldn’t forget the fear, either, and he refused to let go.
Branzy did it for him. Raising his hand, with all the strength he had left, and batting Clown’s away, with a sigh like a last breath.
“Sh- shouln’ have told you that. I- really do want to die, Clown.”
His forehead hit blood-stained metal, and Clown watched his villain go limp, bloody hands cushioning his closed eyes.
——————
Eating had been difficult, while he waited.
Clown just so rarely could bring himself to leave Branzy’s side. Not when he looked peaceful. Not when it had been minutes, whole, terrifying, awful minutes, waiting for his pulse to come back. Kneeling on that rooftop, hating the sun and the clouds and the cars, far below. Waiting, for his villain to come back.
Branzy had lied. He had never intended to wake up. Clown had been able to feel it, after the first minute, when whatever drugs he’d put into himself put up a fight. Even with adrenaline in his system, probably wreaking havoc on something else, his hand stayed heavy.
Clown should have been angry. He’d nearly lost Branzy, really lost him, and his villain had pretended like he’d have had a chance, if he hadn’t done anything.
He couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything, except for desperation.
Branzy had, at least, been easy to carry. Too light, Clown was aware, but he wasn’t a shining role model either, to take recent evidence as an example. Clown was as strong as a human could get, and Branzy was functionally made of stardust and spun sugar. It was all perfectly excusable.
Not that ease of transport excused the villain, in the slightest. After that, there had been the issue of where to put him, and Clown’s panicked thoughts had latched onto his own bed, rather than his guest room, or the sofa. It felt right, in some stomach-churning way, for his villain to be buried in his pillows and colours. Another trinket, if all he came out of this with was a corpse.
He’d held onto the EpiPen, the whole way through. Now, it was something to turn over in his hands, to remind himself he’d done something. There was nothing left to do but wait, now. Branzy had to wake up.
Branzy was going to wake up. Clown couldn’t bear it, if he didn’t. He’d been waiting long enough, suffering in his own silence.
Branzy had to wake up.
If Clown kept holding his hand, kept feeling his pulse, thready yet certain, it remained a certainty. He couldn’t have failed, himself and the heroes he’d been ignoring the past day and Branzy himself. It had been Clown’s job to keep him safe, since he’d decided he was no longer out to cause his villain harm.
It had been his one job, and he was unjustly terrified that he’d failed.
There had been no warning. Clown was struggling with that. Even though half his career was built on his ability to roll with punches, a fair chunk of the other half was his ability to know people. And he’d thought he’d known Branzy.
Now, all he could see was those sad, violet eyes, and the exhaustion hanging heavy between them.
He wasn’t letting Branzy get away with talking around the point, when he woke up. When. Clown had dug out his handcuffs, and Branzy’s wrist was currently connected to his headboard by a short chain. He even had a power suppressor, but he hadn’t had the guts to use that.
Instead, he was just turning it over in his hands, replacing the EpiPen, when that began to feel stale. Ready. It was a cuff, with a release mechanism to bend inwards, so he could slap it onto someone’s wrist in a fight, but required a magnetic key to allow to open the other way.
He didn’t want to put it on Branzy. It felt cruel, when Clown didn’t know how deeply his powers were woven into his being. He didn’t know what it would feel like, at all. And his desperate urge to tie Branzy down and never let him do anything that stupid again was muted, somewhat, by the aching need for Branzy to trust him, even when he woke up.
To do any of that, though, Branzy needed to wake the fuck up.
Clown glared down at his villain, and, on a whim, slid off his chair. Instead, he sat on the floor, hugging his knees, and staring up at his own bed.
It was allowable, to say that he was scared. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, if Branzy didn’t wake up. Kill things, probably.
Clown would really rather not find out. He felt lost, already, without the knowledge that he’d see Branzy tomorrow morning on his alert app. They were closer than they’d ever been now, and he didn’t want to do more wrong than he must have already.
——————
He’d ended up in his bed, despite his best efforts to stay awake and watchful and hopeful. At some point, Clown had stoped being able to fend off the demons of exhaustion, and his self-control had gone shortly after.
It hadn’t been a surprise, after that, that he’d started drifting off, like a weak tide.
What had been more surprising had been how little he could bear it. The idea of Branzy waking up alone, even if Clown would be right there beside him.
He was curled against his own bedroom wall, his blanket tugged clumsy over this legs, waiting suspended in some strange middle-ground between sleep and waking, only knowing that all he could think about was his villain.
Clown felt it, when Branzy woke up. In his exhausted haze, it felt almost like part of a dream, a pleasant one, and his thoughts nearly skipped over the sensation of a second consciousness joining him.
As his mind clicked back together, he startled awake, and found himself staring at his villain, looking nearly as frightened.
“C- Clown?”
“Branzy-“
“Wh- why are you- shit, you were- meant to leave me, what the…”
Branzy rolled over, tugging futilely at his wrist, shaking in every part of him not wound tight with tension. He cursed a few more times, before Clown pulled himself together, and kicked the villain halfway back onto his back.
“Lie down. I wasn’t going to leave you.”
To his credit, Branzy stayed down. Wide-eyed, like some rabbit caught chewing the bars of its cage, and it was strange, how human he looked. Inside, the unnatural colour of his lips was barely visible, and the attractive messiness of his hair was exaggerated by the backdrop of Clown’s dark red bedsheets.
Clown was just appreciating that, for a moment, alongside the satisfying realisation that he’d managed to kidnap Branzy before the villain could finally go through on his own threats of the same, when he felt ice crystals begin to wend a hesitant, cautious way into his mind.
His reflexes had been built for this. Branzy was an idiot, who hadn’t had to fight a real hero in years while Clown kept them off his back, and the squeak he let out was unadulterated fear as Clown pounced on him. The power suppressor went on easy, like it had been designed to, and Clown fulfilled his own training with equal efficiency, feeling the chill retreat entirely like a rubber band snapping back.
“Clown-“
“Do you actually think you have any privileges, Branzy? You are going nowhere.”
“Holy shit… I- I didn’t think you’d… you have these?”
Branzy was staring in wonder at his own wrist, his fear fading to a comfortable kind of bewilderment, and Clown unwound his own prepared defensiveness. There was none of the anger he’d expected. None of the sadness that had soaked the air, yesterday. Everything felt halfway to normal, and he felt like the bad guy.
“Yes. I wasn’t going to use them on you.” Clown eyed Branzy, wary of his own unmasked face, even though that ship had long since sailed. Nothing stood up to mind control, even his futile attempts to protect his own identity. Branzy had always complimented him for taking it off himself, when they fought, and it had become a better trigger than any powers could achieve. “Is it uncomfortable?”
“It’s not… fun.” Branzy rolled his eyes back, like he was studying the inside of his own head, and winced. “Ooh.”
“Ooh?”
Clown would take it off, if it hurt. He wasn’t sure what the plan would be after that, but he knew that much. Branzy just needed to say.
“It’s… squidgy. In- in my mind, don’t worry about your hero tech.” Shooting him a grin, Branzy brought his free wrist closer to his face, examining the now-locked band. “Whoa… yeah, that- that is uncomfortable.”
“Does it hurt?”
“…No.” Branzy nodded, having thought about it seriously enough, and shrugged. “Fair play. I- I wouldn’t trust me either.”
“Don’t worry.” Clown’s voice was deadpan, the frustration of hours upon hours finally finding an outlet in snarkiness. “I wasn’t about to.”
“Aw… Clown, I- I didn’t really upset you, did I?”
What was he meant to say to that? That he hadn’t left Branzy’s side in nearly the full day it had taken for him to wake up?
“…if that helps you sleep.”
Clown moved to climb over Branzy, to go get them food, or something, only to hear a slightly choked noise.
“Wait- Clown… I wasn’t-“
Looking back, Clown met Branzy’s eyes, and…
Melted.
He couldn’t be angry, not when he’d seen Branzy hurting. When he hadn’t seen Branzy hurting, more like, when there was still such a wanting in him for his villain to truly let his guard down.
He shook his head, and sat down, pressing his hands idly against Branzy’s leg like a cat.
“Yeah. You upset me, Branzy. I wasn’t expecting you to try to commit suicide on me.” Clown glanced over, at where Branzy was staring at him like a confused puppy, and looked away again, quickly. “…please don’t do it again.”
“I- I thought- I thought you’d just hand me in. Clown, I- I wasn’t expecting to wake up. I didn’t think you’d…”
“Save you.”
“I- I guess. W- why would you…?”
“Because I care about you. A fucking lot, Branzy.” Clown’s light kneading turned a little more aggressive, and he had to rein himself in, for fear he’d leave bruises. “I don’t fucking know how you thought I would let you die, but I will not.”
“…oh my god.”
When he looked up, Branzy’s eyes were misty, and Clown was feeling types of anger he hadn’t been previously aware of.
“What? Do you need me to get on my knees for you, Branzy?”
“You care about me.”
Those four words had no right to come back out of Branzy’s mouth like he could barely breathe around the weight of them, but nonetheless, for a moment, Clown could see himself through Branzy’s eyes. It made him dizzy. Slowly, he withdrew his hands, and scowled.
“Yes. Obviously.”
He’d shown it. In a thousand ways, not just his extended mission to violate every hero duty in the handbook for the sake of protecting one villain. He’d made sure not to break Branzy’s toys. He’d indulged his particularly ridiculous traps. He’d bought the villain lunch, one time he passed out face-first mid argument.
Branzy would be an idiot, not to have noticed Clown practically fawning over him.
“…O- obviously? Really?”
“Yes-“
“Because- because I thought I was being obvious.”
Clown froze. His hands stuck in his lap for a moment, every gear in his body seizing up for the extended time it took to process the terrible sentence that had just reached his ears.
“Branzy-“
“I- I am beginning to think you might want a list. Would- that help?”
A tirade was on the tip of his tongue, but Clown swallowed it. Just Branzy. A genius, in every way except his apparent blindness to Clown’s blatant flirting.
He would like a list. He’d very much like to know what he’d missed.
“Yes.”
“O- okay. God, I- I was going to be dead by now, now I- I get to- nevermind.” Branzy struggled upright, as Clown went back to kneading on his leg, correctly sensing the building death glare he was about to get. “Firstly, I didn’t kill you.”
“Wow. Thanks.”
“I’m a villain, Clown. Get with it. Uh- secondly, I- I literally, repeatedly, told you how hot you are.”
“…that was to make me feel comfortable.” Clown’s voice was low, his frustration seeping inwards, refusing to believe he’d been this stupid. “You… say that to everyone.”
Branzy laughed. Clown glared.
“I do not. So- you are- so attractive, and- wait, thirdly, I made you take your mask off. And told you how pretty you were.”
“Manipulation.”
“Yes, but- well, yes. But also because you are, and I wanted you to know it!”
“Next.”
Clown was loathe to admit he might be enjoying this. Alongside the searing burn of mortification, certainly, but there was an appeal in Branzy listing off things he’d done for Clown, of all people.
“Fine. Fourthly, I memorised your schedule. Three times, you- you kept changing it, for some reason.”
“My rotor?”
“No, I- I mean- when you wake up. And when you’re normally asleep—because I- I have access to your systems. I know how long it takes you to respond to one of my alerts. That, and- when you like to get dinner. And I can tell what order you put your costume on in.”
This was becoming creepy.
Clown should be scared. He didn’t know why his face was burning. He didn’t know why his heart was humming, in direct response to Branzy sounding happier talking about this than he had in weeks. Anything to distract his villain from himself, he reasoned.
“Fifthly, uh… I- I made some of your weapons for you. The ones the heroes don’t give you.”
Clown drew his hands back, quickly. His attention shot to his storeroom, to the scythe and the axe and the bow he’d acquired from decidedly un-hero-approved sources. Paid in cash, no questions asked about where they’d come from.
“Branzy-“
“Mhm. It- it was fun. Worked with that engineer you thought they came from. He did your first scythe.”
Was this what love felt like? Clown felt too hot, and more seen than he might have ever been before. He felt like a fool, and he wanted to be touching Branzy again.
“Sixthly, I…” Branzy’s eagerness dropped, momentarily, and a shadow of nervousness flickered over his face. “C- Clown, you can’t be- mad about this one…”
“I won’t.”
He was enjoying this far, far too much. Couldn’t Branzy have lead with this?
“Do you… remember the handler that was threatening to move you off my case?”
“Yes.” Clown blinked, caught off guard. He remembered, but Branzy shouldn’t. Branzy shouldn’t know. “How do you?”
“I have a bug in your phone. Just- tracking and audio, don’t worry-“
“Hold on-“
“I- I killed them. That’s- why you didn’t hear back. Did it quietly, too, just in case.”
That was several things, at once, maybe a little too fast. Disbelief was the only thing fuelling him, even as Branzy smiled shyly, like he was waiting for approval.
Far be it from Clown not to give it. His heart was going a thousand miles a second, and the build-up of all the love he’d missed was crashing down onto him now, in this moment, and he hadn’t forgiven Branzy, but now he had himself to forgive, too, for not noticing earlier.
His brain had short-circuited, so physical contact was his main recourse, and Clown had no regrets about promptly smothering his villain, hugging him tight enough to nearly drive the air from his lungs, if Branzy hadn’t already been laughing.
“Oh- wow, you- you are so cute.”
“Don’t die.”
“I- it’s ok. I’m… ok.”
“No. I’m not letting you die.”
“Oh… that- that is so much nicer, actually, th- thank you, Clown…”
Carefully, Branzy’s hand shifted, the one with the power suppressor on, and Clown almost wished he didn’t have it. Maybe then, he’d have an excuse for the way his whole body shivered when his villains scratched through his hair, finger-combing it like he was a cat.
Clown exhaled, softly. Branzy giggled, and he would have considered hissing, if he hadn’t been so comfortable.
This, then, was Branzy’s power. No mind control, no traps, no shy charisma that made him such an unlikely hit. But the ability to laugh, and to play with Clown until he was nearly mewling, when his villain had looked him in the eye yesterday and tried to kill himself.
It felt nice. Branzy knew how to play with his hair, how to hold him like Clown had imagined could be possible, in wild dreams.
It was a little creepy, when he considered Branzy might have somehow known about those dreams. Clown didn’t know how. But he could have. It seemed possible, because Branzy seemed capable of mostly anything.
“Clown…”
Branzy was surprisingly whiny, for consuming almost all of Clown’s thoughts.
“Hm?”
“Do- do I get this cuff off yet?”
“Hm… no.” Clown rolled over, and nuzzled against Branzy’s shoulder. “You’ll kill yourself.”
“…aw.”
For that moment, Branzy sounded genuinely sad, and Clown snapped back to his right mind. He was cuddling Branzy. Who might kill him. And… there were other reasons he shouldn’t be doing that.
Branzy must have sensed his abrupt hesitancy.
“Clown… please…” Pouting, Branzy moved a little, even as it seemed to strain his wrist, for the sake of yanking Clown back down. “Ok. Can- can I kiss you?”
Branzy had asked.
Clown stared, blinking blankly less than four inches from his villain’s face, feeling like he was shutting down inside. He’d been so scared, that Branzy would never ask, and he’d never have the confidence to do so himself.
“Yes.”
He should have put more emotion into that. He wasn’t sure what emotion it was meant to be, but it came out too blank. Nothing more than a pure expression of want, accepting with everything in him.
Thankfully, Branzy didn’t seem to care about his failure of expression. With one hand, he took Clown’s cheek, and guided him a little further down.
Branzy tasted a little like tears, as Clown made contact with his lips. It was beyond strange, and a lot more than what he had hoped. His villain was cold, deathly so, and…
There wasn’t much more to it. Clown let himself be pulled down, knowing Branzy was about to try to do something stupid again, as soon as this was over.
But he trusted himself enough to trust Branzy, just for now.