Archive of Our Own ^beta

If White has learned one thing about himself after switching places with Black it’s that he is a walking contradiction. And as if that’s not already bad enough, he’s also been spending too much of his already sparse freetime sitting on Black’s bed, in Black’s room, in Black’s life, reflecting on this fact, contemplating if he really means what he says, feels what he says, if he’s still the same man he used to be. So he's an overthinker too. It’s exhausting.

The reason for his self-doubt is cruelly unsurprising. It’s Sean, of course it’s Sean, because it’s always been Sean ever since White has shown up here, in this life that won’t belong to him no matter what he does. Always Sean, at every corner. When a plan fails it was Sean’s, and when there’s yelling then it was Sean who started the fight. When Black (or more so White in disguise) is insulted it was Sean’s doing and when White lays awake at night then Sean is to blame too. 

It’s enough to make White hate the guy. That’s what he’s thought all this time, at least. Because Black apparently despised Sean too. Because Sean is angry and selfish and mean just because he has the opportunity to be. Because Sean tried to kill White. Because Sean wrapped his arms around White’s throat and made him see stars. And not the good kind. 

Sean is insufferably abhorrent, White has decided. In his opinion he’s got plenty of arguments to back that claim up too. He’s told Todd that before. He’s made his disgust with Sean clear to Sean himself as well. 

But White wouldn’t be kept awake by hypocrisy or contradictions if that was everything. White wouldn’t question his entire view on the world if hating Sean was his only truth, his one reality. 

He thinks of Sean's softening gaze when it falls on anyone but him and his stomach twists sourly. Stupidly, White realises he wants to be looked at the same way. But kind eyes have fallen onto him before - kind eyes or kind gazes, there’s a difference - and he has grown painfully tired of his father’s attempts at compassion, the polite stares that intersperse the talk of greatness. He’s met genuinely kind people before, of course, but he’s never felt his insides burning at the thought of being watched, studied, truly seen. It’s never been the way it is now.

Ridiculously, White realises that he doesn't want to be looked at kindly by just anyone. White realises that he wants Sean to do the looking. 

It’s a thought absurd enough to warrant a pause, the intake of a shaky breath, and when White is finally ready to form a cohesive sentence again his eyebrows are still furrowed. 

’It’s just unfair’, the feisty part of his mind argues, ‘He gets along with everyone but me. I deserve better.’

And White nods along to it - exactly like Black would - and stuffs the objection of the other part of his mind, the one he usually agrees with, into the deepest, darkest corner of himself. He’s found his reason already, doesn’t need another possibility. He’s just too nice for Sean to treat him like a piece of shit. That's it. That's all.

(Really White hasn’t actually been very nice to Sean, has he...? White grimaces. He grabs the thought by the throat and shoves it somewhere it can’t disturb him too.)

But it makes sense doesn't it? To want Sean to like him?

Sean is tough and Sean fights for a just cause. (It might've taken White a while to come to that conclusion, but with every new plan, with every new revelation, he agrees more with the gang. It's getting harder and harder to let Todd know the little details of his new life when he's losing himself in theories of justice and the reality of oppression - when he sees every day how many people struggle under Tawi, under the government, under capitalism.) Sean is strong-willed and though it comes to bite him in the ass sometimes it is still admirable how passionately he fights to survive, to live. White could almost respect Sean, he thinks occasionally. When Sean's not being an asshole that is. 

White's chest rises slowly before he shudders out a sigh. Sean's - their - room is dark and in the distance water splatters against far from pristine shower tiles. 

It's almost peaceful, almost comfortable laying on Sean's soft mattress like this. It smells like him, of course it does - he's been living here for far longer than White has after all - but the latter is not opposed, somehow. Motor oil and autumn. That's what Sean smells like. A weird mixture, in a way. How can he smell like clear air and oil alike? White doesn't know, White doesn't care. 

Autumn here in Thailand is familiar, it's nice. Reminds him of Russia's much, much colder temperatures in an odd, almost irrational way. Maybe that's why he's beginning to warm up to Sean? White scoffs into the silence of the room. He shouldn't go so far as to compare Sean to his second home. That privilege is reserved for pretty girls that smell like forests and spring. Not motor oil and autumn. Sean's not a girl anyway. And Sean's not pret- A miserable grimace flicks over White's face.

Images of Sean whirl through his mind, but there's too many of them, too many to be from accidental looks only - so many that it's clear White has studied Sean purposefully before and it's embarrassing, even without anyone here who can read his mind. 

Sean and his stupid tank tops that are way too big on him, show too much of him to not have White take in every inch of skin he's allowed to take in. Is he even allowed to? Or is it just tolerated?

Sean and his earrings that White wants to tug on sometimes, with his hands, with his teeth, it doesn't matter. What he'd gain from it he doesn't know. A reaction, he guesses. He'd like to know what Sean would do if White simply reached out and touched him, his cheeks, his arms, his hands.

Sean and the face he makes when he's determined - the face that results in intimidation (it comes almost natural to White now, it's become a staple of his life) and a fluttery feeling in his stomach that is impossible to force away. 

Sean and his full lips that should be dry and rough, but they aren't, and it's infuriating because they look good, Sean looks good, and White can't even say Sean's not pretty now. 

Sean's not a girl and Sean doesn't smell like forests and spring, but Sean.. Sean is attractive. In his own horrible way. 

White turns to his side, away from the wall. As if it would make him feel less vulnerable facing the rest of the room like this. As if he is now tackling head on what's going through his mind. He's still thinking of Sean though, he realises, and while he's at it he might as well find reasons for why the man isn't as handsome as he looks at first glance. It’s petty, yes, but White feels shaky at the thought of admitting his obvious attraction so it seems smart to fight back at least a little bit.

There's the circles under Sean’s eyes for example - a small souvenir he got from years of sleeping too little and thinking too much - ....but White can't get himself to call them ugly. He himself has them, the rest of the gang does too. The prettiest girls he's met had them and it's a uselessly tiny detail to be mad over. They fit Sean, too. Maybe they even make him look better than he already does.

Ugh. What else, then? 

The scowl on Sean’s face whenever he stares at White. Right. He’s needlessly rude with his furrowed brows and his lips pressed into a tight line.

But White never smiles at Sean either. Fuck. Also not a great reason then.

Perhaps it’s his anger that makes Sean truly unattractive. White scratches his head for a few moments, trying to think of something better and moves his hand back. The room has gotten colder he notes and then he- and then he pauses. His hand is still hovering over the mattress, suspended in the air before he could drop it back down, but he doesn't dare move. It’s as if his mind is making somersaults. Or as if it’s stuck in a washing machine. Whatever. What he means to say is that he feels a little dizzy, a little very, and for a second or two he has to take a break. To consider the thought. To savour it, to let it melt on his tongue.

Perhaps it’s his anger that makes Sean truly unattractive.

Sean has experienced so much pain in his short life and instead of being better, he inflicts pain on others. White bites his tongue as if he needs to hurt himself to fully understand Sean, as if that makes sense. It’s not a good trait, anger, and White feels his lip curl involuntarily even just pondering it. He drops his hand, too tired to keep it still anymore.

Anger makes you reckless, and anger is explosively dangerous (White can still feel Sean’s hands ghosting around his throat, the burn of lungs without air), but the memory of neutrality is too fresh in White’s mind to not compare the two. 

He remembers his own passivity. He remembers his lack of care for things that didn’t affect him. He remembers realising what others have to do to get to where he is now. He remembers feeling angry. It motivated him, his irritation, and he went out of his way to criticise the state of the world. Did he change his father’s mind? ‘Course not. It would take moving a mountain before that man would even consider his privilege. But did he show his father a different perspective? Did he stand with those less fortunate than him? Yes, yes he did. 

Anger can be a catalyst, he comes to understand, an instigator for change. And while he lays there, in these sheets that aren’t his, in this life he has stolen, he knows he has caught on to more things while living here, like this, than he has ever caught on before. White’s heart beats with Sean’s, only for a moment, and he accepts that he cannot hate Sean for his rage anymore. Perhaps he should. He already used to hate him for it, after all. Perhaps he will hate him again, eventually. Right now the emotion is impossible to retain though. 

White’s eyes scan over his surroundings as if he can forget the revelation this way, as if he can forget his inability to find ways to truly despise Sean. When his gaze falls onto little trinkets standing out of place on the shelves or the desk he has to suppress a rotten little smile. 

At least now that they are both sharing a room White doesn't have to feel bad for any of the miniscule changes he makes in the world while, you know, existing. That was harder when he still resided in Black's apartment, dreading every single movement he made, every object he shifted just a centimetre. He had felt so bad for whirling Black’s life out of order, but in Sean's room he can go wild, merely putting his neck on the line in the process. It's a good feeling. 

Only when the door clicks and a beam of light falls through the crack between it and the wall White realises that there is no more distant water splashing from the shower and he turns on his back immediately - screw that talk of fighting things head-on - while his heart is pounding, beating out of his chest.

The footsteps are familiar - they’re the footsteps of a man that walks slumped and tired, as if every further day in this world exhausts him more than the last - and maybe White should be embarrassed that he recognises them. A thump follows the footsteps and White can identify that noise, too. It’s Sean’s towel hitting the laundry basket. More projectiles (and thumps) follow and if White were to guess it’s the clothes that Sean wore today. They both change in the bathroom, then dump their used clothes in the basket when they come back, so it’s not like it’s very difficult to figure that one out, but whatever. White stares at the ceiling as if it's the most interesting thing he has seen today. 

“If you wanna shower I’m done.”, Sean grumbles in White’s general direction. He’s too preoccupied with putting his stuff away to notice the way White glares at the nonsense patterns he can find in the wallpaper if he tries hard enough. 

White makes a vague noise of acknowledgement. “I’ve showered already”, he adds, trying to sound disinterested. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sean shrug. 

That’s how it goes, usually. Someone says something, the other responds. They shut up again. Or they fight, of course. These days, their interactions are tantalisingly mediocre though. White doesn’t know why he wants more substance to their conversations instead of their regular exchanges of insults - after all, he’ll have to give back this life to Black eventually - but it feels so unfair to be at the receiving end of so much anger. It’s hard enough to assimilate to this entirely new world without it. 

“Did you turn the lights off?”, White asks accusatorily, just to keep the conversation flowing. He is very aware that he is picking a fight for no reason, but the words spill out of his mouth before he can think about them much further. He’s dropped a lit match a little too close to the fuse and now he’ll just have to pray the bomb doesn’t go off. 

“Dude.” Sean turns to him, but White continues to stare upwards, stubborn. “Yes, I did. You can check if you don’t believe me.” He spits the words out and he deserves to - White was pushing it - but it still kind of hurts to hear the resentment in Sean’s voice and knowing he was the one to cause it. But it’s White’s own fault. He’ll have to deal with it.

“I was just asking, man.”, he mumbles, because he’s not confident enough for anything louder than that, and because it sounds unnatural out of his mouth - foreign. He doesn’t want to be caught. How hasn’t he been caught?

Sean scoffs. White sits up. Maybe to prepare to be almost killed again. Sean busies himself with stuffing unidentifiable objects into his backpack. Maybe White is sitting up just because. 

Finally, he tears his gaze away from the wallpaper. He's spent far too long looking at it already and it’s becoming much too obvious that he’s avoiding possible eye contact as best as he can. After all he doesn’t want Sean to make a comment on his behaviour, and- And he immediately chokes on his spit. 

Fuck, he wouldn’t have allowed his attention to wander if he’d known- Wow. White can stop himself at the last second before his jaw drops. 'Embarrassing’, he scolds himself and orders his features to fall back into neutrality. They won’t oblige.

Sean looks fucking amazing with wet hair, and White knows that, and Sean also looks really good in oversized tank tops, and White knows that too, but Sean stands in front of him with both wet hair and an over sized tank top thrown on and now that is just unfair. 

He’s not looking back, not yet, and White uses that opportunity to take in everything that is Sean. His tired eyes, his lean figure. The top clinging to his shoulders, the strands of hair clinging onto one another. A rare drop of water dripping down and leaving a tiny dark spot on his clothes. His expression is so calm now that he isn’t gazing over at White and his stance is comfortable and non-threatening. God, he’s beautiful like this. It’s a shame he always has to plant himself in front of White, make himself look as tall and menacing as he can, as if it was warranted. As if White committed a war crime. As if Sean wasn’t the one to casually knock out Tawi’s staff and tie them up.

Finally, just in time, White’s expression is schooled back into what tries to be casual indifference, because Sean is done with whatever he was doing and without hesitation he turns around again, facing exactly the spot where White is sitting. Sean’s gaze hardens the second it meets White’s. White wants to throw up at that. Just a little bit. 

“You with your fucking glares again-”, Sean bites out through gritted teeth and, horrified, White realises that apparently his ‘casual indifference’ can be interpreted as ‘not-so-casual malice’ too. “Would you please enlighten me on why you fucking hate me again? ‘Cause it’s really beginning to piss me off.”

White opens his mouth, but no sound dares to escape it. He closes his mouth. Sean scoffs for the second time in five minutes and shame is burning in White’s veins. Not just from his blatant staring, not just from being caught doing it, but also from the fact that he knows he can’t answer, knows he doesn’t know what Sean did to Black to justify this behaviour, this stupid feud. Knows he has to answer, too. Eventually. 

“.....I-”, he chokes out after a few, painfully long seconds. It sounds strangled and he refuses to make eye contact while he searches for his words. While he does anything, really. 

He doesn’t have to have spent the last decade with Black to know the next thing he says is entirely out of character, but he settles for it regardless. “I’m sorry.”

Sean only raises his eyebrows at that. As if he is waiting for something else, a follow-up of sorts. When nothing happens and the silence between them becomes almost deafening he laughs dryly. It’s a real’ dry laugh, though, one that seems almost bitter, and it punches White right in the gut. Will he ever elicit a positive response from Sean? 

“Hey.”, Sean says with an upwards nod of his head and for one second White thinks that it sounds worried, that it could potentially- “What the fuck is this supposed to be?” -Nevermind then. 

Sean stretches and his back cracks too loud to be healthy. White can’t help but let his gaze wander over Sean’s form underneath the tank top. When he looks up again, forces his eyes to observe Sean’s face and not his body, he is met with a firm, unyielding stare. Fuck.

Sean turns to him fully. Slowly. Knowingly. White can feel his heart beating in his throat, never having had eyes boring into him this intensely.  

“Are you really Black?”, Sean asks and time stops. White cannot breathe. His eyes must be as wide as saucers now and he feels hot all over. He'd tried so hard, been so careful, and now a simple pang of emotion in his heart made him apologise, reveal himself, doom this whole operation. He could punch himself for his own behaviour, for his fucking stupidity. 

It had to be Sean out of all people too, of course it had to. Couldn't have been Gram or Yok who would've been horrified and mean but most of all disappointed. It had to be Sean. Sean who doesn't know when to stop, Sean who has fought his friends so hard they bled. Sean who doesn’t shy away from attempting murder. (White doesn't think he can ever let that one go.)

He sees himself sprawled out under a tarpaulin in the furthest corner of the garage already, Gumpa chewing out Sean, everyone else trying to find a good way to get rid of his corpse. It’s a vision that comes too fast to be healthy, one that is too gruesome to be a good look into his future most of all. Obviously. White doesn't know if it’s paranoia or warranted fear - all he knows is that they're alone here, him and Sean, and it's a realisation that is just as exhilarating as it is terrifying. 

The room whirls around him and his vision blurs at the edges, but that’s not even the worst of it. The worst of it is Sean’s face, his unreadable expression. The worst of it is White’s shaky hands and the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Black was right, he always was a crier, and now it comes back to haunt him, to further hammer home the point that he is not his brother, that he could never be. Black isn’t afraid of death. Black wouldn’t apologise. Or cry. Or do any of the stupid shit White does. But Black isn’t here and someone had to figure out what happened to him.

Black is not here. White knows that already. But somehow having it laid out so open, so bare in his mind is horrifyingly painful. 

Black is not here because he is in a coma. In a clean, sterile hospital too far away from White for it to feel real, but too close to him for their connection to not remind White of it on any given day. Black’s friends don’t know and his parents don't either and it’s sad. It’s hard to describe it as anything else than sad.

Black almost looked peaceful, there on the hospital bed. With his eyes closed and his muscles relaxed, instead of the usual frown and the furrowed brows glued onto his features. If it weren’t for the blood on his face, the bruises and the cuts, maybe White could’ve compared it to when they were kids and had sleepovers in each other's rooms. When, for once, Black fell asleep first, and he got to watch his brother be calm and.. well, soft. A total contrast to what he is like in the day.

White on the other hand had not had the most peaceful last few weeks. No pauses, no silence, only the revving of engines and the screaming of people. Only the reflection of fire in his eyes, only the glares from Sean. His heart beats hard and his heart beats fast and for the first time since he has taken over Black’s life White realises that Black has taken over White’s life in return.

White’s world had been so neat, so perfectly thought out. So immaculately linear despite his kind of rough family situation. White was gentle, quiet and neutral, most of all. He still is, under this layer of anger and toughness he has to coat himself in to survive this entirely new universe that has opened itself in front of him. Well, not neutral - he doesn’t think he can ever go back to being neutral - but he’s quiet still. Quiet and gentle. He hopes so, at least. Hopes he hasn’t been ruined by his pretending, his acting. 

But that’s not the point. The point is that Black is like White now. That Black lays quiet and harmless in a hospital bed, that he has been neutralised so to say. Black looks gentle and soft and it’s scary. It’s scary because White knows Black, even after years of separation. He knows him like the palm of his hand, knows that Black.. shouldn't be like him. White knows that Black is protective and determined, just as much as he is cruel. White knows that Black is a fighter and that he is righteous. White knows that Black is aloof and alone. 

And though it’s a harsh thing to say - Black should be like that. Black should be his own person, he deserves to be. Black should be able to change when he wants to, not when he’s confined to a hospital bed. Not when he’s unconscious, incapable of making the decision himself. 

White hates it. White hates every second of it, and yet.. Somehow there is something reassuring about the fact that he is not the only one who has stolen a life. Somehow he is calmer now, knowing that he hasn’t just shed his personality like a snake sheds its skin - that he has simply exchanged it with Black’s. That they’re both just pretending, in a way. 

Sadly the reassurance doesn’t last long. Sadly White blinks, too fast, too soon, and the world around him is set into motion again, too quickly to prepare for it. Sean’s waiting. Waiting for a response, for an explanation. For White to dig his own grave. 

It’s dark outside and the window is open and the breeze coming through it leaves goosebumps in its wake. Maybe Sean’s intense gaze is at fault too. White isn’t sure. White is only sure he wants to run away into the night and never come back. But before he can do that, before he can give up completely, Sean decides to free him from his misery. Sean’s the cause and Sean’s the remedy and White would find it almost poetic if his hands weren’t shaking and his heart wasn’t beating at 300 miles per hour. 

“The old Black would’ve punched me for that comment, I think.” Sean laughs again but this time it just sounds broken. “You’ve really changed.”

White knows Sean is still angry. He can see it in the way Sean’s fists clench, in the way his chest shudders with a deep sigh. It’s unbelievable, almost, that Sean is holding back for him, for a man he thinks is Black. Foolishly, White’s heart skips a beat and he wants to smash his face on the bed for it, drown in the sheets until he chokes. Realistically that would make everything worse though. They smell too much like Sean.

White’s mind is short-circuiting at this point and before he can say something he’ll regret he bites his tongue. Almost like an afterthought he nods briskly too. Just to make sure Sean can’t misunderstand him again. 

Those all too familiar steps sound through the room again and White freezes. The mattress dips down as Sean joins him on the bed, and it’s normal, they’ve done this dance a million times, but something about today feels different. Perhaps it’s all the adrenaline still rushing through White’s body. Perhaps it’s the combination of the wet hair and the tank top. Whatever is at fault, something swoops in White’s stomach as if he is on a roller coaster, and he has to face the wall so that Sean can’t see the blush spreading over his face. Dammit. He’s such a mess. 

Everything turns a notch warmer and White doesn’t know if it’s because of the blood rushing through him or the body that is taking up space next to him. It’s probably both, though. 

Sean breathes out slowly, steadily, seemingly bracing himself for the impact of something gigantic and White feels himself tense up almost immediately. It’s as if his body is tuned to Sean, as if he can’t help but to react to everything that Sean does and says. 

“Black.” The name leaves Sean’s lips almost cautiously, and still White has to hold back a sigh of relief. He hasn’t been caught yet. He’s doing fine. It’ll all be fine. Sean nods to himself, as if to assure himself of something before he speaks. “Black, I think we need to talk.”

Oh. 

Oh fuck.

White swallows all the saliva in his mouth before he even dares to open his mouth. His hands ball to fists around his shirt as if that could help him force the panic out of his tone and face. 

“Okay.”, he says, and hopes he sounds disinterested enough to pass as Black. There’s no way Sean didn’t hear the quiver in his voice though. Maybe he can get away with faking a cold later. 

Even though he has agreed already, the room falls into silence at first. 

“I want to..” Sean begins talking again after a while and crosses his arms hesitantly. As if he wants to protect himself of what’s to come. “I.. I don’t want to hate you anymore.”

Ah. Okay. 

Wait- 

White’s eyes frantically move around the room while his mind processes the sentence. The sentence which hangs so uncomfortably in the air around them that it makes him bite his tongue to fight his embarrassment. And suddenly - suddenly he understands the situation. Suddenly he realises everything that is at stake. 

White feels as if someone is holding a gun to his head, pointing it right between his eyes. White feels as if someone is asking him to choose between death by poison or death by fire. 

He has two options here, and they’re both exactly as horrible as the other. The first one is simple. Just be Black. Chew Sean out, tell him that he should hate Black. Watch Sean break under the yelling, feeling shame and disappointment turn the air into toxic chemicals to choke on. Spend the entire night turned away from Sean, an icy cold barrier between them. All in the name of leaving any changes of this life up to Black. All in the name of not taking away Black’s right to make a choice himself. All in the name of maintaining the status quo. 

The second option is disgustingly self-indulgent. Forgive Sean. Forgive Sean for things White doesn't even know have happened. Betray his brother because in his heart White has already stopped hating Sean ages ago. Leave the anger behind. The anger and the fear. White yearns for some peace of mind. White yearns so desperately for a sliver of happiness in this shithole of a life that his traitorous mouth almost opens right then and there to agree with Sean. White may not have shed his personality like a snake sheds its skin, but he’s a snake regardless. A treacherous snake that can’t even respect its own flesh and blood. 

Sean’s shoulders slump and if White would guess his expression is sour. There’s oceans filled with hatred between them and each of them stand on their own respective shore. Neither of them have ever attempted to cross the waters, but.. Sean has pushed a boat into the stormy sea and now White has to decide if he will take that risk as well. 

Carefully, cautiously, as if Sean is a wild animal, White turns around. His hands are still hanging onto his shirt as if it is an anchor and his breathing is far too rapid to be normal. He’s thinking of different ways to turn Sean’s peace offering down - humane ways that could potentially work as a compromise of sorts, as well as ways Black would handle the situation - all the while Sean’s beautiful eyes make contact with White’s and his heart skips a traitorous beat.

He could say “Sorry, but I don’t feel the same.” or “What did you do with the old Sean?” or “Didn’t feel like it when you had your hands wrapped around my throat”. He could say “I still hate you though!” or “Fuck you!” or “Skill issue” or some other fucking bullshit. He could say so much and so little and it’s overwhelming, really.

When he finally gets his tongue, his mouth to cooperate with him, what comes out of it is a brittle little “Sean..” He’s off to a terrible start, but it’s fine. White can save this. White can save this and White can maintain what he’s tried to maintain all of this time. White doesn’t have to betray his brother. 

“I don’t want to hate you anymore either.”

It takes White a moment to realise what words have left his lips just now. It takes Sean a moment too. And then Sean’s eyes light up like the fire that engulfed Tawi’s house in the forest and White can’t even get himself to care about his mistake anymore. It’s as if Black has been wiped from his mind, as if all the space in his heart has taken in Sean and only Sean. For the first time - genuinely, actually the first time - Sean doesn’t glare at him. The corners of Sean’s mouth tug upwards and White has to support himself with an arm on the bed to even just cope with the fact he is allowed to take in this sight.

“Really?”, Sean asks, as if it’s seriously that unbelievable. His gaze rakes over every inch of White’s face, as if he’s trying to find proof that White is just fucking with him. “We can stop this stupid back and forth?”

White nods. He can’t stop staring at Sean, doesn’t even want to blink now that there’s no sign of a frown on Sean’s features. Before he can stop himself he mumbles “I haven’t hated you in a long time.” And it’s stupid, it’s ridiculous - he should be doing damage control and not whatever this is - but he can’t stop, not now. Not when Sean looks at him in a way that makes him feel like he’s floating. 

Is it a lie? He isn’t sure. Today he realised he can’t hate Sean anymore, perhaps today he will realise that hate is too strong of a word to use for this mixture of anger and pity and excitement that courses through him whenever he sees Sean anyway. 

“You hated me first though.”, Sean retorts and White bites down on his lip to distract from the way that makes his stomach churn. 

‘I must’ve been out of my mind.’ That’s what he wants to say. ’I’m sorry’ too. But it wasn’t him that began this and it isn’t him that should continue it either. Really he should just move on, go to sleep and pretend like nothing ever happened. Make his life here a little easier until Black wakes up again. And when he does, he can just make up a stupid excuse to start hating Sean again. It’s that simple.

“Yeah.”, White decides to respond, “At least we made up.”

Sean nods into the darkness, only a small lamp illuminating him, and as the shadows dance on his face White comes to understand that it’s simply not that simple. White sees the way his body reacts to everything that Sean does, yearns to edge closer to him. Sean sees that too. There’s no way he doesn’t. White knows that Sean knows and Sean knows that White knows that too. White can see it in Sean’s eyes, his dark pupils (a void to get lost in) studying White’s face as if it was worthy enough to be studied. 

Soon fear blooms in White’s heart again. If Sean is truly aware of the way White reacts in his vicinity what does he think of him now? Is that why he wanted to reconcile with a person he thinks is Black? To check if that person had grown soft for him? Would he make fun of White? Would he push him to the floor and yell at him to never sleep in his bed again? 

White knows that Yok is gay (it’s not like he’s trying to hide it) and Sean has never said anything about it, but that’s different. Yok is obviously into this UNAR guy. Yok usually doesn’t get into Sean’s way. Yok doesn’t sleep in Sean’s bed every night. 

“You know..”, Sean starts and White prepares for the worst, “It got pretty exhausting to hate you.”

White can only blink at that, doesn’t even have the ability to throw in a hum of acknowledgement or something. It was difficult for Sean too?

“I mean sure, you were insufferable as always, but..” Sean scratches his head and White swallows down the urge to copy him. “Somehow you’re nicer now. Whatever happened to you- I don’t know. But, well, I’m saying it’s a good thing, you know? How- That you changed.”

Now White can see that Sean is nervous too. Scared of a response. Either that or Sean is a great actor. White doesn’t want to give him that much credit. He settles for the easier option. Sean is anxious. Sean can feel the air shift around them just like White can. Sean knows Black from when Black was still Black and that is reason enough to be cautious. 

“Yeah.”, White says. Because a ‘thank you’ would mean he’d praise himself for being a shitty impersonator and because a compliment back would catapult him right into unventured territory again. “Thanks. You’re nicer too. Nicer than you were at the beginning.”

Fuck.

White can’t help but question if he’s completely lost his ability to follow instructions (his own, most of all), and his ears must be turning red at the tips with how much he is embarrassing himself today.

“What do you mean ‘beginning’?”, Sean shakes his head, but there’s a small smile on his face, “You were acting like a piece of shit first! I thought we already established that.”

It hits White, once again, that the beginning of his life as Black is not the actual beginning of Black’s life. It hits him that Black has spent an entire decade making experiences without him. It hits him that he knows nothing about anything or anyone here. Nothing that he hasn’t learned by making mistake after mistake and risking everything in the process. 

It hits him that he has to be more careful again. 

“You’re right”, he responds and laughs nervously as if that could save him. 

Apparently it can. Sean smiles fully now, and White’s heart jumps up so far in his throat that he could choke on it. Holy fuck, Sean is the most gorgeous man he has ever met. Seeing him smile is reward enough to live through the absolute terror of the last half an hour. White can’t believe he’s thinking that, but he is. And it’s true. He believes that, fully, and maybe he shouldn’t, but it’s too late to give a shit about now. 

Sean searches for White’s eye contact again and just that fact alone has butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach. Maybe they aren't butterflies. Feels more like rabid rats anyway. Despite whatever wild animal let loose in White’s insides, he returns Sean’s intense gaze with one of his own. Only when Sean can stare into what feels like White’s mind he responds.

“Thank you though. For saying that. For reconciling with me.”

White melts into a puddle right then and there. No man has ever made him feel like this (no woman either if he’s honest) and he almost wants to ask how anyone can have this smooth of a voice. Does Sean even know what he’s doing to him? Is Sean even aware of how he’s shifted White’s entire world in only the few weeks he’s been here?

White can’t believe it’s Sean that makes him realise he likes men. Liking men in general is fine - he probably should be more surprised but he isn’t and honestly he’s very okay with taking it this calmly - but liking Sean is quite literally the opposite of fine. Like, hello? A gang member quite possibly connected to your brother taking a beating so hard he fell into a coma? A man who has attempted murder before? A man who could be charged with arson, assault, damage to various properties, sabotage, trespassing and vandalism? In alphabetical order, of course.

White thinks his crime of identity theft looks a little less severe in comparison. 

But instead of saying all of this (he knows for a fact Black has gotten his hands dirty in this business as well so it’d be stupid and out of character anyway) he just accepts it. Sean never advertised himself as a man of the law anyway, and though White’s most eligible career path should mean less sympathising with criminals and more hating them, that's easier said than done. It’s difficult to hate who you agree with and it’s even more difficult to hate who you agree with when they’re quite literally the prettiest person you have ever laid your eyes upon. White would shrug if he was alone right now, but he isn’t, so he merely blinks a few times to force himself back into reality again. 

“No problem.”, he says and, for some reason, he actually believes that now.

Sean continues smiling and, despite everything, White smiles too.

“You don’t do that enough.”, the former comments and, naturally, White feels his head spinning at the words. 

“You don’t either”, he retorts and is quite satisfied with that. 

Sean fixes his hair then lets his hand drop. It lands much closer to White than he’d anticipated, but instead of taking it away he leaves it there. And maybe it’s an invitation, maybe it is not, but whatever it is - it makes that all too familiar prickling take over White’s skin again. He feels tipsy, almost, and it’s embarrassing.

There’s a moment of grand, total nothingness, but then White leans himself back, propping himself up on his arms, and invades Sean’s space exactly like Sean invaded his. This time around it’s clearly an invitation. White will just have to see if it’s going to be accepted or not. 

Sean’s expression is unreadable again and it almost scares White enough to back off, especially after seconds are ticking by without any sort of reaction, but before he can do that the gentle press of another hand over his own has him freezing in place. 

White realises that Sean has never consciously touched him gently. It’s nice, though. Odd, but nice.  

Sean works with his hands, he’s held guns and he’s punched people and he works on his motorcycle in his freetime. It shows, and White can feel it too. Sean’s hands aren’t soft like his own, and he almost wants to tell Sean to invest in some hand cream. He would've done it too if this moment wasn’t so imposingly monumental. 

Sean isn’t picking a fight. Sean isn’t trying to make him angry. Sean is trying to be soft. And he’s succeeding. White feels stupid sappy love build up in every centimetre of his body. After all these weeks of torture, of pretending to be someone he’s not, of the physical and mental toll this experience has taken on him, he needs this. He needs a hug, most of all. But this tender touch of hands? Of the hands of the enemy? He needs this too. 

He needs Sean to be kind to him and he needs to be kind to Sean too. He sits up so he can face Sean better, never moving his hand under Sean’s away, and a short burst of fear flicks over the latter’s face. White’s heart breaks. He knows Black can be cruel, but what has he done to Sean that he is so afraid of being vulnerable with him? What has he done to Sean that he is so afraid to have made a mistake by accepting the invitation White has given him? 

White wants to reassure Sean, mumble sweet nothings like ‘It’s okay’ and whatnot - but he isn’t sure if it truly is okay. It- It doesn’t feel real. White doesn’t feel real. He’s stuck in a horribly weird limbo between being his brother and being himself, and it doesn’t help that there’s a man in front of him that is so lovely and yet so broken. A man that seemed downright unattainable until just about five minutes ago. 

Sean’s eyes dart down to White’s lips and it takes all of White’s self-restraint to not gaze at Sean’s in return. He knows what they look like anyway, their image is forever burned into his mind from an embarrassing amount of staring, and he isn’t sure if they could ever go back to what they were like before this if he lets himself go right now. 

“I want to kiss you.”, Sean mumbles and the way they’re sitting makes him look almost small under White, no matter how much taller he actually is.

Having the words spoken into the warm air between them is much more intense than just thinking of them and White has to beg his heart to take a break from accelerating before he dies of heart failure. He forces his eyes away from Sean’s face, but he barely gets far enough to stare right at Sean’s earrings and that only makes everything worse.

“Is that bad?”, Sean adds, and White knows that isn’t the actual question he wanted to ask. 

It hangs in the air, the truth - ‘Can I kiss you? Do you hate me again?’ - and White shakes his head. 

“It’s not bad.”

He shifts onto his knees and inches closer, and it’s awkward, but then Sean is inching closer as well and it’s okay again. It’s as if they’re discovering a new planet, having to be impossibly cautious because they cannot possibly gauge what will kill them out here, what will cause a negative reaction. It’s as if they’re speaking entirely different languages and can only trust their instinct on what the other wants or means. 

Sean takes his hand away from White’s and White wants to complain but then Sean swings his legs onto the bed to properly face him and any kind of protest dies in White’s throat. 

Here they are. White sitting on his legs folded nicely beneath him - Sean with his legs crossed. Too close to the wall for White not to think about pressing him against it, too far for it to actually be possible in their current position.

There’s still an ocean of hatred and there’s still their respective shores of safety, but they’re not so far away from each other anymore. Instead they are both standing on a raft in the middle of the restless waves, moving with the wind because they don’t want to fall. 

It’s scary. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. 

White can’t take it anymore. White can’t take it anymore and he surges forward the last few inches, right into Sean’s personal space again. His arms snake through Sean’s, right past his waist and White sits on his knees again, close enough that he can feel Sean’s hitching breath on his face. Sean swallows nervously.

“Hey”, he says, and White has to keep himself from laughing.

“Hey.”, he responds. 

Sean’s eyes look almost like space from up close like this, boundless and black and beautiful, and White feels himself growing weaker by the second. Finally he allows himself to let his gaze drop onto Sean’s lips again and instantly he’s reduced to nothing but a brainless puddle of want. Thankfully the action seems to spur Sean on as well and before White can even process the motion, Sean’s lips are on his own.

Their first kiss is simple. Just a feathery peck, nothing more, nothing less. And still it’s heavenly, having Sean’s pillowy lips meet his own. White drinks it up, brief as it is, and thankfully they don’t just leave it at that. 

The next time they close the gap between themselves is far more urgent. White doesn’t even have the time to close his eyes before Sean takes up his entire field of sight. His eyes cross, focus on the way Sean’s own flutter shut and his heart stutters when he can feel teeth nipping at his bottom lip. It’s nothing he hasn’t done before, he’s had the occasional girlfriend back in Russia, but it’s nice to feel the sensation again. After all he went through. Especially with the way all of Sean’s touches burn like fire on his skin. 

White’s stomach swoops again and again with every new way their mouths interlock and it’s impossible to keep his arms still when they’re just so close to Sean’s body. Soon enough White’s hands roam all over Sean’s back, then feel each and everyone of his ribs until they end up resting on his waist, pulling him even closer than they already are. 

But the angle is awkward and the way they’re sitting is too. When they stop for a little bit of breathing White has to laugh at the both of them. It looks so weird from up close already, he can’t imagine what it would look like if someone came in right now, caught them in the act. That thought is exciting, too, in an absurd kind of way. White thinks he wants to prove to the world how fun it can be to make amends with your enemy.

He could easily change the awkward position right now, plant himself in Sean’s lap (as if it was his throne), but Sean’s eyebrows furrow and he looks so worried again that White decides to settle for something else entirely. He lets himself fall forward and as Sean’s arms give up beneath him the man is sandwiched between his soft mattress and a still widely smiling White. 

“Hey”, White says, trying to hold his head up, and that seems to ease Sean’s concern.

“Don’t make fun of me”, he complains, but his arms sneak around White’s waist already, as if to hold him there forever, and White can hear Sean’s rapid heartbeat with his ear pressed onto Sean’s chest like this. It’s nice and it’s a hug (albeit a horizontal one), and White’s touch-starved self is going a little insane because of it. He wants this for all eternity. Is he allowed to?

“I would never make fun of you.”, he announces into Sean’s tank top and the lie comes easily to him. As most of them do now, he figures. 

They lay in comfortable silence for a while. White likes the way Sean’s chest moves up and down with every breath. It’s normal and it’s human, but it’s reassuring in a way. That he isn’t alone. 

Sean clears his throat and White’s ears perk up again. 

“Um.. Black?”

Oh. Oh that’s just unfair. An uncomfortable sting pierces through White’s mended heart as the reality of the situation hits him. He’s fucking up Black’s life. He’s lying to Sean. And not just about fun little things that don’t matter in the long run. He’s lying about his identity, his life, his everything. 

“Yes?”, he responds and there’s tears in the corners of his eyes again. Black would call him a crybaby if he was here. 

Sean nudges the top of White’s head with his nose. It’s a simple motion, but it leaves White’s heart full of love anyway. It shouldn’t. They shouldn’t have gone this far. White shouldn’t have.

“Thank you.”, Sean mumbles. “Needed that.”

Sean says what White is afraid to, and Sean deserves better. White hums into the silence of the night. 

“Me too.”

Later, when the lamp on Sean’s bedside table has long been turned off and Sean himself is breathing slowly and softly, with his eyes closed and his face half-buried in his pillow White is still awake. 

Something eats at him, deep inside, and it hurts. 

“I may not be Black-”, he confesses into the dark, into the silence, because he feels safe here, cloaked in the night, “-but maybe you can accept that. When the time comes. When I’m ready to tell you.”

A sigh escapes his lips. He stares at the ceiling, at the window. He stares and stares until his eyes shut as if they had a mind of their own. As if he needed the admission to be able to do that. Sleep washes over him slowly but surely, exhausted as he is, and Sean's warm body makes it even easier to let himself go in the comfort that he has not felt in such a long time. Despite everything, he is at peace. 

Maybe, he thinks through the haze that is beginning to cloud his mind, everything can still be okay.