Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

✮ I don't care what you've done in the past - Wes x Leon

✮ The world would burn if you needed me - Colress x Ein

✮ It's completely safe I've done this a lot - Snattle x Eldes

✮ Let me be yours - Ardos x OC

✮ To think we're both stray dogs  - Cail x Wes

✮ And I started daydreaming again - Michael x Leaf

✮ I will protect you - Wes x Rui

✮ Let me hold you - Nascour x Ein x OC

✮ I'm on my knees for you  - Dakim x Nascour

✮ It's not like I think about anything but you - Justy x Ein

✮ You sunk your claws into me - Gorigan x Snattle

✮ But I regret nothing - Nascour x Venus

✮ It feels like we've met in a past lifetime - Sherles x Evice

✮ If you're an addiction I don't ever wanna be sober - Trudly x Folly

✮ I love you, but I don't want to shackle you to me - Cail x Johnson

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"It was... it was bad." 

Wes' voice is quiet when he speaks, muffled by the pillow he's pressing his face into. As if he was trying to hide from himself. Or smother his truth. 

Concerned, Leon leans closer to make sure he's still breathing and finds his cheeks flushed bright red. Alcohol and shame alike, he guesses. 

"I was part of... a gang. Team Snagem. We stole Pokémon." 

Leon places his hand on Wes' shoulder. 

"We... took them from their trainers," his boyfriend continues. "And we... at some point we started selling them to Cipher. They... provided the snag machine..." 

Wes hiccups helplessly, and Leon rubs his back.

"I did... horrible things, Leon..." Somehow, his attempt at comforting him appears to have prompted Wes to confess more and more of his secrets. Perhaps he expects to be judged, to be berated, to be left alone, but Leon stays. 

"I understand," he says softly. "But you had to survive. And eventually you took them down, Team Snagem and Cipher. You did your best to make up for it."

"You don't... understand." Another hiccup. "Some Pokémon... will never be returned... some people... will never recover... and the dead can't come back either..." 

Leon keeps his hands on him, rubbing gently, drawing soothing circles. "It's true that you can never mend everything that was broken. But what about you, love? Do you think you should've... just died? Don't you think you deserved to live? And that others will forgive you for doing what you had to do to survive?" 

"No..." Wes' voice has been reduced to a miserable whimper. "You don't understand..."

"No, love. There's something you don't understand." 

Leon wraps his arms around Wes, gently turning him on his side, and kisses his cheek. Tears wet his lips. 

"To be honest, I don't care what you've done in the past. I mean, I'm not the one to apologize to in the first place, but... even if you think everyone hates you, if you insist on hating yourself, you have me, and I could never hate you. I love you. And I'll be there for you, until the day you can finally forgive yourself and beyond."

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"In conclusion, this is where we are at with the research. But I already have ideas on how to proceed." 

Ein folded his hands and placed them on his desk, shifting his attention to the image of Colress on his screen. He had expected some sort of reaction — maybe even a bit of praise — but was now met with pensive silence. 

"You have been listening to me, yes?" he asked pointedly. 

"Of course." Colress cleared his throat and met his gaze, though without the usual smile. "And I am, as always, impressed with your progress. It's just..." 

"What?"

"I am worried about you." 

"Why?" 

"Don't pretend you don't know." 

Ein didn't need to follow Colress' eyes to know that he was looking at the bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder, just barely visible underneath his lab coat. Stubbornly, he tugged on its collar and closed two more buttons to hide them. 

"Ein–"

"There is no reason to be worried." 

"No? You don't think that I should be concerned about you working for a powerful and infamously dangerous crime syndicate that keeps you in a secret lab in the middle of the desert where you regularly get injured by your own test subjects?" 

"Statistical outlier. Minor mishap. Won't happen again," Ein said curtly. "As for the rest, I am here of my own volition, I know what I am doing and my career choice is arguably less foolish than whatever you were hoping to accomplish with Team Plasma." 

Colress shook his head. "I am afraid I won't stop worrying until you either return safely to Unova or are back by my side." 

Offended, Ein crossed his arms. "Don't suddenly act like you care so much after you left to–" 

"You truly think I don't care? Oh Ein... how can someone as brilliant as you be so dense sometimes." 

His furious glare was met with a gentle smile from Colress. 

"You do realize that the world would burn if you needed me?" 

"...What exactly is that supposed to mean?" 

"You know what I've done in the past. And I'm now telling you that I would do it again to save you. So. Should I ever suspect that your current... employers are hurting you, I can and will come to get you back." 

Ein raised an eyebrow at Colress who continued to smile — so sweetly it almost hurt — but couldn't help feeling warmth spreading through his chest. Oh, he hated being treated like someone in need of protection. Yet the thought that his favorite person in the world would be willing to take on Cipher just to make sure he was alright... 

How flattering.

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Eldes had never looked more beautiful than in this moment, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips glistening and red lipstick marks adorning his skin. 

Aside from being suddenly and utterly enamored with the sight, Snattle felt a surge of satisfaction that he had chosen the color so accurately, different as it was from his preferred purple. 

"M-maybe we shouldn't do this," Eldes said quietly. 

Unperturbed, Snattle removed the sunglasses covering the other admin's bright yellow eyes, watching them dart back and forth nervously. 

"Shouldn't? Are you sure?" 

He leaned in for another kiss, though made sure to only lightly brush his lips against Eldes'. 

"Maybe we should, actually." 

"I do... want to," Eldes admitted, cautious and quiet, his voice barely more than a breath. 

Snattle rewarded him by licking his bottom lip. "So why not?" 

"I... I promised myself that nobody would get in danger because of me. At least not if I can help it."

"Ah. So you worry about me? Because of your family, I assume?" Snattle withdrew to take another moment to admire Eldes. What a sweet and precious man, especially for a Verich. Despite his best intentions to merely toy and mess with a pretty thing he spotted at admin meetings and social events, he couldn't help feeling just a little fond of his master's younger son. 

Maybe Eldes' innocence was what made his family bearable to be around. 

"Yes. They typically don't... handle it well. Things like this, I mean. I'm serious," Eldes said, attempting to regain his composure.

"So am I." Feeling generous, Snattle helped him brush his hair out of his face. So soft... It made him want to bury both hands in it and steal another kiss. Or two. Or ten. 

"This is more than the games you play, Snattle." 

"What games?" 

"Don't play coy. Or rather don't attempt to play at all. Father — the Grand Master is too powerful for you to get away with your usual tricks." 

"I am aware." Snattle cupped Eldes' cheeks with both hands and gazed into his eyes for a few moments before leaning in again. "But surely he won't begrudge you a kiss or two — if he even finds out? Come on. It should be safe... I do this a lot." 

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Everything about Merry was perfect. The way she tenderly brushed his blue hair out of his face, gazed into his eyes through his sunglasses, hummed a soothing tune, gently checked him for injuries.

As if she was handling something precious. 

Ardos stared up at her, unblinking, enraptured. Every time Merry leaned in, he fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close, to tell her what he was thinking. 

Let me be yours.

Slowly, he raised his hand. A gesture that could have been coincidental, had he not brushed his knuckles against her cheek. She felt warm and soft, just like he'd imagined it; just like he wanted it. 

For a brief moment, Ardos expected Merry to recoil from his touch, but she didn't. She smiled, dreamily almost, leaned into it, turned her head to kiss the back of his hand. 

His breath hitched in his throat. 

Let me be yours. Please.

"I hope it's no injury of yours that's making you do this, Master Ardos." Merry's tone was light and playful, but something was gleaming in her eyes. Something lurking, something hungry. 

Maybe she wanted this too. 

"I'm fine," Ardos said — a reflex. He hardly even heard his own words, still staring up at her. 

"That's lovely to hear." Merry reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers, then sat down on the edge of the bed. "But I'd like to keep you here a while longer anyway. Just to make sure. I hope you wouldn't mind that too much, Master Ardos?" 

"Not at all." He meant it this time. He wanted to see where this — whatever it was — would lead. 

Gently, she kept holding his hand in place, lightly pressed against her cheek as if she was trying to seize the moment and savor it to her heart's content. Ardos let her.

With her free hand, Merry reached for his sunglasses to remove them, revealing bright yellow eyes. The sight seemed to please her. Ardos decided to let her — again. He was rewarded by her leaning in close to bring their foreheads together. 

"I hope you are comfortable, Master Ardos. I shall watch you while you rest.”

Chapter Text

Wes looked so pretty in the sunset, bathed in red and gold. Especially when he leaned against him like that, head on his shoulder, seeking warmth in anticipation of the cold that was to come. 

Cail took another swig of whiskey, then put the bottle down to wrap his arm around Wes and pull him closer. "Not feeling well, baby doll?" 

"Just a little tired." 

"Don't worry about it. It'll pass." 

The truth was that Cail knew exactly why Wes was tired, how long it would take for him to fall asleep and when he would wake up again. The drink he had given him earlier had been a recipe of his own, refined with some of his favorite substances to guarantee that his old friend and occasional lover would stay with him a while longer. Such opportunities had become rare after all. 

Wes let out a soft sigh, his eyelids fluttering. It was obvious that he was now struggling to keep his eyes open. 

"Don't fight it. I'll watch over you while you sleep." 

"You sure 'bout that...?" His voice was little more than a mumble. 

"Yeah. Just like the good old times." 

Cail tightened his grip for emphasis, unable to resist. His fingers dug into the fabric of Wes' coat, possessive, longing for the familiar body underneath. At the end of the day, this man was his , and nobody and nothing could change that. He was the one who had grown up alongside him in this shithole of a region, he was his first in many ways. 

Wes could try to run off and save Pokémon and hang out with other people all he wanted. In the end, Cail would have him back. He had always known that, even before one strange acquaintance of his had sought him out recently. 

"My people are looking for him, you see. I'd guess you already know who. He owes us a lot, money and otherwise." 

"I'm telling you this because I was hoping you could bring him to us; and if you do, I'd keep him alive and let you have him. What do you say?" 

Indeed, Cail knew who was looking for Wes. And just this once he hesitated. He would be selling him out to someone far more dangerous than what they'd dealt with in the past. 

But temptation seeped into his very bones with every second Cail looked at Wes, felt his body against his own. He would hold out a while longer, spend the night like they used to... and then he would call the number he'd been given and rest easy knowing that the man who haunted his dreams could no longer run away from him.

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I wonder what it's like to go on a journey like hers. 

Water sloshed against the pier of Gateon Port, and Michael followed the waves with his eyes, dangling his feet. 

I bet it's very different from what's going on here. 

He had heard about it all of course, how it was in other regions: Receiving your first Pokémon, going on a journey with friends, earning gym badges, maybe taking on the Pokémon League one day. But now that he had met Leaf — a trainer, a league champion no less, who was so much like him and yet so different — his thoughts circled back to her time and time again. 

I wonder what it would've been like to go on a journey with her. 

Would they have been rivals, friendly but competitive? Or would they have been friends, doing everything together and cheering each other on? 

Friends... 

Michael felt that he was grinning from ear to ear, and his cheeks were suddenly warm. Yes, that would've been nice. And as sad as it was that he hadn't been there, he could still befriend Leaf now. Maybe even impress her with his abilities as a trainer once he improved; a high bar to clear now that he knew she was a champion, but he'd never been one to back down from a challenge. 

Gazing into the water, Michael let his mind wander. Him and Leaf training at Mt. Battle. Challenging Orre's various colosseums. Hanging out at the Pokémon HQ Lab. Listening to her stories from Kanto. Surfing in the calmer waters near Gateon Port. Maybe even going to the Krabby Club sometime.

We can have so much fun together. If she likes me too, that is. 

Like... 

Michael scratched his head, feeling sheepish. What exactly "like" meant in this case, he wasn't entirely sure; but what he knew was that he wanted to find out. Wherever it led. Even if Leaf didn't share this weird new feeling. 

After all, the point of a journey was the journey itself, his father had always said. 

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"You don't have to do this, you know." Wes' voice is quiet, soft, almost drowned out by the crackling of the campfire they're sitting at. 

Rui looks up at him. "Do what?" 

"This whole... thing." Wes makes a wide gesture with his arm. "Uncovering a huge conspiracy, fighting a crime syndicate that's way too powerful for us, rescuing Pokémon that could kill you..." 

He trails off, and Rui contemplates his words. There's something warm and tender in his aura, resembling the fire Wes is now staring into to avoid her gaze; there's worry and there's care, and she feels her own heart respond in kind. 

"You don't have to do this either," Rui says softly. 

"Well. Yeah. I just..." Wes glances at his Pokémon, curled up around one another, then back at her. 

Rui moves closer to him. For a split second, she considers placing her hand on his, but hesitates; maybe Wes isn't ready for that yet. 

"You couldn't look away," she mumbles, "and neither could I. I know it's dangerous and this whole thing may be too big for us, but we're making a difference. I have to keep trying. And if you feel the same, I'd say we keep trying together." 

Wes flashed her a crooked smile. "I suppose we're in it anyway, now that Cipher blacklisted us." 

Rui steels herself, then nods. "I know." 

There is another moment of silence, though this time Wes keeps his eyes on her. 

"Are you afraid of dying?" he asks suddenly and with a wave of wistfulness going through him. Rui feels it as if it was her own. 

"I guess not." She smiles, trying to chase away Wes' worry, and shrugs. "I mean... it's not like I want to. I'd like to live a long, happy life and whatnot. But I'm more afraid of watching people and Pokémon suffer and die when I could've helped them than I am of anything Cipher could do to me." 

Wes' expression suddenly turns serious, fire dancing in his amber eyes. "Well, I won't let them. Whatever happens, I won't let them hurt you again." 

"Wes..." 

"I will protect you. I promise." 

He takes her hand then, and Rui squeezes his in return. 

Chapter Text

The noise in the lab has died down, reduced to a bearable, almost pleasant level. Ein leans back in his desk chair and turns around to look at Sombra, his favorite colleague and confidante — and one of their most successful experiments as well, he recalls with some pride, having turned herself into a shadow human. 

Right now, Sombra is still sorting notes and samples, working with the same sort of restless efficiency Ein has been observing in all subjects so far. But there is a level of tension and exhaustion in her demeanor that he doesn't like. 

Maybe a reminder is in order. And maybe, just maybe, he should rest a little as well. 

Ein gets up from his chair and walks over to Sombra, carefully placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"I think it's enough for today," he says quietly. She doesn't like too much noise or being bossed around, and he understands the sentiment all too well. 

Bright red eyes gaze into cool blue. Sombra seems reluctant, but at least not entirely unwilling to listen. 

"Are you sure? I could–"

"Yes." 

They're silent for a moment. Ein takes the sample she's holding from her hands and places it on the table. 

"They're all properly prepared and sealed. The sorting isn't urgent." 

Before he can think of a strategy to talk his colleague and partner into a few hours of much-needed sleep, the door opens. If not for the telltale sound, neither of them would've noticed Nascour walking in, soundlessly as always. 

"I saw you two were still in here," he comments. 

Ein has been wondering how he appears to always know what's going on in any Cipher facility at any given time, including the spaces that should be off-camera, but he decides to ask about that later. For now, he and Sombra wait for their lover to approach and feel long arms wrapping around them, drawing them into a hug. 

"You two will be coming with me now," Nascour says, and Ein smiles. Normally he would protest, but right now it's convenient. 

He puts one arm around Sombra as well and admires the sight of her and Nascour's eyes glowing faintly in the dimming light. What may be eerie to some feels soothing to him — a thoroughly successful experiment indeed.

About their heart gauges, he will worry later. 

Chapter Text

Dakim had never imagined himself on his knees, not for another man, not for anyone. If anyone had told him he'd kneel willingly, he would've laughed in their face. Challenged them to a battle. Maybe punched them too for good measure. 

Especially if they said it'd be for a pretty boy from Phenac City, wearing the ancient mark of aura readers for their duel. As if to mock him. 

Yet now Dakim was on his knees in front of that very same man, the one he called master, resting his head on his lap and hugging his legs while long fingers carded through his hair. He was expecting to feel shame, waiting for it even, but instead something inside him had grown soft, vulnerable, weak; there was a strange sort of intimacy to it all, one that melted his core and made him pliable in those slender hands. 

Dakim couldn't get enough of it. 

"Please."

Nascour let out a small hum. "Please what?" 

What did he want? Dakim could put it into words, but knew he'd be asking too much, pushing his luck with someone he knew could be dangerous; too dangerous, even for him. 

And so he said nothing. 

"Well, it's not like I can't guess." 

Dakim didn't dare to look up. He could hear in Nascour's voice that he wasn't smiling. 

"You... know?" 

"Oh, please. You know what abilities I possess." 

Indeed, Dakim knew it well. Once from legends told by the elders, now from witnessing it firsthand. Nascour was an aura reader, someone who could not only see the shadows, but also the auras of others; he knew their emotions, their bonds, what was in their hearts. 

Dakim doubted he was very good at hiding his own. 

"I know how you look at me," Nascour continued, "and I know what you feel when you do and what you... imagine ." 

"Yes," Dakim said quietly. To lie would be both foolish and cowardly. 

"But I don't want it." Nascour tightened his grip on his hair. " Nobody gets to claim me. Nobody gets to use my body like that. No matter how strong you are. Never forget that." 

"Yes, master." Dakim turned his head to place a chaste kiss on Nascour's clothed thigh, right above his knee. Muscles twitched underneath his lips, as if ready to kick. It reminded him of a wounded feral Pokémon.

"Were you hurt?" he asked as gently as he could. 

"It's none of your business." A warning hiss. Dakim rubbed Nascour's calves in a way he hoped was both soothing and apologetic. 

"I can avenge you, master." 

"Do you think I'm too weak to do so on my own?" 

Against his better judgement, Dakim looked up and was met with blazing red eyes. 

"No," he said simply. "You're one of the strongest." 

"And you would do well to remember that whenever you think of me."

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It was all he'd been able to think about for weeks now, this moment, this feeling, him; and yet, when Justy finally found himself where he wanted to be, it was as though his mind was suddenly empty, leaving him afloat in a haze of nervousness and excitement alike. 

"Are you... alright?" Ein was kneeling in front of him, a quizzical look on his face. 

"Very." Seated against the cold, hard wall of the lab as he was, Justy smiled at him. He had to lift his head to face the taller man, and his heart skipped a beat when he was met with the steady gaze of those wonderful cobalt blue eyes, half-hidden behind tinted lenses though they were. Cool, but no less beautiful. 

Justy wanted to see them. 

He reached for Ein's glasses and was almost surprised to encounter no resistance. No question what he was doing, no telling him to stop, nothing. 

Ein was completely still, observing him, and to Justy it almost felt as though he was a particularly curious specimen in one of the lab's many test tubes and cages. Careful but determined, he removed the glasses and let his right hand rest on the scientist's shoulder. Should he proceed? Should he attempt an embrace, or anything to get closer? 

Finally, after seconds that seemed like an eternity, Justy felt his patience snap. Before he knew what he was doing, he was wrapping his arms around Ein and kissing him, his free hand finding the back of his head and stroking smooth, dark hair, his legs straddling his hips, pulling him closer — 

Justy barely paid attention to his white jacket slowly gliding to the floor, focusing on the sensation of hands on his shoulders, trailing down his arms, finding his waist — 

He tastes like lemon sherbet and sweet mint...

It was but one of many things Justy had been wondering whenever he lay awake at night, awaiting the next time he would be able to meet Ein, and he was going to remember it; the way he tasted, the way his lips felt surprisingly soft against his, the way he held him. Hoping, perhaps against his better judgement, that there was some sort of meaning behind it all. 

Or at least that the feeling was mutual. 

By the time Ein finally broke the kiss, they were both out of breath. 

"Was this your plan all along?" he asked, attempting to sound strict. 

"I guess?" A dreamy smile brightened Justy's features. "It's not like I think about anything but you."

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How had it all happened? How was it even possible?

Gorigan had no idea. 

Somehow, inexplicably, an entire evening of bickering, arguing, screaming and drinking now found its conclusion on the dancefloor, with his arms wrapped around none other than the man who kept ruining his life, and his head resting on his chest. 

Snattle felt warm against his cheek, Gorigan noticed, and soft too. He was practically holding him up by his arms and dragging him around with him, forcing him into what could be interpreted as some sort of slow, sloppy dance. 

"You're a freak," Gorigan mumbled his thoughts aloud, slurring his words. 

"You are the one drunkenly mumbling and drooling on my chest," Snattle retorted haughtily. 

With the same insufferable self-assurance he exuded during every public appearance, he spun the two of them around. Gorigan felt as though someone was stirring the thoughts in his head, like the currents around Citadark Isle. 

Why did Snattle have nothing better to do than to annoy him? How did he have the audacity to get angry with him whenever Gorigan told him exactly what he thought of him and politicians in general? Why did he keep coming back for more and more fights?

Why did either of them still bother with any of this or each other? 

Gorigan pondered the issue for a minute or two until his inebriation-induced curiosity got the better of him. 

"Why do you do... this," was all he managed, but he could tell from the sharp inhale that followed that Snattle understood exactly what he meant. No matter what lies and nonsense this crazy peacock of a man was probably cooking up in his sick mind right now. 

"Because..." Snattle leaned down until his chin was almost resting on Gorigan's head. "You give me exactly what I want, whenever I want, as much as I want. Make no mistake; you are a despicable, rude and simple creature, but so very delightful with your... explosive temper." 

Gorigan made a low noise of unwillingness. The bastard got lucky tonight. But once he felt better the next day, he was going to show Snattle just how explosive his temper could get. 

Chapter Text

The smile in the mirror was bright and dazzling, as if no shadow or darkness had ever touched the lovely face it adorned. 

Venus basked in the radiance of her reflection, the perfect beauty of her new self, finally worthy of her chosen name. Truly, she was a masterpiece of her own craft, making the most out of what little this world had given her. 

Full lips, painted pink to conceal the pallor that clung to her thanks to the twilight of her subterranean home and years of brewing and consuming potions and poisons alike. Soft cheeks, free of cuts and bruises at last. Bright, warm eyes that now reflected the splendor of fame and fortune. A luxurious white and pink dress, reminiscent of a queen; yet its fabric was soaked in deep, dark red, and the scent of iron dispelled the pleasant illusion. 

Venus looked down at her hands. Still dripping with blood. Had she even attempted to wash it off after her last mission? Or was she imagining it?

No. The sensations were too real. Too familiar . She had become a new person, begun a new life, but it seemed as though she could never quite shake that part of her — the one she sometimes didn't like about herself, wanted to erase to complete her metamorphosis, yet unfortunately she still had need of it. 

As did the syndicate she served.

Venus remained motionless when she saw Nascour in the mirror, approaching from behind to wrap one arm around her. His free hand found hers, and his gloved palm smoothly slid underneath it as if he was going to ask her for a dance. No hesitation, even as blood stained his suit. 

"You have done so well," Nascour praised. His voice was low and soft, sending a pleasurable shudder down Venus' spine. Somehow, he always knew what she needed and when; every time she even imagined herself faltering in her steps, he was there to catch her. 

"And you are beautiful like this." 

"Am I?" Venus leaned into his touch, basking in his praise. Few adored her when she was imperfect like this, when they saw what she was truly capable of. 

"Always and especially now," Nascour reassured and breathed a tender, almost demure kiss on her cheek. 

He was right, Venus decided. It might not be pretty or glamorous to kill, but if people needed to die for Cipher, for her , so she could have what she deserved, then she would happily do as Nascour asked. She would wear and discard her masks as often as it took to ensure she was adored by her fans... and her master. 

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The first thing I ever knew about you was that you were my enemy. Perhaps not the worst of them, not yet — you still were in the shadow of your grandmother, the greatest criminal Orre has ever seen. 

You were her most diligent disciple and chosen successor, and I was a young police officer, trying to find out how to bring peace to this region. I knew I would never stop her; she was too good at the game, had won it long before I ever donned this uniform. But you I could match, or so I thought. 

For every step I took, you were several steps ahead. For every crime I uncovered, you were already planning the next. For every case I solved, you made sure I wouldn't solve the next. For every criminal I caught, you brought new people under your control. 

You made sure I knew your name and that I could never defeat you. The gang you led, the Pokémon you acquired, you yourself, like a hydra with too many heads to cut off. 

I loathed you, Evice. But a part of me also admired you. 

And then you died. A random accident on one of your travels through the desert, one that your brother and nephew survived. The boy had no tales to tell; the man spoke of your demise. Of course I had no reason to doubt the word of Es Cade, the kind and honorable man from Phenac City who did so much for his people. 

Yet it never felt right. The crimes never stopped. Your gang grew into a powerful syndicate. The region was nearly brought to its knees. It seemed as though your nephew had taken your place. And still — his goals, his methods, his misdeeds, what little I could learn always felt distinctly like you. 

I chased you for decades, Evice. I know you well, as if we had spent a lifetime together, even if your arrogance tells you otherwise. 

In hindsight, I should've known better. I should've guessed that it was Es Cade who died and Evice who lived. You were never so kind as to leave things be. You always were ruthless, enough to use your own brother's death to disappear from my sight; maybe you even killed him yourself for that purpose. 

And now I stand at the top of Realgam Tower, the proverbial pinnacle of Cipher's crimes against the people of Orre, and suddenly hear your voice and see your face, as you finally drop your carefully crafted disguise. It's been a while, yet I would recognize you anywhere. 

You haven't changed, Evice. But this time I finally caught up to you. 

Chapter Text

The music inside the club is loud, letting Folly feel the heavy beat in his very bones. Bright, colorful lights cut through the darkness in slightly irregular intervals and flash across the crowd. Faces, bodies, movement, all of it is visible for a split second at a time. He feels as though he's watching Venus' show on an old TV with a bad connection, rather than participating himself. 

Then again, Folly lost interest in the club a while ago. As he's dancing — attempting to — and drinking — somewhat successfully — he only has eyes for Trudly. Trudly who is dancing right beside him, whose beanie is bobbing to the beat, who occasionally leans over to tell him something, who keeps getting pushed against him whenever someone shoves past them to get to the bar. His hair flies in all directions when he moves his head, his labret reflects the lights. 

Folly finds it hard to focus on anything else. 

Again, Trudly gets close and leans in to say something. Folly sees his lips move, but doesn't understand — the music is loud, and he can't follow. Not when he's busy staring, fascinated by the gleaming labret and the wetness glistening on Trudly's lips, defying the heat with drinks. Not when he's catching his scent, strong, sweaty and so very much like the partner he's come to know. 

Folly leans in as well, both to listen and to inhale more of it. Unfortunately for the two of them, yet another Pyrite partygoer shoves past them right in this moment, causing him to stumble and spill his drink on Trudly. He can hear him yell after them, but all he can do is quietly stare at the large wet spot on his partner's chest, growing as the liquid drips down his torso. His shirt clings to him now, and his scent mixes with the alcohol's. 

Fuck. Trudly smells good like that. 

Instinct kicking in, Folly grabs him with his free hand and drags the two of them outside. Finally some space. Trudly complains and grumbles some more, but eventually just settles for taking the drink out of his partner's hand and gulping down what remains of it. 

Folly listens to the sound of ice cubes against glass and teeth and shudders at the thought of Trudly's wet lips and cool mouth. Probably tasting like his drink, sweet and delicious. 

"Aw, man. I can't believe–" But Trudly doesn't get to finish his sentence. Folly snatches the glass out of his hands, drops it carelessly and pushes him against the wall of the club. Their lips collide in tandem with their bodies. Hot where skin meets skin, cold where icy liquid stains Trudly's clothes. 

Folly can't bring himself to care about the drink. Not when he can taste it on Trudly's lips and inside his mouth. Nor does he care about dancing anymore, now that his hands begin to wander.

The only drug he needs now to numb himself after a long and hard day of work is Trudly. And if this — their kiss, their touches, them — is yet another drug, he's ready to get addicted. He doesn't want to be sober anymore. 

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I'm catching you like this again–!" 

Cail laughs — shrill and loud — when he hears the voice of Johnson. It seems to startle the officer, prompting him to grasp his wrist. 

Whether he fears that he'll try to run or fall over from his own laughter, Cail isn't sure. What he does notice is that Johnson's grip is light, lighter than it should be. As if he's careful not to hurt him. 

Stupid cop. 

"Cail, you need to stop doing this." 

Whatever Johnson may have said in-between, Cail hasn't heard. He never listens to these lectures, and right now he's also too drunk for a conversation. And high. Drunk and high. Or the other way around. 

Forcing himself to remember his usual spiel despite the warm, comfortable fog clouding his brain, Cail twists around to face Johnson — or his general direction — and opens his eyes theatrically. Bright orange puppy dog eyes. 

For some reason, it causes Johnson to finally tighten his grip. 

"But Mr. Johnson," Cail purrs, "I just had a few drinks, that's all. I don't know about any drugs." 

Confusion briefly flits across Johnson's face, then he steels his features again. 

"You don't look like you 'just had a few drinks'," he says, attempting to sound stern. 

Cute.

Wait, what? 

Cail shakes his head, both to get rid of the thought and for emphasis. "I'm telling you, I have no idea... only had some drinks, nothin' else... not that I know of..." 

"Wait." Now Johnson's eyes widen too. "Does that mean... Do you think someone might have spiked your drink?" 

And now Pyrite's most brilliant cop even presents him with a perfect excuse. Cail nods eagerly, trying not to sway on his feet too much. Normally, spinning stories is easy for him; now the only thing spinning is his head. 

"Do you think it could have been this man you were with earlier?" Johnson continues his line of questioning. 

"Umm..." That doesn't narrow it down at all. Cail mentally goes through all the people he's met tonight, friends, acquaintances, strangers — 

"Tall, silver hair?" Johnson supplies helpfully. 

Oh hell no. Cail knows better than to mention this particular "friend" of his to a cop. 

"Nah. I know him, he's just some guy from Phenac, pretty cool, never seen him do or buy drugs." After a small pause, he adds, "Must've been someone else." 

"I see." 

Johnson begins to pull him away from the club. Cail pouts, briefly contemplates resistance, then gives up. If he keeps up the ruse, he'll successfully avoid getting arrested and keep his drugs too; maybe that's the price he'll have to pay. 

"I'll make sure you get home safely. And you'll come over tomorrow to give your statement. Okay?" Johnson's voice is strangely soft. 

Cail wonders if he's imagining it. He leans against the officer just in case. 

In his disoriented state, he fails to see Johnson blush.