Archive of Our Own ^beta

So you may have accidentally, not so accidentally, definitely on purpose stolen Volt’s jacket.

Here’s the thing. Volt has a really nice jacket. It’s a muted blue-green, like the sea, that compliments his icy eyes and white hair and makes them stand out; it’s a comforting color you’ve grown used to seeing every night as you visit the Breaker Box, and you delight in seeing it shine in the light of the stage as he introduces the next performers.

The designs and decals on it are also, well, electrifying. More than once you’ve tried to puzzle out how his lapels work - what exactly anything plugs into is a mystery to you - and how he manages to pull off the plug sockets and the instructional labels so effortlessly. It’s a warning - step too close and you get shocked - but it’s daring at the same time, seeming to wink at you charmingly and saying but then again, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

In some sort of textile limbo, owing to the Dateviators’ suspension of disbelief, the jacket’s texture is somehow a combination of hard, heavy metal and soft suede, and god knows how that fits together but it means it’s about the perfect feel for you to curl up under - it’s like a weighted blanket.

Volt’s jacket not only accentuates his best features, it elevates his entire performance. Every time he leaps up on stage, it swings around him and gives him undeniable magnetism, slung around his broad shoulders - and you don’t miss how he doesn’t even need to be wearing it properly in order to be dressed to kill.

You’re not a technician, but you’ve considered starting an online course just to learn his ways (sadly, the courses seem to be devoid of lessons on objectum fashion, and you decide to stop fairly soon.) He’s hot, and he knows it, and you’ve thought about him more than once in it as you go about your daily activities -

What were you talking about again?

You know what. You don’t even have to justify yourself. It’s just nice, okay? You should get to explaining why you took it in the first place.

You were in the Breaker Box, cheering for yet another live performance, when you noticed the jacket draped over a bar stool. You leaned in to touch it, because of course you did, and recoiled instantly - it was soaking wet, fizzing with a subtle static electricity. Volt must have gotten splashed by someone, taken it off and left it to dry here. You would have been more worried about the cataclysmic implications of water mixing with electricity if it weren’t for the fact that you were upset on behalf of the jacket.

You needed to wash it, and wash it now before it got permanently stained - what a crime that would be! So, in a masterful maneuver that would make Beau gasp in appreciation, you swiped it off the bar stool, scooping it up as gently as you could into your arms; it was more than a little heavy, but made worth it as you got to look at every inch of it in detail as you stumble off to the laundry room. There was a lot of static cling that accumulated as you walked, and your hair was sticking straight up at the ends by the time you get to Washford and Drysdale, but you successfully dropped off the jacket and got it cleaned, dried, and even lavender-scented by the end of it all.

And, look. You had the intention to wash it, and you did - a kind, charitable gesture, and one you’d happily make for any dateable object in the household.

But it was late by the time the jacket got washed, and the bar had closed by the time you returned, so you were forced - forced, of course - to bring the jacket back to your room. And as you trudged along the hallway, it was starting to really tire your arms out, so you put the jacket on - too heavy for your shoulders alone to bear, you wore it like a normal person would. And it was so comfy, so perfectly weighted that way, that you wore it to bed and fell asleep in seconds.

And the next day you happened to run out of charges too fast, and the day after that you know Eddie was taking a break so it just wasn’t convenient to come over, and… it’s been a week now and at this point it’s much too awkward to give it back.

So you’re keeping the jacket in your room, for the time being, until you decide what to do with it, or until someone brings it up with them. And you’re also wearing it whenever you get the chance. And maybe sleeping with it from time to time. Can one really blame you?

You wonder if Volt knows you even have it in the first place; if he does, he doesn’t ask, and neither does Eddie. You’ve seen them multiple times in the past week and they act like nothing is wrong at all - Eddie greets you with the same tempered enthusiasm as usual, and Volt takes your hand in his, pressing it briefly to his lips and looking into your eyes with such intensity that makes you want to ask him if he knows what you’ve been up to - you can barely hold yourself back.

But he’d probably endlessly tease you about why you still have it, and that’s worse. You think you’d literally die of embarrassment. So the topic goes unsaid, and you keep it in your room.

And it really is a nice jacket.

——

Six days ago.

‘Volt, I found out where your jacket went,’ Eddie remarks casually as he wipes down the last of the glasses for the day. Volt hums, absentmindedly swivelling around to face him.

‘Betty told me. It’s in the live wire’s room.’

At this, the white-haired man perks up. ‘Really now?’

Carefully, quietly, they pad down the hallway and crack the door open, and, surprise, surprise, Volt’s jacket is laid out across you as you’re sprawled across the bed, your limbs haphazardly poking out from underneath it. You look content, comfortable, and, frankly, adorable.

‘Should we wake them up?’ Eddie whispers.

Volt smiles. ‘Let them keep it, and bring the subject up for themselves,’ he chuckles softly, bending down to straighten out the jacket over you. The light from his hair casts a glow over your face, and you sigh, retreating further into the expanse of blue and green, with only your face visible - a tiny lighthouse in the middle of the ocean. ‘I think it suits them better anyway.’