Chapter Text
Like the city and spaceship he’d built, Kray has survived. The crashed ship is like some kind of beached whale in the center of the city, some massive ugly building that’s toppled over sideways, half in the hole it came out of. They’re not even sure how to begin moving such a massive thing.
Around it is at least twenty feet of smashed rubble and debris that is going to take literal ages to clean up. Galo doesn’t want to think about how long it’s going to take to fish people out of the rubble, doesn’t want to think about how many won't be alive. He can’t; what matters is making sure they rescue as many as they can. They only have so many rescue teams able to handle such a huge task and they’re better used elsewhere, helping the survivors, helping the Burnish get out of the godsawful machine that was built to bleed them dry of their power.
It takes everything in him to meet their eyes as he helps them out of the pods; they saved as many as they could, but the oldest, the youngest (fucking children, Kray was using children— ) didn’t all make it out alive, the engine consuming them like kindling for its blaze.
Lio discovers the first one, hands gripping the hatch to release the vacuum-sealed door, straining, grunting until it clicks and hisses open and there’s nothing but silence.
It’s the silence that’s the most jarring and it’s what gets Galo’s attention. Lio’s friends were loud, boisterous as they were freed from the machine, grabbing Lio, hugging him and shaking him with absolutely none of the reverence that Galo’d seen earlier. Kray had called them Lio’s brothers, and when one of them leans down, fitting his large hand to the top of Lio’s head to ruffle his hair Galo thinks Kray doesn’t know how right he was.
Galo’s not sure how long they work. It takes an hour to do the first row, and there are layers upon layers upon layers of containment pods. Worse still: it feels as if it takes forever to get the power activated again to make the elevators start working. Aina’s sister works feverishly, but there’s an awful ten minutes where they stand on the lift, waiting desperately, listening to the echoing, awful moans around them. Galo reaches down to take Lio’s hand after watching it clench and unclench repeatedly, not allowing himself to make any noise when Lio grips it so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t break any bones.
When they finally get back to work, it’s the same thing over and over again. Galo’s hands clench around the release hatch and he wrenches his shoulders — it’s a twist, shove, twist motion over and over again until it pops free, hissing. He starts counting how long it takes to undo the hatches at one point, and then loses count of the number of pods after around forty, settling for the conclusion that it’s going to take ages.
“Another one!” Galo hollers, and there are resounding shouts from the others, assurances that they’re going to get them out of there. The unearthly wailing doesn’t stop, but Galo thinks it quiets the more they work, the more they save.
Hours later, they’re still at it.
There are no relieved words, no thanks, nothing at all and Galo finishes helping one of the Burnish out of the hatch with a grin, offering his hand to help her down as she unsteadily stumbles out. Being thanked would be awful, anyway, really. It’s partially his fault for not getting here in time, for not being able to rescue them sooner. He’ll just have to rescue more, and more, and more.
On the other end of the row, Lio has stopped. Galo notices, but can’t do anything yet, yanking the other wrist brace off to free the woman in the pod. He’s holding himself a little strangely, an arm around his chest, but Galo’s not sure what that means or how to read it. Maybe...he’s cold? He is shirtless and it’s not like it’s particularly warm in here but Galo doesn’t notice the chill.
“The rest are gathered at the end of the hall with emergency supplies! We’ll meet you there!” he booms, but the moment he’s sure she can walk on her own, he’s turning and heading to Lio’s hatch. Maybe with the loss of the Promare, he’s not able to assist them; there have been a few Burnish that were still solidly built despite the lack of proper diet and nutrition from being on the run. Lio’s strong as all hell, but he doesn’t have Promare flames to manipulate and use to lift things. It’s only right that Galo comes over and helps, but he’s learned enough to know that he has to be some kind of delicate when he offers or Lio gets that vaguely pinched, annoyed look that really doesn’t belong on his face. Galo’s not really...good at delicate, exactly, but for Lio, he’ll try.
“Here! I finished this row, I’ll help!” Galo starts. The hatch is undone, though. Perplexed, he glances from Lio to the open door and then ducks his head in: there’s nothing, there’s no one there. Baffled, he turns around, watching the others helping people out of the hatches but no one came out, he would have seen them. “Oh! We must have already—”
“No.” The word is sharp, cutting Galo’s well-intentioned theory in half just as cleanly as his sword would have. Lio doesn’t say anything else, mechanically moving to the next one, opening it with a crack and hiss, stepping up to start undoing the brackets holding that person’s arms to the brace, speaking soft and low under his voice, gentle in a way that makes Galo’s chest go tight.
People don’t just disappear and Galo would have seen them leave because they have to walk past him to get out. He looks up, to the sides, and then —
down.
On the floor there’s a tiny pile of white ash, some of it having scattered with the release of the vacuum, leaving a fine film along the line of the door. He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring at it, the realization settling awful and oily in the pit of his stomach.
“Galo. There are still Bur—” Lio stops and starts as smoothly as if nothing happened, like his voice isn’t trembling with barely-leashed anger, “there are still people who need your help.”
They haven’t known each other that long, but somehow Lio knows exactly what to say.
“Of course! I’ll give it my all!” As carefully as he can, Galo closes the door to keep the ashes from scattering all over; it seems right. That was a person in there, and someone out there cared for them, they might want the ashes back to bury them.
Rescuing person after person means he’s able to distract himself for the most part but there’s a traitorous part of his mind that keeps focusing on it: the pile of ashes was so small. It doesn’t seem right, that a person could exist all this time and then be reduced to nothing but ashes. Worse: it isn’t as if Kray is the kind of person who would take names, registering people. They might not ever know who all of the piles of ash used to be unless those in the pods adjacent remembered. The unfairness of it burns worse than any blaze.
Galo keeps track of each and every single vault he opens that’s empty; every time he opens one and no one comes out, he sees Lio look over and realizes that Lio’s doing the exact same thing at his. It’s difficult to make out detail in the dim, emergency lighting but the start of bruises are beginning to bloom over his chest, on his wrists and a few other places. Squashing the thought about how if they hadn’t gotten rid of the Promare, Lio could have healed himself, Galo wrenches another door open.
Truthfully, he doesn’t know how much time passes. They open vaults, help people out (or don’t) and move onto the next one. It’s only when a heavy, familiar hand presses to his shoulder that he finally pauses, turning to look into Ignis’ placid expression, wearing sunglasses even in the dim lighting of the ship. He’s so cool.
“We can handle the rest. There are six more Burning Rescue teams who just arrived. You’re relieved for the day. Don’t come back until tomorrow morning,” Ignis squeezes his shoulder once and then steps back, looking over at Lio, and Aina, who’s slowly made her way over after being relieved. “All three of you are relieved. We already have security teams set up within the ship. It’s fully stocked with food and enough beds for the time being to hold everyone while we evacuate those Foresight brought on. Don’t come back until you are at your best.”
It’s just the right thing to say to stifle Galo’s attempt at arguing; there are people here to do the job, people who haven’t been going since hours ago, and it’s not like they can’t come back. When they’re better able to help, they can return and get back to it, they can be useful — more useful than they would be right now. Galo still wants to protest, though, because he’s fine, he can totally keep going but if the others need to rest they can. Just as he opens his mouth to say it, a bony elbow jams itself right into space underneath his ribcage and his well-meaning protest starts and ends with a startled “But— hhgn!”
Betrayed, he stares down at Aina who doesn’t look apologetic in the slightest; behind her, Lio waits, fingers twitching where they hang loose at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands without flames or a hatch squeezed between his fingers. His other arm is still held to his chest and he looks paler than normal. The moment Lio notices him looking, his shoulders square and he turns his nose up, jaw clenched tight.
“Didn’t you hear the Captain?” Aina says, yawning hugely. She elbows him again for good measure and maybe, maybe she’s a little right because he sees it coming and still doesn’t manage to stop it in time. Hey, he tries, only to be steamrolled by her. “For the day. We’ve been going for over a day. Both of you even longer!”
Oh. Oh , he hadn’t realized. From the shock on Lio’s face, Galo knows that he hadn’t either. Now that he’s stopped, his body sees fit to remind him that yeah, they have been going non-stop over a day: dropped into a lake, into a secret facility, and then into a slew of battles culminating in this, hours of searching for survivors. His body betrays him now that he’s stood still long enough to realize; when he looks down at his hands, they’re blistered and raw from fighting with particularly difficult hatches. Aina’s look the same; he’s not close enough to Lio to see his hands but Galo can guess at the state of them.
“Galo. Go home.” Ignis says again, sternly, and then rounds on his heel to start giving orders to the newcomers. “You’re to stop working as well, Lio Fotia.”
“Listen to the captain,” Aina seconds, sliding her arm through one of Galo’s, hooking their elbows together.
“He’s not my captain,” Lio mutters sullenly, but doesn’t try to open any more hatches, so that counts as a win. The captain’s persuasive like that.
“He didn’t tell you to go home!” Just him! The unfairness.
“ I’m not an idiot,” Aina answers, tugging him bodily down the hallway, Lio following them.
This time he’s expecting the bony elbow shoved into his side. He dodges it, barely, and nearly trips over his own feet, betrayed at every turn. It’s only the slightest stumble and he catches himself, pumping his fist into the air because it was totally, 100% intentional so he could strike a pose. Neither Lio nor Aina look particularly riled up, but it’s fine. “Alright! We’ll go home, rest and come back and help more than before!”
They take a turn down one of the hallways, where a dimly lit neon sign has an arrow pointing to 2A QUARTERS. The hall’s a mess of people, though some are trying to keep traffic moving; those with suitcases are being ushered out, and on the opposite end of the hall where 1A is marked, there’s a stern-faced security officer watching everything.
Abruptly, Galo realizes two very important things.
One: the people they’ve rescued — Lio’s people, are going to have to stay on the ship that very nearly killed them (or, in some cases succeeded) because the Freeze Force had destroyed their camp, stole their homes. It’s arguably the safest place for anyone who is, was a Burnish because they don’t have the security or manpower to provide security elsewhere.
Two, Lio falls into that category in a much more dangerous capacity. He was the leader of Mad Burnish, and it isn’t as if he’s particularly good at blending in even if he is a head shorter than most of those around them. It’s entirely possible that keeping him here is one of the worst ideas anyone could have; there are going to be plenty of idiots who would blame all of this on him instead of putting the blame where it belongs. It isn’t as if public opinion is going to change overnight and they can’t guarantee that the right news will spread as fast as it needs to. There’s bound to be people harboring the same ugly sentiments that Vulcan was spewing.
Hotels are right out, too. If anything, that would just put even more people in danger if they’re discovered and security would be a nightmare. This is arguably one of the most secure places for them to be. Galo still doesn’t want to suggest that Lio stays the night here.
Somehow, Aina’s led them outside into the bright daylight without him even noticing, Lio a shadow at their backs that melts into the crowd of people without saying a single word to them. Squinting, he tries to figure out where he’s gone as Aina firmly drags him out of the way of emergency workers trying to go up the ramp with supplies. When they make it through the crowd, he somehow knows just where to look, like it’s instinct, eyes drawn to him. There, talking to his generals, face unreadable, shoulders squared despite the exhaustion he must be feeling. Meis and Gueira both look concerned, the latter gesturing repeatedly at Lio’s chest which is absolutely a mess of bruising, visible in the sunlight.
“Over there, jeez, you really are hopeless, huh? C’mon!” Aina’s cheeks puff in faux-irritation, cutting through the crowd until they’re beside Lio, both Meis and Gueira tensing on instinct before they realize who it is. Despite the confirmation, neither of them relax entirely and Galo isn’t sure if he’s a little annoyed by it or relieved that Lio has people so dedicated to his safety. Both, maybe.
“Lio!” Wait, no, he knows how to go about this. He turns his attention on both Meis and Gueira, trusting them to have Lio’s best interests at heart like he does. “The Captain gave us instructions to go,” fuck, fuck, not home, but — “rest! This isn’t resting.”
“He’s not my captain.” Lio whirls on him, betrayed, and Galo thinks he does a rather admirable job of not withering under that look.
“Boss…” Gueira and Meis share the same wry, disbelieving look they gave each other when helmets and armor covered their faces, except this time now Galo can seeit. Rude. Lio moves, turning to face both him and Aina while his shadows fall into step behind him, guarding his flank, protective.
Gueira (always Galo’s favorite, obviously) continues, “Maybe, he’s right. We can handle things for you here!”
Meis (also Galo’s favorite, now) nods, smacking his fist against his palm. “You can depend on us. We’ll take care of it.”
Rather than arguing like Galo half-expects, Lio digs the toe of his boot into the ground with a frustrated noise before stalking up to where Ignis is calling orders, getting in front of him.
“Uh-oh.” Aina says, and Vinny echoes it just before Galo himself can. They might have only known Lio for a short time but that determined set to his shoulders and his jaw is already becoming familiar. The four of them rush over to follow Lio, nearly running into each other when they stop abruptly, a jumble of well-intentioned arms and limbs.
“Take Meis and Gueira, the elderly and the children to the Burning Rescue headquarters with you, along with a medical team and security,” Lio demands, not asks. Galo’s not surprised he’s run the same calculations in his head and come up with the very same answer; this might be a secure location but that doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous. “It would be better if you could split them, but I understand that may not be possible with the rescue efforts.”
“It isn’t.” Ignis’ face is unreadable with those glasses yet when he turns his gaze on Galo behind Lio, he can feel the disappointment. Galo straightens, trying for his best posture. Just as he’s about to speak, Ignis continues, “I thought I ordered the three of you to leave.”
“Make it possible. And you aren’t my captain,” Lio steps forward like he hasn’t been fighting all day, like he hadn't been fighting for the past who knows how long, like he intends to throw down with the Captain right now.
“If you would let me finish,” Ignis says deliberately, and for once Galo sees Lio look vaguely cowed before a raw, red hand flicks in a clear go on gesture. “It isn’t possible to house all of them, but we’ve already made arrangements where we can. It’s better discussed in private, though.”
“Meis.” Lio holds up a hand just as one of his generals starts to try and shoulder past to protest; it’s genuinely wild to see Lio command the same respect and attention that Ignis does, despite being less than half his size. “Keep watch over the others. Gueira, get a headcount if it hasn’t been done already. Make sure we’ve got a working roster of anyone who doesn’t want to give names and personal information to them. Don’t share it.”
“On it, boss,” they say in unison, and vanish into the throng of people until Galo can’t see them any longer, can’t tell the difference between Burnish and normal humans which is oddly the most relieving thing he can think of right now.
Once they’re gone, Lio looks up at Ignis’ shades, stubborn down to his bones. “Lead the way,” he orders (orders! The captain! Galo’s going to have a heart-attack at this rate. Aina looks like she’s torn between glee and horror.) What’s even more impressive is the captain doesn’t argue or try to change his mind; he just jerks his chin and starts walking trusting the three of them to follow.
They’re led to what’s apparently the secondary bridge; there’s a massive table with a ton of glowing displays on it, some fractured and not functioning but more importantly, there’s food laid out. A few quiet words and those that were in there leave for the time being, bringing their paper plates with them. Aina doesn’t wait to start loading up a plate, and Galo’s quick behind her, his stomach growling loudly, traitorously.
It’s daytime and Galo isn’t sure the last time any of them ate, not really. Time seems like a blurry thing, unsteady and wobbly at best, his memory all over the place. Yesterday, maybe? They were given water while recovering people, along with nutrition bars but that only did so much. Galo piles his plate high with protein; it’s pretty bland chicken, clearly just the bulk orders from the store to feed as many people as fast as possible but food is food. For a moment, all he wants is pizza and all he can think about is the sight of the pizza-maker tied to that awful machine, the life dragged out of him while he screamed. Suddenly, he’s not hungry for it anymore.
“It would be better to split them up further, but I understand that you’re doing all you can,” Lio says quietly, as close to thanks as Galo thinks it’s going to get. Then, after a pause that Lio is clearly trying to pretend didn’t happen, “I’ll stay with the others, here.”
“Are your shadows gonna let that happen?” Aina asks dubiously, sitting on top of the table rather than at the chair, watching Lio and the captain talk like it’s a particularly interesting round of tennis, eyes flicking back and forth.
She’s right; they’ll want him somewhere safe even as he assures their safety, and Galo thinks before he speaks like always. “He can stay with me.” A pause, turning to look at Lio, earnest. “You can stay with me, I mean. Until we figure this out!”
“Take him to a hospital first, for the broken ribs,” Ignis instructs and then levels a look at Galo from behind his sunglasses. “You, too.”
Lio flinches like he’s been struck but he’s not sorry enough to look down in guilt; he looks straight at Galo, arms crossed, stubborn beyond reason.
“ Broken ribs?” Galo shouts, gesturing at him wildly. He knows that CPR means sometimes breaking someone’s ribs with the compressions but it’s a small price to pay for saving a life. There’s usually medical attention that follows, though, not working through over a day of rescue. “Broken ribs! From CPR! You—”
He’s still shouting, still scolding when they make their way to their bike. He’s mildly placated by the fact that they’re not really broken anymore; piloting had healed them a little bit and they were mostly bruises, but only mildly.
He slides onto his bike after the barest moment of hesitation — after they’d both piloted the mech together, a motorcycle shouldn’t be an issue. It’s only after Lio places a hand on his bicep and swings a leg over the motorcycle that Galo realizes how he’s fatally miscalculated in this moment.
When they were piloting together it was intimate in a way he didn’t have words for; the mech moved as soon as they thought about moving it, beautifully responsive. It felt like the Promare did, like an extension of their will. It moved because of their will, their intent, powered by the blazing star of Lio’s power behind him. This is something else entirely; there’s no metal and machine to keep them separate. There’s the press of Lio’s shockingly cool, bare chest against the sweaty skin of Galo’s back, the briefest brush of fingertips against the line of his hip as he settles himself onto the motorcycle and Galo feels like he’s in the armor again with Lio blazing behind him. Behind him, there’s a sharp intake of breath, Lio’s arms tightening around his waist, hands flattening against Galo’s belly like warm brands against his skin.
“Lio?” Galo rasps, not quite sure where all the oxygen in his chest went, sucked from him the moment their skin made contact. Then, just as quickly as it started, it’s like the tide recedes. Suddenly, he can breathe again, sucking in a shuddering breath before looking over his shoulder at Lio, not sure what just happened.
“Are you going to start it?” Lio asks behind him, but instead of impatient he just sounds faintly shocked, unable to entirely mask it with a nonchalant tone. “You piloted the last one, you ought to let me drive this time.”
“What? No! She requires the right touch!” She’s just a bike but he’s telling the truth, sort of; her throttle is persnickety and Galo’s absolute shit at not giving everything a hundred and ten percent: fingers too big, not meant for fine, careful movements like she requires sometimes. (He’s going to let Lio drive her anyway, but he has to put up the fight all the same.) “Besides! I am very awake now. It shouldn’t take long to get home.”
Lio breathes in like he wants to correct him; it’s not his home, after all (it could be, but that’s a conversation for later). Galo traitorously starts the bike to cover whatever he’s going to say and the wind whipping by them steals any words.
Despite the cool temperature that had so many bundled in blankets, despite going just a touch over the speed limit, Galo doesn’t feel the chill at all.
🔺🔻🔺
For all that they were able to pilot the mech with no training, no manual, no instructions, it’s kind of embarrassing how they both fumble to get off of the motorcycle when Galo pulls into the parking spot. They move at once and Galo nearly topples both of them over when his pants catch on the motorcycle’s footstand, steadied only by Lio pressing a hand against the bike and against his side. Galo’s breath catches again. “If you kill yourself trying to get off your bike I’m going to tell everyone.”
“That’s very rude,” Galo informs him, already used to Lio’s threats with no teeth behind them. As steadily as he can, Galo settles the bike and puts the tarp over it so dust doesn’t accumulate and together they walk around the garage to his apartment door. Fishing his keys out of his pants, Galo bites back a hiss when his raw hands close around the door handle. The rough rubber of the grips on his motorcycle was bad enough, but the cold metal hurts in a different way, aching and deep. Lio’s eyes glance at his hands but Galo pushes ahead before he can say anything.
“Welcome to,” Galo pauses in the doorway, thinking for a half a second (temporary home for ex-Burnish arson-terrorists just, uh, doesn’t work), throwing his arms wide, “Galo Thymos’—”
Lio slides in the door past him before he can finish and starts working on his nine billion buckles with a faint hiss, grimacing. It’s only when the door closes that Galo realizes that he’s not sure what...really comes next. He’s had the others over a few times, sure, for movie nights or nights when there was just so much paperwork that they made a pact to all suffer through it together. This is something else entirely.
Once his boots are off, Lio moves through the apartment like he owns it, though, heading straight into the kitchen to survey it, looking over Galo’s half-dying houseplant (a gift and challenge from Remi, to try and keep something other than himself alive and he wasn’t exactly winning, judging by all the leaves falling off of it) taking in the screened windows, the way that there are breaks in all of the clutter on his countertops to allow easy access out, just in case. Galo sees the moment that the reason behind it clicks; Lio’s eyes flicker to each of the windows and the door knowingly, mapping escape routes, taking note of how every way out of the house is clear and easy in case of a fire. Blessedly, he doesn’t say anything about it.
“I’ll give you the grand tour!” Galo offers, as if there’s more to the apartment than a living room, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom. Still, he shows each one off, arms spread wide. When it’s done does he falter a little: does he offer the couch? The bed? A shower? He’s not sure what the order of operations is for bringing home the ex-leader of a terrorist organization who weren’t actually the bad guys at all. Who he also kissed to save his life, which Galo’s...not even sure he really remembers. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can make something if you—”
“No,” Lio interrupts him before he gets too far, seeming to realize that Galo’s floundering here now that they’re in his apartment, not sure what to do next. “I need to borrow something to wear. I can sleep on the couch after I shower so I don’t get it dirty.”
Right, they’re both...covered in ash and soot and smell like smoke. They’ll probably have to get rid of what’s left of their clothes, really, there’s no way to salvage them. This, he can do, though. Lio’s pointed him in a direction and Galo knows how to follow it through.
“Clothes!” he agrees, and ducks into his room to start banging drawers open and shut. When he comes back out, mouth opening to apologize for how they won’t fit, the water’s already running in the bathroom behind the closed door and Galo stills, not sure if he ought to knock and drop the clothes off, or wait until he comes out with a towel, or. Two quick raps on the door before he can talk himself out of it, and then he leans in to the crack of the door, voice raised. “I have your clothes out here when you are done!”
There’s no answer, but that’s fine; he putters aimlessly around his apartment until he finds one of the medical kits stored in a kitchen cabinet. Maybe after a shower, Lio will let him look at his injuries. Washing his hands under the kitchen sink hurts more than he expects, blistered hands raw and red but it’s better he does this now than risks infection later. The kit is left out on the countertop for Lio when he comes out when he’s done and Galo fills a cup with water, just about to pour it onto the struggling houseplant when the bathroom door slides open and Lio steps out in a rush of absurdly muggy air and the scent of Galo’s bodywash clinging to him.
Oh. Oh , he’s really, really miscalculated here. He’d sort of assumed that they’d go straight to bed, he’d get a few hours of sleep on the couch while Lio slept in the bed and then they’d be back at rescuing again. What Galo hadn’t realized is that Lio would come out of the bathroom clad in shorts and a P.C.F.D. t-shirt too large for him, hair damp and dripping onto the collar of his shirt, rumpled, all his sharp edges softened in a way Galo can’t put words to. His traitorous heart skips a beat.
“You’re killing your plant,” Lio says, padding barefoot over to where water is dribbling messily from the half-tilted cup, most of it not even hitting the plant at this point. He comes closer and closer and Galo finds himself holding his breath, throat working in a harsh swallow. “You really are an idiot, you’re only supposed to moisten the soil a little bit. Don’t pour it onto the leaves.”
“Oh.” The cup is plucked from his hand as easily as anything and Lio dumps most of it down the sink, pouring the little remainder evenly around the stem of the plant, turning it a little bit more into the sunlight. So softly Galo’s not even sure he knows he says it, Lio murmurs, “There.”
Only when it’s done does Lio seem to realize how close they are in Galo’s tiny kitchen, looking up at him through damp eyelashes. The frown on his face smooths out and the tightness of his shoulders fades; no longer the leader of Mad Burnish giving orders on how to handle situations, but Lio Fotia. Desperately, Galo thinks he wants to get to know both sides of him, the leader and the man under that armor.
Lio doesn’t seem near as flustered as Galo is, which is a little unfair when Galo feels like he’s housing all of the Promare in his chest all over again, the heat and energy threatening to swell and burst free. If anything, instead of flustered, he looks calculating, amused even, at the way Galo’s floundering. The corners of his lips tilted up just slightly. He leans in closer, putting the cup onto the drying rack and Galo’s breath freezes in his chest; they’re close, they’re so, so close. Lio remembers, then? Is he going to—
“Go take a bath, Galo Thymos. You smell,” Lio murmurs, and then rounds on his heel to start looking through Galo’s things scattered across the living room.
Galo feels like he ought to object (it’s his house, shouldn’t he be giving the orders?) but exhaustion and the siren song of his bed wins out in the end. By the time he’s done washing up (the water is freezing, Lio used all of the hot water!!), the sliver of sunlight peeking through the curtains in the bathroom has started to go orange, the day slipping away faster than he realized. Shoving his legs into a pair of sweatpants, he debates the need for the shirt he’s brought and tugs it on anyway, mostly because he’s too lazy to put it away again and Lio seems like the type to give him shit if he tosses it onto the ground in his room for later.
Coming back out of the bathroom, Galo tosses the damp towels into the washing machine on his way into the living room, where mint green hair is splashed over one of the throw pillows Remi got him after the first time he came over. The hoodie that had been tossed over the back of the couch is nowhere to be found until Galo rounds the side table and sees Lio’s stolen it, curled onto one end of the couch in a self-made nest of the throw pillows and Galo’s hoodie four sizes too big for him. The light from the slowly setting sun is creeping over the back of the couch; it’s going to shine on his face and wake him up soon, but for the time being it mostly just paints the soft green of his hair in orange and gold.
Galo’s jaw clenches, his breath caught by the sudden lump in his throat. He looks… Galo doesn’t have words for it, but he feels that same swell of awe that he’d felt all those years ago when he thought Kray had saved him, but better. He’d been backlit by the burning of Galo’s building, broad-shouldered and terribly strong like Galo had always wanted to be, giving him something to work toward. Lio doesn’t have the same broad-shouldered mountain-like presence that Kray has but Galo knows without a doubt that he can depend on him for anything. It’s only fair that it goes the other way, too. He hadn’t known what Kray was back then, but he knows exactly who and what Lio is and thinks he’d probably do anything for him.
Like, for instance, saving him from getting an awful crick in his neck, sleeping on Galo’s admittedly none too comfortable couch. Galo can’t rescue him from everything but he can save him from sore muscles. Gingerly, he kneels down and presses fingertips to Lio’s shoulder, dwarfed in the folds of the hoodie and — it happens in a flash, too fast for Galo to react. Lio stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes flashing open. They tumble backward, Galo hitting the ground, with an oof, Lio crouched over him threateningly. His hands come together, fists clenched tight and then drawing apart like he’s summoning his sword except —
Except, he does. Pink and blue flicker around his fists, sparks sputtering weakly and then flaring bright and vivid in the dying light of the sun creeping through the curtains. All of it happens in an instant, Galo gaping like an idiot while Lio presses forward to defend against the threat, the weapon sparkling but not burning as it kisses his throat.
Galo sees the moment Lio realizes who he is, that he’s not a threat, his eyes going wide, lips parting. Truthfully, he's not sure whether Lio’s shocked at the appearance of his weapon or that he’d drawn it against Galo. Both, maybe.
“What!” Galo shouts for lack of anything else, staring at the blade that should be impossible, they’d burnt the Earth and closed the rift, that shouldn’t be possible.
“What ?” Lio breathes, staring at his hands like they aren’t even his own, all the sleepy softness burned from him, sitting up straight, shoulders drawn tight. The blade dissipates with a graceful twist of his fingers like he’s pulling a thread, unspooling the fire until it fades into a shower of sparks that putter out before they touch fabric.
He’s not wearing those gloves, Galo realizes abruptly, they must be in the pile of clothes meant for the trash, or maybe they just hadn’t survived the fight and Galo’d never noticed. The blisters on Lio’s hands start to flicker, raw, red skin crackling pink and purple for a moment before they fade out and leave his hands perfectly smooth, healed from wrenching door after door open.
Later, Galo will run over that reaction in his mind over and over again, hating that any of the Burnish had to sleep with one eye open, always ready for a threat to come at them, needing to be on alert at all times. Right now, he grabs Lio’s hand, heedless of the flames (they won’t burn him, he knows with full certainty) and then lets out an undignified yelp when Lio’s hands spark again, the flames shivering over his knuckles, licking down the elegant line of Lio’s fingers to Galo’s own hand. It tickles down to his very bones as the flames spread from Lio’s his hands to his own and the raw, blistered skin melts away until there’s nothing but the rougher, calloused skin from before.
Above him, Lio draws in a slow, smooth breath and touches his chest, looking shocked.
“What?” Galo asks again, strangled, because he can feel them, can feel the flicker of energy humming where they touch, like tiny fireworks flickering between them. He doesn’t pull away only because he knows by now that Lio’s flames won’t burn him, but there’s still an uneasy trickle of fear creeping through him, worrying that they weren’t really successful, that they weren’t able to stop this. “Lio!”
“I don’t know,” Lio answers, hushed, curling his fingers against Galo’s hand, staring at the way flames dance across their knuckles, hands fitted together neatly. “I thought… mm. They’re sentient. Maybe some of them wanted to stay here?”
Galo can’t imagine why they would want to, not with how poorly they, and the humans they inhabited have been treated, but it’s as good of an answer as any when neither of them know anything about how, or why. Maybe they just like Lio. Galo can imagine that more easily than anything else.
“We— we’ll need to tell someone,” Galo finally says, voice just as low, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that Lio’s practically straddling a thigh, a knee between both of Galo’s thighs. He doesn’t want to move, though, not when moving means he’ll have to release Lio’s hand. “There might be others. They should know.”
“Not Burning Rescue,” Lio says sharply, and withdraws his hand, the sparks puttering out in a flicker between them. When Galo tries to summon them to his hand, reaching inside himself, there’s the flicker of warmth he’s starting to recognize as Lio’s flames, white-hot, never burning but he can’t make them manifest. He’s not sure what to do with the faint sense of disappointment. “Galo, promise me. You can’t, not until I speak to the others. We can’t risk it.”
Part of him balks at the idea; he might find it easy to disobey authority when it comes to rescuing people, but not telling the captain, not telling the others? That’s putting lives in danger, isn’t it?
“Galo! ” Lio’s voice is sharp, his hand reaching out to grab Galo’s chin tightly, making him look up and meet Lio’s stare. The points of contact where Lio’s fingers rest makes his skin prickle and he’s hopelessly torn between paying attention to that and the shifting lilac-pink of his eyes. Sparks flicker over Lio’s lips, and Galo horribly thinks about kissing him instead of any kind of smart retort. “Promise me. ”
“Okay,” Galo manages, swallowing harshly. There wasn’t any other answer. “I promise.”
The hand releases his chin and Lio throws himself back onto the couch; Galo resolutely doesn’t let himself feel any sort of regret for the loss of touch, bracing a hand on the arm of the couch instead to stand, grunting at the effort. One of Lio’s bare ankles rests against his leg, unintentional but still making butterflies rise up in his stomach traitorously. Sparks flicker over the material of his pants but they don’t ignite; Lio’s leg moves a second later. Galo’s a little lost because he really, really doesn’t know how to deal with this right now.
All at once, he’s exhausted, like he’s been wrung out and the effort of making it to his bed seems Herculean in effort. The fight bleeds out of Lio in turn, leaving him slumping into the back of the couch, lifting his hand between them to summon the flames once more, before twisting his wrist, extinguishing them with a graceful movement Galo knows he could never make.
“Bed?” The word is tugged out of Galo before he realizes what he’s saying and then he shakes his head, damp hair falling into his face before he shoves it back unsteadily. “We should...sleep. We need to go back in the morning! People will still need our help.”
Gingerly, Lio unfolds himself from the couch and stands, seemingly unbothered by the fact that it puts the two of them nearly chest-to-chest again, looking up at him with faint amusement now instead of insistent, expected demand to be listened to. Galo is given a thorough once-over that makes him feel as if he’s wearing nothing and then Lio slides past him, just close enough to feel the warmth of his body. “Then let’s go.”
“Uh,” Galo replies intelligently, while Lio breezes into the bedroom like he’s lived here forever, leaving the door open.
By the time he gathers himself and makes his way into the bedroom, Lio’s already a lump underneath two comforters, the wall against his back, hair a spill of green against the navy of Galo’s pillows. For all that this is Galo’s apartment, Lio acts as if he’s been here a dozen times before, the blankets drawn with the full expectation that Galo’s going to join him.
“I have a couch?” Galo attempts, faintly strangled because he’s still trying to reconcile the sight of Lio nestled in his bed like he belongs there.
“Obviously,” Lio rolls his eyes and waits patiently for him to decide what he’s going to do. “It’s terrible. Are they very cheap with their pay?”
They sort of are, but that’s beside the point. The reward of saving people more than makes up for it, but Galo distinctly remembers the captain coming into work after meeting with Kray, quiet anger clinging to him like a second uniform after an unsuccessful attempt at negotiating their pay higher. Now, looking back on it, it feels like another betrayal all over again.
“I like my couch,” Galo retorts belatedly, taking the invitation mostly because he’s relatively certain if he stays standing another moment he’s going to fall asleep upright. The bed dips with the addition of his weight as he settles on his side with his back to Lio to give him a little privacy, if he needs. Lio makes an annoyed noise as he’s tumbled close against the line of Galo’s back with the full addition of his weight but doesn’t move away. Instead, he presses one hand to his shoulder blade and the other over the curve of his hip. The flush of power comes back, licking over Galo’s hip, wringing a shivery little noise out of him that he doesn’t know how to bite back. “It’s a good couch! You fell asleep on it!”
“It’s too small for me to sleep well on, let alone someone as absurdly large as you. ” Lio counters, hand sliding over the curve of his hip, neatly sidling up until he’s spooning Galo from behind. He’s too small to properly do it, not dwarfing Galo the way he would be were their positions reversed, but it’s comforting all the same to have him there. Then, patiently, as if Galo is a particularly simple creature he’s explaining this to and he just can’t resist the urge to get the last word in, “This is better. Who bought you the pillows?”
“Remi,” Galo chokes out, staring at his wall, watching the slow, lazy flickers of Burnish flames cast shadows against his wall. It’s taking everything in him to not let on that it’s like he’s burning from the inside out, the heat pooling in his belly only growing as he becomes hyper-aware of every single point of contact between them.
He’s shared a bed before, but it was with his teammates and usually just one of the cots in the Burning Rescue building when they were too exhausted to safely drive home but none of them wanted to brave the floor. This is entirely different, this is intentional in a way that he doesn’t know how to categorize right now, especially when one of Lio’s legs fits itself between both of Galo’s legs, and a damp forehead presses against the thin material of his shirt. Neither of them have mentioned the B word yet.
It is better than sleeping alone on an (okay, admittedly not that comfortable couch) but it’s also overwhelming in a thousand ways he doesn’t have words or experience for. Does Lio have that experience?
“I can hear you thinking. We won’t get answers right now.” Lio murmurs from behind him. The covers rustle and the hand against his bare hip shifts, fingers skimming over the line of his belly as he adjusts, somehow fitting himself even more tightly against Galo’s back. “Go to sleep.”
“I’m trying!” Valiantly, Galo holds back a wheeze or an accusation that he’s really, really trying to but it’s next to impossible with Lio’s hands on him, the prickle of power fluttering back and forth between them. How Lio sounds so steady is baffling, because with every breath in, Galo’s desperately trying to convince himself that the oxygen is not just fanning the flames banked behind his ribcage, a low simmer threatening to turn into a bonfire at any moment. Lio feels warmer now, at least; Galo had thought he felt cool earlier and it explains the lack of hot water left in the bath.
He hasn’t known Lio a terribly long time, but he’s always been warm, like a star that happened to be trapped in a body. Concerned, Galo’s hand slides down from its death-grip on the pillow to fit itself over Lio’s, fingers tangling together and then deliberately drags it up away from his stomach so Lio’s arm is draped over his torso instead. Early morning sunlight creeping through the half-open blinds will probably wake him up; Galo doesn’t want to get up and fix it, and besides, the sun setting through the blinds makes it easier for him to study Lio’s hand.
Both of their hands are free of the blisters from earlier. Lio’s have calluses around the curve of his thumb, the ball of his hand from holding a sword and riding his motorcycle, just as Galo’s do from his death grip on the controls of the Matoi, or his motorcycle. Gently, he traces the lines of Lio’s hand, watching purple-pink sparks trail along the lines his fingers make like miniature fireflies. They both probably ought to be a little more concerned about this, but now that he’s laying down, more than anything Galo is just tired.
Only when he’s satisfied himself with exploring the palm of Lio’s hand does he turn it, trailing rough fingertips over his knuckles, tracing the fine bones in his hand up to the delicate curve of his wrist, fitting his whole hand around it easily. That was a mistake, because he’s trying to sleep and now all he can think about is how much strength is housed in such a deceptively slender body.
Behind him, there’s a groan that’s not sexy in the slightest, but clearly irritated, Lio’s face mashing into the space between his shoulder blades. “Galo, I will push you out of this bed.”
“It’s my bed!” Galo cups Lio’s hand between both of his, because if he’s going down he fully intends on dragging Lio with him; it’s only fair. “ You are making it very difficult to sleep.”
Behind him, Lio’s body starts shaking and for a moment, Galo’s horribly afraid it’s because of tears. It was bad enough seeing Lio’s dragon crying and being helpless to stop it, but this would be worse. “Hey,” he ventures cautiously, folding his hands more securely around Lio’s, leaning his body weight into him very, very gently. “I’ll get to sleep anyway, don’t worry! And I don’t kick that much! Lucia does, don’t share a cot with her if you can help it.”
Only a moment later it becomes evident that no, he’s not crying; Lio drags in a breath and presses his cheek against the broad curve of Galo’s back, laughing softly.
“Shut up and go to sleep, Galo Thymos,” Lio murmurs against his shoulder, squeezing him just once before letting himself finally, finally relax. Galo can hear the smile in his voice and he feels warm for an entirely different reason, not bothering to hide his smile in the pillow in response. It feels good to be reminded that they can smile after so much ugliness.
After a few more moments of restlessness, Galo finally finds himself asleep.