Archive of Our Own ^beta

He stepped away for five minutes. It really shouldn’t have been long enough for anything to go wrong. And yet, when Fit returned from the bathroom, he found the one person he was supposed to watch missing. Nowhere to be seen.

Roier’s halloween party was highly-anticipated throughout the island. It was taking place in Cellbit’s castle, arguably one of the best locations for the evening’s theme, and absolutely everyone was in attendance. They pulled out all the stops to make the night unforgettable too. Maximus was manning the music, Foolish was behind the bar, the eggs were tucked safely within NINHO, and the couple in charge did not disappoint either, covering the place in horrifying decorations. 

Haunting lights cast shadows along the walls, fog machines blotted out more sight than was probably safe, and hanging from the ceiling were skeletons that Fit knew were too realistic to be entirely fake — not that he would dare approach the hosts about it. 

No matter how the scene was set, it was the perfect environment for the island’s residents to lay aside their worries and relax. Fit walked into the party with those very intentions. He wasn’t sure he’d be leaving with any of that achieved.

Pac was a dear friend — dearer that he thought wise to admit out loud — and it was for this reason that Fit spent most of his time around the guy. Unfortunately, he failed to realize that “spending time” with this particular friend in this particular environment was basically asking for trouble.

Pac had made some offhanded comments about his crazy escapades while drunk on a few separate occasions – an alarming number of them involving heavy machinery – but Fit hadn’t really had a chance to witness anything of the sort. Until now.

He returned from the bathroom to discover that his companion had managed to escape the party unnoticed. Fit asked a handful of others if they’d seen where he might’ve gone, but they had been absorbed, one way or another, in their own little worlds; Cellbit was too busy drunkenly professing his boundless adorations to Roier, Forever was sniffling into Bad’s shoulder, and Phil was already busy babysitting Wilbur. 

Only a half-awake Mike had been able to point him in a specific direction, and it was given with a large amount of hesitancy. It led him deeper into the dark corridors of the party’s location. Fit didn’t think it would be appealing to a drunk person, but maybe he was searching for a place to rest.

“Pac?” Fit’s voice echoed in the empty halls of Cellbit’s castle. They were twisting and endless, jarring even though the fog machine hadn’t spread that far. Fit was completely alone, not a soul, dead or alive, around to answer his calls. Muted music thumped from somewhere behind him. Secretly, he was grateful for the excuse to escape it. Maximus was awesome, but loud noises got overwhelming fast. 

He ducked into another side room, glancing dazedly around for his friend. Not there either. Pac was surprisingly efficient at disappearing. Fit was beginning to regret letting the man drink, even if he never would’ve predicted how it would go wrong. 

The whole endeavor was proving to be more trouble than it was technically worth. No one had tasked him with watching Pac. He’d done that to himself, just worried his friend would get hurt in the midst of his fumbling haze. Cellbit’s castle certainly provided plenty of ways to do that. 

As cool as it was aesthetically, being on the edge of such a steep cliff was fairly dangerous. Before he’d wandered off, Fit already had his hands full keeping Pac away from the extremely-sharp swords displayed in the throne room. He didn’t want to think about what else he could be getting up to wherever he was. “Pac, where are you?” 

Nothing.

Maybe Fit was doing something wrong. Maybe Mike’s directions were faulty. Maybe Pac had gone the opposite way. Maybe he’d taken an elevator that Fit hadn’t noticed. Maybe it wasn’t any of that. Maybe Pac had just warped home to sleep it off, and the whole search was one massive waste of time. Either way, not knowing irritated him to no end. 

Fit was about to accept defeat when his ears caught onto the slightest inkling of laughter from further down the passage. Something he recognized almost as second nature.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him or not. It wouldn’t be the first time he had imagined his dear friend’s jovial voice while alone. The sound was certainly hard to forget.

Then, as though it sensed his hesitation, he heard it again. “Pac?” Fit started towards the noise. “Is that you?”

He found himself leaving the enclosed interior and stepping onto an open balcony. It spanned the outer wall, but as he looked around, he found himself remaining as alone as before. A blast of cold night air stole any chance of hearing phantom sounds again — because that was definitely what he had just experienced. The haunted castle was messing with him, using Pac’s laugh like an unfair siren’s call. 

Fit sighed, exhausted, and turned to leave, when a red solo cup dropped at his feet. Startled, he followed its path upwards, and his jaw dropped. “Pac! What the fuck are you doing up there?”

Pac smiled down at him from his perch on the roof, legs swinging over the edge. There was an empty wine bottle next to him, and an unnerving sway to his posture. “Oh! Hi, Fit! When did you get here?”

“Just now, man.” Fit bent and plucked the cup off the ground. It smelled like tequila and a horrible mix of something his nose couldn’t identify. Whatever had once been inside, it clearly wasn’t consumed in moderation. He could practically feel the hangover his friend would be sporting in the day to come. “How did you get there?”

“How?” Pac trailed off, narrowing his eyes. 

Fit watched him scan his environment. There were no vines to latch onto or low roofs to scale. The bricks jutted out of the wall, but none were remarkable enough to make climbing an easy job. Pac looked far too confused for someone who was capable of performing some feat of gymnastics, which was the only way this situation would make sense. There was no visible way he could’ve gotten into that spot. It was a truly curious circumstance.

Finally, after a few silent minutes, Pac came to a conclusion, “I have no idea.”

“You don’t know?” Fit felt his resolve cracking slightly. “That’s fine. That’s no problem. Do you think you can come down?”

“Uh,” Pac clicked his tongue. “Nah.”

Fit sighed, but the answer wasn’t unexpected. If getting up was a problem, then the same was the case vice versa. He would need to get creative with his solution, and quickly, or else Pac might fall and hurt himself. 

Ducking back inside to search the hall for anything useful, he was reminded of how utterly abandoned this section of the castle was. Fit had been hoping for a couch or armchair that Pac could aim to land on. Instead, it was devoid of furniture and decorations, all those efforts having been focused closer to the party. 

He was left with no other choice. Fit returned outside to deliver the bad news. 

“Okay, Pac. You’re gonna have to jump down,” he said. Pac tilted his head, obviously confused by the blatant bad idea. “It’s perfectly safe, don’t worry. I’ll catch you. Just try to land in my arms.”

Pac’s eyes grew so wide that Fit feared they might pop out of his head. His face flushed from more than merely alcohol, mouth agape in a silent shock. He stammered out a small response, barely audible, “Land in your arms? You’re gonna… carry me?”

“Yeah,” Fit reiterated, “Sorry, I know this isn’t the best since you’re probably dizzy–”

“No,” Pac blurted, and the other man’s mouth snapped shut. Fit retracted his arms slightly, concerned, and this seemed to alarm Pac even more. He hurried to recover, slurring his words, “No, it’ll be fine! I would like for you to catch me… Please?”

There was a level of determination to his stare that catapulted Fit’s heart into a steady, beating rhythm. Suddenly, it felt like something greater than assisting his drunk friend. He wasn’t sure if the rush of adrenaline in his veins was fueled by fear or an emotion he’d rather not name.

“Alright,” Fit exhaled sharply. “Jump whenever you’re ready. I won’t let you get hurt.”

Pac smiled – knowing, genuine, so painfully trusting – and nodded. Fit’s heart squeezed, but he forced himself to focus. The other man tipped closer to the edge, legs swinging lazily. Even if he managed little moments of clarity, there was no ignoring how inebriated he truly was. Pac took one final breath, rolled his shoulders, and pushed off. 

For a brief second, he hovered in freefall, before a warm embrace put an end to it. Fit caught him easily, one arm under his lower back and the other hooking his legs. He wasn’t as light as the sober man had been expecting, but it wasn’t enough to jeopardize either of them. 

The weight evened out once Pac’s hands latched onto the fabric of his shirt and held tight. His nose was scrunched up, eyebrows drawn together – likely from the stress of toppling off a roof while the world spins around him. Pac was capable of a lot of things, but handling his liquor was not one of them. Fit bit back a teasing comment, deciding instead to prioritize getting the guy a glass of water. Still, he was unable to stifle a snort when Pac forced himself to untense and glanced around like he was seeing the scenery anew.

Pac’s wide eyes landed on him, practically sensing the mocking humor from a mile away. His expression shifted from awestruck to offended, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Words blurring into one another, he asked, “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, man.” Fit hoped the fondness in his heart didn’t shine through too terribly. He had a feeling his voice betrayed him in the end, not that Pac would ever notice in his state. “You think you’re good to stand?”

Pac blinked, gaze darting. “No. Too dizzy…”

“Uh-huh,” Fit hummed, chest swelling. “And you would never lie to me, right?”

“I will throw up on you.”

Caught off guard, Fit barked out a laugh, and the full-body tremors shook them both. Pac’s grin spanned the entirety of his face. Several beats passed before the sober man was able to clear his throat and speak again, “Please don’t. I’ll carry you until we can find a decent place to rest.”

“I’m fine, Fit. Let’s go back to the party.” The drunk man in his hold squirmed at the idea of leaving early, frowning. “Foolish owes me more vodka shots.”

Fit gagged from the mere mention of drinking anything served by the party’s bartender. Roier knew damn well what he was doing when he asked his father to man the alcohol. Foolish had a heavy hand, and there weren’t enough mixers on the island to make his shit worth the damage it caused. Pac was likely not the only victim. Come morning, half the residents would be down with the most horrendous hangovers physically possible. The fear of that alone had been enough to keep Fit away from the drinks.

“Trust me, man, that’s the last thing you need right now.” Fit shuddered and Pac groaned. To play up his dramatics, the drunk man rolled his head back. It shifted his center of gravity, and Fit had to hold him a bit tighter. Not that either of them were complaining. “Do you think you can warp?”

“Are you crazy,” Pac scoffed, jolting upwards. The quick movement clearly didn’t help his dizziness, and his hands left their place on Fit’s shirt to rub at his face. The contact was missed immediately. “Ugh, fuck. No. No warping. I’ll… I’ll die.”

“Alright, alright, I hear you. No warping while you’re wasted,” Fit laughed. Pac slapped at his chest angrily, but his coordination and motor skills made it hardly noticeable. “Geez. You’re so violent like this. What d’ya say we find one of Cellbit’s spare rooms so you can sleep it off?”

“That’s boring, Fit,” Pac complained. “I say, instead, we get Carla and turn this place into a real party!”

“I have never wanted to do something less in my entire life. Absolutely not,” Fit interrupted. “You know damn well the kind of drama that would cause. If you value my mental health, you won’t even try that shit.”

Pac grumbled, but he didn’t mention heavy machinery again – which Fit took as a win. They started back down the hall, searching for an empty bedroom. It proved to be fairly challenging, each set of doors leading to either another spiraling hallway, or an area dedicated to some sort of occult practice. The entire time, Pac refused to use his own legs. 

Eventually, Fit stopped in front of a set of double doors. Dozens of minutes had passed, and as strong as he was, his arms were starting to tire. Pac had gone limp after the first half of their exploration, likely drifting to sleep already. “If there isn’t a bed in here, I’ll break into the master bedroom and Cellbit and Roier can deal with it.”

Pac hummed in acknowledgement, the sound too quiet to differentiate between an agreement or a protest. Gently, Fit nudged the door open, and it obeyed with a loud creak. He was in luck, finding a double bed and a small sitting area inside. As with everything in the castle, it stuck to the red and black color theme religiously. 

“Mission successful,” Fit huffed. He was gentle when he set Pac atop the sheets, and made sure to tilt him on his side. With a few particularly-arranged pillows, he stayed in place. His caretaker took a step back, stretching. “There we go. You comfy?”

“I can’t feel my mouth,” Pac grunted into the fluffy mattress. His eyes were squeezed shut, shying away from the light of the room’s only lamp. Fit moved to turn it off, but a hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. The other man repeated himself frustratedly, “Fit, I said I can’t feel my mouth!”

“Not really a problem I can fix, my guy,” Fit chuckled. He patted at the hand on his wrist. It didn’t loosen up. “Want me to grab you a glass of water?”

“Fit.” Pac cracked open one eye, frowning. Whatever alcohol he had most recently consumed was finally hitting him. “You have to fix this.”

“Oh yeah?” Fit mused, smiling down at him, “And how do you want me to do that?” 

Pac didn’t need to think before he replied, “Kiss it better?”

Fit froze. “What?”

Kiss, kiss, kiss echoed in his skull. His mind emptied of all thoughts, pulse skyrocketing. The hand on his arm burned him to his core. He didn’t know what his face looked like, but the room felt ten degrees warmer, and his throat was actively closing. 

Fit must’ve heard it wrong, must’ve misunderstood. That was definitely it. How could he have possibly gotten it right with the ringing in his ears? With the adrenaline scattering his brain? With the haze overtaking his consciousness? 

“Don’t be silly, Fit.” Pac repeated, impossible to miss, “Won’t you kiss it better? Please?”

And something within his question felt serious. More-so than any of their regular inappropriate bits. This wasn’t a stupid nickname, or a comment made offhandedly about the life they could have together. This felt heavy, charged, suggestive. It felt real.

But Pac’s smile was mischievous, and his cheeks were progressively staining redder the longer they maintained eye contact. It was probably nothing – had to be nothing. Definitely. Just harmless banter that Pac hadn’t been able to properly articulate in his state. Fit should laugh, should brush it off, should return with a witty comment of his own. 

“You’re drunk. You need water,” was what he said instead, and it came out oddly normally. Almost too monotone for the emotions building behind his tongue. “Will you be alright on your own while I get some?”

“You’re so difficult.” Pac slumped against his pillow, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I’m okay. Go be hot somewhere else.”

Fit sighed in relief, mostly at the dropped topic and the chance to escape to calm down. He tried not to hear the second half of that permission, lest it create new rising problems. To mitigate the damage, he reminded himself that his friend was wasted beyond belief at the moment. Nothing he said would mean anything once the sun crested the horizon. 

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”

With one last glance at Pac, Fit left. 

The halls were as hauntingly quiet as before, but he had a clearer objective this time around. At the very least, the pounding in his chest was enough to distract from the atmosphere. His friend always had an embarrassing effect on his well being. It wasn’t out of the blue for his drunk self to be equally as infectious.

He didn’t bother trying to track down a bathroom for water. Rather, he headed straight for the kitchen, where he knew there were both glasses and drinks of all varieties. The constantly rising noise level assured he wouldn’t lose his way. 

Fit tried to keep a steady pace, hating the idea of leaving Pac alone for too long. He was lucky that the initial search for a guest room had gotten them closer to the party than they realized. It wasn’t long before he was back in the fray. Peeking into the throne room, he caught a glimpse of what the party had devolved into. 

Only a handful of people remained standing, the hosting couple being one of them. Maximus had switched to a slow dance, which still included blaring bass and a weirdly-catchy rap, though all of it was playing over a gentle violin melody. Roier and Cellbit were dancing to it – or Fit assumed they were dancing. It really couldn’t be considered more than inebriated swaying. 

Tina and Bagi were twirling one another and laughing at their conjoined hands. Off to the side, Missa was sobbing against one of Phil’s shoulders, with Wilbur on the other. Forever had passed out with his head resting in Bad’s lap in the corner. Baghera and Jaiden were having a drinking contest that Foolish was happy to endorse. 

Fit rolled his eyes and slipped away to fulfill his main purpose. The kitchen was thankfully devoid of noisy drunkards, and he was able to get in and out pretty fast. The glass of water wasn’t the coldest it could possibly be, but it would achieve the same end goal as one of a different temperature. 

By the time he’d returned to the guest room, Pac had fallen asleep. The lamplight was dimmed, casting large shadows across his face. Fit was tempted to let him continue resting, but knew very well that dehydration would be hell to deal with later if he did. 

Thankfully, Pac must not have drifted off long before. He woke easily with a slight tap on his shoulder, sniffling and squinting at the figure by his bedside. “Mike? Is that you?”

Fit snorted, “No, it’s not Mike.”

“Woah.” Pac’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his head. “Mike, your impression of Fit has gotten really good. Have you been practicing?”

“He does impressions of me?” Fit held out the glass of water, and Pac groggily accepted it. He didn’t drink it, though – just held it and continued staring, awestruck, at his caretaker. “Come on, man. You gotta get some of that in your system.”

“That’s so funny, Mike,” Pac continued, obviously not paying much attention. “It almost sounds exactly like him. Not as attractive though. You’re being too much of a mother hen.”

Fit tensed, but tried not to let it show. He didn’t want to draw attention to how deeply the unintended compliment struck him. He heard about his voice constantly — more than he heard about literally anything else, actually — but for some reason, those few muttered words burrowed into his heart. Pac didn’t say it like it was a secret or an admission. Rather, it sounded like a fact. 

Pac looked oblivious to the weight of his comment, believing the person standing in front of him to genuinely be his best friend. He had yet to realize this wasn’t the case. Naturally, he would have no trouble saying normally-embarrassing things to Mike, hence his lack of reaction now.

“Oh? You think my… his voice is attractive?” Selfishly, Fit let himself indulge just a little. The drunk man shot him a pointed look, as if that was a ridiculous question. Fit flushed, assuming he’d been figured out. 

Before he could take anything back, Pac scoffed, “I think all of him is attractive. You know that.” 

Fit sucked in a breath, stomach twisting. “Do I know that?”

He thought of the numerous times he’d hung out with Pac and Mike together. At the time, he hadn’t understood why Mike would roll his eyes whenever Pac spoke excitedly to him, or why Mike had to take breathers from their more flirtatious conversations. In the past, Fit had concluded that the guy just didn’t like those kinds of jokes as much. 

If he looked at it again with this additional theoretical context, Fit could completely understand. He supposed that if anyone did know Pac’s inner opinions well enough to be irritated by them, it would be Mike. 

Pac drew Fit out of his head by kicking his shin lightly and grumbling, “Stop pretending. I didn’t listen to you call me a piranha for years just for you to forget the one relationship I’ve ever wanted to take seriously.”

Pac took a sip of water, but Fit was too busy processing the situation to celebrate.

“Relationship,” Fit echoed, voice hoarse and choked. “We have a – I mean, you and Fit have a relationship? What does that mean?”

And fuck , he felt so awful for taking advantage of the situation. Pac wouldn’t admit this stuff to him normally. They specifically avoided the topic of romance, unless it was part of their regular gossiping sessions. A good person would have recognized that and taken a step back. He was such an asshole.

But he had to know. Desperately. 

He needed this information more than he’d ever needed anything before – which made absolutely no sense to him. Fit had done stealth missions of the highest level, toppled organizations and gangs from the inside out without so much as flinching. He had lied, cheated, faked his way into classified situations in every scenario imaginable to survive, but it was this set of circumstances that marked his undoing.

“What kind? Uh,” Pac considered the question carefully, ripping Fit’s heart to shreds with every second spent in loaded silence. “We’re friends for right now, I guess?”

“You guess?” Fit tried to bite his tongue, tried to clamp down on the expanding swell of his chest. He knew he couldn’t raise his voice, couldn’t demand something that wasn’t even his to hear. 

“No, I know we’re friends,” Pac reiterated, rubbing his eyes. He squinted up at Fit, and then patted the mattress beside him. “Sit. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Unsure of what else to do, Fit obliged. With his back to Pac’s prodding stare, he could almost breathe again. He filled his lungs greedily – his next second of reprieve never guaranteed near this wonderful man. Slowly, he spoke, “What do you mean by right now? Do you think you won’t be friends in the future?”

“Why are you being so serious, Mike?” He could hear Pac shuffling behind him. Fit chanced a glance over his shoulder and noticed he was sitting up. His head was cupped in his hands, fingers massaging his temples. “Of course Fit and I will be friends. I just… I’m hoping for more.”

“More?” Fit turned fully, mouth agape. He couldn’t stop himself. “What does that mean, Pac?”

“Why are you talking like you’re not married, idiot,” Pac huffed quietly, taking another long sip and setting his glass on the nightstand. “More means more. Not just friends.”

He pulled his knees up to his chest and hid his face in them. Fit worried briefly that he’d crossed a line somehow and made Pac upset. Should he comfort him? Change the subject? What else was there to talk about? 

Then, he heard a loud groan. “God, I want him to like me back already. Is that too much to ask? We literally went on a date and nothing happened. He has to know at this point, so why doesn’t he–? Ugh, I don’t know.”

Pac fell against the bed, leaving a stunned Fit to watch him go. 

He didn’t know where to begin breaking that into reasonable pieces. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even blush. Fit was broken at the same time as he was being rebuilt. His heart was full, but his mind was blank. His limbs were numb, but they frantically screamed for him to move, run, scream, something.

“Why don’t you ask him out instead?”

Fit didn’t recognize his own words. He blinked, touching his throat like it might prove they actually belonged to him. Pac propped himself up to meet Fit’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt unbelievably small. He felt exposed. He felt seen. 

“Do you think I could?” Pac sounded soft, vulnerable. He sounded like he was displaying his most fragile pieces for the world to see. “I don’t know. Wouldn’t he say no?”

“I would never,” Fit replied immediately. He didn’t have the mind to correct himself. He was too far into this, too attached. These didn’t feel like baby steps anymore, but he wasn’t sure he cared. “I’ve haven’t ever turned you down. I never will, Pac.”

A beat passed. Two. Three.

Nothing.

Fit couldn’t stand it. He turned away, arms wrapped protectively around his torso. Seconds turned into minutes, and he debated leaving. 

Wait, what? What was he thinking? Where had this unwarranted cowardice come from? Since when was he someone who ran and hid from terrifying situations? Was this what he’d devolved into?

“Oh.” Behind him, there was a shaky exhale. “Oh.”

Hesitantly, Fit looked back. Pac was staring at him, eyes wide and entranced – like they were seeing him for the first time. Like he was the only thing that mattered. Like there was no one else in the world besides the two of them. 

“Fit,” Pac said, and it felt like a revelation. Maybe that was all it needed to be. 

The other opened his mouth, attempting to say more, but Fit was already standing before he got the chance. He picked up the forgotten glass of water and urged it into Pac’s hands. It was taken halfheartedly, drained with the same amount of energy. He would need to refill it soon. 

“Get some sleep, Pac,” Fit hummed, taking the cup and setting it aside.

Pac searched his face, confused. “Fit? But I–”

“Not now,” Fit cut him off. He knew what would happen if he let Pac speak tonight. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. If either of them could handle it. “Tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

“I’m sober!” Pac tried to sit up, but he was struck with another dizzy spell and forced down. Fit laughed lightly, tension leaving the air. “Fine, you win. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Fit promised. He needed to head home, needed to be somewhere he could sleep comfortably. Unlike Pac, he couldn’t just crash anywhere with a pillow. 

Still, that didn’t mean he wanted to go. Fit reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from Pac’s eyes. It was too soft of a movement – the kind that would’ve made his past self gag had he seen the tenderness in his present expression. 

He pulled back, but Pac caught his hand. Fit smiled as a gentle kiss was pressed onto his knuckles. “Goodnight, Fit.”

“Goodnight, Pac.” He was released, the sensation of the other’s touch buzzing along his skin. Fit checked over his shoulder one final time before he left, and saw Pac already fading off to sleep. 

Tomorrow.