Chapter Text
2019 - Zone 3
Fun Ghoul should’ve told his friends to run the moment he saw the Director toying with the controls in her hand. But he stood his ground, letting himself believe that she was just bluffing. For years he was fed lies. It was her way of getting to his head and to his heart. This had to just be another one of her tricks, Ghoul thought.
But he should’ve had Poison run. There wasn’t a chance to shout before the buttons clicked, and it felt as though Ghoul had been grabbed by someone who was trying to drag him to the ground. He was imprisoned in his own mind, forced to bear witness to someone else using his body to attack his best friends.
That was the real kicker, however. Ghoul knew it wasn’t someone else. He knew it was still himself throwing those punches. Ghoul still recognised the redhead he was ordered to kill. He knew what their hair smelt like. He knew what their lips felt like against his own. And yet, his hands wrapped around Poison’s throat with every intention to leave them for dead.
Ghoul mumbled under his breath and shook his head, trying to shake the unwanted thought out of his mind. He blinked a few times, focusing his eyes back on the dirt road ahead of him as his truck approached the diner. Ghoul had been out since the sun came up, and by the time he got home, he had maybe half an hour of daylight left. He’d been on a supply run looking for essentials to stock up the diner with. In the back of his mind he knew that he had taken so long because he was dreading having to come home to Poison.
He parked right outside the front doors of the diner. The loud rumble of his engine announced his presence to Poison and Kobra, who came running out to help Ghoul unload. Ghoul had used one of his back tires as a step to climb into the bed of the truck.
“Check it out,” he said triumphantly, holding his arms out towards the three thin, shitty mattresses he had stacked up in his truck box. “The club let me take the one I been sleepin’ on for the last three years, Doc had the second one for sale, an’ the third one I found in one of the city’s dumpsters—it ain’t even got any rats in it or anythin’!”
“We can finally stop sleepin’ in those awful booths,” Ghoul heard Poison say as he and Kobra started dragging the first bed into the diner. “My back hates me.”
“Mm, I dunno if these are gonna help wit’ the back pain,” Ghoul chuckled at the poor excuses for beds. He turned around and nearly jumped back at the sight of Poison standing right behind him.
Ghoul fought to keep a straight face and hide his initial grimace from Poison. They’d only been back from their mission for two days, and Poison was still severely beat up. The bruises around their eyes spread across their cheekbones and faded into a disgusting shade of purple overnight. Ghoul tried not to stare at the gash that stretched from the middle of their forehead down to their right eyebrow that was a dark red against their pale skin. They were only in a t-shirt, so the scratches on their arms from Ghoul’s nails were on full display. And worst of all; there were still marks on their neck where Ghoul had strangled them.
“Me an’ Kobes slept on concrete floors our first year,” Poison shrugged, clearly oblivious to Ghoul’s guilty stares. “Any real bed out here is gonna feel like sleepin’ on a cloud, y’know?”
Their split lips stretched into a soft smile. Ghoul snapped himself out of it, tearing his eyes away from Poison in favour of glancing around the diner.
“Yeah,” he nodded, incapable of even returning Poison’s smile. He suddenly remembered that there was a crate of Power Pup sitting on his front seat and muttered an excuse to turn and leave without acknowledging the frown on Poison’s face.
Poison sighed and watched him hurry away. They stood awkwardly in the middle of the diner, picking at their nails, wondering if they should wait for Ghoul to come back. They hadn’t seen much of him over the last two days. Poison had to keep telling themself that Ghoul wasn’t intentionally avoiding them.
“Fuck it,” they muttered to themself and dropped their arms to their side. They were tired of waiting for Ghoul to give them attention. Instead, Poison busied themself with dragging two of the beds to the back of the diner.
There was a decently spacious room in the back that had been completely cleared out over the years. What the room was originally used for, Poison had no idea. But they did have a long argument with Kobra over the possible first uses—Kobra suggested that it was an office, but Poison couldn’t see any universe where the manager of a diner needed their own office. They said it must’ve just been extra storage, which Kobra said was stupid since there was already a storage room by the bathroom; the room that Ghoul decided would be his.
Whatever it was once used for, Poison was happy with it because after shoving two mattresses inside, there was still a little room for anything else they and Kobra would need. As Poison dropped an armful of supplies they’d picked up for themself on their designated side of the room, they heard Kobra quietly whistling in the doorway.
“Whaddya think?” Poison asked, motioning to Kobra’s side. “Pretty shiny, right?”
Kobra’s head ticced forwards as his hands jerked up and flipped Poison off. He cleared his throat, staring into the room as he awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest, making himself smaller.
“Ya look like you hate it,” Poison chuckled, but quickly went quiet when Kobra didn’t move or say anything. “Do you hate it?” They asked genuinely.
Kobra shrugged. “It’s fine. Hmm,” he walked into the room without looking up at Poison. “Mm—” Poison watched hesitantly as Kobra sat himself down on the bed, as if to prove that he wasn’t lying.
“You okay?” Poison asked, and Kobra nodded his head.
“Fine,” he repeated. Now Poison knew he was lying.
Kobra hadn’t been the same since the team got back from the city. He was never one to talk that much, but Kobra had been nearly silent for the past two days. Poison knew he was scared; they saw the nervousness in Kobra’s actions. His hands hovered near his face, constantly readjusting the sunglasses that shielded the rest of the world from his eyes. Poison had ripped Kobra out of his safety bubble and threw him into this life where he was suddenly surrounded by other Killjoys. That was so many more lives at risk, simply because Kobra was near them.
Sighing, Poison stared at the Kid sitting on the edge of his mattress while the heels of his hands hit against his thighs. He couldn’t sit still anymore, his mind was always on the run from him nowadays. Poison desperately wanted to reach out and grab Kobra’s arm, hoping that their powers would do their thing. Poison needed a way to get through to Kobra. But somewhere in the back of Poison’s mind, they knew they’d only see memories of the people Kobra killed.
“I gotta go out tonight,” Poison’s voice broke into the thick, uncomfortable silence between the siblings. “Or else we won’t be able to eat tomorrow,” they grinned, not that Kobra could even see it. “You wanna come with?”
“No,” Kobra replied almost immediately. And while Poison was proud of him for using his words instead of just shaking his head, their heart still stung hearing Kobra’s answer.
“Okay,” Poison’s lips pressed tightly together and they awkwardly left the room. They locked themself in the bathroom and rested their head against the door with a heavy sigh. Kobra was already retreating back to his safety bubble. For three years, Poison hid him from the rest of the Zones, and Kobra wanted nothing more but to get out. But now, Poison feared that Kobra saw too much too fast when he was suddenly fighting a war against Battery City and the Ratts.
Poison opened their eyes and caught a glimpse of themself in the mirror. This was entirely their fault, wasn’t it?
Think about anything else, Poison told themself while they changed into slightly better clothes for work. Their tattered and paint-stained pale yellow shirt came off, and Poison was forced to see the rest of the damage the city mission left on them. They’d gotten used to the sight of their beaten face; a few bruises and cuts was a common look for a Killjoy. They could brush those ones off and pretend it was any old fight they got themself into.
The bright angry circular burn scars stamped into the centre of Poison’s chest were harder to lie about. Whatever spark-sucking machine the city was cooking up was hot and violent. Poison still felt the phantom pain in their sleep whenever they dreamed about the city mission. Shock never finished the job; Jet put a stop to him almost immediately. Poison still had their powers. They could look into anyone’s past memories with one simple touch. But whenever Poison inhaled, they could still feel the stinging pain where Shock tried to strip them of their sparks.
Poison brought their hand to their chest. Their gentle fingertips grazed over the round scar; deep red against their pale skin. Though their skin wasn’t perfect. The scar left by Shock blended into the other marks that decorated their chest. Thin, red horizontal cuts. The oldest of them were from years ago, the newest from last night. And Poison had no one else to blame for those scars but themself.
Evening would fall on them soon, so Poison shook themself out of their thoughts and tore their eyes away from their own reflection. Hurriedly, they covered their body again in darker clothes and their blue leather jacket, and ran out of the diner.
Their bike was sitting by the front door, ready for Poison, but Ghoul’s truck was nowhere to be seen. He left without them. The two Killjoys were heading to the same place, and what a waste of gas it was to leave separately, but Poison guessed that at this point, Ghoul just wanted nothing to do with them.
Poison sighed, straddled their bike, and started driving before they could stop and think for too long.
2017 - Zone 2
Mad Gear had his back pressed against his sister’s as she shredded out one of her most popular guitar solos. He felt Missile Kid put her head on his shoulder. Mads laughed and messed up her hair before he reached for the mic again to sing the last chorus.
As he looked out into the crowd, he saw her again; the girl standing at the edge of the crowd, leaning up against the wall with her arms crossed. She wasn’t dancing and cheering or singing along like the rest of the crowd. But still, she hadn’t stopped staring at Mads since he first got up on stage earlier that night.
Every time Mads glanced her way, she’d lock eyes with him. Nothing more than a soft smirk would pull at her lips. Mads felt his face heating up and found he was forgetting the lyrics to the song that he could usually perform in his sleep. He tried to ignore the girl for the rest of the set, but it was nearly impossible not to.
“She kept starin’ at me,” Mads told his sister backstage after the show. “You saw her too, right?”
Missy was kneeling on the floor, carefully laying her guitar down in its case. She laughed at her brother as he paced nervously and rolled her eyes.
“I think you’re makin’ shit up in your head, Mads,” she shook her head. Missy collapsed onto a couch backstage with a heavy sigh, cuddling up next to her friend, Lyte, who passed her a cigarette.
“A cute girl starin’ at you?” Missy continued. “That’s all your imagination, dude,” she teased, and Lyte giggled.
“Missy, I’m serious, she couldn’t take her fuckin’ eyes off of me,” Mads sighed, dragging his hands through his sweat soaked hair. “Well. Eye . She’s only got one.”
“She only has one eye!?” Missy exclaimed. “Now I know she ain’t real!” She laughed out a large puff smoke and watched Mads drop his head into his hands.
“She’s probably still out there, I can prove to you that she’s real,” Mads’ eyes went wide as he gestured towards the door that led to the main club.
“No, no, no,” Missy pointed a stern finger at her brother. “You get your ass out there and go talk to her! I’m stayin’ in here,” she placed the dart between her lips and crossed her arms. “You got this, bro,” she said sincerely.
Embarrassed, Mads groaned and dragged his hands down his face. “Yeah, thanks sis,” he muttered, and dragged himself into the bustling club. Missy shouted some more words of encouragement before the door slammed behind him, and he was in the sea of dancing bodies and beams of neon lights.
He weaved in between strangers through the middle of the dance floor, bumping shoulders with a few Killjoys who were too drunk to even notice. Mads quickly adjusted to the environment, letting the beats pumping out of the DJ’s speakers ground him. He leaned his elbows over the sticky bar at the back of the club, flashing a quick smile to the familiar bartender. She winked back at him, immediately pouring him his usual.
Mads loved Hyperthrust. He had guaranteed gigs every week, and free drinks afterwards. He brought his glass to his lips just as he felt someone new brush up against his shoulder as they claimed the seat next to him. Mads blinked and glanced over. He nearly spat out his drink at the sight of the very girl he’d been looking for.
“Hey,” she greeted while barely even looking in Mads’ direction. The bartender popped open a fresh beer and handed it to her. “Sick show.”
“Thanks,” Mads could already feel himself blushing. He nervously tapped his nails against his glass, trying not to stare at the girl. It was harder now than it was before on stage. This close, Mads can see the eyeliner that was smudged across her eyelid, gorgeously complimenting her naturally dark left eye. Mads distantly wondered if the eyepatch that covered the right eye was a fashion choice or an injury. Either way, it suited her and the mysterious vibe she radiated.
“So, are ya Mad Gear or Missile Kid?” She suddenly asked, turning to Mads.
It shouldn’t have startled him so badly, but in Mads’ defense, he was too busy admiring her hair. It was split down the middle, weaved together in two braids that had seen better days. But the curly flyaways that fell from the braids still looked perfect.
“Uh, I’m Mads—Mad Gear,” he stuttered out after realising he’d been staring in silence for too long.
The girl chuckled. “You sure?” She asked, and that same half-grin she’d been wearing all night appeared back on her face.
Mads’ face heated up. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure,” he laughed at himself. “Missile Kid is my sister.”
“Sister?” The girl asked, seemingly far more interested now than she was a moment ago. She turned her whole body in the bar stool she sat on, fully facing Mads. “By blood?”
“Yeah,” Mads’ smile softened. “Twins.”
More ‘Joys crowded around the bar in need of their next round of drinks. It forced the girl sitting with Mads to move her seat closer to him. Now, inches away, she stared at Mads carefully. He tried not to recoil, but it was hard when it felt like she was searching for something in him.
“You got a name?” Mads asked, breaking the quiet between them.
She smiled a little. “Jet.”
Mads’ head tilted slightly. “Just Jet?”
“Just Jet,” she nodded. A loose strand of hair fell in front of her face with the movement. Her gloved hand reached up to tuck it behind her ear. Mads watched it all with blown pupils.
“Are you a fan, Jet? Or…” Mads stopped himself, realising how conceited he sounded. “I mean, like, have you seen us play before?” Destroya, he was embarrassing.
Jet glanced behind her, eyeing the stage that Mads had performed on earlier. The DJ had since moved in; dancing with the other partygoers from behind his turntable and sound system.
“No, I never heard of y’all before,” Jet shook her head. “Y’all are kinda good, though,” Mads’ heart fluttered as Jet smirked at him. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“Kinda?” He asked, holding a hand over his chest as if he was hurt. “Damn, girl, maybe it just wasn’t our best night,” he laughed. “You’ll just have to come back next weekend and watch our set again.”
“Guess so,” Jet hummed, and Mads felt himself melt a little.
He fell into a rhythm with Jet, just wanting to get to know her and peel off each layer of the mysterious facade she wore. They stuck together as the night carried them around the club, away from the overcrowded bar and into a slightly more private corner, near the dance floor. Mads watched the late night dancers tearing it up and glanced back at Jet. He somehow could guess that she wasn’t a dancer.
“Where’d ya learn to play like that?” Jet had asked him.
“Oh,” Mads smiled. No one ever wanted to talk about music with him. “I played the cello when I lived in the city.”
A laugh bubbled out of Jet. “The fuck’s a cello?”
“The stupidest fuckin’ instrument you’ll ever find,” Mads replied dryly, only making Jet laugh harder. “Imagine if a bass guitar was really big and also sucked.”
“Wow,” Jet shook her head at him. “Ya really sellin’ it.”
“I hated it so much,” Mads groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Unfortunately, I was really good at it. Our parents thought we were some sorta child geniuses, so they made me pick up the cello and gave Missy a violin,” he sighed heavily. He didn’t miss their overbearing parents one bit. Mads could tell that Jet also had never heard of a violin, but she chose to keep her mouth shut. “Anyways, we thought music was the worst thing ever until we got out here and found out that music only sucks in the city. And here , we can make rock n’ roll.”
“That’s shiny as fuck, Mads,” Jet said, although the late night crowd was getting too rowdy. Between that and all the drinks he had, Mads couldn’t hear a thing.
“What?”
Jet reached out and grabbed Mads’ arm, pulling him into her. She rested her chin on his shoulder, obnoxiously shouting into his ear, “I said that’s shiny as fuck, dude!”
Mads laughed loudly, holding onto Jet’s shoulder for support. The sudden movements had him realising just how tipsy he was. Mads could only guess how flushed and red his face had gotten from the booze. Jet, however, she was still glowing.
They ended up leaning on each other for a while, both of them telling themselves that it was because the club had just gotten too loud. Talking to each other with only a few inches between their faces, Mads let himself get lost in Jet. Her drunken grip on his arm kept him locked in place. He almost didn’t notice Missy heading out with Lyte, waving to Mads.
“Shit,” Mads stared at Missy waiting by the door. “Fuck, um.”
“What?” Jet kept her gaze on Mads, not even bothering to check what Mads was so freaked out about.
“Missy probably wants to go,” he grimaced at the way Jet’s expression fell. “Well, I guess I don’t have to leave. I mean—like—if you don’t want me to leave. Not like that, but um—”
“Can you just fuckin’ kiss me already?” Jet blurted out.
“Yes,” the word fell out of Mads’ mouth before he could even think.
He leaned forwards and pressed his lips to hers. He wanted to test the waters, make sure she was serious, and pull away after a few seconds. But soon enough, Jet’s hand was on the back of his neck, keeping him in place.
Mads melted into her and held her gently around the waist with one hand. His other hand reached up and cupped the side of Jet’s face, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. His tongue glided along her bottom lip as he felt her fingers card through his hair. Jet’s mouth fell open with a breathy sigh, inhaling all of Mads.
“You wanna get outta here?” Mads asked the moment he had a chance to pull away from her. He was out of breath and definitely red in the face now, but he didn’t care. He was too busy staring at Jet’s lips, shiny with spit, as he waited for a reply.
“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” she giggled, pulling him back in to kiss him one more time. Mads grabbed her hand and guided her out of the club, away from the rest of the crowd.
2019 - Zone 2
Poison was a little late getting to the club—sue them. They quickly tossed their gear in a back room and got to work serving a crowd of impatient and thirsty Killjoys. Mad Gear and Missile Kid were already playing, meaning the weekend party was in full swing.
As Poison wiped down the top of the bar, cleaning up after a particularly messy Killjoy, they finally spotted Jet sitting at the very end, looking down at her drink instead of watching her boyfriend on stage. The redhead hummed softly to themself and quietly approached her.
“What’s up?” They smiled, sliding a new beer across the bar because they already knew what Jet was going to ask for.
“Hey,” Jet forced a grateful grin and accepted the drink.
“How’s it goin’, Jet?”
They’d all been pretty shaken up by their last mission, but Jet had ties to it that the others could only begin to understand. And since she lived with Mads, Poison couldn’t check in on her at any moment like they could with Ghoul and Kobra. Jet never seemed to want to talk about what happened in the city, or what Poison and Kobra both watched go down between Jet and Shock. Still, Poison needed to make sure their friend was okay.
“M’ survivin’,” Jet shrugged.
Poison sighed. “Well, I guess that’s all any of us can ask for, right?”
Jet chuckled, despite herself. “Sure thing,” she nodded. “Where’s Ghoul?”
Something in Poison’s expression fell as they shrugged. “Somewhere,” they motioned around the club and waved off Jet’s question. Jet watched as Poison retreated into themself, distracting themself with cleaning the bar again. They mumbled an excuse and walked away, tending to other customers, leaving Jet alone.
While the band’s music raged on, Jet let out a long breath through her nose and rested her elbows on the bar. She stared down the half full bottle in front of her, tempted to down it in one go and ask for another one, but she stopped herself. Jet knew she should watch the number of drinks she got that night, but the ghosts were nearly impossible to ignore and Jet wanted an escape from it all. She didn’t even know if it was her gift getting out of control, or if she was just distracted by so many other things.
The truth was, Jet still hadn’t gotten over the city mission. She couldn’t stop replaying the day over and over again in her head, watching her father hurt her friends like that. There wasn’t anything Jet could do to get Shock’s voice out of her head; the menacing speech he had delivered, admitting to murdering Jet’s mother, played on a loop like a broken record. Jet had enough.
She hadn’t slept in days, and not just because of the usual ghosts that kept her up. Even on the nights when Jet drank herself to oblivion until she passed out, she still relived old memories in her dreams. She’d wake up in a cold sweat, hyperventilating for what felt like forever until Jet could finally remind herself what year it was.
Jet had been hurt by Shock too many times to count, and she had spent ten years learning to suppress that hurt and cover it up with something better; friends, a new crew, helping others at the med station, her boyfriend. And it only took Shock ten minutes to undo years of hard work, forcing every single buried memory back to the surface and back to the front of Jet’s mind.
The band finished their set, but Jet didn’t notice. She was so deep in her own head that Mads had to come find her after the show and pull her out.
“You alright?” His voice suddenly appeared behind Jet. She jumped, cringing at the way Mads’ arms snaked around her body, hugging her from behind. She gave him a weak nod, and he chuckled. “Pretty good show, right?”
“It rocked,” Jet lied. She hadn’t heard any of it. “Can we go now?”
Mads pulled back, finally. “What, you don’t wanna hang around? Ghoul’s here, Poison’s shift has gotta be over soon, we could—”
“No, let’s go,” Jet decided, and Mads faltered.
“Yeah, okay,” he said quietly. “For sure, lemme just grab my things. I’ll meet you outside, ‘kay?”
“‘Kay.”
Jet had her back turned to Mads the entire drive home. She kept her gaze fixated on the night sky; gloomier than ever. She swore, the smog was getting worse by the day.
As soon as Jet was inside the warmth of Mads and Missy’s place, and her boots were kicked off haphazardly by the door, Jet was ready to collapse onto the couch and call it a fucking night. But Mads was still there.
“Come on, we’ll go to bed early tonight, yeah?” He offered, holding out his hand so he could walk Jet to his bedroom. But Jet didn’t move, she just stared straight ahead at the wall.
“Jet?” Mads quieted down. He came up beside her, wrapping her up in a gentle hug. Jet tried to take it, but she couldn’t hold it in. Neither of them could ignore the full body shudder Jet let out in response to Mads’ touch.
“Talk to me, what’s happening?” Mads asked desperately, pulling away from Jet as she recoiled into herself.
“Get off me, get off me,” Jet shivered, shaking out her arms despite the fact that Mads had long stepped back. “I can’t do this, Mads.”
“Can’t do what?” Mads hovered near her with his hands out, clearly wanting to touch her again, but he was afraid of what might happen. “What’s wrong, Jet?”
“ This,” Jet motioned between herself and Mads. “I can’t keep up, Mads, m’ sorry, I—I,” she shook her head, squeezing her eye shut. “I can’t fuckin’ trust you.”
Mads froze. His arms fell to his side as he looked at Jet with sadness in his eyes, not that Jet saw it. “Hey,” he whispered. “I know everything feels like a lot right now, and I’m sorry. We can take as many steps back as you need, Jet.”
“Stop it,” Jet shook her head, hiding her face behind her hair. “That’s so fuckin’ stupid.”
“Is it?” Mads asked. “Look, I know that mission fucked you up, I can see what it did to you, Jet. You’re not the same. But listen to me, I love you. I’ll wait as long as I have to. I know you know you can trust me.”
“I know I can,” Jet raised her voice and balled her hands into fists. “I don’t.”
She felt her chest tighten with rising panic and she tore her gaze away from Mads so she could catch her breath. Her head felt fuzzy. She brought her hands to her head and tugged at the roots of her hair.
“Jet?”
She shook her head again. She couldn’t look up. The last time she’d seen a man confess his love to a girl, it was Shock swearing himself to Acid.
“Jet, look at me, please,” Mads begged, and Jet finally lifted her head.
“I can’t—” Jet’s breath hitched. “I don’ want this.”
“Okay,” Mads exhaled. “I’ll give you space, take your time, and—”
“Mads, ya not listenin’ to me,” Jet paced a few steps back to get away from him. “I don’ want any of this shit!”
“Oh,” Mads squeaked, and the silence that settled into the room made Jet want to puke. Jet tried to slow her breathing, but there wasn’t any use. Not after she looked back up and saw the tears pooling in Mads’ eyes.
“Mads?”
“Any of this shit ?” Mads repeated shakily, and the tears started streaking down his face. Jet’s gut twisted, but she couldn’t get any words out. “So, what now?”
“Um,” Jet inhaled sharply. “Poison’s crew has a place… m’ gonna stay there.”
“Right, yeah,” Mads sniffled. “Poison’s good.”
“...Mads?”
“Yeah?”
Jet watched Mads shamefully wipe the tears from his cheeks. “M’ sorry.”
“Yeah,” Mads nodded before turning away from Jet. “I know you are,” he muttered, and walked into his bedroom without another word.
Jet watched him go, letting out a heavy sigh as her knees gave out. She curled up on Mads’ couch and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out everything until morning.
2019 - Zone 3
Poison was on their toes, balanced on the top of a step stool in order to reach the top of the diner wall. The peeling, cracked walls made for an eyesore of a home, and Poison hated it. But they only had spray paint, so they decided to do what they did best and make a masterpiece out of it.
Their radio sat on the floor beside the stool with the volume cranked as loud as it would go. Poison set it up with the hopes that Ghoul would get the hint and leave them the fuck alone all day. Poison didn’t want to be angry at him, but they couldn’t help themself. And even their attempts at therapeutic art wasn’t helping anything.
And then, the door opened.
“Jet! Hey! What’s up?” Poison exclaimed, jumping down from their step stool and hurrying to turn down the blaring music. “Ignore the mess, I’m tryna make this place look cuter. We’ve spent the last three days movin’ in and makin’ it home, y’know?”
“Yeah,” Jet nodded as she eyed Poison’s handiwork. “Looks shiny.”
“You good?” Poison tilted their head, finally looking closely at Jet. Her hair was messier than usual, and it seemed like she hadn’t taken off the makeup she was wearing when Poison saw her last night.
“M’ good, jus’ came to check how movin’ in was goin’,” Jet gave up on trying to fake a smile. “An’ also ask if, uh,” she shoved her hands into her pockets. “Ya got room for one more?”
Poison paused. Jet glanced down and caught the sympathetic look in their eyes. Poison knew something was up, but they didn’t ask any questions. Jet was grateful for that.
“F’ course, Jet,” Poison smiled softly. “For you? Always.”