Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Xisuma absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his truck, there was an old song playing on the radio that he wasn't really paying attention to, catching small snippets of whatever it was, he could hear the faint pitter patter of rain hitting the roof, barely muffled by the thin padding on the ceiling of the cab that was supposed to dampen the noise.

No his mind was elsewhere, eyes flicking around to the crowd of people rushing out of the building and into the drizzle, looking for some familiar white hair.

He wasn't about to admit it but he was sort of happy that he'd lost a game to Etho, the loser owning the winner a favor and Etho had chosen his to be that Xisuma picks him up after school so he doesn't have to wait for public transportation.

It's nice seeing Etho's eyes light up a little at the sight of Xisuma waiting there for him.

Especially since the weather had been getting worse and the bus stop at Etho's campus didn't have any cover and he wasn't about to buy a rain jacket, something about how it'd mess up his style.

Xisuma wasn't really sure what Etho had meant by that but whatever, he didn't have much to do after his own classes anyway.

Etho smoothly slid into the passenger seat like he was meant to sit there, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. Grabbing the towel kept on the back seats to try and dry himself off a little.

“Long day?” Xisuma asked as a greeting, eyes back to looking out the windshield, flicking over once to make sure that Etho had buckled himself in.

The seatbelt sensor in the truck had been removed by the previous owner and Xisuma never had the time to fix it.

"Something like that," Etho replied, muffling his voice slightly as he ran the towel over his damp hair. The rain hadn't been too heavy, but it was enough to make his white locks stick to his forehead, a few strands refusing to be tamed even as he tried. "Professor went on a tangent again. Class ran late."

Xisuma hummed, flicking on the windshield wipers as a fresh drizzle blurred the glass. "Must've been some tangent if it made you actually complain about it."

Etho snorted, shaking out the towel before tossing it onto the dashboard with a practiced motion. "It was about economics. I don't even take economics."

Xisuma couldn't help but chuckle, finally pulling away from the curb and easing into the flow of traffic. "Sounds riveting."

Etho let out an exaggerated sigh, slouching into his seat. "Absolutely life-changing," he deadpanned.

They lapsed into comfortable silence after that, the quiet hum of the truck's engine mixing with the occasional swish of the wipers. Etho had his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, gaze flickering between the rain-speckled window and the dashboard clock.

Xisuma didn't mind the quiet. It was one of the things he liked about Etho—he never felt the need to fill the air with pointless chatter.

After a few minutes, Etho spoke again, voice softer this time. "Thanks, by the way."

Xisuma glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "For what?"

"For picking me up," Etho said simply, like it was obvious, like it actually meant something to him.

Xisuma swallowed down the warmth that crept up his throat, keeping his focus on the road ahead. "No problem," he said, like it was nothing at all.

“I'd like to see a hurricane someday,” Etho broke the silence in the cab.

Xisuma glanced over at Etho, raising an eyebrow. "A hurricane, huh?"

Etho nodded, gaze fixed on the rain-speckled window, watching the city lights blur as they passed. "Yeah. It's fascinating how they form, needing some just right conditions, how easily they can be killed.

“All you need is some light wind, high humidity, water 200 feet or so deep with a surface temperature of 26° Celsius, and for it to be in a low pressure zone,” Etho continued, with almost a fondness in his voice, “anything else and it kills the hurricane, they're surprisingly fragile considering what they do.”

Xisuma huffed a quiet laugh. "I forget you actually know this stuff."

"Why do you think I like meteorology?" Etho shot back, smirking slightly. "It's interesting. Hurricanes are just... raw power, completely untamed, but still following a pattern. They don’t just appear randomly; they build up, feed off the ocean, and grow stronger the longer they go unchecked."

Xisuma hummed, turning onto a quieter road. "And you'd want to see one up close?"

"Not like, in a 'get blown away' kind of way," Etho admitted. "But experiencing something like that, seeing the eye of a storm in person? That'd be something."

Xisuma shook his head with a small smile. "You’ve got a weird bucket list."

Etho just shrugged, still watching the rain. "Guess so. But you gotta admit, it’d be cool."

Xisuma didn’t argue. He could picture it—Etho standing on some storm-battered shore, watching the sky churn with dark clouds, completely in his element.

Though he'd be lying if he said that he was a huge fan of storms, sure they'd been breathtaking at first, but a bad experience had left a sour taste in his mouth at the thought of being caught up in something like that.

It's been a lot worse when he'd been younger but he'd been living with it long enough that he was able to function a lot better during them.

If Etho noticed that Xisuma gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter he didn't mention anything.

The rain picked up again, heavier now, drumming against the windshield as Xisuma flicked the wipers up a notch. Etho shifted in his seat, stretching his legs out a bit, settling in like he belonged there.

"By the way," Etho started, tone immediately taking on that telltale edge of amusement, "you hear about Bdubs and Doc’s latest lovers' quarrel?"

Xisuma let out a sharp exhale through his nose, already fighting off a grin. "What is it this time?"

Etho smirked. "Bdubs swears up and down that Doc stole his favorite pocket watch—says he left it on the counter, and now it's gone."

Xisuma shot him a glance. "And Doc?"

"Claims he never touched it," Etho said, shrugging. "But he’s been suspiciously smug about the whole thing, and Bdubs is on an absolute warpath trying to prove he's lying."

Xisuma shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "They really aren't dating?"

Etho snorted. "You'd think, huh? I mean, Bdubs was ranting about it like Doc personally betrayed him, and Doc is enjoying this way too much. They’re basically an old married couple at this point—just missing the wedding rings."

Xisuma chuckled, turning onto the road leading to Etho’s apartment building. "If they ever do start dating, you think they'd even notice?"

Etho hummed in thought, then grinned. "Nah. They’d wake up one day, realize they've been acting like a couple for years, and just go 'huh, guess we are.'"

Xisuma shook his head again, amused. The truck rumbled to a stop in front of Etho’s building, the neon glow of the lobby lights reflecting off the wet pavement.

Etho unbuckled his seatbelt, stretching his arms over his head before reaching for the door handle. "Appreciate the ride, man."

"Yeah, yeah," Xisuma said, waving him off. "Don’t get blown away in a hurricane before I see you next."

Etho looked like he was smirking under his mask. "No promises."

And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the building as the rain poured down.

Chapter Text

Xisuma trudged through the front door of his house, the familiar weight of exhaustion settling on his shoulders. The house was quiet—too quiet, really. His parents were out, probably working late again, like they always did. They had never really been home much, a constant presence of absence that Xisuma had long grown used to. He kicked off his shoes and left them by the door, the dull thud of the soles against the floor echoing in the stillness.

The house was cold, the air thick with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of traffic outside. He made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, dropping his backpack by the door, the straps falling limp in the silence. The room felt... empty. Not just because it was only him here, but because of the way it looked. The dust gathering on the desk in the corner, the unused chair pushed against the wall.

Xisuma's gaze flickered briefly to the other side of the room—the bed against the opposite wall, neatly made as it always was. His eyes lingered for a moment longer than they should have, before he quickly turned away. He didn’t let himself think about it. Didn’t let his mind wander to that spot, to the ghost of a time when the room had been different. When it had been full. When Exy had shared it with him, laughing and arguing over trivial things, leaving their clothes scattered on the floor.

Now, the other side of the room was just... empty.

He shut the door quietly behind him, the lock clicking softly into place. It had been like this for years now, but it didn’t get any easier.

Xisuma took a slow breath, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts trying to creep in. He sat down at his desk, pulling out his homework and forcing himself to focus. It wasn’t much—just a few assignments that required some attention. But even though his mind was tired, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else.

The pencil scratched against the paper as he filled in answers, though his thoughts were far away, drifting toward places he didn’t want to go. The room felt colder now, but he ignored it, pushing through the homework, one line at a time.

After a while, the homework was done, or at least enough of it to not feel like he was going to fail. He stood up, stretching out the tension in his back before heading to the kitchen.

Dinner was simple, just something quick—he wasn't in the mood for anything elaborate. He set the stove to simmer, the low hum of the burners filling the air as he chopped vegetables. His movements were mechanical, practiced. Cooking was something he could do without thinking, just like the rest of his routine.

It was easier this way. Easier to focus on the tasks at hand than to think about the gaping emptiness of his room, or the absence that sat heavy in his chest whenever he caught a glimpse of the other side of the room.

When dinner was finally ready, he sat down at the kitchen table, the sound of his fork scraping against the plate filling the silence. He ate quickly, the food tasting bland and unsatisfying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Afterward, he cleaned up, putting the dishes away without a second thought, then retreating back to his room. The bed still sat empty, the sheets smooth and untouched. Xisuma didn’t look at it again. Instead, he climbed into his own bed, pulling the covers up tightly around himself, burying his face into the pillow.

The silence of the room was deafening, but he didn’t try to fill it. Not tonight. Tonight, he let the quiet wrap around him, knowing he would face it again tomorrow. And the day after that.

“You're studying satellites right?” Etho set his stuff down on the table Xisuma was using before taking a seat across from him.

“Yes?” Xisuma wasn't sure where Etho was trying to go with this.

“What can you tell me about them?” Etho looked genuinely interested in what Xisuma had to say about them.

Xisuma just blinked, not really processing the request.

Etho slid over what Xisuma was guessing was a coffee as if it would make Xisuma talk more about his current project.

It would.

“What do you want to know about them?” Etho would need to be a lot more specific than he was being currently, Xisuma could talk about them for hours but he had a feeling there was something Etho was specifically interested in.

“What can you tell me about satellite imaging?”

There it was.

Xisuma wouldn't be surprised if Etho was interested in this because he wanted to try and do some forecasting.

“There's a few different types of satellite imaging out there, the main two that I think you'd be interested in are the polar orbiting satellites, they orbit perpendicular to the equator at only 500 miles up. Then there's the geostationary satellite that orbits parallel to the equator at 20,000 miles up,” Xisuma explained tiredly, reaching for the coffee cup and taking a sip.

He was surprised to find that it was mostly creamer with just a hint of coffee flavor. How the hell did Etho drink something like this? Far too sweet for Xisuma's tastes.

Xisuma would be long dead in the ground before he admitted it though.
Etho leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand as he listened intently. "So, the polar orbiting ones are closer, right? That means they can get more detailed images, but the geostationary ones can cover more ground because they're farther up?"

Xisuma nodded, wiping the edge of his mouth. "Exactly. Polar orbiting satellites pass over the same areas multiple times a day, giving high-resolution images. They’re great for tracking short-term changes—like weather systems, ocean currents, or even deforestation. On the other hand, geostationary satellites have a broader view. They stay over the same spot on Earth’s surface, so they’re good for things like long-term weather forecasting and communication."

Etho raised an eyebrow. "So, they’re more like... watching the big picture, while the polar ones zoom in on the details?"

Xisuma almost smiled at how quickly Etho was catching on. "That’s one way to put it."

Etho’s eyes twinkled. "Nice. I was kind of hoping you'd explain it like that."

Xisuma chuckled softly. "Well, I could go into more detail about how they each handle things like cloud cover and atmospheric interference, but I’m guessing you don’t want to get that deep into it."

"True," Etho replied, looking like he was smiling under his mask. "I'm mostly curious about how these satellites can help with weather forecasting. You mentioned deforestation earlier. You think they could help track more, like, unexpected changes in weather patterns? You know, maybe even predict something like a... hurricane?"

Xisuma paused, considering the question. "Well, yes. In fact, satellites play a crucial role in hurricane prediction. They can monitor sea surface temperatures, which is key for understanding whether conditions are right for a storm to develop. They also help track the storm's path once it forms. The data they collect is analyzed by meteorologists to predict the storm's movement, intensity, and possible impact."

Etho leaned back, tapping his fingers on the table. "That’s pretty cool. I wonder if there’s any way to get real-time data, like, from a hurricane that’s already happening. You know, see how it’s evolving in the moment."

Xisuma frowned slightly, trying to think it through. "There’s some real-time data available from satellites, but it’s not always perfect. Sometimes, the storm’s interference can make it harder for satellites to get clear pictures. But advancements in imaging technology are improving. We’re getting better at tracking storms as they happen, and there's also a growing network of satellites that focus on specific areas, so we’re getting more detailed, real-time insights."

Etho seemed pleased with that answer. "Sounds like it's not all hopeless," he said, a teasing edge in his voice. "Maybe I could use some of this for my own forecasting—could be fun to try out."

Xisuma set his coffee down, his tone shifting as he fell into his element, explaining the technicalities. "Satellites use a variety of methods to pick up information, and two of the most common are visual and infrared imaging." He leaned forward, tapping the edge of his cup with his finger. "Visual imaging is pretty straightforward. It’s just like what you’d see with your eyes, using the visible spectrum of light. This is what most people think of when they picture satellite photos—clear, high-definition images. It’s great for things like mapping or observing large-scale land changes."

Etho nodded, looking intrigued. "Okay, so that's pretty standard. What about infrared?"

Xisuma smiled, sensing Etho's curiosity. "Infrared is where it gets interesting. The Earth constantly emits infrared radiation, especially in the form of heat. Satellites equipped with infrared sensors can detect this radiation and create thermal images. These are useful because they can see things that regular cameras can't. For example, they can detect heat in the atmosphere, track cloud formation, or even see currents in the ocean."

Etho’s eyes lit up. "So infrared can see temperature differences?"

"Exactly," Xisuma said, his excitement growing. "It can measure how hot or cold something is. There are different types of infrared imaging, depending on the wavelength of radiation you're measuring. The two main ones I think you'd be interested in are near-infrared and thermal infrared. Near-infrared is just beyond the visible spectrum—this is what plants reflect a lot of, and satellites use it to monitor vegetation health."

Etho leaned forward, clearly more engaged now. "That sounds useful for things like agriculture, right?"

"Right," Xisuma confirmed. "Near-infrared is perfect for spotting areas with healthy or stressed vegetation. If crops are suffering, the satellite can pick that up long before it's visible to the naked eye. It’s used for precision agriculture, helping farmers manage crops more effectively."

"And the thermal infrared?" Etho asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Thermal infrared is focused on detecting heat," Xisuma explained. "It’s useful for things like measuring sea surface temperatures or tracking the heat emitted by urban areas. The difference in temperature can tell you a lot—like if a hurricane’s forming in the ocean or if there's a heatwave in a city."

Etho tilted his head slightly. "So it can even pick up things like wildfires or volcanic activity?"

"Yeah," Xisuma said, nodding. "Thermal infrared is incredibly sensitive. It can see the hot spots of a fire or monitor changes in volcanic activity, even when smoke or clouds block the view."

Etho looked impressed. "That’s incredible. You could get a whole lot of information from just using heat."

Xisuma took a slow sip of his coffee, if you could even call it that, feeling a sense of satisfaction in explaining something he cared about. "Exactly. The combination of visual and infrared imaging gives us a much clearer picture of what's happening on the Earth’s surface. And it's not just about weather—satellites can help with everything from urban planning to monitoring environmental changes. It’s like having a bird's-eye view of the world... just a really, really advanced one."

"Definitely sounds advanced. Makes me wonder what else they could do with all that data."

"Well," Xisuma shrugged, "if you’re serious about storm chasing, you’d probably want to get your hands on some of this satellite data. It’s pretty powerful stuff."

Etho laughed. "Maybe I’ll start small, like tracking local storms before going full-blown hurricane hunter."

Xisuma chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Let’s just keep you away from anything that might actually put you in danger, yeah?"

Etho just shrugged.

Spending time with Etho had become one of Xisuma’s favorite parts of his routine. It wasn’t just that Etho was easy to talk to or that his interest in satellites and weather made for fascinating conversations. It was the way Etho had this calm, natural presence that made everything feel... simpler. Easier. Like the weight of his thoughts—those ones that always seemed to tug at him, pulling him into places he didn’t want to go—could be set down for a while.

Sure, Xisuma had other friends, people who were great in their own right, who could make him laugh or give him advice. But even when they were around, it was different. They didn’t quite make him feel the same way. They didn’t make him smile the way Etho did, effortlessly.

There was something about how Etho didn't push, didn't ask too much of him. He could sit in silence, or they could chat about random things—weather, satellites, or some other piece of trivia—and it all felt like it was enough. Xisuma didn't have to be anyone else but himself when he was around Etho. That was rare.

The way Etho’s eyes lit up when they got into something new—whether it was the technical side of satellites or a joke they were both in on—felt like an invitation to breathe easier. Xisuma had never realized how much he needed that, how nice it could be to just spend time without expectations, without the constant hum of the noise in his head.

It was a change of pace. And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

Even now, as they sat across from each other, the light from the room casting long shadows on the walls, Xisuma realized how much he looked forward to moments like this. He didn’t know when exactly it happened, but somehow, without even trying, Etho had slipped into the role of being the person he could count on for a breath of fresh air, a pause from the mental clutter.

Chapter Text

Etho took his time walking home. The weather was nice—crisp but not too cold, the sky shifting from deep blue to warm orange as the sun set. He needed the quiet, needed the space to think. There was something oddly calming about the steady rhythm of his footsteps on the pavement, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional rustling of leaves.

His mind kept circling back to Xisuma and their conversation about satellites. It had been nice, sitting there, listening to someone who actually knew what they were talking about. Xisuma had looked so at home in that conversation, his usually tired voice gaining a spark of energy. Etho had enjoyed it more than he expected—he liked seeing Xisuma like that.

By the time he reached the front door of the apartment, the sky had darkened. He let himself in, barely making a sound as he stepped inside.

Doc was at the kitchen counter, hunched over some kind of project, muttering to himself. Bdubs was sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world. Beef was nowhere in sight, but his weirdly massive bearded dragon was draped across Bdubs’ chest, also napping. Etho briefly considered taking a picture.

Doc glanced up when Etho shut the door. “You’re home late. Didn’t get your usual ride from X?”

Etho hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “Felt like walking.” He diverted quickly, nodding to whatever Doc was working on. “What’s that?”

Doc grinned, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “A mod for my prosthetic.”

Etho stepped closer, finally taking in what Doc had been piecing together—a modified Nerf gun, its barrel slim and reinforced, the attachment seamlessly integrating with his mechanical forearm. It looked absurdly well-engineered for something meant to shoot foam darts.

Etho let out a low whistle. “That’s cool as fuck. Do I even want to ask why?”

Doc huffed a laugh, tightening a screw. “Grian started something again.”

Of course he did.

Etho’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, already knowing who it was before he even checked.

Grian: Thursday good for DnD?

Etho snorted, typing back a quick Yeah, unless Doc kills someone first.

Doc raised a brow at him. “That from Grian?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell him I’m coming for him first.”

Etho hummed, typing out Doc’s threat before tucking his phone away. He shook his head and stepped past Doc toward the hallway leading to his and Beef’s shared room. He flicked on the light, already pulling off his hoodie. His eyes landed on the rolled-up poster sitting on his desk, and he grinned.

Xisuma had given it to him earlier—a Skew-T chart, freshly printed. He had explained how to read it, talking about temperature, dew points, wind speed, all of it.

Etho had understood maybe half of it.

He unrolled the poster, pinning it up on his wall. The lines and curves of data were a mess to look at, but there was something fascinating about it.

It hurt his brain.

He loved it.

Sitting at his desk, Etho's pencil tapping against his engineering notebook as he stared at the problem in front of him. The numbers blurred together, his mind drifting back to earlier in the day—to Xisuma, sitting across from him, explaining the Skew-T chart like it was second nature.

It had started with a casual question. Etho had only half-expected Xisuma to actually explain it in detail, but of course, he had.

---

"Alright, so see these lines?" Xisuma had said, pointing at the grid of intersecting curves. "The ones slanting up to the right are temperature lines. The ones bending up to the left? Those are dry adiabatic lapse rates—basically, how air cools as it rises when there's no moisture."

Etho had nodded like he understood, but Xisuma had caught the skepticism in his expression and smirked.

"Okay, imagine you take a balloon and let it rise," he continued, grabbing a pen to draw over the chart. "If it’s dry air, it follows these left-slanting lines. But if there’s moisture, it follows these other lines—the saturated lapse rate—because condensation releases heat and slows the cooling."

Etho had frowned at the mess of lines, trying to follow along.

"And the wind barbs on the side tell you wind speed and direction at different altitudes," Xisuma had added. "So if you’re tracking a storm, you’d look for changes in wind shear and instability—see here? The gap between temperature and dew point?"

Etho had squinted at where Xisuma was pointing.

"That’s your lifting condensation level," Xisuma had said. "It’s where a rising parcel of air becomes saturated and forms clouds. If that gap is big at lower levels, it means drier air—small gap means more moisture, better storm fuel."

"So, you can predict how bad a storm might be with this?" Etho had asked.

"Yeah," Xisuma had grinned. "Once you get used to reading it, you can tell a lot about what’s happening in the atmosphere at a glance."

---

Etho sighed, flipping his pencil in his fingers.

The Skew-T chart was still pinned to the wall above his desk, the dense mess of lines still looking like gibberish. But now, he could almost hear Xisuma’s voice explaining it again, breaking it down like it was something simple.

He turned back to his engineering homework, eyes scanning the problem set. Fluid dynamics, pressure systems—it wasn’t the same as meteorology, but there was some overlap.

For someone who knew a decent bit about meteorology, it was interesting how Xisuma didn’t seem to like the weather too much himself.

He could easily explain how the instruments worked, how to interpret their readings, how to predict shifts in pressure systems and the potential for severe weather. But when it came to actually experiencing anything more intense than a light drizzle, he clammed up.

Etho had noticed it pretty quickly. Xisuma would go quiet when storms rolled in, his usual steady presence shifting into something more guarded. He never talked about it directly, but Etho had seen the way his jaw would tighten at distant thunder, the way he always seemed to check the radar even when the sky was clear.

It was an odd contrast, considering how much Etho loved the rain.

For as long as he could remember, rain had been comforting. The steady patter against rooftops, the rhythmic drumming against windows—it made everything feel softer, like the world was slowing down for just a little while. Even storms didn’t bother him much. If anything, he found them fascinating.

Maybe that was because of how he grew up.

There weren’t many constants in Etho’s childhood—home had never been one fixed place, and stability had been more of a suggestion than a reality. He had bounced between houses, between different relatives, never really settling for long. But no matter where he was, the rain always sounded the same.

It was familiar. A constant when everything else wasn’t.

Even now, with his textbooks spread across his desk and his brain half-fried from engineering problems, the thought of an oncoming storm made him feel a little more at ease.

Etho glanced over at the Skew-T chart on his wall, his fingers absently tapping against his desk.

Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it. Not the meteorology stuff—he already knew X would launch into an hour-long explanation if prompted—but why he seemed so reluctant to be out in the weather himself.

Not tonight, though.

Tonight, he had enough thinking to do.

Etho was halfway through reworking an equation when a knock on the doorframe pulled him out of his thoughts. He glanced up to see Bdubs leaning in, an easy grin on his face.

"Hey, Etho! You wanna come with me to grab dinner? Figured we could talk a little about Grian's next campaign while we're at it."

Etho raised an eyebrow, setting his pencil down. "What, already tired of Doc's tinkering?"

Bdubs snorted. "He started talking about 'optimal barrel configurations' for his Nerf gun arm, and I figured it was my cue to leave before I became a test subject."

Yeah, that sounded like Doc. Etho pushed back from his desk, stretching his arms over his head. "Alright, sure. Need a break from all this math anyway."

Bdubs clapped a hand on his shoulder as he stepped back, waiting for Etho to grab his jacket before heading toward the door. "Sweet. Also, be prepared—Grian’s been scheming again, and I have thoughts about my next character."

Etho rolled his eyes, smirking as he followed Bdubs out into the hallway. "Of course he has. Alright, hit me with it—what’s the grand plan this time?”

The walk to the takeout place wasn’t too bad—cool air, streetlights flickering to life as the sun dipped below the horizon. Bdubs had picked a spot a few blocks away, saying something about supporting “the little guys” instead of ordering from a big chain. Etho didn’t mind; he liked the hole-in-the-wall places best anyway.

They placed their order quickly—enough food to feed their whole chaotic household—and stepped aside to wait. Bdubs leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Man," he sighed, "things have been kinda weird lately, huh?"

Etho raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Bdubs hummed, rocking back on his heels. "I dunno, just feels like everything’s shifting a little, y'know? Grian's stirring up chaos again, Doc's getting way too invested in his latest project—" he gestured vaguely— "and you have been spending a lot of time with Xisuma lately."

Etho, who had just taken a sip of his drink, barely stopped himself from choking. "I see where this is going," he said dryly.

Bdubs wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, do you now?"

Rolling his eyes, Etho crossed his arms. "It’s not like that. X just helps me out with some of my coursework, and I got him a coffee the other day. That’s it."

Bdubs grinned. "Uh-huh. Sure. You two are practically attached at the hip lately."

"That’s an exaggeration."

"Okay, maybe a little," Bdubs admitted, shrugging. "But c'mon, man. You seem happier lately, and I think he’s got something to do with it."

Etho huffed but didn’t argue. Xisuma had been a steady presence lately, always willing to answer questions, always showing up when Etho needed a ride or a quiet space to work. It was... nice.

Before he could think too hard about it, the cashier called out their order number, and Bdubs clapped his hands together. "Oh, hell yeah! C’mon, let’s grab this before Doc starts texting threats about starvation."

Etho shook his head but followed, letting the conversation drop for now.

Maybe Bdubs had a point.

Maybe Etho wasn’t ready to acknowledge it just yet.

Chapter Text

Xisuma pulled up to Keralis' apartment complex, the rumble of his truck’s engine humming beneath him as he tapped his fingers against the wheel. The morning sun was already peeking through the skyline, casting long golden streaks across the pavement.

He wasn’t really sure how he’d been talked into this—well, no, he did know. Keralis had insisted he needed to go out more, and somehow, that had translated to a beach trip. It wasn’t that Xisuma disliked the beach, but he wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of guy. He liked being indoors, surrounded by his projects, with the familiar hum of his computer running in the background. But Keralis had a way of making things sound appealing, and here he was.

He barely had time to put the truck in park before the front door swung open, and Keralis stepped out, sunglasses perched atop his head and an overstuffed bag slung over his shoulder.

"You know," Keralis started as he opened the passenger door, "you never pick me up for something casual. It's either some weird project or me dragging you out of the house."

Xisuma snorted. "You are dragging me out of the house."

Keralis slid into the seat with a grin. "Exactly! You need to go out more, sweetface."

Xisuma rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He wasn’t opposed to going places—it just never really occurred to him most of the time. His world was code, work, and school. The occasional meal with Bdubs or Doc. But Keralis had a point.

Maybe he did need a break.

The drive to the beach was peaceful, windows down, salty air drifting in as they passed rows of small-town shops and coastal homes. Keralis fiddled with the radio, skipping past static-filled stations until settling on something upbeat.

"So, what’s the agenda?" Xisuma asked.

"Agenda?" Keralis scoffed. "We’re at the beach, Shashwammi. There is no agenda. We relax. We exist. Maybe we build a sandcastle. Who knows?"

Xisuma hummed, turning the wheel as they pulled into a lot near the boardwalk. "Sounds fake, but okay."

Keralis laughed as they hopped out, heading toward the shore with their stuff. The sand was warm under their feet, the ocean stretching out endlessly before them. The beach wasn’t too crowded—just a few families, some surfers, and a group of kids trying to fly a tangled-up kite.

They set up near a cluster of rocks, the sound of waves crashing a steady rhythm in the background. Keralis flopped onto his towel, arms behind his head.

"So," he said, sunglasses now firmly in place. "How’s life, Mr. Anti-Social?"

Xisuma chuckled. "It’s fine. Same as always. Classes, projects, occasional chaos at home."

Keralis turned his head, grinning. "You seeing anyone yet?"

Xisuma scoffed. "Why is that the first question?"

"Because," Keralis said, stretching out, "I have to live vicariously through you."

"You have a boyfriend," Xisuma pointed out.

"Two, technically," Keralis corrected, smirking.

Xisuma gave him a look. "You're not dating Hypno."

"No, but he’s dating Xb, so it still counts," Keralis said matter-of-factly.

Xisuma shook his head with a laugh. "Fair enough. You happy with all that?"

"Very," Keralis said, and for all his usual teasing, there was a genuine warmth to it. "Xb's amazing. Hypno’s a bit of a menace, but in a fun way."

Xisuma smiled. He was just happy Keralis was happy.

They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, the sun warming their skin as seagulls called overhead. After a while, Keralis shifted, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You still working on that big project of yours?"

"Which one?" Xisuma asked, sipping from his water bottle.

"The one with all the nerd stuff—the coding thing," Keralis waved a hand vaguely.

Xisuma rolled his eyes but indulged him. "Yeah, still working on it. It’s mostly optimization stuff right now. Cleaning up the code, making sure things don’t break when they scale up. The usual."

Keralis whistled. "That sounds like hell."

Xisuma smirked. "It’s not so bad when you like it."

Keralis shook his head. "See, I like working with my hands. Give me blueprints, let me design a space, make something look beautiful. That’s my thing. You? You like making machines think. That’s terrifying."

"It’s not that dramatic."

"Oh, it so is."

Xisuma just shook his head, amused. They were different in how they created things, but that was part of what made their friendship work.

Eventually, they wandered down to the water, letting the waves lap at their feet. Keralis tried to convince Xisuma to get in, but he wasn’t having it.

"You live in a coastal town and you don’t swim?" Keralis gasped.

"Not often," Xisuma corrected.

Keralis groaned. "You are so lame."

"You knew that already."

The sun was starting to dip lower when Xisuma’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, swiping the notification open.

Xisuma stared at the message, fingers hovering over the screen.

Etho: Hey, you wanna go storm chasing?

His first instinct was to say no.

Keralis leaned over his shoulder, peering at the message. "Oh? What does the mysterious Etho want?"

Xisuma tilted the phone so Keralis could see.

Keralis blinked. Then he cackled. "Storm chasing?! Oh, you have to go."

Xisuma didn't respond right away. He knew Keralis was mostly teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something else there—like he was watching to see how Xisuma would react.

"You like meteorology, don’t you?" Keralis prompted, nudging him.

"I do," Xisuma admitted.

"And you like Etho."

Xisuma shot him a look. "Not like that."

Keralis smirked but didn't push. Instead, he leaned back on his hands, studying Xisuma for a moment before softening. "You okay with it?"

Xisuma hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around his phone. Keralis knew. Maybe not everything, but enough to understand why storms weren’t something he sought out.

Xisuma had spent years learning about them, understanding them in the way that engineers and meteorologists did, breaking them down into data and patterns and probabilities. It was easier that way. It made storms something he could control, even if only in theory.

But chasing one? Going toward something he usually avoided?

He exhaled.

"He doesn’t have a license," Xisuma pointed out instead.

Keralis snorted. "That’s what you're worried about?"

"It’s a valid concern."

Keralis rolled his eyes. "You could just drive."

Xisuma frowned down at the message. It would mean spending the entire day in a car with Etho. It would mean being close to a storm—not just looking at radar loops, not just watching it unfold from a distance, but being there.

It was a stupid idea.

And yet.

He typed out a response.

Xisuma: You do realize you don’t have a license, right?

The reply came almost instantly.

Etho: You do though :)

Xisuma sighed. Keralis laughed.

"You’re going, aren’t you?"

"...Yeah," Xisuma muttered.

Keralis clapped him on the back, grinning. "Look at you, facing your fears."

Xisuma didn’t correct him. Didn’t say that this wasn’t about fear, not exactly. That it was about control. That it was about understanding something in a way that might make it less terrifying.

Maybe this would help.

Or maybe it was the worst idea he'd had in a while.

Either way, he was going.

Chapter Text

Xisuma was early. Of course he was.

He sat in the driver’s seat of his truck, both hands white-knuckled on the wheel, the engine idling quietly beneath him. The dash clock ticked past the meeting time he’d set for himself, giving him those extra minutes to breathe before Etho came out of the apartment.

He’d already checked the radar, the road conditions, the gas level, the tire pressure, the emergency kit in the back, and the lightning strike probability. Twice. Well, okay—three times.

Just because it was only a severe thunderstorm they were planning to chase didn’t mean things couldn’t get out of hand. Most first-time chases didn’t go that far out, and Xisuma was banking on that. Just a wide open stretch of road, some big dramatic clouds, maybe a well-behaved lightning bolt flickering in the distance. Nothing like before.

Not that he talked about before.

The thing was—he liked weather. He liked understanding it, predicting it, analyzing it. He liked how the data moved, how the radar painted pictures across his screen. But he didn’t like being in it. Not storms. Not lightning.

Especially not lightning.

A soft chime from his phone pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, but it wasn’t a message—it was a calendar reminder he’d set an hour ago.

Relax. You triple-checked everything. You're not going to die.

That… might’ve been too optimistic.

Just as he reached for the ignition key again (not to leave, just to feel ready to leave, there was a difference), the apartment building’s front door opened. Xisuma looked up to see Etho stepping outside, hoodie pulled up even though the sky was only overcast. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself for someone dragging a lightning-averse engineer into the teeth of a thunderstorm.

Trailing just behind him was Doc, who was grinning like he’d invented the concept of storms himself.

“Xisuma!” Doc called, waving a mechanical hand. Etho gave a lazy little salute.

Xisuma lowered the passenger side window. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Etho said, already pulling the door open and tossing his backpack into the footwell. “Thanks again for driving.”

“Sure.”

Doc leaned in slightly on Etho’s side, peering at Xisuma like he was inspecting a vehicle he was about to buy.

“Storm chasing, huh?” Doc said, tone way too excited. “You gotta tell me what it’s like to get struck by lightning.”

Xisuma blinked. “Excuse me?”

Doc just shrugged. “It’s probably gonna happen at least once. Might as well make it count!”

“That is—not—how that works,” Xisuma said slowly.

“You could ground the truck better,” Doc added thoughtfully. “Although honestly, if you wanna get good readings on electromagnetic fields—”

“Goodbye, Doc,” Etho interrupted, physically pushing the door closed.

“Later!” Doc called cheerfully through the glass.

Xisuma stared at Etho as he buckled himself in. “Does he think this is funny?”

Etho gave him a crooked smile. “He thinks everything is funny. It’s a problem.”

Xisuma rubbed his hands together once before pulling out of the lot, keeping his focus on the road. “I’m going to need to pet a dog after this. For like… hours.”

“Oh?”

“I’m calling Ren and False when we’re back. If they’re home, I’m going to their apartment and borrowing their dog.”

“You say that like it’s the only way you’re surviving today.”

“It might be.”

Etho just grinned and reached over to turn on the playlist they’d made for the trip—mostly mellow tracks, some instrumentals, a couple old science documentary soundtracks Xisuma had added for irony.

The drive stretched out in front of them, cloud-heavy and still dry. The storm was still a good couple counties away, and they had time to get to it.

Xisuma knew this wasn’t going to be easy. His nerves twisted tighter with every mile closer. But if Etho noticed, he didn’t say anything. Just sat with one leg pulled up, window cracked to let the wind play with the edge of his hood, humming softly to the music.

Xisuma gripped the wheel a little looser.

It would be fine.

He had control.

And maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t regret this.

Xisuma kept his eyes on the road, letting the hum of the engine and the soft melodies of the playlist fill the space between them. The comment about lightning still hung in the air like a phantom, despite how casually Doc had said it. He knew Doc hadn’t meant anything by it—Doc was just being Doc. Always looking for something to tease or joke about. And in that sense, Doc was as harmless as a thunderstorm at its best. But for Xisuma… lightning wasn’t something you joked about.

It wasn’t even about the danger, at least not entirely. No, it was the memory—the sensation of the power, the weight of it. That oppressive charge hanging thick in the air, ready to explode without warning. Xisuma hated it more than he hated being wrong in his work. And he hated admitting that fear. Hell, he barely even talked about it, even with his closest friends.

A soft chuckle broke through his thoughts. “Brought snacks, by the way,” Etho said, nudging the bag next to him. “Got us some beef jerky and chocolate, because I’ve learned to bring good stuff on road trips.”

Xisuma shot a quick look at Etho, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Etho looked pleased and held up the bag of jerky like it was a prized treasure, blushing a little. “It’s not a real road trip unless there’s jerky involved. And chocolate. Gotta keep the brain fueled, you know?”

Xisuma chuckled and took the jerky, unwrapping it quickly and tossing a piece in his mouth. “Fair enough. I’m just waiting for the storm to show up now.”

Etho nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. That’s the tricky part. You never really know how fast it’ll develop. Or where it’ll hit hardest. We might get a good view of it, or it might miss us entirely.”

“Just as long as we’re not in it when it decides to show up,” Xisuma muttered, mostly to himself, but it wasn’t like Etho hadn’t heard him.

Etho just hummed as he reached for the snacks again. As he unwrapped another piece of jerky, he casually continued, “You know, I was thinking. The observations are pretty neat. Most people don’t realize how much data goes into predicting weather. You’ve got METARs, and then there are Specis too. The difference is subtle but important.”

Xisuma glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Specis?”

“Yeah, Specis are like special reports, usually for things that are specific to a location or event. Like if there's a localized storm or something unusual happens, you get a Specis report. METARs are standard weather reports for airports. They’re almost like a snapshot of conditions at a particular moment.”

Xisuma nodded, feeling a wave of relief pass over him. This was something he could focus on, something that didn’t come with the weight of old memories. “Right, so METARs are great for airports. Good for pilots. I take it Specis are more for localized events or phenomena that aren’t on the radar yet?”

“Exactly. Like microbursts or unexpected thunderstorms. They give you data you can’t always get from the regular weather models. More real-time, hands-on stuff. That’s why storm chasers use them—and because, you know, it’s awesome.”

Xisuma gave a soft smile, impressed. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Etho’s grin was wide under his mask. “You know me. I like learning about everything, and weather’s one of the most unpredictable things out there. It’s like the universe is playing a game, and we just happen to get to look at the rules.” He took a breath, his gaze shifting to the sky, you could hear the smile in his voice.

It was just another moment of ease between them, where the tension that Xisuma carried melted a little. But still, Xisuma kept his eyes on the road, kept his thoughts carefully tethered. The sky was darkening as they got closer to the storm. The clouds were gathering in heavy clumps, swirling in thick tendrils that looked like they could whip themselves into something more. That anxiety in his chest kept crawling back, no matter how many times he forced himself to ignore it.

The drive passed too quickly.

It wasn’t long before they hit the outskirts of the storm’s zone, the first drops of rain splattering against the windshield. Xisuma slowed the truck, following the dusty trail of other storm chasers who’d already gotten there ahead of them. The storm wasn’t yet violent, but the air was charged, and the distant flashes of lightning lit up the dark sky.

“Alright, here we go,” Etho said, looking out at the horizon. “We’ll wait here for the storm to pass through. It should be big enough soon. This is gonna be great.”

Xisuma’s stomach turned a little at the words. His grip on the wheel tightened.

They parked on the side of the road, a little distance away from other storm chasers who were already setting up their equipment. Xisuma had double-checked the radar again as they pulled in. Everything still looked relatively safe—no immediate tornado warnings, no indication of violent thunderstorm activity just yet. But that wasn’t what made his pulse quicken.

The rain wasn’t what bothered him.

The lightning was.

He leaned his head back against the seat for a moment, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself. He hated this part. It was fine when it was just rain, even hail was manageable, but the crackle of air just before a lightning strike—it was enough to send him into a spiral. And it was all around them now.

“Xisuma?” Etho’s voice was softer now, quieter. “You alright?”

Xisuma exhaled slowly, opening his eyes and looking at the storm on the horizon. It was still too far off, but the occasional flicker of light—just enough to light up the dark, billowing clouds—was enough to have him biting his lip. “I’m fine. Just… not a huge fan of lightning.”

Etho raised an eyebrow, his voice gentle. “You’ve mentioned that before. Is it… because of something that happened?”

Xisuma’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wasn’t ready for this conversation. “Not really. I just… don’t like it.” He didn’t want to go into detail about why—not now. Not with Etho so close, so calm about it. It would sound ridiculous. He didn’t need Etho to pity him. He didn’t need him to look at him differently.

Etho seemed to sense the change in Xisuma’s mood. “We don’t have to chase if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice steady. “We can always go back to the truck and wait.”

Xisuma shook his head quickly, biting down on his hesitation. “No. No, it’s fine. It’s just… I’ll be okay. Just… I’ll be okay, okay?”

Etho was silent for a moment, but then nodded, his gaze moving to the sky. “Alright. We’ll just stay in the truck for now. But if you want to go back, just let me know.”

Xisuma gave him a small, shaky smile. “Thanks.”

For now, though, the storm was just a distant rumble of thunder, the occasional flicker of lightning. It was far off, just enough to be unsettling, but not enough to be dangerous yet.

And despite everything, Xisuma wasn’t going to ruin Etho’s fun.

So he stayed. He gripped the wheel. He waited.

The hours stretched on as they sat in the truck, the storm swirling in the distance but never quite making its way closer. The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the sky, briefly lighting up the clouds in harsh, bright bursts, but they were always far away. The thunder rumbled low in the distance, deep and ominous, but the worst of it stayed at bay, a teasing promise rather than a full-on assault.

Xisuma’s grip on the wheel loosened slightly, though the tension still coiled in his gut. Each crack of lightning, each distant flash, still had him on edge, but the storm wasn’t as menacing as he’d feared. It was far enough, and there wasn’t enough of a build-up to it. He could breathe.

Etho was quiet beside him, content for now to watch the storm unfold. He had the windows cracked just enough to feel the cool breeze, the scent of rain and earth mingling in the air. Xisuma glanced over at him once, noticing the way Etho’s face was illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. He seemed so calm about it all, a stark contrast to Xisuma’s internal whirlwind.

For the most part, the storm stayed at a distance. After a while, the flashes grew more infrequent, and the thunder softened. The rain was steady but nothing particularly intense. Eventually, Xisuma was able to convince himself it was fine. The worst had passed.

“Think we should turn back soon?” Xisuma asked, his voice betraying a slight weariness as the hours ticked on. “We’ve been out here for a while.”

Etho nodded slowly, checking his watch. “Yeah, it’s been a few hours now. I guess it’s not going to get any more exciting, huh?”

“Not unless we get closer, and I’m not exactly keen on getting that close.” Xisuma gave a half-laugh, feeling the tension start to drain from his body. “Let’s head back.”

They started the drive back, the storm trailing behind them as the truck hummed along the quiet roads. The night sky was darker now, the fading light of the storm casting long shadows on the landscape, but the worst had definitely passed. It was just rain now, a steady downpour that seemed almost peaceful in comparison to the chaos they’d watched earlier.

On the way back, they stopped at a small diner. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that Xisuma would never have known about if he hadn’t been here with Ren a few months ago. The warm light spilling from the windows was comforting, and the low hum of conversations inside promised a sense of normalcy that Xisuma appreciated. He was starting to feel the quietness of the day weigh on him, the anxiety of the storm’s approach still lingering in his bones despite how uneventful it had been.

They slid into a booth in the corner, the scent of fresh food wafting over them. Xisuma took a deep breath, settling into the seat as Etho ordered their food. As they waited, Etho glanced over at him, his expression soft but curious.

“So,” Etho started, breaking the silence. “What did you think? About the storm, I mean. Did you like it?”

Xisuma hesitated, not sure how to answer. He didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but the experience had been… complicated. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible,” he said carefully. “But, uh… I haven’t exactly had the best history with lightning.” He winced a little at how vague that sounded. “It’s just not my thing.”

Etho raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful but not prying. He’d clearly heard the hesitation in Xisuma’s voice, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back in the booth and gave a small, understanding smile.

“I get that,” he said quietly. “It’s not for everyone. But I’m glad you came out, at least. It was nice to get a chance to chase a storm, even if it didn’t go as crazy as we thought.”

Xisuma nodded, appreciating Etho’s easygoing nature. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when Etho had asked him to join for storm chasing—especially since he knew how much of a sore spot thunderstorms could be for him. But he’d agreed because, well… Etho seemed to want to share it, and Xisuma figured it would be good to push past some of his own anxieties. Still, the thought of lightning had set his nerves on edge. It always did.

As their food arrived, Xisuma took a moment to gather himself, distracted by the aroma of the diner’s homey, comforting food. The smell of freshly grilled burgers and fries was just the thing to ease the tension from earlier. He dug into his meal, his thoughts slowly returning to the normal rhythm of the evening. The conversation with Etho had already shifted gears, like it always did.

"So, how are things with your roommates?" Xisuma asked, trying to keep things light as he dug into his fries. "Are they still up to all their usual chaos?"

Etho grinned, an amused glint in his eyes. "You wouldn’t believe half of it," he said, shaking his head. "Beef decided to bring home a rabbit, bled it in the bathroom sink. Bdubs is insisting we get a more comfortable couch, one better for sleeping on, And then there’s Doc, who decided to experiment with some new type of electrical gadgetry—only for it to short out halfway through the process and blow a fuse."

Xisuma snorted, shaking his head. "Those guys are a handful. But it sounds like they keep things interesting at least."

Etho chuckled, a genuine warmth in his voice as he continued, "Oh yeah. But it’s also, uh, exhausting sometimes. I think I spend half my time fixing stuff that’s not even broken when it comes to them."

“I bet,” Xisuma said, his lips curling into a small smile. He took a sip of his drink, the cool liquid helping to wash away the last remnants of the storm’s unease. “It must be nice, though, to have that kind of energy around. I’m not sure I could handle it full-time.”

Etho gave a half-shrug, his smile turning more contemplative. “I’m used to it by now. And it’s... it's kind of comforting in its own way. Even when they’re making everything explode.” He paused, looking out the window for a second as if lost in thought. “I guess that’s just what family is, right? A little chaotic, but... you make it work.”

Xisuma felt a lump form in his throat at the word "family." He’d never been great at sharing his emotions, but there was something about the way Etho spoke that made it feel okay to talk about the things that often stayed buried deep inside. There was a certain comfort in knowing that Etho got it, even if they didn’t always say much about their respective pasts.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "Yeah. Family," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. "I guess that's true."

The conversation shifted again, but the moment lingered in the back of Xisuma’s mind as they finished up their meals. After dinner, they paid the bill and walked back to the truck. The night air felt cooler now, the humidity having finally broken after the rain. Xisuma was grateful for the change in the weather, a small reprieve from the lingering tension in his chest.

As they reached the truck, Etho glanced over at Xisuma. “Thanks for doing this tonight,” he said sincerely, his voice light but with an undercurrent of meaning. “I know it wasn’t easy, especially with the whole lightning thing. I appreciate you coming along.”

Xisuma nodded, his heart warmed by the genuine gratitude in Etho’s voice. “Yeah, well… it’s nothing, really. I’m glad you enjoyed it. And, uh, I didn’t exactly hate it, so that’s something.”

Etho’s smile widened. "Good. I think the next time we chase a storm, we’ll make sure it’s a little less... electrifying." He nudged Xisuma lightly in the side, teasing.

Xisuma chuckled, a full laugh this time, and opened the door to the truck. "Sounds like a plan."

The drive back to Etho’s apartment was quieter than the drive out, the weight of the day finally settling in. Xisuma turned down the music and drove in companionable silence, his mind lingering on the evening’s events. As they pulled up to Etho’s place, Xisuma parked the truck and turned to face him.

“Alright, here we are,” Xisuma said, his voice a little softer now that the night was winding down. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Etho nodded, pulling his seatbelt off and getting ready to step out of the truck. "Yeah. Thanks again, Xisuma. I’ll text you soon." He paused, his fingers on the door handle, and then looked back over his shoulder with a small smile before going inside.

As Etho stepped out and closed the door behind him, Xisuma watched him disappear into the building. The night air felt cooler now, the city quiet except for the occasional rustling of leaves in the breeze. It had been a good night, despite everything. Xisuma was glad he’d come along for the ride.

He glanced at his phone, and after a moment of hesitation, he sent a text to Ren: “Hey, want to hang out sometime this week? Maybe a movie night? I could really use some downtime.”

He thought about it for a second, then added: “False can join too, if you’re both free. I could really use a few hours of just… nothing.”

Xisuma knew the message might seem random, but he felt an odd sense of reassurance at the thought of being surrounded by the quiet comfort of Ren and False. They’d often had those late-night movie marathons, and they didn’t ask too many questions, just sat back and let the hours slip by as they watched films, snacked, and laughed over ridiculous moments.

As he drove away, his phone buzzed in the seat beside him. He picked it up and glanced at the screen, seeing a message from Ren. "That sounds great! We’re free tomorrow night. I’ll let False know. We can order pizza and do nothing for a few hours. I’m down.”

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the storm chasing trip with Etho, but Xisuma hadn’t been sleeping right since.

He hadn’t said anything to Etho about it—hadn’t said anything to anyone, really—but the memories that had clawed their way up during the lightning flashes hadn’t left him alone. He wasn’t even sure if they were memories, exactly. They felt warped, blurred by time and trauma, more like the echo of something sharp and unfinished.

Every night since, he’d laid down hoping for rest and instead found himself tangled in a cycle of half-sleep, jolting upright with the phantom scent of ozone in his nose and his heart in his throat. Sometimes there was a name on the tip of his tongue when he woke up, sometimes a scream, but he never let it out. Just ran a hand down his face, checked the time, and lay there with his thoughts.

So yeah, tonight? He was grateful for tonight.

Ren had picked the movie—something with enough glittery space suits and melodramatic acting to put any lingering dread on pause—and False had promised snacks. The two of them had gently vetoed Xisuma’s place for hangouts months ago, calling it “a little too clinical” and “vaguely haunted.” And honestly? He didn’t blame them. His parents house was too quiet, too still. No warmth in the corners. No sounds except his own.

Ren and False’s apartment, though? It was the complete opposite. There were plants in the windows, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and throw blankets that didn’t match anything but still made you feel like you belonged there. And of course, there was the dog—Zephyr—who greeted Xisuma at the door like he hadn’t seen him in years instead of a week.

“Hey, buddy,” Xisuma murmured, kneeling to ruffle Zephyr’s ears as the giant mutt practically shoved his face into Xisuma’s hands. “You been keeping them in line?”

Zephyr wagged his tail like it was the only answer necessary, and Xisuma couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. The tension in his shoulders eased just a bit.

Ren appeared from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and a crooked grin. “About time you got here, man. The movie’s not gonna watch itself.”

“You say that like it’s a threat,” Xisuma said, stepping inside properly and toeing off his shoes.

“Oh, it is,” False called from the couch, where she was setting up the movie. “We’re watching Galaxy Cop IV: Return of the Laser Pharaohs. You will suffer.”

“Violently,” Ren added, shoving the popcorn into Xisuma’s hands before grabbing another bowl for himself.

Xisuma just snorted and followed them into the living room, letting the chaos of their dynamic carry him.

They settled in—Ren stretched out on the floor, False curled on one end of the couch, Zephyr already half in Xisuma’s lap—and the movie started with a triumphant trumpet fanfare and graphics that looked like they’d been rendered on a toaster.

It was perfect.

Somewhere around the scene where the titular Galaxy Cop tried to seduce the Pharaoh’s high priestess with the line, “Your eyes shine brighter than the quantum suns of Nebulon-6,” Xisuma felt himself laugh. Like, a real laugh, one that pushed up from his chest and shook his shoulders. Ren and False joined in, and it echoed warmly around the room.

For a while, the weight lifted. The static in his chest dulled to a manageable hum. He didn’t think about storms or the bitter flash behind his eyelids when he blinked too long. Didn’t think about how the scent of wet pavement sometimes sent him spiraling, or how he avoided the box in his closet that hadn’t been opened since—

No.

Just the movie. Just the popcorn. Just Zephyr snoring into his thigh.

False made some offhand comment about how this franchise had to be a money laundering scheme, and Ren pretended to be offended, defending the film’s “groundbreaking commitment to glitter and slow-mo.” The whole night was ridiculous. Grounding. Human.

And that was exactly what Xisuma needed.

When the credits rolled—complete with a post-credits scene teasing a fifth film that no one asked for—they sat in the warm lull of a finished movie night. Ren yawned dramatically. False was already scrolling through her phone, probably checking tomorrow’s forecast. Zephyr had completely sprawled across Xisuma’s lap by now, too heavy to move and too soft to try.

“You good?” False asked, finally glancing over at him.

Xisuma hesitated for half a second. Then: “Yeah. This helped. A lot.”

“Movie nights are magic,” Ren said, stretching his arms over his head with a grin.

“Especially when the movies are this bad,” Xisuma said, leaning back and letting himself exist in the space for a few more minutes.

Eventually, he knew he’d have to go home. Back to the quiet. Back to the half-dreams.

But maybe, just maybe, tonight would be a little easier.

Zephyr finally rolled off Xisuma’s lap with a big huff, letting him stretch out properly on the couch again. It was then that he noticed the small, unfamiliar shape slinking into the room with all the grace and smugness of something that knew it ruled the apartment.

A fluffy black cat with a bold white stripe down its nose and yellow eyes hopped up onto the back of the couch, stared at Xisuma for all of five seconds, and then promptly made itself comfortable next to False.

“...Wait,” Xisuma said slowly, “is that a cat?”

False smirked. “That is Ren.”

Xisuma blinked at her, then at the cat. “I thought that—” he pointed toward the pink-haired man sprawled on the floor, chewing on a candy wrapper, “—was Ren.”

“They both are,” False said without missing a beat. “One’s the gremlin I chose to live with. The other is my roommate.”

Ren threw a piece of popcorn at her. The cat blinked slowly, unbothered, and began cleaning its paw like it hadn’t just been the subject of a small existential identity crisis.

“I hate this household,” Xisuma said, deadpan, though there was no real heat to it. “How long have you had him?”

“Couple weeks now,” Ren said, sitting up a little straighter. “Picked him up from the rescue. He kept trying to climb the shelves like he was possessed, and False was immediately sold.”

“He opened a drawer and stole a rubber band,” False said fondly, stroking the cat’s back. “Like—with intent.”

Xisuma chuckled softly, shaking his head. “That... actually sounds pretty fitting.”

“He likes you,” Ren added, watching as the cat sauntered across the back of the couch and stopped right by Xisuma’s shoulder. “That’s rare. He’s kind of a little bastard.”

“Must be the name,” Xisuma muttered as the cat sat primly beside him, tail flicking against his neck. “Or maybe I just have a face cats like.”

They all laughed again, that gentle kind of laughter that comes at the tail end of a night, when everyone’s warm and tired and a little loopy from too much sugar.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, naturally, to what had been happening lately. Ren mentioned a new commission he was working on for a local art show. False talked about her recent freelance contracts. Xisuma shared a few light comments about work, nothing too heavy.

He left out a lot.

And then, False glanced over at him with a knowing look. “You haven’t mentioned Etho.”

Xisuma’s fingers stilled against Zephyr’s fur.

Ren raised a brow but didn’t press. It was False who tilted her head and asked, more gently this time, “Everything okay there?”

Xisuma hesitated, then offered a vague shrug. “Yeah. I mean—we’re fine. I’ve just... been busy.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. But it also wasn’t the whole truth.

The reality was, he’d been keeping a little distance. Not intentionally, not really. But after the storm chasing trip, something in him had curled inward a bit. It wasn’t Etho’s fault—if anything, Etho had made the whole thing easier than it could’ve been. But even so, being near him had started to remind Xisuma of things he hadn’t wanted to face. Things buried. Things he still didn’t have the words for.

So the texts had been slower. The casual invitations left unanswered.

False didn’t push. Just gave a small nod like she understood more than he was saying.

Ren, mercifully, picked up the mood again by flopping dramatically across the floor and declaring, “Alright. Next movie night, I’m picking the good kind of bad movie. One with a dance number and at least three completely unnecessary explosions.”

“I will hold you to that,” Xisuma said, grateful for the shift, for the grounding comfort of friends who knew when to dig deeper and when to let you breathe.

The cat—Ren the Second—settled beside him, purring softly. Zephyr let out a content little snore from the floor.

And for the first time in days, Xisuma thought he might actually be okay. Not perfect. Not fixed. But okay.

He could figure the rest out tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Etho was pretty sure he was overthinking it.

He had to be. Right?

It had been a few days since he and Xisuma had gone storm chasing, and since then, Xisuma had been... quiet. Not totally absent, not ghosting him or anything, but the usual easy texts and quiet coffee shop meetups had slowed to a crawl. Etho had caught glimpses of him around campus—talking to Ren, sitting with False under the big oak tree near the architecture building, laughing with Keralis in that quiet way Xisuma laughed when he actually relaxed—but none of those moments had been with him.

Etho knew he wasn’t owed constant attention. He really wasn’t that clingy. At least, he didn’t think he was. But something about the sudden shift in tone had thrown him off. They’d been spending more time together than ever before, nerding out over data sets and storm systems, going on midnight snack runs, swapping bad science memes over coffee.

And then… nothing. Just silence, like someone had pulled the plug and walked away.

Etho shifted in his chair, watching the lines of code crawl across his screen as he ran another simulation for one of his engineering classes. He wasn’t really focused on it. Not when his mind kept cycling back to that stormy night—the way Xisuma had gone stiff in the passenger seat, knuckles white on his pant leg, barely speaking once the lightning started.

Etho had wanted to ask, to check in, but hadn’t. Not then. He hadn't wanted to push.

Maybe he should have.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face before pushing his chair back from the desk. His half-finished notes on METAR parsing sat forgotten beside an empty mug. He stood up, stretching, and wandered toward the window. Outside, the clouds were starting to roll in again—gray, dense, slow-moving.

“Rain again,” he muttered. A flicker of something soft twisted in his chest. He didn’t mind the rain.

Not like Xisuma.

Doc’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. “You talking to yourself again?”

“Always,” Etho called back, smiling faintly.

“You need a distraction,” Doc said. “Come try the new build. I added a thermal scope and a laser.”

“That sounds mildly illegal.”

“It’s Nerf. The law doesn’t apply.”

Etho snorted and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window for a moment. He liked living here, liked the chaos and weirdness of Doc’s tinkering, Bdubs’ ridiculous arguments with Beef over houseplants, the inexplicably tame lizard that now treated their furniture like its own personal jungle gym.

But he missed Xisuma’s calm. Missed his awkward smiles and quiet, precise way of speaking. Missed how he’d light up when he got to explain something weird and overly complicated. Missed just… being around him.

Maybe he was overthinking things.

Maybe he’d just shoot a text. Something dumb. A picture of Doc’s war machine. A “you’d appreciate this” kind of message.

Something to reopen the door without knocking too hard.

The front door creaked open and slammed shut a second later—Beef, as usual, coming in with all the subtlety of a brass band.

“Guess who’s back!” he called, loud enough to wake the beardie from its perch on the couch. The lizard blinked slowly, shifted one leg, then promptly fell back asleep on top of Bdubs’ abandoned hoodie.

Etho poked his head out of his room. “Let me guess: the ghost of team morale?”

“Ha!” Beef grinned, hauling his bag off his shoulder. “Close. Team Canada, actually. Talked to Pause while I was gone—he says we need to get the trio back together. Some big gaming competition thing coming up in like, a month. I told him I’d ask you.”

Etho perked up a bit at that. “Pause is dragging us into another tournament?”

“He claims it’ll be fun this time,” Beef said, winking. “No broken controllers, no rage quits. Just good vibes and poorly planned LAN setups.”

“So, exactly like last time.”

“Exactly.”

Etho chuckled and wandered into the kitchen where Beef had started unpacking a few things from his trip. He paused when he spotted the small wooden object tucked in tissue paper.

“What’s that?”

“This?” Beef held it up, cradling it in one hand. “A little music box I found at this shop near the bus terminal. Thought you might want to take it apart or do something cool with it. It plays that one lullaby you like—what's it called?”

“Clair de Lune,” Etho said softly, reaching out to take it. The wood was smooth and dark, hand-carved with tiny stars and moons etched into the sides. He turned the crank gently, listening as the faint, tinkling melody began to play.

It was off-key in a few places. A little slow. Imperfect.

He already loved it.

“I figured it’d be more fun than just another soldering kit,” Beef added, sounding sheepish.

“No, it’s great,” Etho said, still half-listening to the song as it wound itself down. “Thanks, Beef. Seriously.”

Beef smiled and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before grabbing a soda and disappearing to yell at Doc about “nerf safety protocols” or some other house nonsense.

Etho stayed in the kitchen, gently winding the crank again. The box was clearly old, probably salvaged. But it had potential. He could already see a few spots where he might be able to tweak the gearwork, fix the tune, maybe even reprogram it to play something new.

But he didn’t think he’d change the song. It reminded him of quiet nights and lingering thoughts. Of watching the sky with someone who made silence feel less lonely.

Maybe… maybe he wasn’t overthinking everything after all.

Etho was halfway through carefully unscrewing the back panel of the music box when he heard the front door open again—this time a lot gentler, the sound of someone trying not to wake the whole house.

Bdubs.

Etho smirked to himself, setting the little screwdriver down and leaning back in his chair to peek into the hallway. Bdubs looked thoroughly exhausted, hay stuck in his hair and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands flecked with dirt and whatever stable horrors he’d encountered today.

But before Bdubs could even finish toeing off his boots, a figure moved from the shadows—Doc, of course, wearing the biggest grin imaginable and cradling his arm like he was about to draw a goddamn revolver in an old western.

“You,” Doc said with too much glee, “are my first test subject.”

Bdubs barely had time to blink. “Test what—”

Thwip.

A foam dart pinged off Bdubs’ forehead.

Etho cackled, slapping a hand over his mouth as Bdubs yelled, “What the hell!?” and Doc took off down the hallway, already reloading the custom-built nerf launcher he’d installed into his prosthetic arm.

“Oh, this is so going in the folder,” Etho muttered, grabbing his phone and hitting record just in time to catch Bdubs charging after Doc, armed with only a throw pillow and indignation.

The hallway echoed with chaos—Bdubs’ shouting, Doc’s delighted laugh, the occasional thud as more darts flew. Etho stayed out of it, content to film from the sidelines and offer the occasional “oooh, headshot!” for dramatic commentary.

Once he had a good two minutes of footage—including Bdubs tripping over his own boots and yelling, “THIS IS A WAR CRIME, DOC!”—Etho paused the recording and sent it straight to Xisuma.

[video attachment]
> thought you might appreciate this
> doc’s mod works a little too well

A moment later, he added:

> also he’s making a version 2
> pray for us all

Xisuma didn’t reply immediately, but the little “typing…” bubble blinked on for a second before disappearing again. Etho frowned a little at that, then shook it off. Maybe he was just busy.

Still, he left the message thread open a little longer than necessary, thumb hovering just above the keyboard.

Then he sighed, flipped back to his camera roll to rewatch Bdubs get clocked in the forehead, and let himself laugh again.

The library was unusually quiet for a Thursday afternoon—overcast skies and the soft patter of rain against the windows meant most students were tucked away in dorms or cafés. Etho didn’t mind it; the quiet made it easier to focus as he spread out his notes and a new wiring diagram he was tinkering with for his instrumentation class.

Still, his mind kept drifting.

He glanced at his phone more often than he should, flicked through his messages just to reread the last few with Xisuma, and ended up rereading that video exchange for the fifth time, even though he knew it by heart now. He wasn’t mad or anything—Xisuma was allowed to be busy. Everyone got overwhelmed sometimes.

But it still felt a little strange, the space that had opened up between them in the past few days.

He was in the middle of rereading a paragraph about capacitor discharge timing when he heard the soft scrape of a chair across from him.

He looked up.

Xisuma.

He didn’t say anything at first, just slid into the seat across from Etho and pushed a to-go cup across the table. Etho blinked, then smiled when he recognized the label and the smell—his favorite. Just enough caffeine to keep him awake without making him jittery, extra sweet, and with oat milk instead of cream.

“You remembered,” Etho said, voice light, fingers curling around the warm cup.

“Of course I did,” Xisuma replied quietly. He looked a little tired—dark circles under his eyes, his posture stiff and careful. “Sorry I’ve been kind of… out of it the last few days.”

Etho tilted his head slightly, watching him. “You okay?”

Xisuma hesitated, eyes flicking to the side, toward the rain-slicked window. “I will be,” he said eventually. “I just… There’s an anniversary coming up in a couple weeks. I’m not really good with this time of year.”

Etho didn’t push. He didn’t need to. The way Xisuma’s voice dropped, the subtle tension in his shoulders—it said enough.

Instead, Etho nodded and said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

Xisuma gave him a faint smile. “Thanks for not getting mad.”

“Was I supposed to?”

“You’d be within your rights.”

Etho shrugged, casually flipping through the pages in his notebook again. “Nah. I figured you’d talk to me when you were ready.” He paused, glanced up with a lopsided grin. “Also, you’re lucky you came bearing coffee. That earned you, like, a ten-minute grace period.”

That got a soft huff of amusement out of Xisuma. “Only ten?”

“I’m not that forgiving.”

Their shared smile lingered, comfortable and warm. The tension in Xisuma’s shoulders seemed to ease just a little as he pulled out his own notes and set them on the table.

They didn’t have to say anything else. They just worked, quietly, side by side like they always did. Etho wasn’t sure what anniversary Xisuma had meant, but he wasn’t going to dig. He could wait, and he’d be there whenever Xisuma wanted to talk.

And for now, this was enough.

Xisuma had been quiet for a while, scribbling something in the margins of his notebook that definitely didn’t look like class notes. His brow was furrowed, but not in that stressed-out, overwhelmed kind of way—more like he was thinking through something. Etho let the silence hang, content to work through a tricky schematic while sipping his now-lukewarm coffee.

Then Xisuma glanced up, tapping his pen lightly on the edge of his book.

“I was reading about a lunar eclipse coming up soon,” he said, voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure if it was a weird thing to bring up out of nowhere.

Etho looked up from his notes, interested. “Oh yeah?”

“It’s supposed to be a partial one, but still visible from here. Not as exciting as storm chasing,” Xisuma added with a crooked little smile, “but it could be cool to look at. You know, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Etho smiled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re really starting to sound like a proper weather nerd.”

Xisuma scoffed under his breath. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“No promises,” Etho said, and then more genuinely, “But yeah, I’d be down to watch it. Eclipse stuff’s cool. Creepy in a neat, ‘sky’s doing weird stuff’ kind of way.”

“Exactly,” Xisuma said, the word catching on a bit of quiet relief. “I figured it might be… less intense than driving into a lightning field.”

Etho raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Still thinking about that?”

“Hard not to,” Xisuma admitted. “Especially the lightning part.” He looked away for a moment. “But watching the moon turn red and fade in the quiet? That sounds like something I could actually enjoy.”

Etho nodded, smile softening. “Yeah. We should find a good spot for it. Maybe bring snacks, blankets, the whole deal. Could be a nice little reset, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Xisuma echoed. “That sounds nice.”

It wasn’t a plan, not yet. But the idea of sitting under the stars, something calm and quiet and strange in a beautiful way—that felt like something they both needed.

Chapter Text

Xisuma had spent the better part of the morning gathering blankets, pillows, and a few extra layers of clothes—anything that would make the back of his truck a bit more comfortable for their lunar eclipse watch. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him had been obsessing over getting the perfect spot. The eclipse itself would be cool, but the experience? That was what he was focused on. He wanted it to be a moment they could actually enjoy together, without distractions.

After making sure everything was packed—blankets, snacks, a cooler of drinks, even some extra flashlights just in case—he pulled out of his driveway, headed to Etho’s place. He’d offered to pick him up; the guy was never going to get a license, and honestly, Xisuma kind of liked having the excuse to drive him around. It felt like they had more time together, even if it was just for a short ride.

He parked in front of Etho’s apartment building and took a deep breath, eyes wandering to the slightly darkened windows of the place. Even though it was just another evening, Xisuma couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight—this time together, even in silence or teasing—was going to be important. Maybe that was just him overthinking again, but...

The door to the building opened, and there was Etho, walking down the stairs, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His usual laid-back style was even more evident today—loose shirt, jeans, and his classic worn-in sneakers. He had that quiet, thoughtful expression on his face, the one Xisuma had seen so often lately.

Etho stopped just short of the truck, glancing inside, then shooting Xisuma a small, easy smile. “You ready for this whole eclipse thing?” he asked, voice casual, but there was something in the way he asked it, like he was genuinely curious about how Xisuma was feeling.

“Definitely,” Xisuma replied, trying to match the light tone but feeling a little warmer than he expected. “Got the whole setup in the back. Should be cozy.”

Etho nodded, his eyes flicking toward the truck bed as he climbed in, glancing at the pile of blankets. “Nice setup. You really went all out, huh?”

Xisuma chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he started the truck. “I may have overdone it a little,” he admitted. “But hey, if we’re doing this, I figured we might as well be comfortable.”

“Fair enough,” Etho said, settling back in the passenger seat as they pulled out of the parking lot. “You know, I’m still surprised you’re going all in on this. You, of all people, usually prefer... not paying too much attention to these things.”

Xisuma let out a breath, keeping his eyes on the road as they drove away. “Yeah, well... I was the one who came up with the idea anyway, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted it to be... good. For both of us.”

There was a beat of silence, and Xisuma could feel Etho’s gaze on him, though he didn’t look over. It wasn’t a loaded silence; it was more the kind that just existed between them when they were comfortable.

“I’m glad you decided to make it something special,” Etho said, breaking the silence as he glanced out the window.

Xisuma smiled, a bit softer than before. “I’m glad you’re coming, actually. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Etho snorted, clearly trying to hide a smile. “You’re acting like we’re going to a concert or something.”

“Well, in a way, we kind of are,” Xisuma said with a grin. “The night sky’s about to put on a show. I’d say that’s as good as any concert.”

As they drove through the quiet streets, Xisuma found himself more and more looking forward to the night. The whole setup, the simple idea of lying back and staring at the stars with Etho beside him, felt so... different than what he was used to. There was something about it that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay for a while.

The drive was calm, the kind of quiet that felt comfortable, as though nothing had to be said for everything to feel in its right place. The radio played softly in the background, a mixture of static and music that barely needed attention, just something to fill the space between them. Xisuma kept his eyes on the road, fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel as he thought about everything and nothing. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... peaceful.

Etho didn’t say much, either. He had his window cracked just enough to let the cool night air in, a hint of a chill that seemed to be matching the shift in temperature as they moved further from the city. Xisuma could hear him humming along with some of the songs on the radio, though, a subtle reminder that even in silence, Etho was still with him. Xisuma’s hand drifted toward the gear shift, and he allowed himself to smile at the ease of it.

Half an hour later, Xisuma turned down a quieter side road and pulled into the field where they’d agreed to stop. The open space in front of them was perfect. The sky stretched out endlessly, and there were no bright lights to obscure their view of the heavens. He parked the truck, the engine rumbling to a stop, and threw it in park with a sigh of contentment.

Etho stretched his legs out as he got out of the truck, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, this looks perfect,” he agreed, scanning the horizon. “Nice and open, not too many lights around.”

Xisuma nodded, getting out and moving toward the back of the truck, where the blankets and pillows were stashed. “I figured it’d be good to get away from the city lights. This should give us a pretty clear view of the eclipse.”

They got everything set up, making sure the blankets were spread out comfortably in the truck bed. It wasn’t too cold yet, but the air had that crispness that made you wish for a bit more warmth. Xisuma had brought extra layers, and it was a good thing, too. Once they were settled, he found himself laying on his side, facing toward the sky, watching as the first signs of the eclipse began to show through the darkening sky. Etho, already lying next to him, nudged his side with a grin.

“Do you always go this all-out for stuff like this?” Etho asked, his voice low and teasing. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited about something.”

Xisuma shrugged, keeping his gaze on the sky. “Maybe I’m just trying to do it right this time. It feels like one of those things you don’t get a second chance at.”

“Fair,” Etho said with a small, approving hum. “I guess I’m glad you asked me to come with you.” His voice was warm, though there was an edge of something unspoken behind the words.

Xisuma didn’t want to think too much about it, just let it linger for a moment before he answered. “I’m glad, too.” He paused. “You’re right. It wouldn’t have been the same without you here.”

Etho shifted, moving a bit closer, and Xisuma tried to ignore the way his heart picked up at the motion. He was just being careful, just trying to avoid... whatever this was. Etho curled up a bit against his side, snuggling deeper into the blankets with a quiet huff.

“It’s colder than I thought it’d be out here,” Etho murmured, clearly trying to shift the subject. His tone was teasing but softer than usual. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to my place? I could make some hot cocoa or something.”

Xisuma chuckled, adjusting the blankets around them as they both settled in for the wait. “You’re just trying to get me into your place to steal my body heat, aren’t you?”

Etho grinned, lifting his head for a second to glance up at him. “Maybe,” he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But I’m not opposed to some good company either.”

Before Xisuma could respond, a voice from behind them interrupted the moment. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the two of you lovebirds.”

Xisuma froze, his heart briefly skipping a beat, before he turned his head. Joel was standing a few feet away with Lizzie, both of them walking toward them with wide smiles. Xisuma’s heart sank just a little bit. Of course.

Etho’s reaction was a lot less surprised. He tilted his head, grinning widely. “Oh great, Joel. I should’ve known you’d show up here. You stalking me now?”

Joel, ever the flirty presence, grinned even wider. “What can I say? I’m your biggest fan, Etho. You know I can’t resist.” He nudged Lizzie, who was laughing softly at the banter. “Though I didn’t think I’d find you out here with Xisuma of all people.”

Xisuma raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a sigh. “We’re just here to watch the eclipse. No big deal.”

Etho smirked, clearly amused. “You do know Joel thinks we’re secretly dating, right?”

Joel shot Etho a mock offended look, one eyebrow raised in exaggerated surprise. “Hey, I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure I saw a little spark there. I’ve got eyes, Etho.”

Xisuma gave him a quick glance, a little unsure of what to make of all of it. He had no idea what was going on with Joel and Etho—whether it was just playful teasing or something more—but it seemed like Joel was more than just friendly with him, and it made him feel just a little awkward.

Lizzie, ever the grounding force, laughed lightly. “You two are ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head. “But seriously, what are you doing out here in the cold? We brought some extra blankets, in case you need them.”

“I think we’re good for now,” Xisuma said quickly, trying to change the subject. “We’ve got everything we need.”

Joel nodded sagely. “Alright, alright. But you two better be ready for the full show. I mean, if you’re going to do this, do it right, right?”

Etho, for his part, seemed amused by the entire situation. “Always,” he said, his tone light and easy. “Can’t disappoint the biggest fan, after all.”

Xisuma shook his head, not really sure how to feel about Joel’s teasing or the unexpected interruption. He glanced at Etho, who was still smiling, a little too confidently, as though he was completely used to it.

“Well, while you two distract each other, I’ll just be here, enjoying the show,” Xisuma muttered, feeling the weight of the situation settle in. Despite the interruption, it wasn’t exactly a bad night. The company wasn’t terrible, and the eclipse was still just beginning, its shadowy presence starting to creep into the sky.

But the feeling in his chest hadn’t quite gone away.

Joel’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, breaking the tension again. “So, Etho. I’ll be your wingman any day, but when are you finally going to admit we’re in a thing?”

Etho rolled his eyes, clearly used to this. “Joel, we’re not in a thing, alright?”

Xisuma glanced at them, caught in the weird tension between teasing and real affection, before trying to focus again on the sky above them.

But it was hard to ignore the small flicker of something he couldn’t quite place.

He'd have to figure this out later.

The eclipse was just as pretty as Xisuma thought it'd be, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit peeved about having their date hangout interrupted. Etho didn’t like him like that, that fact now even more apparent to Xisuma with what Etho had told Joel. But still, as the sky darkened and the moon started to edge its way across the sun, Xisuma couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. The moment, this rare one, wasn’t quite as peaceful anymore.

Etho, however, was lying beside him, his eyes glued to the sky, and Xisuma couldn’t help but notice how the soft glow of the moon reflected off his features. He looked... different tonight, somehow. More open. More at ease than usual. His teasing had a different feel tonight, too.

“Well, now that everyone’s here,” Xisuma began with a forced lightness, “I guess the full show can really begin, huh?”

Joel, ever the interrupter, laughed. “Yeah, if by show you mean watching these two try to deny their obvious connection for the next hour, I’m all in.”

Xisuma’s eyes flickered toward Etho, who had an unreadable expression on his face. That small flicker of something—hope? disappointment?—stayed tucked in Xisuma’s chest, threatening to burst out.

Etho rolled his eyes, but there was something behind it that Xisuma wasn’t quite sure about. Maybe it was a bit of affection, hidden under the usual easygoing persona. Maybe it was something more. But whatever it was, it made the air feel heavier between them. “Joel, we’re not ‘a thing,’” Etho said with a light chuckle. “I thought I made that clear already.”

Joel didn’t seem convinced. “Oh, come on, Etho. It’s so obvious, even a blind man could see it.”

Xisuma felt the corner of his lips twitch at the absurdity of it all, but inside, he was struggling to keep his feelings contained. “Can we just enjoy the eclipse?” he asked, his voice a little quieter than he meant it to be. “Before you two turn this into some kind of soap opera?”

For a moment, the teasing stopped, and the group fell into a companionable silence, with only the soft sounds of the night and the distant hum of the universe in the background. Xisuma turned his gaze back to the eclipse, trying to take in its beauty and momentary escape from everything else.

Etho shifted next to him, brushing against his side, the small touch barely enough to send a shiver through him. The warmth of Etho’s body against his, despite the cold air, made the silence between them feel... different. The moment felt suspended in time, fragile in its simplicity, and yet, Xisuma couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it than just this one night.

"Hey," Etho said, his voice quieter now, as though he too felt the change in the air. "Thanks for bringing me out here. I know I’m not exactly... the ideal person for this kind of thing."

Xisuma turned to face him, blinking in surprise. “Etho, you’re the ideal person for anything. Trust me.”

Etho looked away, his expression unreadable, and Xisuma wondered if he’d said too much. But before he could dig himself deeper, Etho gave a small, playful smirk.

“Well, let’s just enjoy it, then,” Etho said, shifting so he could lie back, face toward the sky once more.

Xisuma followed suit, though his thoughts were far from the sky. What was he supposed to do with these feelings? How long could he keep pretending it was just a hangout, that the feelings he had weren’t more than just a passing fantasy? He glanced over at Etho, who was still smiling, and felt a tug in his chest.

But Xisuma just smiles and bears it, because the night isn’t going as he’d hoped doesn’t mean that it’s ruined. The eclipse was still breathtaking, and despite the teasing and interruptions, it was a memory he wouldn’t forget. He'd take the moments of quiet, the shared glances, the small touches, even if they didn't mean what he secretly hoped they might. He couldn't control everything, and some things were just meant to be enjoyed for what they were, not what he wished them to be.

The rest of the night passes fairly quickly. They share a few more words, some small talk, and even more silence as they watch the eclipse fade into its final stages. The night sky slowly lightens again as the moon pulls away from the sun, leaving behind the calm aftermath of the celestial event. It’s peaceful. And though Xisuma feels the weight of unspoken things hanging in the air, he doesn't let it spoil the night, he's not going to ruin it for anyone else.

By the time he’s dropping Etho back at his place, Xisuma feels that familiar mix of bittersweet resignation. He'd been tempted, for a fleeting moment, to ask Etho to spend the night. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe it would feel... right. But the thought fades just as quickly as it came. It’s not the right time, and perhaps, deep down, he knows it’s something he’d have to let unfold at its own pace, if it ever did at all.

Etho opens the door to his apartment and turns back to him with a smile. “Thanks for the ride. And... for the night. I had a good time, even if Joel tried to ruin it with his theories.”

Xisuma laughs softly, the sound a little more relaxed than he’d expected. “I think Joel’s just bored,” he says, though the tension that had been there before has already started to dissipate.

Etho hesitates for just a moment, his eyes searching Xisuma's face as if deciding whether to say something else. But then he just nods, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well... maybe next time, we’ll keep things a little more... low-key.”

“Next time,” Xisuma repeats, a quiet promise hanging between them.

Etho waves and steps inside, and Xisuma watches him go, leaning against the doorframe for just a moment longer. He doesn’t feel upset or disappointed, just... calm, like things are moving in their own time, even if he wishes they’d go a little faster.

As Xisuma turns back to his truck, he takes one last look at the stars above, feeling the gentle pull of the night’s magic still lingering in the air. Maybe it wasn’t the night he’d imagined, but it was still a good one. And for now, that was enough.

Joel jolted awake, his heart pounding as the remnants of the night’s events rushed back to him. The bed around him felt too warm, the sheets tangled up in his legs as he sat up suddenly, eyes wide. Oh no, he thought, hand flying to his forehead in disbelief. Did I just... crash a date?

His mind raced through the evening, replaying his teasing and the offhand comments about Xisuma and Etho. He’d been so caught up in his usual antics that he hadn’t realized just how much of a disaster he might have caused. I totally cockblocked them, he thought with a groan, burying his face in his hands.

What if Xisuma was actually going to make a move tonight? What if they were gonna—ugh, I really messed that up.

The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. Xisuma had that look in his eyes—like there was something else there, something unspoken. And Etho... Etho had been giving him those looks, too. The whole night felt like a moment between the two of them, and Joel had completely ruined it with his stupid teasing.

He let out a long, frustrated sigh, flopping back onto his pillow with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Lizzie’s muffled voice from the other side of the room, probably still up, maybe even pretending to be asleep so she didn’t have to deal with him.

“Joel,” Lizzie’s voice came, a little too calm for his liking. “Go back to sleep. You’ve got nothing to fix here.”

He blinked, startled. “I can’t! I totally just—”

“Yeah, yeah, you crashed their thing,” Lizzie interrupted with an exaggerated sigh, rolling over to face him. “You didn’t mean to, but it’s done. You’re not a goddamn matchmaker. Go back to sleep. Xisuma and Etho are grown-ups. They’ll figure it out if they want to.”

Joel turned his head to look at her, feeling a little sheepish. “But I really messed up, Lizzie.”

She yawned dramatically and pulled the blankets tighter around her shoulders. “You’re overthinking it. Just... go to sleep. You’re not the reason Xisuma’s not making a move, alright? That’s on him.”

Joel snorted softly, finally starting to feel the tension leave his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Lizzie reached over, flicking him lightly on the arm. “Of course I am. Now, get some sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow. And maybe, just maybe, next time don’t show up and interrupt their moments.”

Joel gave her a half-hearted salute, settling back into bed. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

But as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Maybe next time he’d be a little less... enthusiastic about his role as wingman. Maybe.

Chapter Text

The next morning came quietly, like it didn’t want to disturb anything. Xisuma moved through the motions of his day, but it all felt muted, filtered through the fog of what almost was and the sharp contrast of what actually happened.

His classes were getting busier—assignments piling up, deadlines creeping closer. The work helped distract him, let him focus on concrete things like data sets and technical writeups instead of how Etho’s smile had faltered just slightly when Joel showed up. Still, every time his phone buzzed, part of him hoped it was Etho reaching out first. It never was.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. His parents were still gone, the long absence stretching even longer, like a breath never let out. He’d grown used to it, but sometimes he caught himself listening for footsteps in the hallway or the sound of his mum singing off-key in the kitchen.

The thought of moving out crossed his mind more often lately. His friends had their own places—small flats, shared homes, student housing with too-thin walls. He could do it, too. He could. But every time he tried to picture himself somewhere else, something in his chest twisted. This house wasn’t perfect, wasn’t even warm anymore, but it held memories like ghosts clinging to every corner. He wasn’t ready to let them go. Not yet.

Still, the sunsets had become his quiet ritual.

He’d taken to sitting out back in the evenings with a blanket and a mug of tea, watching the way the sky burned itself out in layers of gold and rose and lavender. There was something grounding about it—how every day, no matter what happened, the sun still set. Still painted the world with light before it slipped away.

He thought about Etho most during those moments.

About the easy rhythm they’d had during their hangouts, the near-touch of hands, the way he’d caught Etho watching him more than once. He wanted to talk about it. He really, really did. But he didn’t know how. Didn’t know what he’d even say.

“Hey, about last night—”
No. Too formal.
“Did you... want to hang out again sometime?”
Too casual.

He sipped his tea and sighed, leaning back against the porch railing as the last of the light slipped behind the trees. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when the words didn’t feel so heavy.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t hope Etho brought it up first.

For the longest time, Xisuma had a shadow.

Exy had always been there, orbiting just at the edge of his reach—louder, brighter, a little more reckless but always there. When they were younger, they did everything together. When Exy left, it felt like someone had cut the moon out of the night sky and expected Xisuma to pretend nothing was different.

Now the house echoed.

Now, he had projects. Little things to keep his hands busy and his mind from drifting too far. And one of those projects was the beat-up '97 Hilux his dad used to drive—the same one they taught him how to shift gears in before either of them trusted him with a license.

He was elbow-deep in the engine bay, one hand resting against the frame as he squinted at a stubborn bolt, when he heard the familiar crunch of gravel.

Etho.

Xisuma blinked against the late morning sun and looked up, caught off guard. Etho stood a little awkwardly near the gate, hands in his hoodie pockets, but smiling like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be there.

“Hey,” Etho called, lifting one hand. “You free?”

“Depends,” Xisuma said, wiping his hands on a rag. “You offering to help or just here to heckle my mechanical skills?”

“I’d never heckle,” Etho said, stepping closer. “...I’d offer moral support. Totally different.”

Xisuma huffed a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders bleeding away with it. “Well, I won’t say no to company.”

There was a pause as Etho came around the truck, peering into the engine beside him. His shoulder brushed Xisuma’s for just a second.

“You’ve been working on this for a while,” Etho murmured, almost thoughtful.

“Yeah. Used to be my dad’s.” Xisuma reached for a wrench. “Figured I’d keep it running. It gives me something to do.”

Etho didn’t press. Just leaned a little closer to watch, quiet in a way that made Xisuma's heart ache—not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was easy.

“About the other night—” Xisuma said suddenly, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Etho glanced at him, head tilted.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said. “I get it.”

Xisuma nodded once. “Still. I wanted to.”

He tightened the bolt. Etho didn’t move away.

“You ever feel like… you’re just killing time?” Xisuma said, not looking at him. “Like you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing anymore, so you just—stay where it’s familiar?”

Etho was quiet for a long beat before answering. “Yeah,” he said. “A lot more than I’d like to admit.”

Their eyes met over the open hood. Xisuma smiled, small and tired but real.

Etho hopped up to sit on the edge of the truck bed, legs swinging slightly. “You know, I always kind of liked this place,” he said. “It’s quiet. The kind of quiet you can breathe in.”

Xisuma leaned against the truck beside him, arms loosely crossed. “Sometimes it feels too quiet,” he admitted. “Like the house is holding its breath. I keep waiting for it to feel normal again.”

Etho watched him for a second. “Because of Exy?”

Xisuma didn’t flinch, but the pause before he answered was telling. “Yeah. I got so used to them always being around. Even when we were fighting, they filled the space, you know? Now it’s just me and the ghosts.”

“Do they call?” Etho asked gently.

“Sometimes.” Xisuma looked away. “Not enough.”

The wind shifted. Leaves rustled at the edges of the property, and the old wind chime near the porch creaked softly. Etho’s voice was quiet when he said, “It’s not stupid to miss them. Or to want them to come back.”

Xisuma tilted his head back against the truck and closed his eyes. “I know. Doesn’t make it easier.”

They sat like that for a while. Not speaking. Just existing, with Etho’s presence keeping the silence from becoming a weight.

Eventually, Xisuma opened his eyes and glanced over. “I was going to ask you to stay that night.”

Etho looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “Yeah?”

Xisuma nodded. “But Joel—” he smiled faintly, not bitter—“he kind of crashed the moment.”

Etho laughed under his breath. “He has a talent for that.”

“I didn’t think it’d matter until after. Then it did.” Xisuma shifted, toe scuffing the gravel. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Etho. I want to move forward, but every part of me is still tied to this place, this past. And you’re...”

“I’m not asking for anything you’re not ready to give,” Etho said, tone calm but sincere. “But I’m here, ‘Su. And I like being here. Even if all we do is sit on this truck and talk about ghosts.”

Xisuma smiled at that. A real one this time, if still a little worn.

“I like you here too.”

Etho bumped his knee gently against Xisuma’s. “Then I’ll keep coming by.”

They stayed like that a while longer, talking about nothing and everything—the truck, their classes, the latest weird dream Joel had texted them about at three in the morning. It wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t heavy. It just was.

And for the first time in weeks, Xisuma didn’t feel like he was drifting.

The dream slips away like mist—fragments of wind, rain, and panic dissolving before he can catch them. But the feeling it leaves behind is sharp. Wrong. His heart’s racing, his mouth is dry, and his hands are clenched in the fabric of something warm.

It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s not in his bed.

The sofa. The living room. Dim morning light filters in through the half-closed curtains. The TV’s dark now, the DVD menu long since gone idle. A blanket is draped over them.

Them.

He shifts slightly and feels the solid warmth of Etho beside him. Xisuma’s curled in close, head tucked near Etho’s shoulder, their legs tangled.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep like this. Just the movie—something older, with a lot of quiet moments and low music. He remembers laughing. He remembers Etho’s hand brushing his knuckles.

He doesn’t remember the way his throat had tightened or the strange cold creeping up his spine right before everything faded.

His fingers twitch in the fabric of Etho’s hoodie.

He could move. Pull away. Say something casual and break the spell before it settles too deeply. But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, he lets himself breathe in slow and careful. He listens to the quiet in the house, to the way Etho’s chest rises and falls beside him.

It’s not the storm.

It’s not that night.

There's no sound of wind ripping through the tree, no raining pounding against the glass, no thunder in the distance.

There's no screaming or sirens.

But the ache of something old and half-buried still lingers in his chest like smoke.

Xisuma freezes for a moment, caught off guard. The shift in Etho’s movements is subtle, almost like a reflex. Etho’s arm moves around him, pulling him closer, until Xisuma’s head is pressed firmly against his chest, his ear picking up the soft rhythm of Etho’s heartbeat.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t try to pull away, though a part of him tells him he should. A part of him tells him that this is—too much, too comfortable, too close. But in that moment, the sound of Etho’s breathing, slow and steady, is like an anchor, keeping him from sinking back into the haze of confusion still lingering in his mind.

Xisuma can feel the warmth of Etho’s body, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each breath, and it should feel… wrong. It should feel like a line has been crossed.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like… home.

It feels like being safe.

Xisuma tells himself it’s just a few more minutes. Just a little while longer. Just enough time to shake off the edges of whatever that dream was. Just enough time to feel this. To feel this quiet, this comfort, this grounding.

And then he’ll get up. And he’ll make breakfast. And they’ll talk. Maybe.

But for now, the world outside fades away. All that’s left is the soft weight of Etho’s arm around him, the rhythmic sound of his breath, and the warmth of being close to someone who doesn’t seem to mind that Xisuma’s a little broken, a little scarred.

He’s not ready to move. Not yet.

Xisuma’s eyes flutter closed again, and just for a few minutes longer, he lets himself forget everything else.

Chapter Text

Etho sits hunched on the front steps of his apartment building, elbows resting on his knees, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms. The morning air is cool against his skin, but it does nothing to clear the warmth still lingering in his face. His mind is still reeling, caught somewhere between what just happened and what the hell does it mean.

Waking up with Xisuma curled into him had been… flustering, to put it mildly. Etho’s not even sure if Xisuma had realized how close they'd been. Maybe he had and just didn’t say anything. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything. Maybe it had.

Etho groans, pressing his palms to his face. His cheeks still feel warm, and not just from the heat of the morning sun.

Breakfast had been nice, casual, easy. They’d joked about the movie, about Xisuma’s terrible popcorn-to-butter ratio, about nothing in particular. Xisuma hadn’t brought up the way they’d fallen asleep—or how they'd woken up. And Etho hadn’t dared to either.

But god, it was all he could think about.

There was something about the way Xisuma had looked at him while pouring coffee. Something softer than usual. Hesitant. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. Etho had wanted to ask. He’d wanted to reach out, say something reassuring, maybe even stupidly brave.

But he hadn’t.

And now he’s sitting on the steps of his apartment building, trying not to overthink it.

But of course he is. Because how could he not?

Because it felt like something shifted. Like something cracked open.

And Etho’s not sure if he’s supposed to reach for it or run in the other direction.

He sighs and finally gets up.

“Get it together,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand through his hair. “It was just a movie night.”

Just a movie night.

But even he doesn’t believe it.

Not after the way it felt to wake up with Xisuma still there, safe and warm and close.

Not after the way Xisuma had leaned into him—just for a second—before standing up and brushing it all off like nothing happened.

God.

Etho pushes the door open and steps into the building, hoping that the warmer air will help clear his mind.

It doesn’t.

Etho barely has time to kick off his shoes before Bdubs’ voice carries from the kitchen.

“You alive?” Bdubs calls, dramatic as ever. “Because we were this close to putting your face on a milk carton.”

Doc leans around the hallway corner with a smirk. “Usually when someone doesn’t come home, we get a text, Etho.”

Etho freezes mid-step, then runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry—I crashed at X’s place after a movie. Didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

Bdubs appears in the hallway doorway with a cup of coffee and a raised brow. “No heads-up? You ghosted, my dude. And we had to suffer through Beef trying to cook dinner again.”

From the living room, Beef’s voice: “It was fine, okay? Slightly burned tofu is a valid choice.”

Their large bearded dragon is sprawled on the sun-warmed windowsill, blissfully unaware of the drama.

Doc raises a brow. “So what, you just passed out on his couch or something?”

Etho shrugs, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, pretty much. Movie went late. We both crashed.”

But Bdubs is looking at him a little too closely. “You’re flustered.”

“I am not flustered,” Etho mutters, immediately flustered.

Doc chuckles. “You got that post-cuddling aura. Little bit of dazed. Little bit of ‘oh no he’s hot.’”

“I was asleep!” Etho protests, walking past them toward the kitchen like he can escape this conversation.

“Oh you were asleep, huh?” Bdubs follows, grinning. “That sounds so cozy, Etho. So domestic.”

“I will feed you to the lizard,” Etho says, grabbing a glass of water and refusing to look up.

Doc just laughs and claps him on the shoulder. “We’re not judging. We’re just saying—next time, text someone. And maybe, y’know... make it a proper date.”

Etho turns red and mutters something unintelligible into his glass.

Bdubs smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

The lizard blinks slowly from his spot, tail thumping once against the glass like he agrees.

Etho’s doomed.

And he knows it.

“You’re all the worst,” he mutters, but it’s not without a smile.

“Love you too,” Doc says cheerfully, already walking away.

Bdubs only grins wider. “Can’t wait for the wedding.”

Etho nearly spits out his water. “Bdubs!”

The beardie, again, remains unbothered.

Bdubs just laughs, backing out of the kitchen like a gremlin who knows he’s won. “I’m just saying! Beef Jr and I will be your flower boys. He’ll wear a little bowtie.”

Etho groans, dragging his hands down his face. “It wasn’t a date. We watched a movie and fell asleep. That’s it.”

“Mmhm,” Doc calls from the living room. “Was this before or after you spooned him?”

Etho chokes on his water. “I didn’t—we were both asleep! I didn’t even realize until I woke up!”

“Oh, so you did wake up like that.” Bdubs pokes his head back in, eyes wide with mock innocence. “You sure you don’t want to tell us about the dreamy sigh he made when you shifted closer? Or maybe the way you panicked and almost fell off the couch?”

“I hate you all,” Etho mutters, but the corners of his mouth are curling up against his will.

Doc raises his voice again. “Come on, man, we’ve seen how you look at him. You’re, like, two inches away from writing his name in your sketchbook and drawing little hearts around it.”

“Or already have,” Bdubs adds slyly.

“I don’t—!” Etho starts to protest, but then clamps his mouth shut.

Because he has. Just once. Or twice. Maybe three times. And it’s not like anyone's going to find that page. Probably.

There’s a beat of silence, like both Doc and Bdubs can smell the guilt in the air, and then—

“Knew it!” Bdubs crows triumphantly.

The beardie stirs from his spot in the sun and lets out a slow, throaty huff, which everyone in the house agrees sounds judgmental.

Etho downs the rest of his water, trying to will himself to evaporate. “I’m going to the diner.”

“Tell Xisuma we say hi,” Doc says, deadpan.

“I’m not going to— you know what, nevermind.” Etho grabs his hoodie and slinks toward the door.

As it shuts behind him, Bdubs turns to Doc with a wide grin.

Doc just sips his coffee and says, “I give it a week.”

Bdubs laughs. “You’re being generous.”

From his perch, the lizard flicks his tongue out and bobs his head. Probably in agreement.

Probably.

The diner smells like coffee and fried eggs, like old vinyl booths and nostalgia. Etho sits alone in a corner booth, his sketchbook unopened beside his plate, half a pancake going soggy in syrup. The local news is playing on a muted TV mounted above the counter, and the weather ticker at the bottom grabs his attention.

“Severe weather watch issued for the western counties. Tornado season expected to start earlier than usual—”

He sips at his now-lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking up toward the shifting radar graphic. He’s not scared of storms—never has been. There’s something almost reverent about them, something huge and humbling and untouchable. Something that gets under your skin and stays there.

He thinks of Xisuma—quiet, solid, thoughtful Xisuma—and how he watches the sky like it’s trying to tell him something. How he’s been into sunsets lately. How he gets this far-off look in his eyes when the clouds roll in.

Etho chews his lip.

Would he want to?

Would it be weird to ask?

It shouldn’t be, right? Just two guys, watching nature do its thing. It’s not a date. Doesn’t have to be.

But the thought still makes his heart thud a little louder in his chest.

He taps his fingers against his mug and pulls his phone out, thumbing over to his messages with Xisuma. There’s still that slightly awkward “thanks for breakfast” text from this morning, which Xisuma had responded to with a smiley face and “Anytime, Etho :-)”

Etho hovers over the text bar.

Etho:hey, you ever watched a tornado before?

He pauses, then adds:

Etho: not up close or anything dumb, just like. the good kind. far off on the horizon. sunset behind it kinda thing

He stares at it for a second before hitting send.

Then he sets his phone face-down and finally opens his sketchbook to distract himself—though the first thing he draws, without even thinking, is a dark thunderhead curling over a two-lane highway.

Chapter Text

The truck rumbles over the cracked backroad, tires humming against the pavement as open fields stretch out on either side, golden with waist-high grass swaying under a heavy sky. The clouds are thick and low, tinged greenish-gray, churning like something ancient and slow-waking.

Xisuma sits in the driver's seat, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, watching the sky with a mix of awe and wariness.

"I still can’t believe you talked me into this," he says, glancing over at Etho who's unable to keep still with a giddy glint in his eye. “You said we’d just be watching, right? Not driving into anything?”

“We’re not storm-chasing,” Etho assures quickly, tapping the side of the dashboard. “I’ve been watching the radar all day. It’s forming west of here, but it’s slow, probably won’t even drop. If it does, we’ll be miles off. Just… observing.”

“Observing,” Xisuma echoes. “From the middle of nowhere. With what, a camera and a granola bar?”

Etho grins, sheepish. “Two granola bars. And water.”

Xisuma huffs but doesn't push it. The cab is warm with their quiet, and there's something comfortable about it—about the road, about Etho being so certain.

“So why a tornado?” Xisuma asks after a while, eyes drifting toward the horizon where the clouds begin to boil in earnest.

“Wanted to see one since I was younger.” Etho says. “Used to sit out on the roof with my uncle during storms. He said they made the world feel honest. Like you couldn’t ignore anything when the sky was like that.”

Xisuma nods slowly, expression unreadable. He glances at the clouds again, tension he didn’t realize he was holding in his shoulders tightening slightly.

“I guess I get that,” he says softly. “Sky doesn’t lie.”

They fall into silence again as the sky continues to darken, a distant rumble vibrating through the truck frame. Xisuma drums on the steering wheel, watching the windshield like it might give something away. Eventually, he speaks up, his voice lower this time.

“You said you think it might drop?”

“Maybe. It’s borderline.” Etho squints ahead. “But if it does, it’ll be over that ridge. Right where the sun’s gonna hit it.”

Xisuma exhales, slow. “You’re kind of a romantic, aren’t you?”

Etho’s ears burn. He opens his mouth to reply, but the wind picks up just then, and they both fall quiet—watching as the light shifts, the sky going from gray to gold, stormlight gilding the edges of everything.

And sure enough, just beyond the ridge, the clouds begin to spin.

Not a tornado. Not yet. But something trying to become one.

It’s beautiful and terrifying and impossible to look away from.

Xisuma leans forward, his breath catching. “...You really meant it. The sunset behind it.”

Etho nods quietly. “Told you. The good kind.”

They sit in the parked truck together, watching the sky.

The truck idles for a moment longer before xisuma cuts the engine. The sudden silence leaves only the rustle of wind through dry grass and the low, distant rumble of the sky.

The clouds are swirling now—slow, deliberate, and wide. The storm isn't dropping a funnel, not yet, but it could. The rotation is clear even to Xisuma, who knows nothing about meteorology but everything about watching for signs.

They both sit still, quiet. Xisuma’s eyes are fixed on the horizon, brows furrowed just slightly, like he’s trying to read the sky and not the memories it’s stirring.

“You okay?” Etho asks, voice soft.

Xisuma doesn’t answer right away. He leans back in the seat, pulling one knee up and draping an arm over it. “I forgot what this felt like,” he says. “The quiet before it starts. I used to be terrified of it.”

Etho glances at him, concerned. “Do you want to head back?”

“No,” Xisuma says quickly, too quickly. “I mean… no. I don’t want to run from it.” He swallows, eyes still on the horizon. “Just haven’t stood this close to it in a long time.”

Etho nods. He doesn’t press.

The clouds grow darker, shadows crawling across the fields in long streaks. A gust of wind slams into the truck hard enough to rock it slightly, and both of them instinctively brace. Etho checks the sky again, measuring.

“There’s a wall cloud forming,” he murmurs. “Still not a sure thing. It could shear off. But… if it does drop, it’ll be a small one.”

Xisuma finally turns to look at him. “And this is your idea of a date?”

Etho flushes, stammering. “I didn’t—! I mean, I didn’t mean—”

“Relax. I’m teasing.” Xisuma laughs, genuinely this time.“You’ll protect me, right?”

Etho swallows. “Yeah,” he says, quieter. “Yeah, of course.”

They lapse into another silence, but this one feels easier—less braced. The storm churns on. Lightning flashes far off in the distance, and thunder rolls lazily behind it like it’s in no hurry to catch up.

Then, suddenly—faint and pale—a funnel begins to descend from the clouds. Thin and almost ghostlike, barely there, but real.

“There,” Etho breathes. “Just look at her.”

Xisuma watches it. He doesn't speak, just sits in stunned silence. And maybe it's the rush of awe or fear or memory—or maybe it's just the weight of the moment—but he slowly reaches out, resting his hand lightly on Etho’s arm.

Etho looks at it, then at him. Doesn’t move. Just smiles a little.

They don’t say anything. The wind rushes around them, the light fading gold and strange, the storm tracing slow arcs in the sky. The world is wide and wild and full of sound, but inside the truck, everything feels oddly still. Safe.

Together, they watch the storm breathe.

The storm stays at a distance, the funnel never growing large—just a thin, elegant twist of cloud dancing over the plains. Etho watches it in reverent silence, but when he glances at Xisuma, he can see something quieter in his expression. Thoughtful. Tense in a way that has nothing to do with weather patterns.

Xisuma's eyes don’t leave the horizon as he speaks. “There was a night. Years ago. A bad storm, worse than this. Power flickering, rain so hard it felt like needles on the windows.”

Etho stays quiet, listening.

“We weren’t supposed to be outside. But Exy—they were always restless. Snuck out during the worst of it.” His voice is steady, but it feels rehearsed—like he’s been through this conversation a dozen times in his head but never out loud.

“I found them near the creek, past the fenceline. I was just yelling, trying to get them to come back in, and then—” He pauses. “It was like the whole sky cracked open.”

Etho’s breath catches, but he doesn’t say anything.

“They got hit. Dropped like a rag doll. I ran to them—barefoot, stupid—and I don’t even remember if I was screaming or silent.” He finally looks down at his hands, rubbing at a spot just above his wrist. “Turns out lightning doesn’t care who you’re trying to save.”

Xisuma turns his arm slightly, exposing a faint, branching pattern near his elbow. A lichtenberg figure—nearly faded with time, but still there if you know what to look for.

“They lived. But it was… bad. Coma. Months in the hospital. They don't really talk about it now, and I try not to bring it up.”

Etho looks at the mark, then at Xisuma. “I’m sorry,” he says, gently.

Xisuma shrugs, but it’s tired. “Most days I can forget it. But thunder hits a certain way, or I see that flash out the window and…” He trails off, gaze distant again. “I remember the smell of ozone and wet dirt and feeling like I’d already lost them.”

Etho’s hand shifts subtly across the seat, resting palm-up, open.

Xisuma hesitates just a moment before sliding his hand into Etho’s. He doesn't say thank you, and Etho doesn't try to offer anything else. Just the weight of his presence and the warmth of his palm.

Outside, the storm begins to drift further north, the wind shifting with it. The funnel weakens, unraveling like thread in the sky.

“Do you still talk to Exy?” Etho asks after a long stretch of quiet.

“Sometimes,” Xisuma murmurs. “They travel a lot. Don’t like staying in one place too long anymore.”

Etho nods. “I get that.”

They sit there a little longer, fingers loosely entwined, the fading storm behind them and silence thick with things neither of them quite has the words for. Yet.

Etho doesn’t let go right away, even after the funnel disappears completely into the sky. Their hands remain clasped between them. Eventually, Xisuma exhales—slow, quiet.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” he says.

Etho gives a small smile. “Didn’t scare you off too bad?”

“Not as much as I thought,” Xisuma admits, thumb brushing lightly along Etho’s knuckles. “Still felt it. In my chest, you know? But it wasn’t overwhelming this time.”

“I’m glad,” Etho says softly.

They start the drive back, the truck humming along the empty road. The storm left only wet asphalt and scattered branches behind, and the clouds now stretch wide and pale above them. Xisuma watches the sky, its changing colors.

After a while, he says, “You know, Exy used to say I was the brave one.”

Etho glances at him. “I think they were right.”

Xisuma huffs, almost a laugh. “I’m not so sure. I feel like I’ve been frozen for years.”

“Frozen doesn’t mean cowardly,” Etho says. “Sometimes you just… need someone to move with again.”

Xisuma glances at him, his expression a little raw around the edges. “Is that what this is? Moving?”

Etho meets his gaze, and for once, doesn’t look away. “It could be.”

The rest of the ride is quieter. More peaceful. By the time they pull up outside Etho's place, the sun is just beginning to set, bleeding orange and gold over the rooftops. Etho lingers a little longer in the truck.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, awkward but earnest.

Xisuma doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Please do.”

There’s a beat—quiet and comfortable. Then Etho slips out and shuts the door. Xisuma watches him go, his silhouette small against the porch light as he steps inside.

When he’s alone again, Xisuma sits there for a moment longer, the engine idling softly beneath him. His fingers curl around the steering wheel. The fading scent of ozone still clings to the air.

Eventually, he shifts the truck into gear and drives off into the twilight—window cracked, the breeze cool against his arm. There’s a tightness in his chest still, but it’s not panic this time.

The house feels colder than it did when he left, even though the thermostat hasn’t changed. Xisuma locks the door behind him out of habit, then pauses in the entryway, keys still in hand. The silence is thick, not peaceful like the open fields—they press in close, too close.

He toes off his boots, steps inside. The faint scent of motor oil still lingers on his clothes from earlier. He doesn’t turn on the lights.

In the dim, familiar dark, he makes his way to the living room and sinks down onto the old sofa. It's too quiet. And too loud.

If he closes his eyes, just for a moment, and listens hard enough, he can still hear it—distant thunder rolling across a bruised sky. Then lightning. And right after, the scream that always echoes behind it, high and sharp and real.

He grips the edge of the couch cushion until his knuckles ache.

Exy had screamed like that.

The sound always finds him, even years later, tucked into the places between sleep and silence. Even when he knows they’re alive. Even when he knows they’re not here.

The house creaks as it settles. A storm’s out there, still drifting far off in the night. Xisuma lies back, arm over his eyes, and listens—letting it rumble quietly in his chest, trying to breathe through it.

Tomorrow, maybe he’ll ask Etho if he wants to come by again.

Xisuma must have drifted off sometime between the second roll of thunder and the aching lull that follows it. The storm outside is still distant, but in his dreams, it's closer—alive, breathing down his neck.

The sky in the dream is wrong. Too green, too still. The kind of sky that hums, that tightens the air until it stings your skin. He’s standing in a field he half-recognizes, grass brushing his shins, the wind pulling gently at his sleeves.

He hears Exy laughing somewhere behind him. Young. Unburdened. “Race you!”

He turns, heart jumping—but no one’s there. Just the sky, heavy and low, and clouds piling like bruises on the horizon.

Then wind. Violent, twisting, ripping through the air like it’s peeling the world in two. He starts to run, but the ground doesn’t cooperate—his feet drag like they’re caught in mud, like he’s running through water, through molasses, through memory.

Lightning flashes, close and bright. For a heartbeat, he sees Exy ahead of him—arms outstretched, smiling.

Then a sound like the sky splitting.

The light swallows everything.

Chapter Text

Keralis’s apartment is warm and open, full of soft ambient lighting and clean edges. The windows stretch across one wall, floor-to-ceiling, letting in the grey afternoon light as thick clouds roll lazily across the sky. It smells like fresh coffee and wood polish. Xisuma steps inside, a little damp from the light drizzle that had started on his walk over.

“Make yourself comfy!” Keralis calls from the kitchen, where he’s fiddling with a French press. “I’ve got cookies—don’t ask if I made them. I didn’t.”

Xisuma chuckles, slipping off his jacket and hanging it by the door. “I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking it,” Keralis shoots back with a grin as he emerges with two mugs and a plate of cookies. “Xb’s asleep in the bedroom, by the way. Got back from some late-night nonsense and crashed pretty hard.”

Xisuma settles into the couch, eyeing the mug Keralis hands him. “Thanks. This is a really nice place, by the way.”

Keralis waves a hand dramatically. “Too modern, too clean, I know. Xb likes his sharp corners and white walls.”

“There’s a lot of photos,” Xisuma observes, taking in the gallery wall—candid shots of friends, some selfies, even a blurry group picture from a camping trip Xisuma vaguely remembers getting rained out.

“Of course,” Keralis says, his smile softening. “Memories are important.”

Xisuma sips his coffee. “Yeah. They are.”

Outside, the wind’s picking up a little. The trees beyond the windows sway. Distant thunder grumbles low and lazy, like it hasn’t made up its mind whether it wants to stay.

Keralis lounges across from him and nudges his foot against Xisuma’s lightly. “You okay with the weather?”

Xisuma hesitates, then nods once. “For now.”

Keralis doesn’t press. Instead, he takes a bite of a cookie and grins. “So. Etho.”

Xisuma blinks. “What?”

“You’ve got that face again,” Keralis says, waggling a finger at him. “You know. The ‘I’m thinking about someone but trying really hard not to look like I’m thinking about someone’ face.”

“I do not have that face.”

“You absolutely do.”

Xisuma sighs, resting his mug against his chest. “It’s… complicated.”

“It always is,” Keralis says, voice quieter now. “But you like him.”

Xisuma doesn’t answer right away. He watches the clouds out the window, listens to the next roll of thunder. “I do,” he admits softly. “But I don’t know if it matters.”

Keralis raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“Because I don’t want to mess it up,” Xisuma says, tone almost embarrassed. “Because I don’t always know what I want until it’s already gone.”

Keralis leans back, his expression thoughtful. “Then maybe it’s good he’s still around.”

The wind howls a little against the window. Xisuma’s shoulders tense, just slightly.

“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Keralis says gently. “But maybe next time you’re with him… don’t think so hard. Let him see you.”

Xisuma gives a tired, crooked smile. “That’s scarier than the lightning.”

Keralis laughs, a low, warm sound. “Lightning doesn’t wait for you to be ready. People do. Good ones, anyway.”

They sit quietly for a bit, watching the sky grow darker as the storm finally starts to settle in. Rain taps at the windows, soft and steady.

Keralis, ever the master of changing a mood, sets his mug down with a dramatic sigh and stretches out like a cat along the couch, one arm draped behind his head. “Okay, enough of the sad and stormy stuff. Let me tell you about the most ridiculous, romantic, and mildly chaotic date night I’ve had in a while.”

Xisuma raises an eyebrow, glad for the shift. “Oh no. What did Xb do now?”

Keralis smirks. “It wasn’t Xb this time. It was Hypno. Which shocked me too, honestly. That man gives off big cryptid energy, but then he pulls out a fully organized three-part date night like he’s auditioning for The Bachelor.”

Xisuma huffs a quiet laugh, already more relaxed. “Alright, I’ll bite. What was the itinerary?”

“So,” Keralis says, scooting up and leaning forward like he’s about to reveal state secrets, “we started at this little rooftop place Hypno somehow got a reservation for despite it being booked out for months. Very soft lighting, small plates, fancy nonsense—Xb looked like he was going to explode trying not to touch the forks.”

Xisuma snorts. “I can picture that.”

“Then!” Keralis continues, gesturing excitedly, “he takes us to this old arcade bar. You know, neon lights, weird sticky floors, pinball machines that smell like old gum and electricity. I beat Xb at air hockey, which was very important for me, emotionally.”

“Clearly,” Xisuma murmurs, amused.

“And then—this is where it gets weirdly cute—they’d coordinated with the staff at a drive-in movie spot to set up this whole little blanket-and-lantern situation in the back of Xb’s truck. Snacks, sodas, fairy lights, the works. It was like a Pinterest board and a fever dream had a baby.”

“That’s… a lot,” Xisuma says, but he’s smiling fully now. “So you’re the third wheel to your own date?”

“Absolutely not,” Keralis says smugly. “I am the attractive wheel. The fun wheel. Xb’s dating both of us, I’m just not dating Hypno. We’re like a very affectionate triangle with a disconnected base.”

Xisuma laughs, genuinely and deeply, the sound surprising him with how good it feels in his chest. “That’s the weirdest geometry I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey,” Keralis shrugs. “Love isn’t a square, okay? Sometimes it’s a Venn diagram with overlap and zero jealousy because we communicate like adults.”

Xisuma shakes his head, still grinning. “I’m glad it’s working out. You seem… really happy.”

“I am,” Keralis says, and for a moment the joke eases off and something more genuine slips into his tone. “It’s not perfect, but it’s good. And Xb’s worth it. Even if he talks in his sleep and keeps stealing the good pillows.”

The rain is still coming down outside, but it’s softened to a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat under the warmth of the room. Xisuma takes another sip of his coffee and leans back against the cushions.

“I like hearing about stuff like this,” he says after a moment. “It makes things feel… possible.”

Keralis nudges his foot again. “It is, X. You just have to let yourself want it.”

The storm might still be rolling through, but for now, inside the apartment full of photos and stories, it feels like a quiet break in the clouds.

The rain hasn’t stopped in three days.

It taps against the windows in a steady rhythm, filling the silence of Xisuma’s house with a soft, dull presence. There’s no music playing, no TV humming in the background—just the sound of rain and the occasional creak of old wood as the weather shifts outside. The air feels heavy, and the dim gray light that filters through the curtains gives everything a tired sort of stillness.

Xisuma sits at the kitchen table, one hand around a lukewarm cup of coffee he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. His phone is on the table beside him, screen dark until it buzzes gently and lights up.

[Etho]: hey, want to grab lunch sometime this week? :)

He stares at the message for a long time.

It’s simple. Easy. Friendly. Just lunch.
But something about it makes his chest twist.

He wants to say yes—wants it so badly it makes his hands ache—but there’s that creeping feeling in his gut again, the one that tells him nothing good ever lasts. That if he reaches out, if he lets himself be happy for once, he’s just setting himself up to watch it all slip away.

So he doesn’t answer right away. He flips the phone over instead, screen down on the table, and closes his eyes. The rain continues, quiet and relentless. He tells himself he’ll respond in a minute. Just a minute to get his thoughts in order. But he doesn’t move.

The house is too quiet. He can still imagine the way it used to sound—Exy shouting from the hallway, laughter echoing off the walls, the clatter of shared breakfasts. Now, it’s just him. Him, and the rain, and the ghosts of things that once were.

Eventually, the phone buzzes again. A new notification lights up the screen.

\[Exy]:
He doesn’t read the rest. He doesn’t have to. Just the name alone is enough to make his heart catch in his throat.

He looks away, not ready. Not tonight.

Outside, thunder rumbles far off in the distance, low and slow like the memory of something he hasn’t quite escaped.

The rain was still coming down when Xisuma pulled into the diner parking lot. Not the heavy, dramatic kind that washed everything away—but the persistent drizzle that crept into your clothes and bones, subtle and steady, like it meant to outlast you.

He sat in the cab of his truck for a moment, engine off, windshield wipers twitching once more before falling still. Inside, the diner was a soft glow of yellow lights and window fog, and somewhere in that warmth was Etho, waiting for him. Xisuma drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before finally exhaling through his nose and stepping out into the rain.

Etho was already seated by the window when he walked in, hood down, hair a little messy, flipping through the laminated menu like it didn’t matter. He looked up as the door jingled and offered that easy, lopsided smile.

“Hey,” Etho said, like they’d just seen each other yesterday, not like the silence had been weighing heavy between them for days. “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Xisuma replied, sliding into the booth across from him. “Didn’t want you thinking I stood you up.”

Etho’s smile flickered, but he didn’t press it—yet. “They’ve got those greasy grilled cheeses you like.”

Xisuma nodded. “Thanks.”

They ordered, made small talk. The sort of light, surface-level chatter that usually felt harmless but today sat wrong in his chest. Etho was doing that thing where he watched Xisuma too closely, like he was looking for cracks. Like he already knew they were there.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Etho said, finally, not accusing, just careful. “Everything okay?”

Xisuma shifted, eyes flicking to the window. “Yeah. Just busy. School’s been a mess.”

“Mmh,” Etho hummed, unconvinced. “That all?”

Xisuma’s jaw ticked. He shrugged, staring out at the street. “Just tired, Etho. It’s nothing.”

“You don’t seem like nothing,” Etho said, still calm but firmer now. “You’ve seemed like something’s wrong for weeks.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Etho leaned back, crossing his arms. “X.”

“It’s been raining,” Xisuma said, still not looking at him. “That’s all. Makes people weird.”

“Xisuma.”

His name again, firmer, and it made something bristle in him. He finally turned to look at Etho, voice sharp with something he didn’t quite mean to let out.

“What do you want me to say, Etho? That I’ve been out of it? That I hate the rain? That sometimes I wake up thinking I’m back there again, hearing screams and thunder and the smell of—" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing as he reined it all back in. “Just—drop it. Please.”

Etho stared at him, eyes dark and unreadable. “I just want to be there for you,” he said, quiet now, the edge gone. “I know something happened. I’m not asking for everything—I just… don’t want you to go through it alone.”

“That’s not your job.”

“I know it’s not,” Etho said, and now he looked frustrated too. Not angry. Just hurt. “I’m not trying to fix you, I’m not trying to push. I just want to care. And it feels like every time I try, you slam the door in my face.”

Xisuma looked down at his half-finished sandwich. His throat was tight. He hated this—hated how much of him wanted to reach across the table and say stay, and how much louder the other part was, the one that told him to leave before he ruined something good.

So he stood. Tossed some bills on the table. Didn’t look at Etho.

“I need to go.”

“X.”

But Xisuma was already moving, already out the door, the bell jangling behind him like a final word. The rain was harder now. Sharp. Cold. It soaked into his hoodie as he climbed into the truck and slammed the door behind him.

His fingers trembled a little as he gripped the steering wheel. Not from cold. From something else.

He shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have let himself believe he could have something like that—something simple and kind.

The engine rumbled to life beneath him, and he backed out of the lot, tires crunching wet gravel as he pulled onto the road.

The storm had gotten worse while they were inside. The sky was smeared charcoal, the clouds low and mean. Lightning split the horizon to the west, and the wind was picking up in bursts. But Xisuma didn’t turn back.

He drove aimlessly, roads twisting through fields and woods, his wipers barely keeping up. The rain blurred the world, turning everything into smudges of gray and white and pale green. He kept driving.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

Back at the diner, Etho watched the door for a long time after Xisuma left. The waitress came by and cleared one plate. The rain kept falling.

But Xisuma?
He was alone on the road again, just like he always had been.

And somewhere behind the curtain of rain, the thunder began.

Xisuma’s knuckles were white around the steering wheel.

He could barely see five feet in front of the truck. Rain lashed the windshield so hard it sounded like gravel, even with the wipers going at full speed. The headlights barely cut through the deluge, and the road was starting to glisten with standing water that shifted and rippled with every gust of wind. Trees along the coastal road bent and swayed, some whipping so hard they looked like they might snap.

He muttered something low and sharp under his breath and pulled over onto the narrow shoulder, gravel crunching beneath his tires until they stopped altogether. The truck rocked faintly under the force of the wind. He shifted it into park and flicked on the hazards.

Xisuma let his hands fall from the wheel, scrubbing them down his face and through his damp hair. This wasn’t on the radar. He was sure of it. He always checked the forecasts—he had to. The habit had been burned into him since he was a kid. Ever since that night.

The weather station hadn’t said anything about a system like this. Just the same slow rain that had been haunting the coast for the past few days. Windy, sure. But this? This wasn’t just a storm rolling through.

It felt wrong.

He glanced out toward the passenger window, where the sea was little more than a dark, roiling wall in the distance. Even through the sheets of rain, he could make out the whitecaps churning and breaking against the shoreline like something furious. The tide had come in too far. Way too far. Waves crashed against rocks that were normally dry, foam spraying high into the air, carried sideways by the wind.

“This doesn’t make any damn sense,” he murmured.

No warnings. No alerts. No name on the storm, not even a mention. And yet… this. Something that looked and felt close to a hurricane, even though they were still weeks out from the official season. The thought made his stomach twist.

He reached for his phone.

No signal.

Of course.

The truck rattled again, and he felt the familiar tension crawl into his chest. That rising edge of fear that used to come in waves, and now just simmered low and steady. His jaw locked, and his fingers gripped the edge of the dashboard to ground himself.

It’s fine. He was parked. Safe. The storm would pass, and then he’d figure out what the hell was going on. He could head inland, get somewhere dry. Find someone to talk to.

But that knot in his chest wouldn’t loosen.

The sky outside flashed bright with lightning, not once but three times in quick succession, almost strobe-like. The thunder rolled in fast behind it—too fast. No pause. No breath.

Xisuma flinched.

His eyes dropped instinctively to his arms—where the ghost-like traces of Lichtenberg figures curled faintly around the edges of his skin, barely visible now. The scars had long since faded, but the memory hadn’t.

The air had the same taste to it. Metallic, sharp. He’d never forget it.

He swallowed hard and leaned back against the seat, his breath fogging up the inside of the cab. He could barely hear the music anymore, just the storm clawing at the outside of the truck, demanding to be let in.

No one said anything about this, he thought again. It was a mantra now, like saying it over and over would make the storm make sense. It didn’t. It couldn’t.

Unless…

No. Don’t go there. Don’t start thinking like that.

He just needed the rain to slow. Just enough to see again.

Just enough to breathe.

The rain didn’t slow.

If anything, it came down harder—more relentless, more deafening. The truck felt smaller by the minute, not a safe cocoon anymore but a cage, a shell that barely held against the chaos outside. The wind shrieked now, high and keening, the kind of sound that got under your skin and made your teeth hurt. The kind of sound that came right before something broke.

Xisuma gritted his teeth and turned the key halfway, bringing the dashboard lights back up. The engine stayed off. He didn’t trust himself to drive, not with visibility this bad and the way the road was starting to look more like a shallow stream than solid ground. The wipers worked furiously, but it was like trying to wipe clean a waterfall.

He reached for the radio, flipping to the local emergency channel.

Static.

More static.

A faint, garbled voice came through, cutting in and out like it was underwater. “...severe coastal system—unusual patterns... not enough time... stay sheltered... unexpected... lightning activity... inland flooding...”

Xisuma turned it off.

He’d been scared before. This was different. This was wrong.

The ocean roared behind the trees. Waves sounded like they were slamming against the base of the cliffs now, too close, too violent. A sick shudder ran through the truck—just the wind, probably, but it felt personal. As if the storm had found him, of all people, and remembered him.

The smell in the air changed.

He knew that smell. Everyone who’d lived through a strike knew that smell. That sharp, ozone-heavy tang that settled in the back of your throat and made your skin feel tight.

No—

The sky split.

A bolt of lightning struck a tree just beyond the edge of the road, lighting up the entire forest for a breathless instant. The world turned blue-white, shadows stark and terrifying, and the sound came a second later—an explosion of thunder that cracked so hard the glass rattled in its frame and Xisuma yelped.

His whole body tensed, every nerve screaming. His vision blurred at the edges, flashing between now and then—wet grass, Exy’s small body slumped in the mud, the scent of burning hair and electricity in the air—

Another flash.

Another crack.

And then—too late—he realized he hadn’t grounded the truck.

Everything lit up.

He didn’t even get the chance to curse. His hand was on the door handle, the metal frame a perfect conductor. Light exploded behind his eyes, and the world vanished in a blinding, shattering instant of heat and pain and sound.

It felt like being yanked out of his own skin.

His last thought—before everything went dark—was of Exy’s scream.

And then there was nothing.

Chapter Text

Silence.

A deep, oppressive silence, like the world had turned its volume all the way down.

Then—

A throb. Dull and thick, behind his eyes, in his chest, in the tips of his fingers. Like his whole body had forgotten how to be one thing and was now trying to piece itself back together.

Xisuma came back to consciousness slowly, like dragging himself up from the bottom of a lake. His ears rang—shrill and constant—and for a few long moments, he couldn’t move.

His vision was just light and shadow and the blurry red glow of the truck’s dashboard. Everything was crooked.

The smell hit him next: burnt rubber, ozone, something wrong—sharp and acrid and heavy with copper. His clothes were soaked through, his hoodie scorched across one shoulder, smoke curling faintly from where it had blackened. The steering wheel was slightly melted where he’d gripped it too tight.

He’d slumped sideways in the seat. One boot was half off. His limbs felt like someone else’s—uncooperative and buzzing with pins and needles.

But he was alive.

Barely.

He sucked in a ragged breath. The air burned going in, like his lungs hadn’t remembered how to expand right. A wheezing cough tore from his throat, and the pain lit up his ribs in response. Everything ached. His left arm, especially—his skin crawled with fire under the sleeve, and his fingers didn’t want to move.

Lightning.

The panic rose sharp and sudden, flooding his chest before he could shove it down. He pushed himself up shakily, hissing when his back screamed in protest. Every nerve felt raw, like his skin had been turned inside out.

The truck was dead. Dashboard dark now. No engine hum, no heat, no radio. A long, thin crack split the windshield. Rain still pelted the glass, but it felt far away now—like the storm was already retreating, satisfied.

Xisuma fumbled for his phone with a numb hand, nearly dropping it twice before dragging it from the passenger seat. Miraculously, it still worked—spiderwebbed with cracks, but still lit up.

No service.

He didn’t even have the energy to curse.

Instead, he let his head fall back against the seat and stared at the roof, breathing hard and shallow. Every breath pulled sparks behind his eyes. His heart raced and stumbled, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to keep going.

Another bolt of lightning cracked in the distance.

He flinched.

This wasn’t like the first time. He wasn’t a kid, and there wasn’t someone else to save.

But it still hurt.

More than the burns, more than the disorientation—what hit him deepest was the bitter, aching feeling that no matter how far he ran, no matter how careful he was, the storm always found him.

He couldn’t even tell if he’d driven into it by accident, or if it had followed him.

Or worse—if it had been waiting for him.

His vision blurred again. Water on his lashes, or tears, or both. It didn’t matter.

After a long moment, he tilted his head, rested his burned hand against the cool glass of the window, and whispered, “I should’ve stayed.”

But the storm didn’t answer.

It just passed, slowly and without apology, leaving Xisuma sitting in a dead truck on the side of an empty coastal road, smoke rising faintly from his shoulder, the sound of thunder still echoing in his bones.

The quiet after the storm is almost worse than the storm itself.

No wind. No thunder. No rain. Just the soft tick of the cooling engine and the low buzz in Xisuma’s ears—phantom static from the strike that still hasn’t left his head. His hand is shaking, hovering over the phone like muscle memory alone is keeping it upright.

He should call someone.

Logically, he knows this. Knows that lightning strikes mess with the body in ways you don’t always notice right away. Knows that burns and nerve damage and cardiac irregularities can kill you later, when you think you’re fine. Knows that if he blacks out here, alone, in a dead truck by the ocean, no one will find him until it’s too late.

But his hand never moves.

He just... stares at the cracked screen.

There’s no signal anyway. There wasn’t before. Might be one now, might not. He doesn’t check. He doesn’t try.

Because he’s tired.

So fucking tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes, either. Not the kind you shake off with coffee or fresh air or someone telling you it’s going to be okay.

It’s the kind of tired that sinks in deep. The kind that tells you what’s the point? You’ll patch yourself up. You’ll go to the hospital. Maybe Etho will show up looking worried and kind and like he still wants something from you. And then what?

Another storm.

Always another one. Always something else coming for you, something with wind or fire or grief stitched into its bones. Always another long night. Another empty house. Another apology you never send. Another breath you forget how to take.

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, body aching down to the marrow, and lets himself feel it—all of it. The exhaustion. The loneliness. The bitterness.

He survived.

Again.

But what’s the use in surviving if you’re always just waiting for the next strike?

He doesn’t cry. There’s nothing left for that. Just the heavy stillness of someone who’s burned out—literally, metaphorically, completely.

The phone slips from his hand and lands in the passenger seat.

Xisuma lets his arm fall limp again, lets the dull throb of pain pulse through him like a second heartbeat, and whispers into the quiet cab:

“Why do I always end up here?”

There’s no answer.

Just the ocean nearby, still churning in the dark, and the far-off flicker of lightning across a sky that refuses to stay clear for long.

Fuck.

Xisuma grips the steering wheel again, more out of instinct than intention, and breathes slow through his nose. The pain’s still there—radiating out from his shoulder and down his side and it feels like he's on fire, a reminder—but the adrenaline’s faded. All that’s left now is shame, hollow and cold and furious.

Not at the storm.

Not even at the lightning.

At himself.

Because he knew better. Knew better than to drive off into the middle of a storm. Knew better than to pretend Etho’s concern was something to be ashamed of. Knew better than to bottle it all up and bury it under years of survival instinct and old scars.

And still he ran.

Ran like the scared kid he’d been when Exy screamed and the sky opened up, like all these years later he hadn’t learned a goddamn thing.

It’s humiliating.

And the worst part is—he knows what’ll happen if he tells anyone.

They’ll look at him like he’s breakable. Like he’s some walking cautionary tale. Etho will get that soft tone in his voice again, that worry behind the jokes, like Xisuma might shatter if he touches him too hard. Keralis would try to coax it out of him with kindness and teasing, and Exy—

God, if Exy knew.

Exy would blame themselves. Would dig up every part of that old night and ask if they were the reason Xisuma still twitches at thunder and wakes up choking on memory.

And none of them would mean to make it worse.

But they would.

Because none of them understand how heavy it is to keep surviving when all it feels like you’re doing is waiting for the next hit.

So no. No one can know.

Xisuma drags himself upright in the seat with a hiss and winces at the deep ache in his chest. He glances in the rearview mirror. His face is pale, eyes dark, streak of soot curling under one cheekbone. He looks haunted.

He opens the glove box and pulls out a rag, wipes the worst of the grime from his face, fingers shaking slightly.

Then he grabs the phone again. Still no bars.

Good.

He leans back and stares out the window, the sky quieter now, just rolling gray clouds and distant thunder.

Maybe he’ll say the truck got stuck. Maybe he pulled over to avoid hydroplaning and waited it out. Maybe no one even asks.

But he’s not going to tell them he got struck.

He’s not going to say it was his fault.

He’s not going to admit he’s scared to have something good with Etho because he doesn’t trust the world not to take it away the second he reaches out for it.

And he’s definitely not going to admit that he’s not sure he believes he deserves it in the first place.

Instead, he shifts in the seat, exhales shakily, and mutters to no one at all, “We don’t talk about this.”

The cab falls silent again.

The storm’s passed.

But god, it’s still so loud inside him.

The rain’s down to a drizzle by the time Xisuma gets the first bar of signal.

It flickers in and out like it’s taunting him, but it’s enough. He leans forward, every movement aching, and punches in the number without thinking twice.

Keralis picks up on the second ring. “X?”

“Hey,” Xisuma rasps, voice rough like gravel dragged across cement. “I, uh… need a favor. You home?”

A beat of silence. Then, warm and steady: “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“Truck’s dead.” Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. “Think I need a jump.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

No questions. No hesitations. Just Keralis.

Xisuma closes his eyes in relief. The signal’s already dropping again, but it doesn’t matter.

Things are starting to look up again.

It takes everything he has not to look too wrecked when Keralis pulls up behind him. He’s already gotten out of the cab, leaning against the driver’s side door, trying to look casual. His hoodie hides the worst of it, though there’s a burn on his collarbone that itches like hell, and his left arm still won’t lift right.

Keralis doesn’t comment on the way he’s standing. Doesn’t narrow his eyes. Doesn’t press.

Just gets out of his own car, waves, and grins like this is just a normal Tuesday and Xisuma hasn’t been half-cooked by the sky.

“Can’t believe this beast even died,” Keralis jokes as he pops the hood of the Hilux. “These things survive warzones.”

“Yeah,” Xisuma mutters, forcing a wry smile. “Guess the storm was a whole different battlefield.”

Keralis pauses, glances at him—but doesn’t say anything. Just hums a little, the kind of sound you make when you’ve clocked something but you’re waiting to be told.

Xisuma could hug him for that. For the fact that he doesn’t ask what happened or how bad was it. Just clips the jumper cables on like they’ve done this a dozen times before.

The truck roars to life on the first try, engine sputtering a little before settling into its usual low purr. Xisuma nearly sags in relief. It’s ugly, but it runs. That’s what counts.

Keralis slams the hood shut and steps back with a whistle. “Damn. These trucks really are invincible.”

“Apparently.” Xisuma brushes his hands off on his jeans, more to keep from shaking than anything else. “Still want to check it over more thoroughly. Make sure nothing’s fried. I think she took the brunt of it.”

“You can bring it by the garage when you’re up for it,” Keralis offers easily. “I’ll take a look with you. Make a day of it. You can owe me lunch.”

“Deal.”

Keralis watches him for another moment, then gently pats the side of the truck, like he’s reassuring both of them. “You’re not as subtle as you think, you know,” he says, not unkindly.

Xisuma’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t meet the other man’s eyes. “Not ready.”

“I know,” Keralis says. “Just… don’t wait too long, alright?”

Xisuma nods.

They leave it at that.

By the time he gets back to the house, the clouds are beginning to break. Just a sliver, just a little gold around the edges of the horizon, but it feels like something.

The Hilux rumbles faithfully into the driveway and parks with a protesting clunk.

Xisuma doesn’t get out right away.

He sits there for a moment longer, fingers resting on the steering wheel, the ghost of a strike still buzzing faintly in his bones.

It’s not over—not by a long shot.

But the truck lived.

He lived.

And for now, that has to be enough.

The morning is still too bright. Unforgiving. Blinding.

Xisuma keeps his hood up and his gaze low as he sits at the bus stop, trying not to draw attention to himself. The burn across his shoulder and chest is weeping slightly, sticking to the inside of his shirt with every shift. His left arm won’t move properly. His fingertips keep tingling, going numb in and out like someone’s flicking a switch in his nerves.

He knows better than to brush it off. Keralis’s voice from the night before still echoes in his head—low and warm, and just the slightest bit pointed when he said, “Don’t wait too long.”

He doesn’t trust the truck to make the drive, and he doesn’t trust himself to ask anyone else.

So he takes the bus.

It’s humiliating.

His hoodie clings to him, soaked from the rain and sweat. Every bump in the road jars through his chest. He’s dizzy, light-headed, heart beating too fast and too uneven. When he finally gets to the hospital, he nearly stumbles getting off the bus. A woman on the sidewalk asks if he’s okay—he waves her off.

He drags himself inside on sheer will alone.

The moment he makes it to the front desk and mutters something about “lightning,” they take him seriously. Too seriously.

Suddenly, he's in a wheelchair, someone’s rushing him back, someone else is clipping leads to his chest and arms. The world blurs into a parade of white coats and worried eyes.

They peel off his hoodie—carefully, but even that leaves him gasping. His entire left shoulder is blistered and red, the burn arcing down his chest in jagged streaks. His forearm is worse. Cracked skin, deep tissue damage already visible. His fingertips are still tingling, and he can’t feel two of them at all.

The nurse curses softly under her breath and starts an IV.

The doctor comes in next, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the burns. “You should’ve come in right after this happened,” she says tightly, already ordering imaging, cardiac panels, neurological tests.

“Didn’t realize how bad it was,” Xisuma lies.

Because how do you tell someone, I was too embarrassed. Too ashamed. I thought maybe if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t be real.

They keep him for hours. X-rays show slight fractures in one wrist from the muscle contraction of the strike. MRI confirms swelling in his shoulder joint and possible nerve damage. He’s hooked up to machines the whole time, and every beep makes his stomach twist.

The burn unit specialist looks grim. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit your heart directly,” she tells him. “But we’re keeping you overnight for monitoring. You have muscle damage, nerve damage, and at least one second-to-third degree burn. We’ll need to debride and dress it properly.”

He just nods.

There’s a moment where the nurse asks if she can call someone for him—family, a friend.

He says no.

No one needs to know.

Not Keralis. Not Etho. Especially not Etho.

No one needs to see him like this—stripped down, stitched up, burned to the bone by his own cowardice.

And what would he even say?
Hey, I nearly died because I couldn’t say I was scared.
Because I couldn’t say I wanted to stay.
Because I keep surviving things I don’t know how to live through afterward.

Instead, Xisuma lies in the too-white hospital bed, cold despite the blankets, skin bandaged and throat dry.

When the nurse turns off the lights and leaves him to rest, he closes his eyes and listens to the thunder again.

It's not outside anymore.

It’s under his skin.

The thunder doesn’t stop.

It hums beneath his skin like a low electric current, constant and bone-deep, the memory of lightning stitched into muscle and marrow. Xisuma lies still in the hospital bed, body wrapped in layers of gauze and regret, eyes closed but wide awake.

The room is too quiet. Too sterile. It doesn’t feel real. The burns on his arm and chest ache dully beneath the pain meds, like his body is reminding him: this happened. You can’t just bury it this time.

He tries to breathe slowly. Evenly. The monitors next to him beep with every heartbeat, tinny and mechanical. The rhythm’s still a little off—something they said they’d watch overnight. “Could be temporary,” one nurse had told him. “Could be permanent. Lightning’s unpredictable.”

Xisuma had just nodded.

Because yeah. He knows.

Lightning is unpredictable.

But people? He’s worse.

He should’ve stayed. Should’ve faced the quiet fight, the awkward tension, should’ve looked Etho in the eyes and said something. But no. He panicked. He ran. He ran like he always does when he thinks he’s getting too close to something that matters.

And now he’s here. Half-bandaged, half-numb, stuck between the aftermath and whatever’s supposed to come next.

He opens his eyes.

The ceiling stares back.

He wishes it was raining. Wishes the storm would come back and finish what it started. At least that would be honest. Clean. Easier than this purgatory of surviving.

There’s a knock on the door—soft, polite.

Xisuma doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even flinch.

Whoever it is doesn’t come in.

Good.

He doesn’t want visitors. Doesn’t want sympathy. Doesn’t want the look—that look—like he’s fragile or tragic or broken in some poetic, palatable way. He’s not. He’s just tired. Burned. Pathetic.

The machine next to him beeps louder for a second before settling. He lets out a shaky breath.

There’s a part of him, deep down, that knows he can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep burning everything around him—himself—because he’s scared of what comes after the hurt. Etho deserves better than that. So does Keralis. So does he, if he’s being honest.

But he’s not there yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe when the bandages come off and he doesn’t flinch at his own reflection. Maybe when his lungs stop aching and his heartbeat remembers the right tempo. Maybe when he can think about Etho without feeling like the storm is still inside him.

For now, he watches the pale morning light seep through the slats of the window blinds.

No thunder.
No rain.
Just the aftermath.

And the ache of something that almost mattered.

The room is silent, save for the rhythm of the monitor—steady, mechanical, a heartbeat not entirely his own. Xisuma watches the faint motion of shadows shifting across the wall as the morning light crawls through the blinds. It’s so still that he can almost forget the storm ever happened.

Almost.

He shifts slightly, winces at the pull of gauze against raw skin, and stops. The IV line tugs at the back of his hand. Everything smells like antiseptic and plastic and that faint sterile chill hospitals never seem to lose. His body feels foreign. Slow. Like it’s no longer moving by his command but out of sheer habit.

He hasn’t told anyone.

Not a single soul knows what happened—not really.

Keralis had seen enough to guess, but he hadn’t asked. That had been the whole point. He couldn’t ask. Not then.

And Xisuma… he didn’t have the strength to say it. Didn’t want to say the words out loud, didn’t want to hear them in his own voice. That he got struck by lightning again. That it was his own fault. That he let it happen.

That he ran. That he always runs.

And that this time, it might’ve cost him something he really didn’t want to lose.

He rubs his thumb against the gauze on his left hand, where the worst of the burns wrap around his palm and wrist. Underneath, he knows the skin is raw and ruined. The faint Lichtenberg scars from years ago were ghost-thin lines—now they’ll be carved deeper. There’s no hiding it this time.

He breathes out slowly, eyes still on the wall.

No visitors. No flowers. No chirpy nurses chatting about calling loved ones. Because he told them all no.

There’s no one to come anyway. Not really.

Not when he’s the one pushing everyone away.

He closes his eyes, lets the silence take him again. There’s a heaviness in his chest that doesn’t come from the burns. Guilt. Shame. Loneliness. All three make a home in the place his voice should be.

Eventually, the nurse comes in. She checks his vitals, changes the dressings. She asks if he’s ready for discharge paperwork.

He says yes.

Because if he stays here any longer, he’s going to start unraveling.

Because he can’t stand the sterile stillness, the buzzing in his bones, or the way the walls feel like they’re closing in with all the things he hasn’t said.

She nods and leaves.

And for a moment longer, he lies still in that empty, silent room.

And then he says, aloud—soft, barely a whisper—

“…I don’t want to do this alone anymore.”

The seat on the bus is hard and cold beneath him, and he tucks his arms into himself, hood still pulled low.

He survived again.
Just like always.

But it’s starting to feel like surviving is the only thing he knows how to do.

The house greets him with its usual silence, the kind that feels too big, too empty, too aware of his presence. It smells faintly like rain and dust—no one’s opened a window in days. The shadows are long across the hardwood floors, and the air is still heavy, thick with humidity that hasn't quite lifted since the last storm rolled through.

Xisuma drops his keys on the counter and shrugs off his jacket. Every movement is stiff. Careful. His shoulder is wrapped tightly, and the fresh dressing pulls just a little when he breathes too deep. His wrist’s in a flexible brace. They’d told him he’d probably get full feeling back in his fingers, but there’s no guarantee. It’s just a matter of waiting. Healing.

He hates waiting.

It’s a slow walk from the front door to the couch, and he sinks into it like someone three decades older than he is, muscles aching, skin too tight where it’s healing.

Home.

If he squints hard enough, it almost feels normal. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend there aren’t fresh burns across his body. That his chest doesn’t still rattle when he breathes deep. That his arm still works the way it used to. That there’s not a crawling wrongness under his skin where lightning etched itself into his blood again.

He forces himself to shower.

The mirror fogs up, and he’s grateful for it. He catches flashes of himself—burned, pale, thin—but nothing clear enough to settle. It’s easier that way. He doesn’t want to see the new scars. Doesn’t want to see the angry red branching of the Lichtenberg figures now tracing over the older, faded ones. The old ones had been light, almost pretty in a strange way—reminders of a worse time, but distant. These are sharp. Deep. Ugly.

Loud.

He dries off, changes into a loose shirt, and moves slowly into the kitchen. Eats half a banana. Drinks a glass of water. He’s doing the bare minimum of what care looks like, and even that feels like a victory.

The house groans quietly as the temperature changes. He feels like it’s watching him. Like it knows.

Xisuma glances toward the table, where his phone has been sitting untouched since the night he left for lunch with Etho.

It’s been dead since the hospital.

He stares at it for a long moment, then moves—slowly, reluctantly—and plugs it in. The familiar boot-up screen glows back at him, and he wonders, irrationally, if anyone even noticed it was off.

Maybe Keralis tried to text. Maybe Etho did.

Maybe no one did.

It vibrates once, twice. Notifications begin to roll in—missed messages, emails, an unread text from Keralis timestamped from yesterday:
“Hey. Just checking in. Let me know you’re good when you can.”

And then there’s Etho’s name.

The sight of it makes his stomach twist.

There are several messages, actually. The first is hours after their fight.

Etho: hey. i didn’t mean to push. i just…
Etho: can you let me know you’re safe? please.
Etho: you don’t have to talk to me. just let me know you’re okay.
Etho: xisuma?

Then a long gap.

Then finally, this morning:

Etho: i’m really starting to worry, man. say something. anything.

Xisuma stares at the screen until it fades to black again.

He presses the power button to light it back up. The messages are still there.

He doesn’t respond.

Not yet.

Instead, he sets the phone back on the counter and goes to the window. The sky outside is blue today. The kind of blue that makes you feel guilty for thinking it might never clear again.

And for the first time since he got struck, he lets himself sit down with that guilt. Lets himself feel it fully.

He breathes in, shallow and slow. Watches the wind move the branches. Traces the ache in his chest.

There’s a reply sitting under his tongue.

He’s just not ready to send it yet.

The living room is still, soaked in golden light from the late afternoon sun, but Xisuma doesn’t feel any warmer for it. His hoodie sleeves are rolled halfway up, the soft fabric pressing into the fresh gauze on his arms. The burn creams are starting to itch, and the room smells faintly like aloe and sterile gauze, reminders of every decision he wishes he could take back.

His phone rests on the coffee table beside a half-empty water bottle and an unopened protein bar. He hasn’t touched either in hours.

Exy’s text still sits at the top of his messages.

He hadn’t opened it when it first buzzed in a couple days ago.

Didn’t open it when he was in the hospital bed, hooked to monitors and drifting in and out of shallow sleep.

He’d told himself it was because he didn’t have the energy. That he didn’t want to deal with that on top of everything else.

But the truth?

He was afraid. Still is.

He stares at it now. It glows there, marked bold and unopened in the corner of his messaging app:

Exy[3 days ago] — “I’ve been thinking about that night.”

Just the preview bar. Just that line.

It sinks like a stone in his chest.

He locks the phone before he can tap into it. Tosses it lightly onto the couch cushion next to him and leans forward, elbows on his knees, palms over his face. Breathing in through his nose. Out through his mouth.

He’s not ready. Not for that.

He doesn’t want to relive the smell of ozone in the air, the metallic taste in his mouth, the silence right after the crack of thunder that should’ve killed someone but didn’t, not quite. Not that time.

His phone buzzes again.

Not Exy this time.

He turns his head just enough to see the new notification light up:

Etho: Hey. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just let me know you’re okay. Please.

It lands softer than Exy’s had. But it lands all the same.

Xisuma’s heart clenches. He hasn’t responded to Etho’s last message, not really. “Alive” doesn’t count. That’s the bare minimum of honesty, and Etho… Etho deserves better.

He picks up the phone again, hands trembling more than he’d like to admit. The text sits open, waiting.

He types:

Xisuma: I’m okay. Just needed space. I’m sorry I left like that.

Then backspaces.

Types again:

Storm was worse than I thought. Truck’s fine. I’m fine. Just shaken up.

Backspaces again.

Finally, he settles on:

Xisuma: Didn’t mean to scare you. Been a rough couple days.

It’s true enough. It's still not the whole truth.

But maybe it’s enough for now.

He hits send, thumbs hovering as he stares at the message sitting there. Waiting.

If Etho replies, he’ll have to decide what comes next.

If he doesn’t, well… he’ll have to decide anyway.

The storms are quieter now, but Xisuma knows better than to think they’re over.

Xisuma leans back into the couch, his body aching in too many places for him to find a position that doesn’t hurt. His phone rests in his lap, the glow from the screen fading as the display times out, leaving him in quiet shadow.

He exhales through his nose.

He’s not going to be surprised if Etho shows up. Not after that text. Not after the way he’d left things between them. He can already picture it—Etho knocking at the door with that worried frown and those stupid, too-soft eyes, trying to play it casual while obviously checking him over like a mother hen in redstone goggles.

Xisuma groans quietly and presses his hands over his face. The burn on his left arm protests, and he hisses through his teeth.

He doesn’t want Etho to see him like this—worn out, wrapped in bandages, too tired to stand for more than ten minutes without getting dizzy. Not after how he’d bolted, not after the fight that wasn’t really a fight but definitely wasn’t nothing.

But at the same time… he knows if Etho shows up, there’s no stopping him.

And maybe a small, guilty part of him doesn’t want to stop him.

He grabs the phone again. Pulls up Keralis’s name.

Xisuma:Hey. I'm home. Still alive. Don’t worry.

He pauses, thinks about adding something like “thanks for the jump” or “I’ll explain later”—but deletes both before he can send them. He doesn’t want to explain. Not yet. He just wants people to stop worrying.

He hits send.

The message delivers instantly. No dots typing on the other end. Keralis is probably working, or maybe asleep on the couch again with some awful cooking show playing in the background. Either way, it’s out now.

Another sigh escapes him.

He lets the phone slip from his hand, dropping softly onto the couch cushion beside him. The room smells faintly of rain again—one of the windows is cracked open, and a breeze nudges the curtains gently, like the wind is trying to comfort him.

But it doesn’t.

He leans his head back and stares up at the ceiling.

If Etho shows up, he’ll let him in. Not because he wants to, necessarily—but because he knows he will. Because that’s just how this has always gone: Xisuma pulling away, Etho stepping in anyway.

It terrifies him.

But he’s too tired to lock the door.

The ceiling blurs the longer he stares at it, the soft rustling of the curtains the only sound in the house besides the distant ticking of the wall clock. The burn on his shoulder pulses with dull, rhythmic heat beneath the gauze. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights—the soft gray haze of the cloudy afternoon is enough to see by, and too much brightness feels wrong.

The couch sags beneath him, worn in just enough to catch the shape of his body, and as the weight of exhaustion settles over his shoulders, Xisuma feels himself slowly unraveling.

He shifts, just barely, tugging the throw blanket up over his legs with his good arm. His body’s sore, too warm in some places and too cold in others, but he can’t summon the energy to adjust again. His eyes slip shut.

The quiet doesn't bother him—not right now. There’s a kind of comfort in this stillness, like the house is holding its breath with him, waiting for the next step he doesn’t know how to take.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

It’s not a peaceful sleep, but it’s deep, dragged down by pain meds and lingering adrenaline. Somewhere in the half-dream state, he thinks he hears the faint sound of wind against the windows again, like the tail end of a memory. In the distance, there's a low rumble—not quite thunder, not quite real.

A flicker of lightning—not outside, but behind his eyes.

He twitches.

But doesn’t wake.

Curled on his side, the blanket pulled haphazardly across him, hoodie bunched around his neck, Xisuma sleeps like someone used to bracing for impact. His jaw is clenched, one hand curled near his chest, the other limp where the bandages and burns make movement slow.

Outside, the world keeps turning—soft and gray, as though it's holding off the storm for just a little while longer.

But inside, he sleeps.

Waiting.

He wakes slowly, like surfacing through thick fog, his mind fuzzy and limbs heavy with leftover sleep. There's a dull ache in his shoulder where the gauze sticks to his skin, and something warm is pressed against his cheek.

It’s not a pillow.

And the smell—fresh, dark roast coffee, strong enough to cut through the fog in his head—doesn’t belong to the empty house he fell asleep in.

Xisuma’s eyes open just a sliver.

There’s fabric under his cheek, not the rough texture of the couch but something softer, worn in like denim or old sweatpants. The warmth is solid. Shifting. Breathing.

His heart gives one tired, betrayed thump.

Oh no.

He shifts slightly, and a hand—a very familiar hand—gently brushes through his hair, fingers careful to avoid the healing parts of his scalp. Slow. Rhythmic.

Xisuma doesn’t move. Maybe if he stays still long enough he’ll melt into the cushions and cease to exist.

But the hand in his hair pauses, and then Etho’s voice—low, uncharacteristically gentle—breaks the fragile quiet.

"Morning," Etho says, voice scratchy like he hasn’t spoken in a while. “Or, uh... almost evening. You were really out.”

Xisuma doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in Etho’s lap, and there’s only so much pride a person can sacrifice before admitting they voluntarily used their maybe-sort-of-crush as a body pillow in their sleep.

Etho shifts slightly but doesn’t move him off. Just resumes running fingers through Xisuma’s hair, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You looked like shit, by the way,” he adds, tone light but soft around the edges. “Figured I’d check in when you didn’t answer my last message. You left the door unlocked, so that’s on you.”

Of course he had.

Xisuma sighs, still not looking up. His voice is rough when he finally speaks.

“How long have you been here?”

“Couple hours.” Etho pauses, then taps his knee lightly. “You, uh, cried in your sleep for a bit. Thought about waking you up, but you settled down again.”

Xisuma closes his eyes.

Of course.

Etho keeps talking, gentle and unhurried, as if trying to ease him into the inevitable. “I brought coffee. And your house smelled like sadness and unwashed blankets, so I cracked a window.”

Xisuma finally shifts, slowly rolling onto his back. His head is still on Etho’s thighs, which is—mortifying—but at this point, moving might hurt more than enduring it. He stares up at the ceiling for a beat before turning his eyes to Etho.

Etho’s not smiling, not quite. But he’s watching him with this quiet, steady look that sees more than Xisuma wants him to.

“You came all this way just to harass me into drinking caffeine and let me cry on you?” Xisuma mutters, voice dry.

Etho shrugs. “Well, yeah. Obviously.”

He says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like of course he’d show up. Like it wasn’t even a question.

And Xisuma knows—knows—he’s not getting out of this conversation. Not with Etho sitting here, patient and quiet, not pushing but not budging either. He came here with questions. With intent.

Xisuma drags a hand down his face. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Start with why your phone was off,” Etho says quietly. “Then maybe why you ghosted me for two days, and why you looked like you’ve been hit by a freight train and didn’t bother telling anyone.”

There’s no heat in the words. Just worry. Care. Concern.

Xisuma doesn’t answer right away.

Because if he does… then it’s all real. The lightning. The fear. The fact that he ran and nearly died and that he hasn’t stopped shaking since.

But then Etho reaches down and laces their fingers together—careful of the gauze, of the burns, of everything. Doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t pull. Just waits.

And Xisuma—quietly, haltingly, terrified—starts talking.

At first, Xisuma doesn’t think the words will come. They sit in his chest like iron, weighing down every breath. But Etho’s fingers are warm against his, the contact grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed. And the silence is patient—not awkward, not heavy. Just… waiting.

So he starts small.

“The forecast didn’t say it’d be that bad,” he murmurs, eyes fixed somewhere past Etho’s shoulder. “Just another rainy day, y’know? I didn’t think much of it. I just… needed to drive. Needed to breathe. And I didn’t want to argue.”

Etho’s thumb brushes lightly over the back of his hand. He doesn’t interrupt.

“I shouldn’t have left like that. It wasn’t fair.” His throat tightens. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The couch creaks softly as Etho leans forward just a little, gaze intent but gentle. “Then why’d you run?”

Xisuma hesitates.

“I panicked,” he admits after a moment. “I didn’t know how to—how to talk about it. About me.”

His eyes drift to the faint edge of gauze at his wrist. His fingers twitch.

“There’s a reason storms mess me up like they do,” he says. “Not just the noise. Not just the wind. It’s what they remind me of.”

Etho stays quiet, gaze steady. No pressure. No expectation. Just there.

“When I was a kid,” Xisuma says slowly, voice barely above a whisper, “Exy got struck. We were outside, being stupid. We didn’t listen. And the storm came in too fast.” He swallows hard, his voice turning hollow. “I wasn’t fast enough to stop it. I saw it happen.”

His free hand curls into the fabric of Etho’s hoodie at his thigh, desperate for something to hold onto.

“I ran to them. I don’t even remember doing it. Just the light, and the heat, and then Exy screaming, and then nothing made sense anymore. Everything smelled like metal and wet grass and—and burning.”

Etho’s hand shifts slightly, covering Xisuma’s.

“I didn’t get hit,” he says. “Not really. But something about the way it jumped—maybe I was close enough, maybe I was stupid enough to run toward it—but I ended up with these faint scars on my arms and legs. Like echoes.”

He exhales shakily.

“And then this week, with the pressure building and the rain that wouldn’t stop—something in me knew. It felt the same. The air, the weight of it. Like something was coming. And I still got in the truck.”

He shakes his head. “And I got hit. Not bad enough to die. Just bad enough to remember what dying probably feels like.”

Etho is silent. Not frozen—his thumb keeps moving gently—but quiet in the way people are when they hurt for someone else.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone,” Xisuma mutters. “Because I didn’t want to be someone people looked at like I might break. I didn’t want to be the guy who got hurt by lightning twice and still didn’t have his shit together enough to say something.”

He looks up, finally—eyes rimmed red, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Etho’s brow furrows, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “Like what?”

Xisuma lets out a bitter laugh. “Broken. Cowardly. Shaking like a kicked dog in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

Etho exhales slowly, reaching up with his free hand to gently brush a damp lock of hair from Xisuma’s forehead. “You’re not broken.”

“Sure as hell feels like it.”

“You’re not a coward,” Etho says firmly. “You’re scared. There’s a difference.”

The words hang there for a second, neither of them saying anything. Outside, the rain has slowed to a soft drizzle, tapping against the windows.

“I wish you’d told me,” Etho says, quieter now. “Not because I needed to know. But because I hate that you went through that alone.”

Xisuma blinks hard.

“I didn’t know how,” he whispers.

“Then let me help you figure it out,” Etho says, squeezing his hand. “Okay?”

Xisuma hesitates—then nods.

It’s not everything.

But it’s a start.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, he’s not just waiting for the next storm.

Maybe he’s learning how to weather it.

The road stretches out ahead of them, long and golden in the late evening light. The clouds above are beginning to churn with purpose—bruised purple and charcoal gray with streaks of gold still breaking through in places. The kind of sky that says something’s coming.

And that’s exactly why they’re here.

The Hilux hums beneath them, still going strong after all these years. A little rustier around the edges, sure. Xisuma still insists it’ll outlive them all, and frankly, Etho’s starting to believe him. The tailgate has more dents than Xisuma cares to admit, and one of the doors sticks sometimes. But it runs like a beast, faithful and unbothered, its interior cluttered with gear, maps, and a half-empty bag of trail mix Etho keeps insisting is still good.

The wind rolls in off the fields, stirring the grass as Xisuma drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting loosely on Etho’s knee.

They’re a little older now. A little more tired around the edges. But they’re good.

Better than good, actually.

Xisuma glances over at Etho, who’s fiddling with the radar app on his tablet and chewing the end of a pen thoughtfully.

“You think we’ll catch it in time?” he asks, watching Etho with fond amusement.

Etho hums. “Hard to say. It’s moving fast, but we’ve got a good lead if it curves southeast. Might have to cut across the back roads.”

Xisuma grins. “Good thing I know all the back roads.”

“Good thing your truck’s got the suspension for ‘em,” Etho adds, knocking their shoulders together. “Seriously, you ever gonna admit this thing’s just built different?”

Xisuma laughs. “Never. She’s perfect and you know it.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the wind and the occasional click of the turn signal.

The Hilux hits a patch of uneven gravel and bumps a little, and Xisuma shifts his grip. His left arm tingles faintly with the motion—nothing painful, just a quiet, familiar reminder. He flexes his fingers once, feeling the slight stiffness in the tendons, but it passes. These days, the lingering damage isn’t what it used to be. He’s regained most of his feeling. Most of his strength.

And more importantly?

He’s stopped hiding it.

The Lichtenberg figures on his arm—once something he never wanted anyone to see—are now just part of him. A memory, a scar, a story. He rolls his sleeves up more often than not these days.

Etho likes to trace them absentmindedly when they’re laying in bed.

He doesn’t flinch anymore when he does.

Xisuma's phone buzzes from the center console—an image from Ren of a burnt pizza with the caption “False got cocky again”. He grins. The three of them still hang out regularly, just like they used to. Backyard fire pits, game nights that end in chaos, the occasional camping trip that usually ends with someone falling into a lake.

He’s still close with Keralis too. Etho and Xisuma have been on more double dates than either of them can count with Keralis, Xb, and Hypno. The dynamic is chaotic—Keralis and Xb lovingly dragging Hypno along into their nonsense—but it’s the kind of chaos that makes everything feel brighter. Lighter. Like maybe things really do turn out okay sometimes.

And of course, he still remembers the way Etho looked in that deep blue suit at Doc and Bdubs’s wedding. A little rumpled, a little flushed from the heat, standing proud at the altar as Bdubs’ best man. He’d given a speech that was mostly teasing and entirely heartfelt, and Xisuma remembers thinking, yeah. That’s my guy.

He didn’t miss the way Doc kept stealing glances at Bdubs like he was something out of a dream. The same way Xisuma still sometimes looks at Etho when he isn’t paying attention.

The ping of the radar brings him back.

Storm’s shifting.

It’s funny, in a way.

A few years ago, he’d been sleeping on that same couch, half-dead with exhaustion, afraid of his own heartbeat. Afraid of feeling anything. Afraid of the people who wanted to love him.

Now?

He glances at the center console where his phone sits plugged in. There’s a text from Exy waiting there. Just a meme and a “Don’t die today lol”—which, from them, is a touching sign of concern. He’ll respond later, probably with a sarcastic “no promises” and a photo of Etho hanging out the passenger window with a camera like a storm-chasing golden retriever.

They talk regularly now. Not always about the past, but enough to acknowledge it. Enough to move forward.

Xisuma’s not afraid of that anymore.

He and Etho live in a tiny apartment above a bookstore now, too. The kitchen is small, the neighbors loud, and the rent always just a little more than they’d like—but it’s theirs. Shared laundry baskets and mismatched mugs and quiet nights with storm documentaries playing softly in the background.

It’s not perfect.

But it’s real.

As the wind picks up and the first distant rumbles roll across the horizon, Etho leans forward, his eyes bright behind his glasses. Etho leans over the console, squinting at the map. “We’ve got maybe an hour before the cell really starts dropping. Wanna race it sweetheart?”

Xisuma shifts gears, the Hilux roaring like a beast beneath them, and as they turn onto the next road—gravel crunching under their tires, the storm stretching its fingers across the sky

He smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”