( A decently wrapped box is sitting on Noctis' cot in his tent. It's unassuming, featuring a closed card on top that says "Not an assassination attempt" in chicken scratch handwriting. Opening the card, there's another message: )
To: N
This is for your reference, and because you're a nerd.
Sorry I was an ass. Let's start the new year fresh. Have a Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays.
From: J
( Inside the box is a firm glass ball, set on a dark metal stand. When the button on the stand is pressed, a star map fills the tent by projecting from the ball. Its images are three-dimensional, looking almost tangible in the dark; this was obviously an expensive purchase.
The first setting shows the Sol System, where Earth and Mars slowly orbit the Sun. The second and third settings are on the default, which is the Theorem's scans of the immediate space surrounding their current planet.
And at the bottom of the box, easily mistaken for stuffing, is a folded, black shirt. )
[Initially, he wasn't going to say anything. Though the gift wasn't signed, it's not like Cain has interacted personally with that many others — and even fewer are aware of his home planet-slash-star lacking oceans. It would be easy to just let it go.
But in a sense, it feels like that would be letting Noctis get away with something. So at an early hour a few days after Christmas, he'll get a notification on his device. Not a letter. There aren't any gifts waiting at his tent.
It's a video recorded outside. The sky is lavender with the beginning of Epsilon-355's pink-clouded sunrise. Golden sand is visible for miles out, indicating that this view is higher up off the ground than base camp, which becomes more clear as Cain shifts the camera to point it at his face, revealing where he's seated on the hull of his ship. He's smoking, exhaling a plume before he starts to talk.]
You didn't think you'd get away with it, did you? [His tongue clicks against teeth.] It's so obvious that it was you.
I already told Jonas this, but back home, we don't celebrate this holiday until the first week of January. In the colonies, it's more about... I don't know, the spirit of it? Not gifts, just food and singing, fortune-telling, shit like that.
So you guys totally jumped the gun. I gave Jonas my last bottle of vodka and some cigs — you probably don't want either one of those things since you're such a nerd, so you'll just have to settle for this.
Privet. That means 'hello'. Menya zovut... 'My name is'. So, menya zovut Cain. We usually don't call each other by our full names, though, and use a nickname instead. Mine's too short for that, but 'Noct' makes sense for you. Or I could say Nosha, Noshenka, Nova... whatever.
[Is he actually going to use those? The jury's still out. Cain takes a drag off his cigarette, as if to buy time, exhaling a pale stream of smoke.]
Ty krutoy. Figure that one out later. And let me know when your leg's good so we can fight.
[ He doesn't expect a response after a few days pass, assuming that the gift has been received and ignored, taken in some kind of negative way after the awkwardness that misfired text message had dusted up, or not understood to be from him. The more time passes the more credence he gives to each theory, so when he receives the message – a few hours after it was sent, since he wakes up late as always – he almost doesn't want to listen. Thankfully, that urge is rapidly repressed.
There's a lot to respond to. The casual insults, the assertion that he was trying to "get away" with something, the distracting nicknames. He manages to put it all aside for his initial response, still in bed and only partially awake. ]
( It's not that he believes he owes Noctis an apology, not when he knows his friend would refuse one. Still, it's in his head when he wakes up, aching, sick over the side of his cot, and he has to get it out.
The text comes the morning after, before he takes a moment to breathe before sending Cain's. )
Sorry about last night, I drank way too much Obviously Thanks for bringing me the water
[ The light of day brings with it clarity, which is perhaps why he so often struggles with any willingness to face it. This particular morning, however, he sees it creeping in beneath his tent, sleep coming to with an irregular patchiness that saw him awake most of the night. Through different hours he's angry, worried, and reflective, and he's not sure what mishmash of the three he's landed on by the time he gets that message. ]
[ After their last conversation he busied himself in his duties, anxiety high but he works it out of his body the same way he always does. Activity.
And once the beds are done and food is prepared, he finds another way.
When he gets the message from Jonas he's practicing his spear forms out near the oasis, a stolen pipe serving as one of the supports for those tents now managing to provide another use. Sweat drips down his temple, narrowly missing the screen when he pulls that device free and checks it. He squints when the light hits his eyes, ill-adjusted to it in the darkness of dusk.
Fuck.
Another argument? Assuming will make this even worse, however. Maybe Jonas just wants to smooth things over. ]
[It takes a while to send the message he needs to send. It helps that it's easier to stay busy when they're all on the move — steady travel across a desert landscape making demands of physical fitness and mental acuity that serve as sufficient distraction to... everything else. His personal problems. His frantic thoughts and worries. Sleep is challenging, but he finds it helps when his body is exhausted enough to collapse onto sandy earth, sleeping bag optional, so he tries to keep himself busy with Security work. Even if it has been mostly unnecessary; nothing has threatened them since the barren-racers.
Noctis beat him up pretty well. His face is still bruised and his ribs tender, limiting the amount of movement he can achieve without pain, but he was able to pick up some medical supplies without prompting too many questions and that helps. It's no worse than anything he dealt with on the Sleipnir, even if Noctis hits a lot harder than the punk Fighters he had to contend with back there.
Fuck. He needs to stop putting this off. Finally, late one evening—]
[ For the past few days, a man he's avoided at every turn has been an omnipresent force in his life.
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]
[A series of text spam comes from Cain, at some random hour of the day:]
oh my god i am SOOOO FUCKING HUNGRY this isn't normal what's going on is it the food??? does it suck?? but it tastes ok when i eat it... it just doesn't do it for me what the fuck
[ When his datapad starts alerting him with repeated pings, he assumes it's either Jonas discovering another fascinating bug or perhaps Nao finally realizing that they have an unlimited supply of anime loaded into the Theorem's databases.
Imagine his surprise when it's neither. This is... different. Immediately he finds he's pleased, and he sets about comforting his friend. ]
[ There's no response for a solid twenty minutes, as Noctis is true to his word with Jonas and takes some time to himself. When he does return to his tent and his phone, however, that message immediately sets his teeth on edge. ]
With what?
[ It isn't that he means to play dumb, so he takes a moment to reword a follow-up reply. ]
[ It's been quiet, not just from Jonas. Reaching out was just as much an option for Noctis as it was for either of them, so the frustration he feels over it is quick to boil over, simmer, and then fade.
What he's left with instead is that familiar yawning pit of apathy and tiredness. The past few days he's slept early and hardly left his tent unless required to for his work, mustering up an occasional polite reply to excited caravaners while they approach the temple but little else.
And so he's back in his cot when he gets that message, a simple "can we talk" spiking his anxiety. ]
[ Ah yes, the Support division's busiest time. His phone goes off right in the middle of packing tent poles, and the absolute last name he expects to see is joined by the weirdest message he's gotten yet.
That includes the shrimp misfires. ]
If you're going to be weird at me can you at least remember my name
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un: ward
The armoire guy from last week
Are you still around?
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Thought I forgot your name already huh
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un: ward, post-nudes debacle
Like I get you dipping out and everything
Sorry, man
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not here, morning of the 25th
To:
NThis is for your reference, and because you're a nerd.
Sorry I was an ass. Let's start the new year fresh. Have a Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays.
From: J
( Inside the box is a firm glass ball, set on a dark metal stand. When the button on the stand is pressed, a star map fills the tent by projecting from the ball. Its images are three-dimensional, looking almost tangible in the dark; this was obviously an expensive purchase.
The first setting shows the Sol System, where Earth and Mars slowly orbit the Sun. The second and third settings are on the default, which is the Theorem's scans of the immediate space surrounding their current planet.
And at the bottom of the box, easily mistaken for stuffing, is a folded, black shirt. )
no subject
Hey
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morning of dec 27
But in a sense, it feels like that would be letting Noctis get away with something. So at an early hour a few days after Christmas, he'll get a notification on his device. Not a letter. There aren't any gifts waiting at his tent.
It's a video recorded outside. The sky is lavender with the beginning of Epsilon-355's pink-clouded sunrise. Golden sand is visible for miles out, indicating that this view is higher up off the ground than base camp, which becomes more clear as Cain shifts the camera to point it at his face, revealing where he's seated on the hull of his ship. He's smoking, exhaling a plume before he starts to talk.]
You didn't think you'd get away with it, did you? [His tongue clicks against teeth.] It's so obvious that it was you.
I already told Jonas this, but back home, we don't celebrate this holiday until the first week of January. In the colonies, it's more about... I don't know, the spirit of it? Not gifts, just food and singing, fortune-telling, shit like that.
So you guys totally jumped the gun. I gave Jonas my last bottle of vodka and some cigs — you probably don't want either one of those things since you're such a nerd, so you'll just have to settle for this.
Privet. That means 'hello'. Menya zovut... 'My name is'. So, menya zovut Cain. We usually don't call each other by our full names, though, and use a nickname instead. Mine's too short for that, but 'Noct' makes sense for you. Or I could say Nosha, Noshenka, Nova... whatever.
[Is he actually going to use those? The jury's still out. Cain takes a drag off his cigarette, as if to buy time, exhaling a pale stream of smoke.]
Ty krutoy. Figure that one out later. And let me know when your leg's good so we can fight.
Poka. 'Bye'.
[And without ceremony, the recording ends.]
my heart
There's a lot to respond to. The casual insults, the assertion that he was trying to "get away" with something, the distracting nicknames. He manages to put it all aside for his initial response, still in bed and only partially awake. ]
Write them out? So ik how to spell them
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un: ward
The text comes the morning after, before he takes a moment to breathe before sending Cain's. )
Sorry about last night, I drank way too much
Obviously
Thanks for bringing me the water
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Hey morning, np
You okay?
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un: ward, this is my fucking inbox
Hey, are you up?
i cede ownership
And once the beds are done and food is prepared, he finds another way.
When he gets the message from Jonas he's practicing his spear forms out near the oasis, a stolen pipe serving as one of the supports for those tents now managing to provide another use. Sweat drips down his temple, narrowly missing the screen when he pulls that device free and checks it. He squints when the light hits his eyes, ill-adjusted to it in the darkness of dusk.
Fuck.
Another argument? Assuming will make this even worse, however. Maybe Jonas just wants to smooth things over. ]
Yep
What's up
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cw: sa mention
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un: reliant, fights for co-ownership of this inbox
Noctis beat him up pretty well. His face is still bruised and his ribs tender, limiting the amount of movement he can achieve without pain, but he was able to pick up some medical supplies without prompting too many questions and that helps. It's no worse than anything he dealt with on the Sleipnir, even if Noctis hits a lot harder than the punk Fighters he had to contend with back there.
Fuck. He needs to stop putting this off. Finally, late one evening—]
hey
[Shocking that he still isn't blocked.]
let's talk. when you feel like it.
1/2 cw: sexual frustration everywhere
Memories of their fight are beaten into his muscles and marked on his skin, though the aches are easier to ignore than his own reflection. The color worked into his throat hasn't faded, and each glimpse caught of it is a reminder of how a warm wet mouth felt against his body in the cold desert air. The same frigidity he'd left alone in, abandoning a temptation – and a friend – to choose the same controlled denial he's practiced his whole life. But self-control has limits.
During the day it's easier. He can pretend any Russian lingo from Reze is being shared out of some kind of academic interest. He can be reminded of the ships they'd left behind, like Ангелика, and distract himself with thoughts of Dean's resin coating and a reminder to check in with him. Other members of the Security detail? Just comrades. The familiar scent of whiskey and cigarettes when Ladon talks too close? Coincidental.
At night, those distractions vanish.
At night, camping alone, there's just the occasional slip of that chilled night breeze into his tent and his mind races to recreate a memory with a different ending. Eyes close and a firm body presses to his, so much more real than past fantasies which had scrambled to falsify details he no longer has to imagine. He knows what warm breath feels like against his ear when whispers encourage him not to think, and he knows how his body responds to leather against his lower back. Trying to wait out the memories is too agonizing, and he learns that early. The shame from spitting on his hand and tugging his cock free from tight briefs, giving himself the direct attention he hadn't allowed himself to receive from Cain, is somehow more bearable. Working himself over with hard jerks and shuddering thighs becomes a necessary nightly routine, and while he gets more practiced at keeping himself quiet with soft pants against a rough pillowcase, he wonders if that mouth against his wouldn't do a better job. Cain's kiss, which had been rough at first but quickly turned firm, corrective, and passionate.
Perhaps the worst part is that when he tries to force himself to think of someone else, someone acceptable, he can't even manage a woman anymore. Instead he sees a warm smile, imagines a teasing bite to his ear, and the hand between his legs is Jonas's. ]
2/2 this one's safe
The message immediately sets him on edge, and he tries to keep that from pushing him to anger. ]
I didn't think you were gonna say anything
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un: reliant
oh my god i am SOOOO FUCKING HUNGRY
this isn't normal
what's going on
is it the food??? does it suck??
but it tastes ok when i eat it... it just doesn't do it for me
what the fuck
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Imagine his surprise when it's neither. This is... different. Immediately he finds he's pleased, and he sets about comforting his friend. ]
Idk maybe you swallowed a worm or smth
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un: thunderbeast
shrimp
dancing shrimp
singing shrimp
omg this is glorious
Do I have a line
i'm sorry he's so fucking stupid
oh god there's two of them
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un: reliant
what the FUCK is going on.
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With what?
[ It isn't that he means to play dumb, so he takes a moment to reword a follow-up reply. ]
Jonas is messaging you isn't he
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un: ward
Can we talk about things?
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What he's left with instead is that familiar yawning pit of apathy and tiredness. The past few days he's slept early and hardly left his tent unless required to for his work, mustering up an occasional polite reply to excited caravaners while they approach the temple but little else.
And so he's back in his cot when he gets that message, a simple "can we talk" spiking his anxiety. ]
Hey, it's cool
What's up?
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@crambon, you boys okay up there...
Hey, boy. Your tribute is required.
NO!
That includes the shrimp misfires. ]
If you're going to be weird at me can you at least remember my name
becomes homophobic again
wow did you stop at some point tho
yeah i became an ally and now you've ruined it
ALLIED WITH WHOMST, WHERE