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xpocketeer · 6 days ago

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VI. Fungus Between the Glow of Late Hours and The Little Genius

X leans heavily on his workbench, a sleek, compact apparatus cradled in his gloved hands. It’s something he’d been tinkering with for days now—a miniature weather analyzer that could detect humidity levels in a single breath. Genius, really, but it doesn’t hold his attention. His mind is elsewhere, floating in the memory of Vertin’s suitcase.

He still hears it in his head, Medicine Pocket’s gruff, almost reluctant words, “I just find you interesting, so I may or may not be enjoying spending time with you.”

A ghost of a smile tickles his lips, but it fades as quickly as it came. That night felt monumental to him—like a breakthrough, one he hadn’t even realized he needed. And yet, just as easily as it started, Medicine Pocket had left, retreating to their usual brusque self. Why?

X stares blankly at the device in his hands, his vision unfocused. Why had they been so quick to leave? And why did he care so much about it? Medicine Pocket had called him interesting. They’d stayed up with him, talked with him, joked with him. Even smiled at him.

They don’t smile often, but when they do…

A pointy snap of fingers right in front of his face yanks him back to the present. He flinches, blinking rapidly as he looks up to see John Titor staring at him, her brow furrowed, a half-peeled orange in one hand. She’s been munching on those all morning.

“48656C6C6F20746865726521,” she says flatly, popping a wedge of the orange into her mouth.

X shakes his head, dazed. “Huh?”

John sighs, peeling another piece of the fruit. “48656C6C6F20746865726521,” she repeats, slower this time.

X processes it, his brain catching up. Oh. Hello there! He flushes faintly, realizing how out of it he must look.

John Titor rolls her eyes, chewing deliberately before pointing to the clock on the wall. “4C756E63682054696D65.”

“Oh.” Lunchtime. Right. He sets the weather analyzer down carefully, his fingers loosening their grip on the smooth metal surface. “You’re right. Thanks, Ms. Titor.”

She gives a curt nod, eating another orange wedge as she turns back to her own project.

X grabs his clipboard, shoving it under his arm as he steps out of the lab. His feet slow as he approaches the lab next door—Medicine Pocket’s lab. The sign on the door, riddled with bite marks and scratches, sways slightly with the soft airflow of the hallway. ‘Keep Out.’

He gazes at it, a surge of heat settling over his chest, aching, like a hot iron. It doesn’t make sense. At first… But now X knows—it’s because he misses them. It’s been a week since their time in Vertin’s suitcase, but the cramp in his chest feels acicular, needle-like today. He shakes his head and forces himself to keep walking.

The journey to the cafeteria feels slower than usual. The hallways of Laplace are thronged as ever, with staff in white lab coats and arcanists moving about purposefully. X offers polite nods as he passes colleagues, his mind only half in the present.

When he finally makes it into the cafeteria, the lull of conversation fills the space, but his heart still feels oddly reticent.

“X!”

He looks up to see Sotheby waving enthusiastically from across the room, her blonde curls bouncing as she gestures for him to come over. X smiles and nods in her direction, but he heads first to the food counter.

With a tray in hand—containing a plate of pasta, some soup, and a cup of tea—he navigates through the tables.

Jessica, the half-deer changeling, passes him by, her delicate, furry ears catching the light. “Hello, X,” she greets softly, her voice melodic.

“Hello, Ms. Jessica,” X greets back, bowing slightly.

Further down, he spots Lilya, leaning against the counter with her ever-present flask in hand. She raises it in greeting, her usual smirk in place. “Oi, X! You look like you’ve been hit by a train, mate. What’s wrong? Lose another invention?”

X chuckles awkwardly. “No, Ms. Lilya. Just… tired, I suppose.”

“Sure, sure,” Lilya replies, clearly unconvinced as she takes a swig from her flask.

By the time X finds a seat, his tray untouched, he’s already spiraling back into his thoughts. Every smile, every word, every faint grin from Medicine Pocket replays in his mind like a looping reel. Why did they leave so quickly that night? Did he do something wrong? Say something wrong?

He sighs, poking absently at his pasta, his tea growing colder by the second. He’s grateful for the chatter around him—it keeps the silence at bay—but the only voice he really wants to hear is nowhere to be found.

I’ll… see you around, Medicine Pocket had said.

But would they? Would he?

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X returns to his lab with slumped shoulders, the booming of the cafeteria chatter long gone from his mind. The hallway had been void of any sign of Medicine Pocket, not even a shred of their distinctive white hair tied with those asinine scissors. He sighs heavily, dragging his feet. Could Medicine Pocket be out on another field mission?

Doubtful, he reasons, his thoughts swirling. The Timekeeper had been away since last week, and X distinctly remembered seeing her with Sonetto and Ms. Druvis III. That likely meant no field missions for Medpoc. So where could they be?

Probably in their lab. They’ve got to be there, he surmises, clinging to the hope as he pushes the door to his own lab open.

Inside, Mesmer Jr. is tapping away on one of the computers, her short, curly hair bouncing a bit as she works. She doesn’t even look up when she calls out to him. “Oh, hey, X. Great timing!”

X blinks, stepping closer. “What is it, Mesmer?”

Mesmer grabs a small stack of papers from the desk beside her and thrusts them toward him. “Do you mind taking these to the director’s office? They’re for Madam Lucy.”

“To Madam Lucy?”

“Yes, X,” she drawls, finally regarding him with a smirk. “Unless you know another mechanical overlord in this building?”

X smiles, taking the papers from her. “Right. Of course. I’ll take them there.”

“Good lad,” Mesmer says with a mockingly cheerful tone, already turning back to her work.

Clutching the papers, X steps back into the hallway, his nerves buzzing faintly. He’s only been to Madam Lucy’s office a handful of times, all for mundane errands like this one. But now, knowing how closely tied she and Medicine Pocket are, he feels a flutter of anticipation. What if Medpoc is there? What if he bumps into them?

The thought makes his steps quicken, his heart racing a little faster as he navigates the hallways.

When he arrives at Madam Lucy’s office, the heavy steel doors loom before him, their polished surface gleaming under the artificial light. Taking a deep breath, X presses the intercom button.

“Researcher X,” comes Lucy’s neutral, metallic voice almost immediately. “Enter.”

The doors slide open with a soft hiss, revealing the sparsely decorated office. The walls are sleek and tinny, with ill-defined lines of glowing circuitry embedded within them. At the far end of the room, Lucy sits behind an alloy desk, her robotic body perfectly still except for her synthetic face, which is set in a serene expression. Her human-like brunette hair is neatly combed, at odds with her otherwise mechanical form.

“Researcher X,” she receives, her voice even and diplomatic by default. “What brings you here?”

X holds up the stack of papers. “Ms. Mesmer asked me to deliver these reports to you, Madam Lucy.”

Lucy inclines her head slightly, extending a hand with polished, metallic fingers. X places the papers in her grasp, watching as her eyes glaze faintly with light, scanning the documents.

“Thank you,” she says after a moment, setting the papers aside. “You are efficient.”

“Oh,” X breathes out, caught slightly off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Uh, thank you, Madam Lucy.”

As he turns to leave, Lucy’s voice stops him. “Researcher X.”

He pauses, glancing back. “Yes?”

Lucy produces a small device from a compartment on her desk, holding it out to him. It’s sleek and solid, a communicator similar to the one he knows Medpoc carries.

“This is for you,” she says. “A communication device. It will allow you to contact the Laplace network directly and access restricted files related to your assignments.”

X steps forward, albeit hesitantly, taking the device from her outstretched hand. “Oh… thank you. I’ll make good use of it.”

“I expect you to,” Lucy replies, her voice unwavering. “Your progress has been noted. Continue to deliver results.”

X blinks, nodding quickly. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Madam Lucy.”

As he turns to leave again, the door slides open ahead of him, and he nearly collides with Enigma, who strides into the office with his usual air of indifference.

“Watch it,” Enigma mutters, barely sparing X a glance as he holds up a folder of his own. “Reports for you, Madam Lucy.”

“Researcher Adler,” Lucy acknowledges, her tone identical to the one she’d used for X.

X steps aside to let him pass, glancing back at the two briefly before the door slides shut behind him. As he walks back down the hallway, communicator in hand, he can’t help but wonder: What does it mean that she gave me this? Does Medpoc know about this?

The thought lingers in his mind as he makes his way back to his lab, his heart a tangle of curiosity and uncontrollable yearning.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

X steps back into his lab, the cool hum of machinery a constant, calming presence. In his hand, the communicator Madam Lucy had given him feels both exciting and unnervingly personal. He presses a few buttons, navigating through its interface. The sleek little device seems straightforward enough—contacts, messages, a direct line to the Laplace network.

But then his heart skips when he sees it.

Medicine Pocket.

Their name, clear as day, sitting right there on the contact list alongside their Laplace employee number. X stares at the screen, the raving text making his pulse hasten. Just one tap. One tap, and he could hear their voice, find out where they are, what they’re doing—what they’ve been doing all this time without him.

He slumps into his chair, gripping the device tightly. What would he even say? Hi, Medpoc, just wanted to call because I—uh… miss you? No, no, that’s too obvious. Stupid.

His eyes dart around the empty lab. Mesmer Jr. is gone, likely off to do something more entertaining than babysitting him and his coiling thoughts of doom. He exhales shakily, staring at the communicator like it might bite him. Friends call each other all the time, right?

At last, after some extended rumination, with a deep breath and trembling fingers, he presses the call button. The receiver rings once, twice, and then clicks.

There’s no immediate voice on the other end, just a friendly automated blurb about Laplace communication policies and trivia about lab safety. He listens anxiously, his knee bouncing under the table.

“Hello?”

The voice isn’t Medicine Pocket’s.

“Hi…? Medicine… Pocket—?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t them,” the voice responds kindly. “They’re sleeping right now. Hold on, let me go check on them.”

X bites his lip as he hears rustling on the other end, a clatter that sounds suspiciously like something being dropped.

“Ezra, I swear—STOP messing with my stuff!” comes a muffled, irritated growl in the background. Then, clearer: “Who is it? Ezra, I’m TIRED.”

The voice—the voice is apparent. X’s heart skips as Medicine Pocket’s grumpy tone comes through the line. It’s Medpoc.

“Oh, but the caller is… X. X, it says here on the caller ID.”

A shuffle, a muffled sound, and then Medicine Pocket’s voice enhances, groggy but unmistakably surprised. “X? Give me that! …X? Why’d you call? Need something?”

“U-um…” X stammers, gripping the communicator like it’s a lifeline. “I’m sorry for calling out of nowhere… I was, uh, given this device just now and I wanted to try it. I saw your name on the contacts list and thought I should… you know. I’m sorry. This mustn’t be a good time. I woke you up—”

“No, no!” Medicine Pocket interrupts instantly, their voice jumping a tad, the sleepiness replaced by something lighter. “It’s okay! Besides, I was NOT sleeping. Just… closing my eyes is all. Counting sheep! Hahaha!”

X chuckles softly despite himself. “Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s nothing,” Medicine Pocket says, their tone becoming a little more casual. Then, “Wait. How’d you get my number anyway? Oh, never mind. Lucy’s always giving away my info without asking me.”

X bites back a smile. “Who… who are you with? The person who answered?”

“Oh!” Medicine Pocket trills, sounding more animated. “That’s Ezra. This weirdo of a friend of mine. Psh. I’ll let you meet him, don’t worry. We’re just leaving his rented apartment, actually.”

“We are?” comes a smaller, softer voice in the background. “But I thought you said you wanted to study mushrooms—”

“WE ARE, EZRA,” Medicine Pocket snaps, though there’s no real venom in their voice. Not that X knows of. “Come on, you little chump. Anyway, X, we’ll be there soon, so.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” X agrees, nodding even though they can’t see him. “So, I’ll see you in a while?”

“Yup!”

Before X can say anything more, the line clicks off.

He stares at the communicator, the glowing text of Medicine Pocket’s name still on the screen. His heart is still racing, but now it’s joined by a new feeling. Ezra? Who’s Ezra? …And why are they sleeping at his…rented apartment?

The voice from earlier replays in his mind—velvety, angelic, definitely not what he’d expect from one of Medicine Pocket’s ‘weird friends.’ A mushroom researcher? He frowns, swallowing a lump that’s formed in his throat.

So, Medpoc has been busy. And… with someone else.

His chest squeezes, but he quickly shakes his head, standing from his chair. “I’ll meet him soon,” he says softly, willing himself to focus. “Medpoc said so.”

Although the pressure in his gut doesn’t fully lift, at least now he knows the person he’s been seeking is nearby. Soon, he’ll see them again. And whoever this Ezra person is… well, he’ll find out soon enough.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

X waits. He waits, and he waits some more, pacing the lab in an aimless rhythm that not even revisiting his old projects can entirely distract him from. At first, he pulls out a stack of notes, scanning through them with the intent of follow-ups. Then he starts making small adjustments to the schematics of an older Goldberg machine. Before he knows it, he’s fully immersed, like the natural originator he is.

He conjures a cappuccino with a flick of his fingers, sipping from the cup as he works, his focus finally shifting into a steady groove. His thoughts drift now and then to a Certain Researcher, but at least the edge of anticipation dulls fairly with every new line of text he scribbles.

It isn’t until much later, just as the lab grows quiet except for the drone of machinery, that he hears it.

A voice. Their voice.

Medicine Pocket’s unambiguous, slightly raspy tone floats down the corridor, accompanied by a lighter, satiny voice.

X freezes for a hot second, his heart skipping a beat. Then he’s on his feet, nearly knocking his cappuccino over as he rushes out of the lab.

“Someone’s excited,” Mesmer Jr. remarks dryly, smirking over her shoulder.

John Titor pops an orange wedge into her mouth, muttering a string of numbers that sounds suspiciously like a snicker.

He doesn’t stop to acknowledge them. He’s already halfway down the hall when he sees them—Medicine Pocket, standing tall and animated as ever, grinning widely. But they’re not alone.

“Medpoc! Hi!” X calls out, beaming as he jogs over.

Medicine Pocket perks at the sound, their grin widening. “Hey, X!”

Standing beside them is a small figure—a delicate blonde child, no more than fourteen or fifteen, with light blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes. The kid is dressed in a neat outfit, complete with mustard yellow gloves and a matching brown hat. The sight is… unforeseen, to say the least.

Medicine Pocket gestures toward the child, clearly unfazed by X’s confused stare. “Oh, right. X, meet Ezra.”

“Hello, I’m Ezra,” the little blonde says in a polite, clear voice, giving X a slight bow.

X’s brain short-circuits for a moment. He blinks rapidly, leaning closer to take a better look. “Wait… Ezra? As in…” He trails off, his initial assumptions about Medicine Pocket’s mysterious companion crumbling into dust.

“Yup, Ezra,” Medicine Pocket grouses, grinning as they clap the kid on the shoulder. “A human prodigy working with Laplace’s Australia branch. He’s here for research, which, by the way, he’s annoying about.”

Ezra huffs softly, adjusting his hat with a dignified air. “I’m thorough, not annoying.”

X stares, still trying to reconcile the sweet-looking child in front of him with the voice he’d heard over the communicator. “I—I see,” he splutters, stunned. “Hello there, Ezra…”

Ezra tilts his head, studying X with an almost clinical curiosity. Then, as if reaching some conclusion, he smiles politely. “So, this is X…” He glances at Medicine Pocket briefly, his eyes twinkling. “Wow. Nice to meet you, Mr. X.”

X smiles sheepishly. “Oh, um, just X is fine.”

“Right. Of course,” Ezra replies, still impeccably gracious.

“Come on,” Medicine Pocket steers, already walking toward their lab. “We can talk inside. You’re blocking the hallway, X.”

“Oh, uh, right,” X says, following quickly as Medicine Pocket, who’s chuckling, and Ezra lead the way.

Inside Medicine Pocket’s lab, X feels a faint wave of nostalgia. It’s as chaotic as he’s last seen it, with papers scattered across every surface, and the familiar smell of antiseptic and Medicine Pocket’s experiments wafts in the air.

Ezra wastes no time making himself comfortable, perching on a nearby stool and folding his gloved hands neatly in his lap. “So,” he begins, his voice brightening as he dangles his legs, “I heard you’re an inventor, X. That’s wonderful. I adore innovative thinking—it’s the root of all progress, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, definitely,” X concurs, feeling oddly charmed by the kid’s earnestness. “I kind of dabble in a lot of different things.”

“He’s being modest,” Medicine Pocket interjects, flopping into their own chair with a lazy grin. “His machines are riotous. They’re so overcomplicated they loop back around to being genius.”

Ezra chuckles lightly. “I’ll have to see one sometime.”

“I’d be happy to show you,” X says, his grin widening. “But Medpoc mentioned you’re researching fungi? That sounds fascinating.”

Ezra’s eyes light up. “Oh, yes! Fungi are extraordinary organisms. Did you know there are species of mushrooms that can break down plastic? Or ones that communicate through intricate mycelial networks? It’s like a natural internet! And don’t even get me started on bioluminescent varieties—”

As Ezra launches into an enthusiastic explanation of his research, X listens intently, captivated by the kid’s passion. Even Medicine Pocket seems vaguely amused, though they’re already pulling papers toward them, muttering about needing “another injection of caffeine,” to deal with this.

Ezra doesn’t notice, however, his small hands gesturing animatedly as he describes the beauty and complexity of fungi. X nods along, asking questions here and there, completely charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm.

“Well,” Medicine Pocket cuts in after a while, their voice loud and teasing. “Looks like X has a new favorite friend, huh?”

X flushes, chuckling nervously. “Oh, come on, Medpoc…”

Ezra tilts his head innocently. “Favorite? Is there a ranking system I should be aware of?”

Medicine Pocket barks out a laugh, while X hides his face in his hands, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks.

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Later in the day, X leans against Medicine Pocket’s cluttered workbench, his arms crossed as he watches Ezra shuffle through a stack of papers with the precision of a much older scientist. The kid’s focus is impressive, his blue eyes scanning the notes with the quiet determination of someone twice his age.

“So,” X says casually, trying to break the silence, “you’re, uh… human?”

Ezra glances up briefly, his delicate lashes batting over his pale blue eyes. “Yes,” he affirms, smiling. “Completely human. No Arcanum abilities, no latent gifts. Just a regular boy with an affinity for science.”

“‘Regular boy,’ my ass,” Medicine Pocket snorts, leaning back in their chair. “Kid’s got more brainpower than half the people in Laplace combined. Hell, I’d trust him with my projects more than most so-called geniuses around here.”

Ezra blushes at the compliment, ducking his head. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t say I’m that extraordinary. I just work hard and stay curious.”

X’s brows furrow as he takes in Ezra’s small frame, his delicate features and frail posture. It hits him then, just how vulnerable the boy must be, especially in a world where Arcanum abilities often tip the scales.

“Doesn’t it get… dangerous?” X asks cautiously. “Being human, I mean. With the Storm and everything?”

Ezra looks up again, his expression soft but unwavering. “It does. I can’t survive the Storm like you all can. If I’m outside the foundation or Vertin’s suitcase when one occurs, that’s… well, that’s it for me.”

X feels a pinch in his heart at the frankness of Ezra’s words. Medicine Pocket, on the one hand, doesn’t bat an eye, reaching over to ruffle the kid’s blonde hair in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture.

“Yeah, well, that’s why you’ve got us,” Medicine Pocket says firmly. “Between the Foundation’s tech and whatever crazy gizmos X dreams up, you’ll be fine.”

Ezra smiles at that, adjusting his gloves. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

X straightens up, a spark of an idea lighting in his mind. “Actually… that gives me an idea.”

Medicine Pocket raises a brow. “Uh-oh. He’s thinking.”

Ignoring the jab, X steps forward, his hands gesturing animatedly. “Ezra, what if… I made you something? Like a gun that can release Arcanum energy. That way, if you ever need to defend yourself, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

Ezra blinks, visibly surprised. “You’d… do that for me?”

“Of course!” X cheers, grinning. “It wouldn’t be too hard. I could integrate some of Laplace’s Arcanum tech and make it lightweight so it’s easy for you to handle.”

Medicine Pocket smirks, leaning their chin on their palm. “Careful, X. You’re gonna make the kid cry with all this generosity.”

Ezra laughs softly, his smile brightening. “I’d love that, X. Thank you.”

So that’s settled. As X begins scribbling rough designs on a nearby scrap of paper, Medicine Pocket gestures toward a corner of the lab where a bulky, intricate machine is taking shape.

“While he’s planning your space gun or whatever,” Medicine Pocket begins, “check this out. The Fungus Ecosystem Machine. My latest project for our dear fungal prodigy here.”

Ezra perks up immediately, practically bouncing on his stool. “Oh! You finished it?”

“Almost,” Medicine Pocket hums, their grin acute and satisfied. “This baby integrates biology, chemistry, and physics to create a portable ecosystem for your mushrooms. Mature nutrient solution recycling system, oxygen control, light adjustment—the works. It’s like carrying a forest in a box.”

X steps closer to the machine, his curiosity piqued. The device is compact but incredibly intricate, with a series of transparent chambers connected by thin, winding tubes. He can see faint traces of condensation inside, as well as small clusters of vibrant fungi thriving in the controlled environment.

“This is incredible,” X breathes, his eyes wide. “You really made this for Ezra?”

“Damn right, I did,” Medicine Pocket attests proudly, folding their arms. “Kid’s got good taste in projects. Plus, it’s a nice break from all the boring research Bucket Head keeps dumping on me.”

Ezra laughs again, his cheeks pink. “Thank you, Medicine Pocket. This will help immensely with my studies.”

Medicine Pocket waves him off, though the corners of their mouth twitch upward. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it break down on you. Or do—so you’ve got an excuse to come back and bug me.”

X chuckles at that, his chest feeling lighter than it has in days. Standing here, surrounded by the thrum of innovation and the coziness of sociability, he feels something patch up within him.

“Between the gun and the ecosystem machine,” X says, glancing at Ezra, “I think you’ll be pretty unstoppable.”

Ezra’s smile widens, and for the first time, X notices how genuinely radiant the kid’s energy is. “With friends like you two, I already am.”

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The rest of the afternoon passes in a whirlwind of productivity. He, Medicine Pocket, and Ezra huddle around the ledge, bouncing ideas back and forth as they bring the design for Ezra’s Arcanum gun to life.

X decides early on that it should be pastel blue—a soft, kind color that reminds him of Ezra’s polite demeanor and cherubic nature. Medicine Pocket mocks him lightly for the choice, muttering about, “too many rainbows in his head,” but they don’t actually protest. Ezra, for his part, is thrilled, his delicate features lighting up every time X makes a breakthrough in the design.

The lab is alive with activity:

X meticulously assembles the internal mechanisms, his fingers steady as he places each piece with precision.

Medicine Pocket scribbles chaotic notes on a nearby whiteboard, barking instructions to X and Ezra as they sketch out alternative features.

Ezra helps to test the components, his small hands deftly handling the delicate pieces under Medicine Pocket’s watchful eye.

The atmosphere is warm and collaborative, the kind of day that reminds X why he loves working in Laplace. By the time they’re nearing completion, all three of them are tired but undeniably pleased with their progress.

That’s when the door bursts open.

“X!” Regulus’ voice cuts through the room like a crash of cymbals. “There he is, right there.”

“Regulus?” X looks up, blinking in surprise.

The pirate radio captain saunters in, her signature sunglasses perched atop her head and Mr. APPLe floating at her side, bowtie perfectly straight. She grins, jerking a thumb behind her. “Heya, mate! Someone here is looking for you.”

“Who?”

Another head pokes through the doorway—disheveled brown hair, stained cheeks, and a pair of eye-goggles being twirled lazily in one hand.

“Oh,” X says, his eyes widening. “Oliver!”

“Alrighty then,” Regulus opines, stretching her arms behind her head. “I’ll leave you all to it. I’m looking for Matilda myself. She owes me tea money.” With a jaunty wave, she’s gone, the sound of Mr. APPLe’s deep, posh voice trailing after her as they disappear down the hall.

X turns to his lab colleagues for the day, a faint crease of apology on his brow. “I’ll… just be a minute, guys.”

Medicine Pocket shrugs, their expression shifting to something distant, almost cold. “Sure. Whatever.”

X hesitates, feeling a small prick of guilt at their sudden indifference, but he nods and steps out into the hallway with Oliver.

“Hey, what’s up?” X asks, taking in his friend’s unusually disheveled appearance. Oliver’s khaki jumpsuit is rumpled, revealing a white tank top underneath, and his usual pristine demeanor is replaced with the aura of someone fresh off a hard shift.

“Just dropping by to see you,” Oliver admits with a faint smile, leaning casually against the wall. “It’s my break time.”

“Ah, right,” X says, nodding. “So, have you eaten?”

“Not yet, actually.”

“Oh, then—”

“I’m thinking maybe we can eat together?” Oliver interrupts, his tone gauzy but his gaze steady.

X pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, um. See… I’m a bit busy right now, Oliver. I’m making this gadget for a new friend, Ezra, and—”

“With Medicine Pocket?”

“Yes,” X says, his voice softening.

Oliver’s expression averts briefly before he recovers, nodding. “Okay, got it.”

X chuckles awkwardly, pointing to the door behind him. “Yeah. So, I’m going in now.”

Oliver’s smile returns, a bit more subdued. “Alright. It’s okay. There will be more next time.”

“Of course,” X pronounces quickly, his tone apologetic. “I’m just working on something right now.”

“That you are.”

They part ways, and X watches Oliver go, a small tingle of remorse taking root in his chest. Then, with a steadying breath, he reenters the lab.

The moment the door slides shut behind him, Medicine Pocket looks up from their seat with a serrated grin. “Your little boy friend gone then?”

“Boyfriend?” X repeats, tilting his head in confusion.

“Yeah,” Medicine Pocket drawls, their grin turning almost predatory. “Boy… friend. Boy. Friend.”

Ezra giggles from his stool, his soft voice chiming in. “They mean your friend, who is a boy.”

Medicine Pocket rolls their eyes. “I know what I said. And I doubt X didn’t catch it.”

X flushes, fumbling for a response. “I—it’s not like that. He’s just… a friend.”

“Sure, Alphabet Boy,” Medicine Pocket replies, their tone dripping with acerbity as they cross their arms. “Whatever you say.”

Just then, Ezra jumps in as if to redirect the conversation. “So, X, are we adding the final details to the gun now? It’s coming along beautifully.”

X nods, grateful for the topic shift, but he can’t shake the feeling that something in Medpoc’s tone stuck—something keen, something more than just teasing.

He tries to focus on the project, but every now and then, he glances at Medicine Pocket, who is glaring at the blueprints with the kind of intensity reserved for their most chaotic ideas.

Did I do something wrong? Again? X wonders, his chest constricting. But no matter how much he tries to figure it out, the answer remains just out of reach.

˗ˏˋ꒰𖦹｡🧪⋆°✰꒱ ˎˊ˗

The hours stretch on in Medicine Pocket’s lab, filled with the hum of creativity and the clinking of tools. They’re making steady progress—Ezra’s Arcanum gun is at 87%, nearly functional now, its pastel-blue casing gleaming under the fluorescent lights. At the same time, Medicine Pocket tinkers away at their other project, muttering about nutrient cycles and ‘stupid mushrooms needing stupid ecosystems.’

Despite the occasional sarcastic plunge, the energy in the room is power-driven. Ideas bounce back and forth, filling the space with the rhythm of collaboration:

X tightens a final screw on a key mechanism, carefully adjusting its alignment. “What if we add an adjustable output for the Arcanum energy? So it can handle different scenarios?”

“Smart,” Medicine Pocket replies, not looking up from the circuit board they’re working on. “But if you’re doing that, you’d better reinforce the casing. I’m not babysitting Ezra if the thing explodes.”

Ezra, still awake and watching from his stool, giggles softly. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”

“Sure you’re not, Angel Boy,” Medicine Pocket says with a smirk.

Between bursts of focus, they snack on crackers and tea that X summons with quick whips of his fingers. Crumbs scatter across the workbench, but no one cares.

“Pass me the marker,” Medicine Pocket barks at one point, their platinum hair sticking out in every direction from running their fingers through it. X hands it over, watching with a grin as they furiously scribble equations on the whiteboard, their scissor hairpin catching the light.

As the clock ticks closer to 10 p.m., the excitement is palpable. But it’s late, and fatigue starts to creep in. X is knee-deep in writing notes when Medicine Pocket hisses at him from across the room.

“Pst. X. Look.”

He looks up, confused, only to follow Medicine Pocket’s nod toward Ezra, who is curled up on the stool, fast asleep. The kid’s head is tilted to the side, blonde hair spilling over his delicate features, his hands still loosely clutching a notebook.

X can’t help but smile. “He’s cute,” he whispers, glancing at Medicine Pocket.

Medicine Pocket grins back, their sharp teeth softening the usual ferocity of their expression. For a moment, there’s a silent understanding between them.

Quietly, Medicine Pocket gets up, rummaging through a cupboard in the corner until they pull out a spare blanket. Together, they carefully transfer Ezra to a makeshift bed on the small couch by the wall, X tucking the blanket around him while Medicine Pocket adjusts the pillows.

“Goodnight, Angel Boy,” Medicine Pocket mutters, barely audible.

They return to their work but keep their voices low, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional scratching of pens and the faint whirring of machines.

At some point, X looks up and catches Medicine Pocket stifling a yawn with their gloved hand, their other hand still deftly assembling a component for the mushroom ecosystem.

“Medpoc,” X whispers.

“Hm?” They don’t look up.

X swipes his fingers, conjuring a steaming cup of coffee, and places it on the table beside them. “Here.”

Medicine Pocket glances at the cup and then at him, their tired amber eyes slackening. “Thanks,” they murmur, taking it without pausing their work.

X watches as they sip, the steam curling around their subulate features. His jaw stiffens when Medicine Pocket licks their lips afterward, absentmindedly, completely unaware of how it makes X’s heart race.

The urge is sudden, almost overwhelming.

Before he can second-guess himself, X steps closer and gently takes the cup from Medicine Pocket’s hand, setting it down on the workbench.

Medicine Pocket blinks up at him, startled. “X? What are you doing?”

“Shh, you’ll wake Ezra,” he whispers, his voice rooted but his heart thundering. “Just… close your eyes for me.”

Medicine Pocket stills, their brows knitting together. “Oh—okay…? Why? Something on my face?” They sigh, relenting and shutting their eyes. “Fine. But make it quick, Alphabet Boy. We’re still doing—”

X leans in and presses his lips to theirs, soft and fleeting. It’s the barest brush of skin, but it sends a jolt through him like nothing he’s ever felt before.

He pulls back barely, his cheeks warm as he meets their half-lidded gaze. “I’ve been wanting to try that out for so long,” he admits, shyly. “How was it?”

For a moment, Medicine Pocket looks utterly bewildered. Their eyes dart to his lips, then back to his eyes, before something changes in their expression.

Without a word, they grab the front of his lab coat and pull him back in, their mouth meeting his in a kiss that is nothing like the first. This time, it’s intended, deeper, and juiced with something unspoken but electric.

X feels his breath hitch as their lips move against his, soft yet commanding. His gloved hands instinctively find their way to Medicine Pocket’s shoulder, clutching the fabric of their lab coat for support, his other hand going around their waist… very lithe waist. Their lips are warm, slightly chapped, and taste faintly of the coffee he’d just given them—bittersweet and addicting.

Medicine Pocket angles their head, deepening the kiss with a low buzz that vibrates against X’s mouth. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, and he feels his knees grow weak. Their teeth catch lightly on his lower lip, teasing and confident, and X gasps softly, the sound swallowed by the heat of their mouths meeting again.

Time seems to blur. All X can focus on is the way Medicine Pocket kisses him—unapologetically, wetly, and with surprising tenderness beneath the rough edges. His head feels light, his heart pounding erratically, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so… So alive.

He breathes them in, the faint antiseptic scent that clings to their clothes mingling with something uniquely them—disarming yet grounding. His senses are overwhelmed, his body warm and whizzing as if he’s been plugged into the lab’s circuits.

When they pull back, they’re both panting, their breaths interweaving in the small space between them.

X’s lips feel swollen, tingling from the lingering sensation of Medicine Pocket’s mouth on his. His cheeks are flushed, and when he meets their gaze, he sees that Medicine Pocket isn’t much better. Their cheeks are dusted with an overwhelming shade of pink…that makes them look…sexy, their golden eyes half-lidded and glinting with something raw and vulnerable.

“Damn,” Medicine Pocket mutters, their voice raspier than usual, a smirk tugging at the corner of their dampened mouth. “You’re addictive, Alphabet Boy.”

X lets out a shaky laugh, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. “I think… I could say the same about you.”

Medicine Pocket chuckles softly, their grin turning sharper as they lick their lips. X watches the motion, mesmerized, feeling heat rise in his chest again. Like he wants to kiss them again. And again. And again.

“Better get used to it,” Medicine Pocket says, their voice dwindling. “Because I’m not letting you off the hook after that.”

And that… has X grinning, his heart still racing. “I… I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, the room quiet save for the humming of hardware and Ezra’s soft breathing from the makeshift bed, the rest of their projects forgotten for the time being.

Because, really, how can X return to those when all he can feel, smell, and think about is this… this person in front of him? This beautiful, wonderful person. Would it be too much to ask them to be his boyfriend? Girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Ugh. Details, details. What matters is he inquires not about a boy friend. Boyfriend (or girlfriend), one word. Would it be, then? Too much?

#syzygy 6 #reverse 1999 #medicine pocket #xpocket #my fic #laplace #x #medpoc #xpocket fic #r1999

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