#and rewritten others w the different RO like the felix one

[impossible-rat-babies]

If I can still ask, can we have a few samples of the lines that need to be reused?

totally! there’s only a few in there right now lol it’s my dumping ground for little lingering paragraphs at the end of fics after i’ve finished them:

“You want a whole cork board of vile plans, or an evil experiments station?” Pollux scoffs, but it’s hardly a joke.

“Is there yarn connecting the evil plans?” Ortega asks and Pollux grimaces, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yes. It’s orange and the papers are all about making a safe new life for myself where I won’t have to look over my shoulder and wonder when I’m going to be dragged back to a literal hell on earth. All terribly evil shenanigans.” Pollux shoots from the hip with biting words and Ortega cringes.

“Sorry...”

--

Trial and error until they figured out how to sleep together —several nights where one or the other was ushered off to the gues room or the couch. Half a dozen times where Ortega would get kicked in the ribs, or Pollux would wake in a sweaty start, too unsettled and jumpy to fall back asleep.

Pollux actually sleeps through the night without a nightmares most of the time now, only a few stray occasions where it’s not enough. It’s better than before—leagues better.

--

“Didn’t think I’d do it either, but when you’re a recovering drug addict, you’re kinda unceremoniously pushed into it.” He admits and Nat pauses, her silver rings no longer clicking as she pauses drumming her fingers on the counter. He watches the question bubble up and die before they reach her lips, brown eyes finally looking up at him.

“I-I’m sorry, Pollux, I didn’t mean—“

“Don’t...” He cuts her off with a wave of his hand, putting a thin smile on his lips. “It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have said it so crassly, I apologize.” He picks his lip with his thumbnail.

Nat glances down and she shakes her head, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “You shouldn’t apologize either. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You would’ve found out regardless, one way or another. I’d rather you hear it from me.” He tells her with that same tense smile, scratching his thumb against his chin and the sparse hairs there from not shaving for a few days. Nat slowly nods, looking back down at the book, eyes scanning across the pages, finding other dates like the one from before scattered about the month.

“It was during college...” He speaks again, his back now turned to her as he fusses about the stove once more, the smell of fresh tomato and herb reaching her nose. “I wasn’t well for a long time before that—college certainly didn’t help. Partying lead to alcohol, which lead to...other things. I just wanted to turn my brain off for a bit, stop all the,” He twirls his fingers around his head like mining gears spinning, “stuff in my head.”

He sighs and Nat waits, waits for him to stop or continue, still in her seat at the bar.

“It got bad. Ended up in places and people I shouldn’t have been with. They got me into a lot of trouble.” Pollux chews his lip and he turns back to face Nat. Grey eyes looking over her shoulder at something she can’t see, like a memory playing on repeat in front of his eyes.

“Woke up one morning, in a dumpster of all places, with Mum bawling her eyes out.” His lips thin until their lost against his pale skin, his freckled cheeks and he crosses his arms over his chest, shoulders hunching.

--

“At four am? Breaking a mirror?” There’s annoyance poking into his tone as he gestures back to the sad broken mirror, chunks still dropping to the wood floor like punctuation in the silence. Felix’s brow draws in as they dance around things Pollux won’t say.

“I couldn’t sleep and this tires me out.”

Pollux provides, refusing to spare a glance anywhere but at the ground. He still catches as Felix’s posture tenses and Pollux clamps his mouth shut, biting the inside of his cheek. He’s digging himself into the ground now and he knows it.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Pollux...” Felix speaks quietly, a quiet little ache behind his words, enough to pull on the aching under his ribcage, draw his eyes to look him. Felix meets his eyes and there’s a silent plea there, a glow in his amber eyes begging him to tell him the truth.

“It’s not...” Pollux starts and trails off, catching his teeth on his lower lip to keep him from trembling. “I just...don’t wanna talk about it. I can’t talk about it.” He finally whispers, eyes fixed on the ground, bare feet staring back up at him.

He could shout out every single deep seated, rage filled memory stuck behind his eyes--stuck between his teeth--and make it all feel better. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like drowning in his own lungs, or feel like scratching his own skin off when the dreams crawl under his skin, burrowing down deep. But he can hardly admit that it hurts, pain that sitting in his skull and it closes around his throat, choking the words out of him until they’re a strangled jumbled mess. Even now the hand clenches around his neck, keeping it locked away tight.

--

“You don’t have to not touch them....” Pollux says softly, quietly. He doesn’t look up at Ortega, feeling his eyes on him instead. “You’ve already done it.” He glances at his still bare arm and further down across his stomach. Orange lines spiraling from the barcode out, still shiny and slick as ever.

“I know.” Ortega says softly and Pollux looks up, finding his eyes on the same spot on his arms. Pollux doesn’t flinch as his eyes wander up his arm and down his chest. It’s different than any other look someone has had for his body—examining yes, but for different reasons.

Pollux wonders to himself exactly what he imagined under his clothes before this, if it was always picture perfect skin. Were their scars? Terrible markings of self conducted surgery, the hurt he’d been through? Was this the body he expected wrapped up under layers of clothing and secrets?

“What did you expect to find?” He speaks before he can stop himself, words running out in a rush of breath. Ortega’s eyes snap to his and he has the decency to look guilty for having been staring.

Better than everyone else before that’s seen them.

“Well...” Ortega half chuckles, staring off at a point just above his head. “Beyond the obvious, I don’t know...I mean, I knew you had...” He waves his hand around and Pollux chuckles a bit, glancing down at his chest.

“Yeah I get it.” A smile pulls at the corner of his lip.

Ortega nods. “But...I don’t know what I expected. Not this, but who does?”

Pollux looks up at him and his brow is scrunched together, confusion plain on his face, mouth trying and failing to the words he wants. Like he’s still not sure what this means for him--what any of it means. Navigating the new--secrets kept for a decade now breathing in the space between them.

“I don’t hate it.” He almost reaches out, fingers almost touching his shoulder and Pollux doesn’t pull away, lets his hand hover, an almost touch.

Pollux catches his hand. Soft, the faint static of the emitter against his palm, narrow wires under the skin. Splaying his fingers and he presses them against his chest, above the hollow where his heart sits. Hand warm against his cold skin, a pleasant feeling as it spreads out across his skin, across the tattoos. Ortega doesn’t pull his hand away, his fingers lingering and his thumb brushes against a swath of tattoos.

“I expected them to feel different...” Ortega mumbles and Pollux shrugs, lips pursing into a thin line

“I don’t hate you Pollux.” He says softly.