#me listening to multiple versions of neon moon thinking about estinien suffering is a beloved pastime now

[coldshrugs]

22 or 42 for sensory prompts? 👀

neon moon

prompt: 22. Neon lights at 1:30am - thanks ash!! pairing: io / estinien (modern AU) word count: 1.3k note: takes place during the roommate years. io is dating mikoto. estinien is definitely not jealous.

At 1 AM, Estinien looks down into the half-finished beer he's nursed for twenty minutes, neon bar signs reflected on its surface. The glass is going warm in his hand as he stares at what's left of the dissipating foam, pretending to count the little clusters of bubbles popping as the minutes pass…

If he looks down, he doesn't have to look up. If he doesn't look up, he can ignore his friends (and hers, but the two groups congealed into one about a year ago) having a good time just on the other side of the bar, gathered around a pool table, trading shots in loosely formed teams. He won't have to grapple with the emotion that twists in his gut each time his eyes land on Io.

His previous therapist would tell him to name the emotion. Estinien makes a list.

Annoyance? Yeah, he is annoyed by the short, bubbly girl sticking to her side like a fucking shadow. He's annoyed at the way they can't seem to keep their PDA to themselves, arms draped over shoulders or around waists. They might as well announce their date to the whole bar and include a footnote about their intentions afterward.

Frustration, there's another. Everyone seems to like her—Mikoto—and he doesn't get it. Io is constantly going on and on about her: "Miko's so smart," "Miko's the sweetest," "Miko's so adorable I could die." Even Aymeric finds her charming, so he can't exactly complain to him.

Dread. Definitely dread, at the next time she'll be in their apartment (probably later tonight), all over Io on the couch, or coming out of her room in the morning to take up space in the kitchen.

Everything about this makes him itch. Better to keep to himself. It'd be a shame to ruin everyone's night.

At half past one, the music shifts from hip hop approaching vintage status, to slow pop ballads as someone new takes over the digital jukebox. Leofard takes a break from manning the bar and sidles over to him.

"You good?" His expression is difficult to read behind his tinted glasses, but something about it is uncomfortably knowing. "You don't look good."

Estinien rolls his eyes. "I'm good. I'm just… not that good." He gestures to his friends without looking.

Leofard glances over, and his irritating smirk looks incredibly punchable right now. Estinien doesn't problem-solve that way anymore, and besides, he's in no place to deny the company since everyone else is determined to be best friends with Io's girlfriend.

"You know," Leo starts, rolling his hand in front of him as he finds the words, "I'm still shocked you and Io are doing this platonic domestic bliss thing. Whatever works, right? Don't tell me there's trouble in paradise."

"There's no trouble." He finishes the last of his room-temperature beer and tips the glass towards Leofard, signaling for another. "I'm shocked you're still wondering about Io's relationship status."

Leofard's shoulders shake with an easy laugh as he fills a fresh glass and pointedly slides it to Estinien. "No, I can clearly see what hers is," —he nods to the back of the bar, and Estinien makes the mistake of turning to look— "It's yours I'm talking about."

They're still bunched around the pool table, though the game has fizzled out. Y'shtola and Lucia are hanging onto every word of Urianger's glassy-eyed lecture. Aymeric and Thancred are talking animatedly between the tables. And near the wall, bathed in the neon light of a cheesy purple cityscape with a blue moon and yellow stars, Io and her girlfriend are pressed close and swaying lazily to the song.

Mikoto's head is against Io's chest, eyes closed and cheeks red from whatever she's drinking. Her arms are wrapped tight around Io's waist, and one hand even dips low into the back pocket of her jeans. Io's chin rests on her head, and she squeezes Mikoto's shoulders in a solid embrace. For some inexplicable reason, he swears he feels the squeeze around his own.

She's smiling a little. Tipsy, but genuine.

Estinien boils.

He turns back to the bar and downs half his beer, but it does nothing to douse the fire climbing from his chest to his face.

"What about mine?" He asks Leofard. "You're dating someone, and even if you weren't… you know it's a no."

"Oh, calm down, you prick. Your hunk of petrified wood couldn't handle me. I just wanna know what the deal is! When will you finally get over the "she just needs a friend uwu" bullshit and do the damn thing?"

He considers Leo's question, stomach churning with that sickening heat, and maybe he's right. Maybe Estinien left an emotion off his list.

Jeal—

"Estinien," the voice is too close to pretend not to have heard. And he can't do that anyway. Not to Io. "You're kind of worrying me, over here by yourself. Hi, Leo."

"Hey, Io." He nods, then drifts back down the bar. Still within earshot, of course.

"What's up?" Io slides onto the stool next to him, chin propped on her hand as she studies him. Her dark eyes catch every light in this place, and somewhere in that little reflection is his own dark anger, glaring back out at him.

He sighs. "Not feeling great tonight. I think I'm heading home after this." He raises the glass to her, takes a big gulp.

"Then I'll go with you."

"No, you don't have to—"

"I don't have to." And now she smiles at him, tipsy and genuine. "I want to. Let's go get in our pajamas, and we can share a huge glass of apple juice and watch tv on the couch."

"Io. You're on a date." He finishes the beer.

"Oh, right... I forgot those are once-in-a-lifetime events! Shit!" She makes a little show out of it, shaking her fist at nothing and melting into a fake sob against the bar, before meeting him with a straight (but not sober) stare. A smile begins to curl the corner of his lips and he fights it with everything he has. "Come on, let's go home."

It's almost 2:30 in the morning when they stumble into their dim apartment. Io remembered to leave a lamp on, thank fuck, and she finds the other light switches easily.

Among the familiar clutter and comfortably worn furniture of their home, Estinien returns to himself. Maybe it wasn't the company after all. It's been a long week, and he's tired. He just wasn't in the mood for a night out. That's all.

He changes in his room while Io does the same in hers. Ignoring the inviting presence of his bed in favor of finishing the night the way she suggested, he settles on one end of the sofa and begins browsing for a show they like.

When Io leaves her room for the kitchen, it's in a pair of his sweatpants and a strappy, cropped tank top. This is far from unusual, but tonight, when he felt the ghost of her touch as she held someone else, the sight of her in his clothes sends a new heat crawling across his chest.

He doesn't watch her join him on the couch, or look at her as they pass a single cup of juice and bag of chips between them. When she yawns quietly and nestles into the couch, stretching a leg across his lap, he doesn't risk a glance.

This is Leofard's meddling getting into his fucking head. No more, no less.

Io falls asleep and Estinien turns the volume down. He looks, only to make sure she wasn't disturbed. She curls toward the back of the couch, her face soft and shadowed, her hair slipping out of its loose ponytail. The heat may be new, but the rest of it—

Name the emotion? Absolutely fucking not.