Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

He can't think . Namgyu keeps looking at him. Need something in his hands, something solid, something he can control, something that makes sense. Thanos reached for the gun. It’s Namgyu’s. He was holding it, and now it's pointed at him. The cold metal feels right. Feels like something Thanos understands. 

Namgyu’s eyes are wide, his face pale. He’s not saying anything. He probably knows it’s not a joke. Probably knows Thanos isn’t laughing. But he can’t let Namgyu see how much this is fucking with him. He can’t.

"Don’t... don’t move," Thanos croaks. His voice doesn’t sound like his. It’s all broken and hoarse. He can’t even keep his hand steady. This isn’t him. This isn’t— fuck.

He should be angry. He is angry. He should make Namgyu understand how wrong this is. But Thanos can’t focus. Can’t think. Can’t get rid of the lingering taste. Namgyu’s not gay. He can’t be . He’s always been... normal. And Thanos is normal. It doesn’t matter. It’s wrong. What he did. What Thanos is doing. This is all wrong.

"Why’d you kiss me, man?" The words come out weak. "What the fuck’s wrong with you?"

“I… I don’t know," Namgyu’s hands come up in a half-gesture, like he wants to say something, but his words die before they can take shape. His eyes never leave Thanos, though, never break contact, as if he’s searching for something in Thanos’s face—some sign of understanding, of forgiveness, or maybe just the recognition that what he did wasn’t as disgusting as it feels.

He swallows hard, the muscles in his throat working. Then, slowly, like he’s testing the waters, he takes a step forward.  "I-I’m just trying to help you,” Namgyu said. “I’m trying to save us both from this. I don’t want to—"

“There is no us.” Thanos doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just stares, the gun heavy in his hands. He’s trembling now, too, but it’s not from pain or exhaustion. He gestured to the bunk bed, “Move.”

Thanos’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles whitening as he jabbed it toward Namgyu’s chest, forcing him to take a step back. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, the fury boiling up from somewhere deep, raw, and uncontrollable. He didn’t want to hear Namgyu’s voice anymore, didn’t want to see that pleading look in his eyes. 

“Move,” he said again, his voice low, forced. He thrust the gun forward, the barrel trembling slightly as he shoved Namgyu toward the main bunk bed. His free hand balled into a fist, nails digging into his palm until he felt the sting of broken skin. The pain grounded him, sharpened his focus.

Namgyu stumbled, his feet dragging as he tried to keep his balance. His hands twitched upward, instinctive, like he wanted to shield himself, but he dropped them just as fast, shoulders slumping. His face crumpled for a split second—confusion, hurt, fear flickering across it—before he masked it with a tight-lipped grimace. He didn’t resist, though. He shuffled backward, eyes darting between the gun and Thanos’s face, searching for something he refused to give. Nobody has noticed them yet. The chaos around them went on, oblivious. The enforcers had been rounded up near the front entrance, the ones stopping them from getting out. Some of the contestants lay in a puddle of their own blood, littered with small holes–

“More holes than I know what to do with,” Thanos mumbled under his breath, his eyes raking over the sea of the dead. “It’s like I said, it ain’t death without the D’, baby.”

Namgyu’s pace faltered, and he half-turned, his mouth opening as if to speak. Thanos didn’t let him. With a shove, he drove the barrel into Namgyu’s back, hard enough to make him stumble forward. A choked sound escaped Namgyu’s throat, and his knees buckled slightly as he staggered forward, but then he whipped around– eyes wild, lips parting in a rush of words that tumbled out too fast to hold meaning. “Wait—wait, Thanos, just listen, I didn’t mean it like that, I swear, I wasn’t trying to—” His voice cracked, high and frantic, as he lurched toward Thanos, hands outstretched, palms up, begging without saying it. “I didn’t– please–”

Thanos snapped the gun up higher, aiming it square at Namgyu’s forehead, and he froze. In one fluid motion, he flipped the gun, slamming the butt into Namgyu’s jaw with a crack . Namgyu’s head jerked to the side, a yell escaping his mouth as he reeled, barely catching himself against a bunk. His hand shot up to his face, fingers trembling as they pressed against the blooming red mark–.

Namgyu kissed him–

Thanos grabbed the cross necklace dangling from Namgyu’s neck. His fingers hooked around the chain, yanking it hard enough to snap the clasp. The metal bit into his palm as he ripped it free, and Namgyu’s hand flew up instinctively, grasping at the empty space where it had been. His eyes widened, a flash of panic cutting through the haze of pain.

“Please, please, please.” Thanos breathed as he fumbled with the necklace, breathing rapidly, desperately trying to work with the chain, fix the clasp, but he didn’t register Namgyu lunging forward.

Thanos sidestepped before his mind could process it, and they collided in a tangle of limbs, crashing against the nearest bunk. The gun landed on the bed, and the necklace slipped from Thanos’s grasp, skittering across the floor with a faint clink, and both men froze for a heartbeat, eyes locked on it.

Thanos stared, wide eyed, chest heaving, one hand pressing Namgyu’s face into the mattress.  “Don’t you dare.”

Namgyu let out a breathy laugh, eyes flitting from metal glinting under dim light, and back to purple hair. “You’re bleeding all over me, you know that?”

Thanos’s eyes widened further, defying the laws of facial anatomy, and he tilted his head slightly. His lips moved, half forming sentences, “--never needed you…. A leech, Namgyu—clinging to me, sucking me dry,” he mumbled incoherently. He leaned in closer, his one good eye boring into Namgyu’s, the other obscured by a mess of blood and swelling. “Just walk away? Turn on me like some X-loving traitor, kissing me like a french whore?”

“Oh you poor, deranged fuck,” Namgyu gritted, twisting under Thanos’s weight, his hands scrabbling against the mattress, trying to push himself up. Thanos barked a harsh laugh, then released Namgyu’s face just long enough to snatch the gun from the bed, jamming the barrel under Namgyu’s chin before he could move.

“That cross,” Thanos said slowly. “Is mine. You’ve lost your right. You’ve committed an act of blasphemy, the cardinal sin. I can’t have that.”

“You religious now?” Namgyu spat, his voice muffled against the pressure of the gun digging into his skin. His eyes narrowed, though his body remained pinned beneath Thanos’s weight. “What’s next, huh? Gonna baptize me in your blood? Preach me a sermon while you’re at it?”

Thanos leaned in closer, cocking his head. “Against me. You committed a cardinal sin against your savior. I don’t need a sermon to make you see the light. You’ll feel it soon enough. Should’ve known you were a faggot from the second I laid eyes on you.”

“Look who’s talking.” Namgyu shot back.

Thanos’s eyebrows twitched once. “What?”

“Feeding me drugs like some fucking creep. Always letting me hang off you,” Namgyu barked a sharp laugh. “Disgusting. You got off on it, didn’t you?” His voice dropped low, trembling with a venom. “You think I’m the leech? You’re the one who’s been dripping poison into me since day one. Shoving those pills down my throat, grinning like some twisted bastard while I choked on them. You loved it—watching me unravel, watching me beg.”

Thanos’s grip on the gun faltered for a split second, his eyes became unfocused, then snapped back into reality. “No,” he snapped, pressing the barrel harder against Namgyu’s chin, forcing his head back. “You wanted it. You always came crawling back.”

“Crawling?” Namgyu’s laugh was jagged.  “You made damn sure I had nowhere else to go. Kept me strung out, kept me close—your little pet, right? And now you’re crying about betrayal? Look at you.  Look at how sick you are.” He twisted his head, just enough to meet Thanos’s gaze head-on, his voice softening into a mocking whisper. “You’re the one who’s disgusting. You get off on this, don’t you? Hurting me. Breaking me. Did it on purpose . Made me kiss you.”

Thanos’s breath hitched, his one good eye flickering with something unsteady—anger, confusion. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor beneath it. “I gave you everything—”

“Everything? You gave me a leash. And that kiss—” He paused, letting the words hang heavy between them, his lips curling into a faint, pained smirk. “You think I wanted that? I was trying to feel something, anything, after all the shit you’ve put me through. But you? You just saw another way to own me.”

Thanos’s hand shook, the gun wavering. "I didn’t—" He muttered, almost to himself. "That wasn’t me. That was you, throwing yourself at me like some desperate—"

“Me?” Namgyu interrupted, his voice rising. “You hit me! Again! After leaving me, after leaving me to die! I saved you! So what if I want a kiss? It’s not like I’d be getting much!” His lip curled, staring Thanos up and down. “Fucking disgusting. It’s not like you don’t owe me, Thanos. You ripped that cross off my neck like I’m some animal you can brand and toss aside. And now you’re standing there, bleeding all over me, acting like I’m the freak?” His eyes glistened, wet with unshed tears, but his stare was unrelenting. “You’re the one who’s filthy. You’re the one who’s wrong.”

Thanos froze in place. His jaw worked silently, the muscles flexing as he swallowed down whatever was clawing up his throat. His hand is shaking. He can feel it, the tremor running from his fingers to his wrist, but he can’t let Namgyu see it. If he sees it, he’ll know. He’ll know Thanos doesn't want to do this. He’ll know Thanos is weak.  Confused. Angry.

The metal of the gun is cold against his palm, but his skin is burning. His face is burning. His whole body is burning from the inside out, like something is trying to claw its way out of him, something he can’t let out.  

Namgyu isn’t afraid. He should be afraid. Thanos has a gun to his neck, and he’s just laying there, looking at Thanos like he’s the one in danger. Like Thanos is the one who needs looking after. 

“It’s not like you don’t owe me, Thanos.”

“Thanos,” Namgyu says, soft, careful. Like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “Put the gun down. Let’s get you patched up.”

Thanos grits his teeth. “Shut up.”  

He should pull the trigger. He should. But he can still feel it. Namgyu’s lips on his. The heat of it, the wrongness of it. It’s still there, crawling under his skin, making his stomach twist.  

Thanos isn’t like that. He isn’t. 

“You’re scared,” Namgyu says, and Thanos hates him for it. Hates him for being right. "And that's okay. Just put the gun down. I'll take care of you. I always take care of you, don't I?" 

Thanos pressed the gun harder against Namgyu’s skin, just to see if he’ll flinch. He does. His breath hitches, and Thanos can practically hear his heart rate spike. Namgyu’s head tilts back as if to create distance between him and the gun, exposing more of his throat, like he’s daring him. Like he’s telling him, Go ahead. Do it.

Namgyu pushed up just an inch, testing the space between them. His lips parted, a shaky breath slipping out, and his hands unclenched from the mattress, trembling as they hovered near Thanos’s arms—close, but not touching. His brow furrowed, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he let his head tip back fully against the bunk, exposing the raw red mark where the gun had dug in.

Thanos’s gaze snapped back to Namgyu’s face, and his breath stuttered. His arm stiffened, the gun pressing forward again, but his finger stayed off the trigger, hovering uncertainly. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, mixing with the blood still trickling from his wounded face, and he flinched as it stung his eye. His whole body shuddered once, a quick, involuntary jolt, and his hand with the gun lowered slowly, the barrel brushing Namgyu’s collarbone before falling to rest against his own thigh. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him in a slow, silent bleed, and he stared down at the cross necklace again, its chain glinting faintly under the dim light. His fingers flexed, aching to reach out once more, but this time they closed around empty air, trembling as they hovered just above it.

But then he was flipped. Namgyu bucked against his weight, throwing Thanos off balance. Thanos stumbled, the gun slipping from his grasp and clattering onto the floor beside the cross. Namgyu was closing the distance, and Thanos sputtered,  and they lunged—Thanos diving low, Namgyu scrambling over him.

Thanos’s fingers brush the chain, but Namgyu’s elbow slams into his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasps, rolling to the side, but doesn’t relent—his hand shoots out, snagging Namgyu’s ankle and dragging him down. Namgyu twists, kicking free, and for a moment, they’re a mess of thrashing bodies, grunts, and ragged breaths. The necklace lies just out of reach, glinting faintly.

Thanos’s vision blurs again, the blood loss making his movements sluggish, but the desperation fuels him. He throws his weight forward, pinning Namgyu beneath him, one hand pressing down on his chest while the other stretches toward the necklace. Namgyu bucks beneath him, his nails raking across Thanos’s arm as he snarls, “Give it back—give it back!” His voice is raw, breaking.

Thanos’s fingers close around the chain, and he yanks it toward himself, but Namgyu’s hand clamps over his wrist, wrenching it back as he twisted, his elbow swinging toward Thanos’s face, but Thanos ducked, his own fist driving into Namgyu’s side. His chest heaved as he pinned Namgyu beneath him, the necklace clutched tight in his fist, its edges biting into his palm. He’s ruining everything , he thought, the words looping, frantic, drowning out the thud of his own heartbeat. He’s twisting it all, making it dirty, making me dirty— His breath hitched as Namgyu squirmed under his grip, nails digging into his arm like a cornered animal. He couldn’t let this stand. He wouldn’t.

His eyes darted to the gun, lying just beyond the bunk, its metal glinting faintly. His hand trembled as he shoved Namgyu harder into the mattress, trying to buy a second to think, to breathe, but Namgyu swept his feet from under him, and his head pounded .

Thanos rolled sideways, his free hand scrabbling for the gun. His fingers closed around the grip, slick with sweat and blood, and he swung it back toward Namgyu in an arc. His vision tunneled, the world shrinking to the man in front him, the weight of the gun, the pounding in his skull. He didn’t think—just acted. The trigger pulled under his finger, a deafening crack splitting the air.

Namgyu yelled, jumping up, and his hand shot to his side, checking himself instinctively, his fingers trembling as they came away clean—no blood, no hole, just the echo of near-death ringing between them. He whirled around, staring at the bunk bed which now had a round indent, then to the crushed bullet that lay by his feet.  His gaze snapped back to Thanos, wide and unblinking, and for a moment, neither of them moved, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the weight of what had almost happened.

Thanos stumbled back, the recoil jarring his arm, his ears ringing. His thoughts fractured, spiraling as he stared at the smoking barrel, then at Namgyu, who was still alive, still breathing, still looking at him with those damn eyes. 

“Don’t—don’t you fucking move!” Thanos’s voice cracked, high and frantic, barely recognizable to himself. His vision swam, blood dripping into his good eye, but he blinked it away, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might split his ribs.

"What the fuck are you doing, Thanos!" Namgyu screamed, voice hoarse, his eyes wide and glassy. His  hands were half-raised as if caught mid-motion. His lips parted, a word forming, but Thanos didn’t wait to hear it. His finger tightened on the trigger again, and the shot went wide, missing Namgyu by mere inches, the bullet burying itself into the bunk frame again. Metal chips sprayed, and Namgyu flinched hard, his body jerking to the side as a sharp gasp tore from his throat.

Shouts erupted from all around. Jagged and overlapping, heads turning and bodies shifting. Thanos whirls on the crowd, his chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes. He swings the gun outward in a wild swing, its barrel landing on a player marked with the number 001—a lean figure frozen mid-step, eyes wide as the weapon fixes on him. “Back off!” Thanos bellows, his voice raw and splintered, spit flying from his lips. “All of you, back the fuck off, or he gets a bullet through the fucking eyes!”

The response is immediate. A dozen guns snap up, barrels glinting under the harsh overhead lights, all trained on Thanos. The enforcers, the other players—everyone still standing—pivot toward him, their movement synchronized. The click of safeties being flicked off echoes like a chorus of death knells.

Player 001 was still. The man's hands twitched at his sides, half raised in a futile gesture of peace. The barrel of Thanos’s gun hovered inches from his face, trembling in the unsteady grip. 001’s eyes flicked between the weapon and Thanos’s blood-streaked face, “Thanos,” he said, voice low and strained, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. “Put the gun do–”

“Put the gun down!” Gi-hun’s voice cut through, his arms flailing as he shoved forward through the crowd. His face was flushed, eyes wide with panic as he pointed his gun square at Thanos’s chest. “Put the gun down, now!”

“He won’t listen,” A familiar voice growled, voice thick with congestion from a broken nose. Thanos slowly turned to see MG Coin right beside him, his voice hoarse from shouting.

MG Coin stood there, swaying slightly, one hand pressed to his ribs. His face was a mess of caked blood and caved bone. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and the damage was stark. His nose, smashed inward, sat crooked and flattened, a dark bruise spreading from the bridge across his cheek like spilled ink. Blood had dried in streaks down his chin, crusting over a split lip that twitched as he spoke. His hair, matted with sweat and grime, clung to his forehead, framing the wreckage of his face.

“He won’t listen,” MG Coin repeated, then spat to the side, a glob of blood hitting the floor, and straightened as best he could, his gaze locked on the gun in Thanos’s shaking hand. “Shoot him.”

Thanos’s arm shook violently, the gun slipping in his sweat-slick grip as he staggered back a step. His good eye darted wildly between Namgyu and the splintered bunk, the edges of his vision blurring red from the blood still seeping down his face. His chest tightened, ribs aching with every inhale, and he swiped a trembling hand across his brow, smearing crimson across his knuckles. The necklace dangled from his fist, the chain swaying like a pendulum, catching the faint light as it twisted between them.

Namgyu, still sprawled on the floor where he’d rolled after the last shot, pushed himself up on one elbow. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining his chin as he glared at Thanos. “Shoot him!” he screamed, his voice cracking with rage as he jabbed a finger toward the crowd. “Shoot this bastard now! He’s lost it—do it!” His words were a spark to dry tinder, igniting murmurs and shouts among the onlookers, some stepping forward, others recoiling.

Thanos’s head snapped toward Namgyu, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he snarled.  The gun swung briefly toward Namgyu before jerking back to 001, the motion erratic, like a compass needle caught in a thunderstorm. His finger hovered over the trigger, twitching, “All of you—shut up! Shut up, or I swear I’ll—”

“Thanos!” 001’s voice sharpened. He took a half-step forward, hands still raised, his calm facade cracking just enough to show the fear beneath. “Look at me. Look at me, not them. You pull that trigger, and it’s over—for all of us. You know that! Just put the gun down.”

“Just fucking shoot him!” A contestant shouts, stepping forward.

“Do you hear that, boy?” 001 asked, calm but shaky, arms still half raised in surrender. “You don’t have any friends here. Your dog is off its leash. You have only two choices; Put the gun down, and we forget this ever happened, or you pull that trigger,” he gestured to the gun. “And my friends shoot you in the head.”

001’s words are measured, but they’re drowned out by Namgyu’s next shout,  “He won’t! He’s too far gone—shoot him, do it!”

Thanos’s mouth opened and closed, his free hand clawing at his hair, but before he could reply Gi-hun took a step closer, his gun steady, his voice trembling with urgency. “Thanos, drop it. You’re bleeding out. You’re not thinking straight. Just—let us help you.”

“Help me?” Thanos repeated frantically. “You’re all liars. Plotting, scheming—waiting to stick a knife in my back!” His arm swung wide, and the crowd flinched collectively, some ducking, others bracing. “I see it! I see all of you! What’s this all about, huh? You tryna get out? Tryna ruin this for me? Ruin my chance at a life?”

MG Coin shifted, his mangled face twisting into a grimace as he clutched his side. “You’re a fucking lunatic,” he croaked, spitting blood onto the floor. “Always were. There’s a breach, down below. It leads out to a beach, yeah, a beach. Bet you never thought you’d see one of those again. We’re getting out, but you won’t ever get to see that beach if you don’t put the fucking gun down!”

Thanos’s eye narrowed, his grip tightening on the gun as he swung it toward MG Coin. “What?” His finger twitched on the trigger, “No, no… No that’s not right, we stay here. We stay here ,” he pointed a finger at the ground. “We stay here until the game is over, not before. The winner leaves. We don’t just–”

“There’s an exit.” MG Coin said, eyes flitting briefly to the now armed enforcers, then back to Thanos. He spoke as if the next words pained him. “You can… Come. Enough of us has died already, just… put this shit behind us.”

The laugh escaped Thanos quickly, painfully. He nodded slowly, “Put it behind us,” he repeated, as if tasting the words. He pointed a finger at his eye. “And this? Should we put this behind us, MG?”

MG Coin’s jaw tightened, and Thanos’s finger twitched on the trigger, but before he could act, a sharp crack split the air—a warning shot from an enforcer’s rifle, the bullet burying itself into the ceiling above. Plaster dust rained down, and Thanos flinched, his aim faltering.

“Last chance,” the enforcer barked, voice muffled behind the mask. “Drop the weapon, 230, or we drop you.”

Thanos’s vision blurred, the edges darkening as the room tilted. He could feel the blood pooling beneath him, soaking into his shoes, slick and warm. His gaze darted back to Namgyu, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched—just watched him. Waiting. Waiting for Thanos to drop.

“Why’d you do it?” Thanos’s voice was barely a whisper now, the gun dipping slightly as his strength waned. “Why’d you do it, huh? Why’d you ruin it? You kissed me, you made it wrong—twisted it all up. I was fine—I was winning—until you—” His voice broke, a choked sound escaping as he staggered, the necklace swinging in his fist.

Namgyu didn’t reply, he just kept staring, his eye twitching faintly.

001’s eyes widened. “What?” He asked, eyes flitting between the two, then narrowing as if processing an error in a code. “Is that so?”

Thanos’s head jerked toward 001, “No!” he shot back defensively. “It’s not like that! He’s the one that kissed me, he’s the fucking homo! Not me, not me!”

001 didn’t flinch this time. His hands stayed half-raised, but his posture shifted—subtle. “Oh, I’m not judging,” he said. “I’m just wondering how long you’ll keep this up before you bleed out. Or before someone—” he tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering toward the crowd—“puts you down like the rabid dog you are.”

Thanos’s breath hitched, a snarl twisting his blood-streaked face. “You little—” He lunged forward, the gun swinging up to 001’s chest, finger twitching on the trigger. The crowd gasped, guns rattling as players adjusted their aim, but 001 didn’t move.  “Go on, then,” he goaded. “Pull it. See what happens.”

Thanos heard a footstep from behind him. Namgyu’s eyes flicked toward the movement, and Thanos immediately whirled around, gun swinging between contestants. His brows furrowed in confusion, and he turned back around to 001, “You think you’re so clever,” he gritted, his voice cracking as he jabbed the gun toward 001’s face, close enough now that the barrel brushed the man’s forehead. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you? I’ll wipe that smug look off your—” His words cut off as his vision swam again, a fresh wave of dizziness rocking him. He stumbled, the gun dipping

"Get it together," he mumbled, but everything was spiralling. Circling, folding in on itself. Just focus. Calm down. Calm-- A blur of motion—slim shoulders and a flash of dark hair—sends him staggering. His knees buckle under the impact, and he twists, trying to swing the gun toward the new threat, but his arm’s too slow, too heavy with blood loss.

The gun jerks in his hand, the shot going wild, splintering into the wall, before it’s ripped from his grip and pointed straight to his forehead. Se-mi stares down at him, sweat-slicked and wild-eyed, and Thanos freezes.

His chest heaved, his one good eye darting between Se-mi’s furious glare and the barrel now pressed against his skull. She’s going to do it. It’s going to happen. The barrel’s cold against his temple, like a kiss from winter. He can feel the metal vibrating—no, that’s him. That’s his skull humming like a tuning fork. Or maybe it’s the gun. Maybe it’s alive. Maybe it’s whispering to Se-mi, telling her to pull the trigger. Thanos thinks he can hear it too.

"Remember this face?" Se-mi breathed out heavily, like she'd ran to him.

It’s funny. He thought he’d fight. He thought he’d beg. But he’s just breathing. Waiting, like Namgyu. Waiting for the barrel to empty. Watching the dust float in the air like tiny ghosts. They’re dancing. They’re always dancing when it’s quiet like this. Thanos wonders if Namgyu sees them too. No, of course not. He’s not invited. This is Thanos’s show.

His heart’s a drumline, but his hands are still. Isn’t that strange? He should be shaking. He should be crying. But he feels like he’s underwater, and everything’s muffled, and slow, and soft. Like a dream. Or a memory. Or maybe Thanos is already dead and this is just the echo of the last moment, looping forever.

Se-mi is saying something. Her mouth is moving. Everyone around them is moving. Thanos can’t hear it. Or maybe he doesn't want to. Her voice is made of glass and he’s tired of bleeding. Thanos’s head turns, to see that Namgyu is still staring, unmoving.

He thinks Namgyu is angry. Or scared. Or both. Thanos wants to tell him it’s okay. Thanos wants to tell him he forgives him. But his tongue is a stone and his mouth is full of bees.

“It’s over,” Se-mi’s grip tightened on the gun, her knuckles whitening. Her eyes flicked briefly to Namgyu, still sprawled on the floor, then back to Thanos.

He wonders what it will feel like. The bullet. Will it be hot? Will he hear it? Will he see the inside of his own skull? Will he finally understand?

Or maybe nothing will happen. Maybe the gun will click and jam and they’ll both laugh and cry and fall to the floor like children. Maybe the walls will melt and the ceiling will open and Thanos will float up into the stars, weightless and clean. Maybe none of this is real.

But the gun is real. 

Namgyu pushed himself up further as he wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. He took a tentative step forward, and Se-mi’s gun shifted slightly.

He raised a placating hand. “Don’t worry, Se-mi,” Namgyu said shakily, a half smile on his face. He had this wide eyed look, this crazed kind of glint that Thanos had never seen on him before. “We’re on the same side, I’m just getting up.”

The gun’s focus didn’t move from Thanos, but Se-mi shifted her stance, her voice tight. “And which side is that?”

Namgyu’s smile became full, his brows furrowing as if she’d just asked something ludicrous. He took another step forward.  “The winning side, of course.”

Se-mi’s eyes narrowed. Thanos’s head lolled slightly, his eye narrowing as he registered Namgyu’s words. “Really?” he slurred, a bitter laugh bubbling up from his chest, wet with blood. “You’d let her? After all I—” His words dissolved into a choking cough, crimson flecking his lips. He swayed, his hands scrabbling weakly at the floor, the necklace still clutched in his fist slipping from his grasp and clinking against the concrete.

Namgyu’s eyes flitted to him. The crowd tensed, guns still trained on the scene. Gi-hun took a hesitant step forward, his own weapon trembling in his hands. “Se-mi, don’t—” he started, but his voice faltered as her glare snapped to him, silencing him mid-sentence.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. She pressed the gun harder against Thanos’s forehead, her finger hovering over the trigger. “You don't deserve to walk away from this.”

Thanos shook his head slightly, his eye wide. “Don’t.”

Se-mi’s lip curled, a soft laugh escaping her as her finger tightened on the trigger, but then Namgyu stumbled forward a few steps. “If you would hear me out?” Namgyu asked quickly, hands half raised. “Just– let me do the honours, if you would?”

“You’re going to shoot me.”  Se-mi’s voice was sharp, her eyes darting between Namgyu and the gun pressed against Thanos’s skull. Her grip tightened, the barrel digging into his skin, leaving a faint red ring. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re just waiting for me to let my guard down. You think I’m fucking stupid, think I won’t pop you both in the head? After all the shit you’ve done to me? You killed my friend.”

“Se-mi can you not be an emotional fucking cunt for a half second?” Namgyu seethed through this teeth, split flying as he gestured erractically. “Can you not let all that fucking estrogen cloud your senses for half a second? Like, seriousl–”

A deafening bang cut his sentence short, and Thanos felt a bullet whizz by his skull, grazing his ear. Everyone jumped, a mixture of yells, panic, and curses. A circular indent now took its place at the empty floor by Thanos’s skull, and he blinked.

“Oh my– Se-mi!” Namgyu yelled, his hand shot up higher, palms out, voice cracking with desperation. “It’s gotta be me, get that? Do me this one favour, please, let me be the one to do it. Please–” His gaze flicked to Thanos, who slumped lower. “It’s gotta be me. It won’t feel right if it’s you.” His words tumbled out fast, raw, like they’d been clawing at his throat for too long. “Please, you don’t get it—he’s mine to finish. After everything he’s done, everything he’s taken—” His voice broke, and he jabbed a trembling finger at Thanos. “It won’t feel right if it’s you!”

Thanos’s head tilted, his  eye barely focusing as he let out a chuckle. “Yours, huh?” he rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “That’s… so fucking gay.” His hand twitched toward the fallen necklace, fingers brushing the chain. “See this thing, homo? You’re gonna have to rip it off of my dead fucking body. You– You know all that shit I’ve been saying about death without the D? You also no longer have the right to fuck my dead body’s bullet holes. Why? Because now I know you’re fucking gay. How’s that feel?”

Se-mi frowned down at him. “What the fuck are you on about?” She looked up. “What the fuck is he on about? Is this an agreement between the two of you?”

Namgyu waved a dismissive hand in his general direction. “He’s fucking tweaking don’t mind him.”

Se-mi’s jaw clenched, her gaze locked on Namgyu. The gun didn’t waver, but her brow furrowed, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “Why should I trust you?” she demanded, her voice low and taut. “You’ve been his shadow this whole time—his dog. What’s stopping you from turning that on me once he’s gone?”

Namgyu’s face twisted, a flash of something—anger, shame, desperation—crossing his features. “Because I hate this fucking lunatic!” he shouted. “He just told me that I can’t fuck his bullet holes after he dies like that’s a dealbreaker for me as if that’s supposed to hurt my feelings he’s fucking crazy! You think I wanted this? To follow him, to—to need him? He dragged me into this mess, twisted everything I had left, and now—” He choked on the words. “It’s gotta be me, Se-mi. I need it to be me. You pull that trigger, and it’s just… it’s just another thing he takes from me. Don’t let him win like that. Would Min-su want that? For Thanos to win?"

The room held its breath. Gi-hun shifted. “Se-mi, listen to him,” he said. “Just let him have this."

"Se-mi I swear to every fucking god above if you give Namgyu that gun I will fuck your ass in hell so hard your mother will feel it." MG Coin snapped out all in one breath without pausing. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare."

Se-mi’s eyes flicked to MG Coin, then back to Namgyu, her finger still poised on the trigger. Thanos’s chest rattled with a shallow breath, his head lolling against the cold metal of the gun. “Se-mi…” Namgyu’s voice softened, almost a plea, his hands trembling as he reached out—not for the gun, but toward her, like he could will her to understand. “Please. It won’t feel right if it’s you. I need this.”

For a moment, silence gripped the room, broken only by Thanos’s labored wheezing. Se-mi’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes searching Namgyu’s face. Then, slowly, she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “Fine,” she said. She pulled the gun back from Thanos’s forehead, the barrel leaving a faint imprint, and thrust it toward Namgyu, grip first. “Do it. But if you turn on me, you will be dead before the bullet rips through my chest."

Namgyu’s hands shook they took the gun, fingers closing around it like it was a lifeline. He turned to Thanos, who stared up at him, blood-streaked and fading, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. “I just want you to know, “ Thanos croaked. “That I hate you so fucking much. And that your barber stands on the second floor. And that your sweat dries before it reaches your eyes. And that I hope you overdose on my pills.”

“You’re making this really hard on me, I might tear up.” Namgyu’s fingers flexed around the gun. He tilted his head slightly, letting out a slow breath that puffed against his split lip. His free hand brushed absently at the blood still smeared on his chin, a quick swipe that left a faint streak across his knuckles. “So,” he said, voice light, almost conversational, “this is it, huh? Big finale.”

Thanos's eye flicked up to Namgyu. “Yeah,” he rasped, dragging a hand across his mouth, smearing crimson over his teeth. “Guess you finally grew a pair. Took you long enough. I'm assuming this is the part where you shoot Se-mi then say nobody is allowed to touch me because I'm your best friend forever?"

"You assumed wrong," Namgyu snorted, a quick jerk of his shoulders as he crouched down, resting his elbows on his knees. The gun dangled loosely between his fingers, barrel pointed at the concrete just shy of Thanos’s sprawled legs. “Funny thing is,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand, “I always figured you’d be the one to pull the trigger. You know, go out with a bang, all dramatic-like.”

Thanos’s lips twitched, a faint curl that might’ve been a grin if his face wasn’t half-collapsed under blood and swelling. “Disappointed?” He shifted again, wincing as his arm buckled under him, but he pushed himself up an inch anyway, stubborn to the last. “Thought I’d give you the honors. Call it a parting gift. Still can’t fuck the bullet holes though.”

Namgyu’s gaze dropped to the necklace still clutched in Thanos’s fist, the chain glinting faintly as it swayed with his trembling. He reached out, hesitated, then plucked it free with a quick tug, twirling it between his fingers like a toy. “This thing’s caused more trouble than it’s worth,” he muttered, tossing it up once and catching it midair. “Should’ve pawned it ages ago.”

Thanos tracked the motion, and he ignored the lurch in his chest. “Keep it,” he said, voice rough but steady. “Looks better on you anyway. Brings out your eyes or some shit.”

Namgyu’s brows lifted, and he let out a soft huff, pocketing the necklace with a casual flick of his wrist. “Sweet talker, didn’t know you had it in you.” He tapped the gun lightly against his thigh, a restless little rhythm, then tilted his head. “You… tried to kill me.”

Thanos swallowed. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “Sorry.”

Namgyu didn’t blink. “Why?”

“Why did I do it or why am I sorry?”

“Both.”

Thanos’s head dipped, his chin brushing his chest as he dragged a shaky hand through his matted hair, fingers catching on the tangles. “Did it ‘cause I thought—” He paused, his jaw working silently for a moment, teeth grinding audibly. “I panicked. You were… Couldn’t let that happen. And I'm sorry ‘cause…  it didn’t work. You’re still here. Still fucking here. About to finish me off.”

Namgyu’s lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tightening around the gun until the metal creaked faintly. He rocked forward slightly, “That’s it?” he asked, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the room. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What do you want? A fucking poem? I screwed up. You won. End of story.” 

Namgyu’s head tilted, his thumb brushing absently over the gun’s trigger guard, a small, repetitive motion. “No. Not end of story. You don’t get to just—check out like that.” He leaned closer, close enough that Thanos could feel the heat of his breath, and tapped the barrel lightly against Thanos’s knee. “You owe me more than that.”

Thanos flinched at the touch, his leg jerking back instinctively, but he didn’t break eye contact. “Owe you?” he croaked, a bitter edge creeping in as he bared his teeth in a half-snarl. “I gave you everything. My eye, my fucking sanity—take the rest if you want it so bad.” His hand shot out, grabbing Namgyu’s wrist, the grip weak but desperate, nails digging into skin.

Namgyu didn’t pull away. His free hand hovered over Thanos’s, fingers curling slightly before dropping to his side. “Don’t need your sanity,” he said, his gaze flicking down to where their hands met. “Never did. Just wanted you to see me.”

"Saw you," he repeated slowly, then scoffed. "Don’t need both eyes to see you, Namgyu." His head tipped back against the wall. “If we’re just laying everything out on the table, why did you kiss me?”

Namgyu’s throat bobbed, a quick swallow, and he scrubbed a hand over his mouth, smearing the blood there into a faint streak across his cheek. “Guess we'll never know. Good,” he said, voice rough but firm. “Then you’ll see this too.” He lifted the gun again, and pressed it to Thanos’s chest—not hard, just enough to feel the heartbeat stuttering beneath it. “Say it again.”

Thanos’s lips parted, a faint tremor running through them as he exhaled. “Sorry,” he rasped, “Mean it this time.”

Namgyu huffed. “You got any last requests? Coffee? Cigarette? One of those pills you’re so proud of?”

Thanos’s eye narrowed, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. “How about you shut up and get it over with?” He dragged a hand through his matted purple hair, leaving it streaked with red, and let his head tip back against the bunk frame. “Starting to bore me, Namgyu.”

Namgyu nodded, like he’d expected that, and rose to his feet with a slow stretch, joints popping faintly. “Fair enough,” he said, brushing his hands together as if dusting off dirt. He lifted the gun, leveling it at Thanos’s chest, but his finger lingered off the trigger, hovering. “You know, for what it’s worth… you weren’t all bad. Just mostly.”

Thanos snorted, a sharp sound that turned into a cough. “Save it,” he muttered, waving a weak hand. “Don’t need your pity. Just need you to aim straight for once.”

Namgyu’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he adjusted his grip, the barrel steady now.  “It won’t feel right,” he muttered, almost to himself, “unless it’s me.” His thumb brushed the side of the gun, a small, unconscious tic, and he exhaled through his nose. “See you around, Thanos.”

Thanos’s eye met his, unflinching, and he gave a small nod, barely perceptible. “Yeah,” he echoed, voice fading. “See you.”

He closed his eyes.

Took a breathe. 

And a final gunshot rang through the room.

—----

Thanos is lying in a bunk bed that smells like pine-scented despair and teenage sweat. Top bunk, of course. The bottom one creaks like it’s harboring a ghost with joint problems. Thanos has named him Carl. He moans every time Thanos shifts his weight, which is often, because he’s trying to find a position that doesn’t make him feel like he’s being punished by IKEA.

Welcome to Camp Redemption—where the only thing more oppressive than the humidity is the theology. Or as Thanos likes to call it: Pray the Gay Away Summer Camp  Trademark pending. The counselors wear smiles like they’re stapled on, and they speak in a tone that suggests they’ve never had an original thought, or a carb, in their lives. He suspects they’re all ex-theatre majors who found Jesus and lost weight.

And so here he lies, sent here after his father—God’s most enthusiastic foot soldier—found his magazines . Not those magazines. Worse. Tasteful ones. Glossy, curated, and alphabetized by model. He stormed into Thanos’s room clutching a rosary and muttering about Sodom. Thanos definitely did not cry, and told his father that he was just doing research for a school project on the male form in postmodern media. He didn’t buy it. He never did appreciate postmodernism.

So now Thanos is here, surrounded by boys with buzz cuts and haunted eyes, all pretending they’re here voluntarily. They sit in circles and talk about “temptations” like they’re in a support group for people who once made eye contact with a shirtless lifeguard. They make us sing hymns with lyrics rewritten to be aggressively heterosexual. “Jesus is my bro ,” one of them goes. Thanos think it’s supposed to be comforting. It’s not.

The food is beige. The theology is beige. The people are beige. Thanos, however, is not. He is a splash of purple in a sea of khaki. This splash of purple has also started a tally on the underside of his bunk. One mark for every time someone says “lifestyle choice” with a straight face. He’s up to thirty-seven, and considering turning it into a drinking game, but all they have is grape juice and the tears of repressed teenagers.

But, luckily for Thanos, amongst the sea of beige is another splash of colour. Blonde.

Thanos turned on his side, the bunk creaking in protest, and brown eyes met blue. Lucio smiled.

Thanos smiled back. “Your face is melting.”

Lucio’s smile widened, and he hummed. “Acid tends to have that effect.”

Thanos propped himself up on one elbow, ignoring Carl’s groan from below, and studied Lucio more closely. His features shifted and morphed, and he couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him. The blonde boy lounged against the wall of the cabin, one leg dangling off the edge of his own bunk like he owned the place. Golden hair fell in careless waves, framing a face that could’ve been sculpted by some Renaissance artist with a fetish for nobility. His blue eyes glinted with a mischief that didn’t belong in this beige purgatory, set above a nose so straight and refined it screamed aristocratic breeding. High cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass—Lucio looked like he’d stepped out of a manor house, not a summer camp designed to scrub sin from your soul.

He was rich, too. You could tell from the way he carried himself, all casual arrogance, like money was a birthright he didn’t even bother to flaunt. His clothes were standard camp issue—khaki shorts, white tee—but they fit him too well, like even the generic uniform couldn’t dull his shine. But the most attractive thing about Lucio hung at his neck, and Thanos’s eyes drifted.

A delicate silver thing hung around his neck. It caught the dim light of the cabin, glinting faintly, and Thanos squinted at it. Lucio caught him staring and smirked, fingers brushing the cross. “Like it? Family heirloom,” he said, voice smooth as velvet, though there was an edge to it—like he was daring Thanos to ask more.

“Looks expensive,” Thanos muttered, shifting his weight. His leg bounced faintly, and he gripped the bunk’s edge, knuckles whitening. Carl, the ancient bedframe, creaked in protest beneath him.

“It is.” Lucio’s grin turned sharp, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. With a flick of his thumb, he popped open a hidden compartment in the cross. A myriad of colored pills lined every corner. Thanos’s jaw tightened, his breath hitching as he rolled onto his side, facing the wall with a stiff jerk. “Quit waving it in my face, man. A guy can only take so much before he’s climbing the walls.”

The laugh that came was a musical sound, like a trill of a songbird. “You’re already high!”

“Yeah, on acid,” Thanos growled, his shoulders hunching as he scrubbed a shaky hand through his hair. “That’s baby shit, yo.”

“Baby shit?” Lucio’s voice spiked, his tone flipping from amused to offended in a heartbeat. He swung his legs off the bunk and hopped down, landing with a thud that made Carl groan louder than ever. “You’re calling my acid baby shit? Do you have any idea how much I paid for this? It’s artisanal, you vagabond.”

Thanos’s eyes rolled back, a slow, exaggerated arc that ended with him pinching the bridge of his nose, his foot tapping faster against the mattres. “Oh, forgive me, your fag-ship. Did your butler hand-press it under a full moon?”

Lucio’s blue eyes narrowed, and for a second, Thanos thought he might actually lose it—those manicured hands balled into fists, that perfect jaw clenched tight. Then, abruptly, he barked a laugh—short and jagged—and shook his head. “You’re so damn lucky I like you.”

“First compliment I’ve gotten all week that didn’t come with a side of scripture,” Thanos said, hauling himself upright. The room swayed slightly, acid still humming in his veins, but he locked his gaze on Lucio. The blonde was pacing now, like a caged animal sparking with pent-up energy.

“So what’s your deal?” Thanos asked, watching the boy pace. “We've been here for like, a month now. When are you gonna drop the mysterious act? Rich kid gets caught snorting caviar off a yacht and Mommy ships him off to Jesus boot camp, am I somewhere in the ballpark?"

Lucio froze mid-step, his smirk flickering out before snapping back into place with a forced twitch.  “Close. Except it was Daddy’s yacht, and it wasn’t caviar.” He tapped the cross necklace again, then flopped back onto his bunk with a dramatic sigh. “He found my stash, freaked out, and decided I needed to be redeemed . Next thing I know, I’m here, surrounded by mouth-breathers who think ‘demon possession’ is why I like dick.”

Thanos snorted,  wiping his clammy palms on his jeans. “Sounds like my dad. Except he skipped the yacht and went straight for the rosary-and-belt combo. Probably still lighting candles for his boy right now.”

“Waste of wax,” Lucio said, propping up on an elbow. His grin flashed wide, all teeth. “You’re a lost cause. I can see it.”

Thanos flopped back onto his bunk, his arms flailing briefly before settling. “Lost cause? Man, I’m so deep in the abyss I’m slinging with the devil himself. Check it– me and Satan are boys now. He’s like, ‘Thanos, my boy, you wild as fuck.’ I’m out here tryna dodge these holy rollers, but they keep comin’ with the ‘repent’ bars. Straight trash.”

Lucio arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, his lips twitching like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or snap. “Charming. Anybody ever tell you that when you’re high you sound like a SoundCloud rapper who got lost on his way to a trap house? Could you be any less refined?” His voice dripped with that upper-crust scorn, the kind that made you wanna slap the silver spoon out of his mouth. “No, no, I adore it. It’s so… gritty. Tell me more about your little bromance with Lucifer.”

Thanos smirked, flipping onto his stomach and kicking his legs up with a lazy sway. “I could be higher,” His hands trembled slightly as he propped his head on the mattress. “If you just shared a little bit more of the love, I could get on your wavelength, entertain you with my funny words like one of them fuckass court jesters.”

“Am I the king in this scenario?” Lucio drawled, his thumb tracing the cross’s edge with a possessive grip. “You’ve had enough. One a day, remember? There’s a limited supply of these things. Not that you’d understand that, do they even teach you to count in that hole you crawled out of?”

“Oh, excuse me, Your Majesty. Didn’t realize I was in the presence of the Pill-Popping Pope,” Thanos said, his tone biting as he rubbed his eyes hard enough to see sparks. “One a day? What is this, a vitamin regimen? I’m out here tryna transcend, and you’re rationing me like a stingy grandma with the Halloween candy.”

Lucio’s smirk stiffened, his fingers halting on the cross as his gaze sharpened. “Transcend? You’re barely coherent. I’m doing you a favor—keeping you from turning into a drooling mess. From what I’m hearing, you’re beginning to sound ungrateful.”

Thanos blinked hard, his mouth working silently for a beat before he lurched upright, his eyes wide and glassy. “What? Come on man, you know I appreciate all you do for me.” His hands shook as he gestured wildly at Lucio, and he tried for a leer. “What’s next, you gonna charge me rent for staring at your pretty face?”

“Staring’s free,” Lucio replied, voice tight, “but keep talking like that and I’ll start billing you for the air you’re wasting. I could be sleeping right now instead of listening to your deranged ramblings.”

“Deranged?” Thanos repeated. "Bro, I’m a visionary. I’m out here seeing colors you ain’t even got names for. Meanwhile, you’re clutching that cross like it’s gonna save you from the inevitable—you’re just as fucked as me. Only difference is you’ve got better hair and a trust fund.”

Lucio’s hand froze on the necklace, and for a split second, Thanos thought he’d pushed too far. The blonde’s face darkened, his jaw tightening like he was about to launch into a tirade. But then, just as quick, he flipped back to smug, leaning back with a yawn. “You’re adorable when you’re jealous. It’s almost enough to make me forget that you don’t come with an off switch. Sometimes I wish I just could muzzle you."

Thanos flopped onto his back again, staring at the underside of the top bunk where his tally marks were starting to look like a cave painting. His fingers twitched as he traced them absently, and he ignored that familiar feeling of jitters crawling up his spine. “Jealous? Nah, I’m just tryna figure out how someone so fancy ended up in this beige-ass fag camp. What’d you do, Lucio? Tell me. Tell Daddy you’d rather kiss the deckhand than the heiress he picked out for you?”

“Please,” Lucio sighed, waving a hand dismissively, though his fingers trembled just enough to betray him. “I don’t kiss deckhands. Too much saltwater. No, I got caught with my dealer in the guest house—mid-transaction, mind you—and Daddy dearest decided it was time for a detox. He thinks this place is gonna fix me. Joke’s on him, I’m having the time of my life watching you lot squirm.”

Thanos’s brow lifted,  head tilting as he scratched at his neck. “And by mid transaction, you mean…?”  His tone was light, but his eyes flicked to the cross. 

Lucio’s smirk didn’t budge, but his fingers twitched against the cross, the silver catching the light as he rolled it between them. “No, he was dropping off some molly, and I was… compensating him. Cash, you barbarian, not blowjobs. Though I’m sure your imagination’s running wild with that one.”

Thanos whistled low, his leg bouncing as he grinned, “Compensating. Fancy word for ‘I got caught swapping spit with a middle aged man.’ Bet Daddy didn’t like that one bit—his golden boy knee-deep in sin.”

Lucio’s laugh came sharp and sudden. “He burst in, all red-faced and shouting about hellfire, waving his checkbook like it was a bible. Thought he’d buy my soul back from the devil himself. Next day, I’m here, bunking with you and your imaginary friend Carl.” He paused, eyes flicking to the ceiling, then back to Thanos. “Speaking of, does the old man ever shut up?”

“Nah,” Thanos muttered, clawing at the tally marks now with a ragged nail, his movements jerky. “He’s got arthritis and a grudge. Keeps me company while you’re out there hoarding your stash. What’s in that cross anyway? You limit me to MDMA and xanax with the occasional tab of acid. You got the whole rainbow in there?”

“Wouldn’t you kill to find out?” Lucio’s voice spiked high, then caught himself. It’s a curated selection, let’s say. Enough to keep me sane in this hellhole. You’d probably overdose just looking at it—your tolerance is pathetic.”

Thanos snorted, rolling onto his side to face Lucio, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Pathetic? You’re just mad ‘cause I’d out-party you and your yacht club buddies any day.” He tried for a grin again, but it didn’t quite catch. He toyed with the frayed edge of his pillow, the creaking of the bunk the only sound breaking the silence.

Lucio’s talking again. Something about his cousin’s new car or maybe it’s his dog—doesn’t matter. His voice is syrupy, slow, like it’s dragging through sludge, and Thanos can’t focus on a single word. His skin itches. Not like a rash, not like a bug—more like his nerves are trying to crawl out from under it. He nods, pretending hes listening. Smile when he laughs. Thanos’s jaw aches from clenching.

He wonders if Lucio knows he’s watching it. The cross. Not him. Thanos’s eyes keep drifting to it like it’s magnetic. He tries to look away, but it’s like trying not to think about breathing. The more he tries, the more he can’t stop.

Lucio is still talking. Thanos nods again. His hands are shaking. Not a lot—just enough that he keeps them busy. He can feel the sweat pooling in his lower back, cold and sticky. His stomach’s doing somersaults. He hasn't eaten since yesterday, and even if he had, he’d probably puke it up by now.

He waits for Lucio to finish his sentence, waits for that in between moment where he usually takes a breath, and when that pause came– Thanos filled it. “Yeah, like, that’s so interesting, man. But uh… Look, bro, I’ve been trying to avoid the subject, because, you know–”

"Out with it," Lucio interrupted, sounding bored. "If it was important enough to cut in to my sentence, then I'm sure you can fumble your way through the subject."

Thanos twisted on the bunk, his fingers digging into the thin mattress, clawing at it like he could rip the calm out of it. His breaths came shallow, jagged, a quiet hitch in his throat as he turned his head toward Lucio. The blonde sat cross-legged on his own bunk, rolling that damn silver cross between his fingers like a coin trick, his lips twitching with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Thanos swallowed. “Can I have a xan?” His eyes darted away, then back, wide and glassy, pupils swallowing the brown.

Lucio raises an eyebrow, smirks like he’s in on some joke Thanos isn't. He taps the cross with one finger, like a bell. “Well, that entirely depends, doesn’t it?”

Depends. Of course it depends. It always depends. On what? On how desperate Thanos looks? On how much he’ll beg? On how much he’ll owe Lucio later?

Thanos laughs, but it sounds wrong. Hollow. Like a cough in an empty room. “Come on, man. Just a little. I’m not trying to get high. Just… level out.”

He’s still smiling. Still tapping that cross like it’s some kind of game. Thanos wonders what it would take to snatch it off his neck. Just for a second. Just long enough.

Lucio didn’t move, just tilted his head, letting the silence stretch until it stung. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the cross dangling from its chain like a pendulum. “Oh, Thanos,” he murmured, “look at you. Shaking already?” He clicked his tongue.  “Down, boy.”

Thanos flinched, his shoulders hunching inward, but he didn’t snap back. Not yet. “I’m serious,” he muttered, “I’ll—I’ll do whatever. Just gimme one.”

Lucio’s smirk widened as he rose to his feet. He stepped closer, towering over Thanos, who was still upright on the bed, one hand gripping the bunk’s edge like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Lucio dangled the cross just out of reach, the pills inside rattling faintly. “Whatever, huh?” he said, bending down until his breath brushed Thanos’s ear. “Roll over, then.”

Thanos’s face burned, a deep flush creeping up his neck, but his eyes stayed locked on the cross. His lips parted, dry and trembling, and he forced the words out, “Don’t fucking do this again, you pratty fuck.”

Lucio’s eyes widened slightly, brows furrowing, smile widening as he made the cross swing wider.

Thanos’s hands twitched toward the necklace, then dropped, palms up, like a supplicant at an altar. Lucio chuckled, and patted his head with a lazy swipe, fingers lingering just long enough to feel condescending. “Good dog,” he said, popping the compartment open with a flick of his thumb. He plucked a single white pill and held it between two fingers, hovering it above Thanos’s upturned face. But then his hand retracted, “On your knees.”

“I will box you in your fucking face,” Thanos immediately snarled. His fists clenched tight, nails biting into his palms, but the tremor in his hands betrayed him. He forced his gaze away from the pill dangling just out of reach. The flush on his neck deepened, spreading to his ears, and he swiped a hand across his face, smearing sweat into his hairline.

Lucio straightened straightened up slowly, the pill still pinched between his fingers, and tilted his head. "You want want I have, and so you're going to pay for it. It's give and take. Didn't you say you would be my court jester?" His lips pressed into a thin line, suppressing a laugh. He twirled the cross once more, letting it catch the light, then slipped it back beneath his shirt with a casual flick. The pill, though, he kept in view, rolling it between his fingertips as he took a step back, widening the gap between them.

Thanos lurched forward slightly, then caught himself. His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to Lucio, narrowing into slits. “Just… Just give it to me. I don't feel good, I feel sick. Like somethings crawling under my fucking skin.” he rasped. He pushed himself upright, swaying faintly, and squared his shoulders—chin jutting out, pride flaring even as his body screamed otherwise. “I don't know why the fuck I feel like this, but all I know is that I want a xan. Don’t make me beg, Lucio.”

Lucio’s head tilted further, a mock pout tugging at his lips. He held the pill up to the cabin light, inspecting it like a jeweler with a gem, then flicked his wrist, tossing it lightly into the air and catching it again. “But it’s so cathartic,” he said, each syllable dripping with disdain. He stepped closer again, “And I’m being generous, aren’t I? It’s not hard unless you make it hard. And you’re making this exceptionally difficult.” His free hand darted out, snagging Thanos’s chin, forcing their gazes to lock. His grip was firm, thumb pressing into the hollow of Thanos’s jaw.

Thanos jerked his head back, breaking free, and stumbled off the bed. His hands flew up, shoving at the air between them. “Don’t touch me,” he spat, though his voice wavered, cracking on the last word. 

Lucio watched, his head cocked, the pill still rolling lazily between his fingers. His lips twitched upward, a faint curl of amusement, but his eyes stayed narrowed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just let the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating, until Thanos’s resolve cracked.

A shudder ran through Thanos, starting at his spine and rippling out to his fingertips. His head dipped, just for a moment, before snapping back up, chin high. His hands flexed, curling in , as if he could claw back the dignity slipping through them. Slowly, he sank—one knee bending, then the other—until he hit the floor. His palms pressed flat against the cool wood, fingers digging in, and his head stayed bowed, hair falling forward to shield the flush burning across his face.

Lucio stepped forward, and stopped just short of his form. His shadow fell over him, dark and looming, but his movements slowed. He crouched, knees cracking faintly, until he was level with Thanos, the pill still pinched between his fingers. Without a word, he extended his hand—not tossing it, not dangling it—just holding it there, steady, an offering stripped of fanfare. “Open wide.”

Thanos’s throat bobbed, his chest heaving as he parted his lips, eyes squeezing shut for a split second before snapping open again. He stuck his tongue out, and Lucio hummed appreciatively. “Wider?” 

Thanos’s mouth snapped shut, glaring, before opening again. Tentatively, he opened wider. The cross swung free again, grazing Thanos’s jaw as Lucio leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur, “You’re practically drooling for it.”

Thanos’s hands gripped the bunk’s edge, knuckles whitening as his chest heaved. His tongue darted out, brushing his dry lips, and his eyes locked on the pill—then flicked up to Lucio’s face, catching the glint of amusement there. He shifted, hips twisting slightly as he leaned forward.“Quit playing,” he muttered, voice rough, cracking on the edges as his fingers flexed, itching to snatch it.

Lucio’s smirk deepened, and he tilted his head, letting his free hand drift—fingers skimming the air near Thanos’s shoulder, not touching, but close enough to raise the hairs on his neck. “Playing?” he repeated. “You’re the one squirming.”

Lucio didn’t pull back. Instead, he leaned in, his knees shifting closer until the space between them shrank to a sliver. His free hand braced against the bunk’s edge and the cross swung forward, grazing Thanos’s cheek as it dangled from its chain. The cool metal sent a shiver racing down Thanos’s spine, and his eyes fluttered shut for a heartbeat, jaw tightening as he fought to keep still. Lucio cupped one side of his face, and he stiffened. A thumb brushed over his lower lip, and Lucio tilted his head, then balanced the pill on Thanos’s tongue.

Thanos was breathing heavily now, exhaling hot air. He swallowed, the pill working it’s way down his throat. The thumb lingered on Thanos’s lip, pressing just hard enough to feel the heat radiating off him, his smirk sharpening as Thanos’s breath stuttered against his skin. The pill was gone, swallowed down with a dry, audible gulp, but Lucio still didn’t pull away. His knees pressed into the floor, caging Thanos in, and his fingers tightened— possessive, insistent—sliding from lip to jaw, tipping Thanos’s head back, exposing his throat.

Thanos’s hands twitched, fingers curling into the wood as his chest heaved, each breath a jagged rasp. His lips parted again, and Lucio took it as an invitation—lunging forward, sudden and rough, his mouth crashing into Thanos’s with a force that knocked their teeth together. It was all heat and hunger, no finesse—just Lucio’s tongue shoving past, claiming the space, and Thanos’s muffled grunt vibrating between them. His hands shot up, gripping Lucio’s shirt, twisting the fabric hard enough to strain the seams, pulling him closer for one raw, messy second.

Then Thanos shoved—hard—breaking it off with a wet gasp, his palms slamming into Lucio’s chest. He lurched back, scrambling to his feet, swaying as his knee buckled under him. “What the fuck,” he spat, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth like he could erase it. His chest heaved, flush creeping down his neck, and his eyes darted wild—half fury, half something else he wouldn’t name. His knees finally gave way, and he fell the ground.

Lucio rocked back on his heels, still crouched, lips glistening as he licked them. His smirk didn’t falter, but his breath came fast, betraying the crack in his composure. He wiped his thumb across his chin, then stood, brushing off his knees with a casual flick. “You’d do anything for it," he murmured, almost to himself. "Anything I say." He snapped the cross shut, tucking it back under his shirt, and kicked Thanos lightly in the shin. “Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

—--------------------------------

“Do it.”

“I refuse.”

“Do it.”

“Does no mean yes from whatever fuckass country you’re from?”

Lucio frowned. “I’m Russian.”

Thanos blinked, then made a face. “You’re Russian?”

“Saucy moy yaytsa.”

“Did you just call me a Russian slur?”

Lucio shrugged. “Think I just told you to sauce my eggs, so take that as you will, I suppose.”

Thanos let out a long, drawn out moan. “Oh yes, say it again, but whilst touching your no-no parts this time.”

“Is that what your uncle asked when you uttered your first words?”

Thanos’s mouth opened and closed, then he burst out laughing. Lucio tilted his head, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. “What? What are you laughing at?”

Thanos wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Just imagining you as a toddler, saucing your own eggs while Uncle Ivan tries to molest you. It’s a mental image I didn’t need, but here we are."

Lucio’s smile widened, though his tone stayed flat. "Glad I could paint you a picture. Maybe next time I’ll add some vodka and a bear for authenticity."

"Please, keep going. I’m dying to hear how you wrestle the bear while juggling your ‘saucy yaytsa.’"

"Simple," Lucio replied. "The bear holds the vodka, I handle the rest. Multitasking’s a Russian specialty."

Thanos grinned, biting his lower lip, shaking his head. "You’re a freak, you know that?”

Lucio giggled, laying his head on Thanos’s lap. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”

Thanos froze for a split second, his grin faltering as Lucio’s head settled onto his lap. His fingers twitched, hovering just above Lucio’s hair, before he let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. “What exactly am I doing, boy?”

Lucio frowned. “Have you been listening to a thing I’ve been saying?”

“Whole lotta nothin’ out of a whole lot of pretty.”

Lucio let out a noise that was half scoff half groan, but the message of disgust was clear as he rolled off of Thanos’s lap. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles whitening as he glared at the underside of the bunk above. He forced a sharp exhale through his nose. “I was saying that you should really start paying more attention in group. They make some valid points,” he snapped, his voice low. “I mean, we’ve been here for months now,” his voice cracked slightly with the next words. “I’ve had to bargain with the Councilor to smuggle me drugs.”

Thanos sighed, “Bargain.” He repeated, as if testing the phrase on his tongue. “You mean whore yourself out?”

Lucio stiffened. Thanos leaned back, one arm draping lazily over the edge of the bed as he tilted his head, studying the boy. “Are you telling me that you’re really buying into that pray the gay away bull shit? Neither of us even like guys. It’s not like we’d benefit from any of that shit.”

“It’s not about that,” he muttered, his voice spiking with a jagged energy that hadn’t been there moments before. “It’s about focus, you idiot. Getting your head out of the clouds. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a home to get back to. You’re getting too reliant on the damn pills, and I don’t hangout with junkies . Need to get your mind on something," he groaned in revulsion, batting Thanos's hand away. "Something that isn't me."

Thanos sprawled further back, his legs kicking out as he let out a raspy chuckle, though his gaze lingered on the cross necklace. “Oh, here we go,” he said, his words tumbling out too fast, tripping over each other. “Lucio’s on his high horse again, galloping through the steppes, swinging his vodka bottle like it’s a saber. You think I don’t listen? I listen! I hear the wind, the whispers, the way the counselor’s chair squeaks when she shifts—god, that woman needs to lay off the donuts, you know? And then there’s you, all intense and brooding, like you’re about to wrestle that bear you keep yapping about—”

“Shut up,” Lucio cut in, his voice spiking up. “You ramble like a damn lunatic. Just—do the work, Thanos. Focus for once.”

Thanos’s grin slipped, his foot bouncing now as he sat up a little straighter, “I'm so fucking focused, do I not seem focused?” he a,sked his tone pitching up, almost mocking, but his hands betrayed him, trembling slightly as he rubbed them together. “I’m focused! Focused on how your accent gets thicker when you’re pissed, focused on how you’re about to flip that switch and start giggling again like nothing happened. You’re the one who’s all over the place, man—one minute you’re cuddling up, the next you’re biting my head off. Pick a lane, blondie.”

Lucio’s laugh came out sharp and brittle, his head tipping back as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Pick a lane?”You’re one to talk. You’re so far gone you don’t even know what road you’re on half the time. Maybe if you’d stop chasing your next high, you’d see I’m trying to help you.”

Thanos blinked down at him, his smirk fading into something softer, almost lost. His hand reached out, hesitated, then brushed against Lucio’s arm, a clumsy, fleeting touch. “Help me,” he murmured, his words slurring together as his eyes glazed over for a second. “You’re the one who’s shaking like a leaf, man. What’s got you so wound up? Is it the bear? The vodka? Me?” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or is it that group crap really getting under your skin? Huh? Tell me. I’m all ears—well, mostly ears, I’ve got a few other limbs that could help you relax.”

“Don’t say that shit,” Lucio mumbled, batting the hand away as he curled up on the bed, facing away from him. “It’s not… No, it’s not you. I just.. Getting tired is all. I feel weird.”

Thanos twisted his body, then hovered over Lucio, looking down at him. When Lucio didn’t speak again, Thanos sighed, then curled up beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Lucio hugged his knees tighter to his chest, his shoulders hunching as he pressed his forehead against the cool wall beside the bunk. “Sometimes I just… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice muffled against his arm.

“Never fear Uncle Milton is here,” Thanos sang, tapping his feet against the edge of the bed. “Confide in Uncle Milton.”

Lucio exhaled sharply through his nose. “You know those days where you wake up and you can taste the air? Like champagne bubbles in your lungs? Everything is just… brighter. Sharper. I can write a novel in a day, paint a masterpiece, solve world hunger, and still have time to reorganize my sock drawer. Ideas are just pouring out of me, words tumbling over each other, and I’m just… on. Everyone loves me then. I barely sleep, because who needs sleep when you’re busy being amazing? Food? Nope,” he popped the word. “I’m running on pure, unadulterated energy . It’s the best feeling in the world.”

Thanos’s brow furrowed. “That… doesn’t sound like a problem.”

Lucio shifted slightly, his back still to Thanos, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wall. “Yeah, well,” he said, “it’s not the ‘on’ part that’s the kicker. It’s when it stops.” He paused, his hand stilling, then curling into a loose fist. “ The champagne bubbles turn into lead weights. The bright colours fade to grey. Suddenly the sunlight is blindingly painful, and the sounds… oh god, the sounds are deafening. That novel? Just a pile of meaningless words. The masterpiece? Smears of ugly colour. World hunger? Hopeless. I can’t even get out of bed. Everything feels pointless, like a Herculean effort for absolutely no reward.”

Thanos’s arm tightened around Lucio’s waist, his chin brushing the back of Lucio’s neck as he listened. His foot stopped tapping, the rhythm fading into the quiet creak of the bunk. “Fucks that got to do with me?” he muttered.

Lucio stiffened, and Thanos could visualise his lips pulling back into a sneer.  His body tensed under Thanos’s arm as he twisted sharply, shoving the weight off his waist. He rolled to face him, eyes blazing, the beige bunk wall forgotten. “Everything, you jackass,” he snapped. “You’re so busy chasing your next fix you can’t see shit beyond your own nose. I’m spilling my guts here, and you—” He jabbed a finger into Thanos’s chest, hard enough to make him flinch—“you just shrug it off like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing.”

Thanos recoiled, his hands flying up in mock surrender. “Whoa, drama queen, pump the brakes,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re unloading your sob story, and you’re mad that I can’t cry on cue? I’m not your therapist, man. I asked what it’s got to do with me, not for a fuckin’ Oscar reel.” 

“You fucking disgust me!” Lucio screamed suddenly, his voice cracking from the sheer volume. Thanos flinched, his smirk vanishing as he scrambled back, nearly toppling off the edge of the bed. For a moment, they just stared at each other—Lucio’s eyes wild and wet, Thanos’s wide and unblinking, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Y-You don’t get it!” Lucio yelled again, stuttering over his own words, too angry to fully articulate himself. “The way that you fucking act– it’s like pouring gas on a fire I can’t put out. I’m up, I’m down, I’m spinning, and you—” He lunged forward, grabbing Thanos by the collar of his shirt, yanking him close. “You make it worse! You trigger every damn thing I’m trying to keep locked up!”

Thanos’s hands shot up, gripping Lucio’s wrists, but he didn’t pull away. His breath hitched, his pupils darting as he tried to process the sudden shift. “What, so I’m your punching bag now?” he snapped back, his voice rising to match Lucio’s. “You think you’re the only one with shit to deal with? I’m drowning too, you sanctimonious prick—I just don’t whine about it like some tragic artist!”

Lucio’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening against Thanos’s shirt. “Drowning?” he sneered, his lip curling. “You’re not drowning—you’re swimming, loving every second of it. Maybe you should spend less time necking my pills and more time trying to pray that gay away, huh? Fucking faggo–”

Thanos’s fist shot out, connecting with bone. Lucio’s head snapped to the side, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as he staggered back, one hand flying to his face. His fingers pressed against the blooming red mark, trembling, but his eyes flared with something feral. He lunged, shoulder slamming into Thanos’s chest, driving him down onto the mattress with a thud that rattled the bunk’s frame.

Thanos grunted, his hands scrabbling at Lucio’s arms, nails digging into skin as he twisted beneath him. His knee jerked up, catching Lucio in the ribs—hard. Lucio wheezed, his grip faltering for a split second, but then his fist came down, smashing into Thanos’s cheek. The impact split Thanos’s lip, a thin trickle of blood smearing across his chin as he bared his teeth, shoving back with both palms against Lucio’s chest.

They rolled, a tangle of limbs, the bed creaking under their weight. Thanos’s elbow caught Lucio’s nose, a wet crunch followed by a choked gasp as blood dripped onto the sheets. Lucio’s hand shot out, fingers clawing at Thanos’s throat, squeezing until Thanos’s eyes bulged, his breath coming in bursts. He thrashed, one arm swinging wildly, knuckles grazing Lucio’s temple with a dull thud.

Lucio reeled, his hold loosening, and Thanos seized the moment, flipping them over. He pinned Lucio’s wrists above his head, knees digging into his thighs to keep him down. His chest heaved, sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the blood from his lip as it dripped onto Lucio’s shirt. Lucio squirmed, his legs kicking uselessly, his face contorted—eyes glistening, jaw tight, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

For a moment, they froze like that, panting, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the heat of their rage. Thanos’s grip slackened, his shoulders slumping as his hands slid off Lucio’s wrists, leaving red marks behind. Lucio shoved him off, rolling to the side, one arm curling protectively around his ribs as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood across his knuckles. Thanos collapsed beside him, staring at the ceiling, his chest still rising and falling too fast, one hand pressing against his swollen cheek.

Neither spoke. The silence pressed down their breaths slowing into uneven rhythms as the fight bled out of them.

“So I’m guessing the gay thing,” Lucio panted. “Touchy subject?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Thanos heaved back.

“You shut your fucking mouth.”

Thanos whirled on him, eyes wide. “I will fucking kill you.”

Lucio didn’t flinch, he moved onto his elbows. “I will slice your fucking throat!” He screamed again, that scream that rattled off the walls.

Thanos flinched. Blinked. Then nodded minutely. He flopped back against the bed, the only sound Lucio’s ragged breathing, still clearly fuming. “Man,” Thanos half whispered, rubbing his throat. “You meet the weirdest kids at these camps. Tantrum kids.”

The silence stretched until Lucio broke it with a chuckle. He swiped at the blood still trickling from his nose, smearing it across his chin as he propped himself up higher on his elbows. “You look good when you’re all bruised up,” he muttered, voice hoarse from screaming. “Look at you—bleeding like a stuck pig, I like it. You want a pill?”

“Fuck yeah I want a pill,” Thanus mumbled, dragging himself into a sitting position.  Lucio’s fingers brushed the cross necklace dangling from his neck, the faint clink of metal against metal. He popped it open with a practiced flick, revealing the tiny compartment. Thanos’s eyes locked onto it, his bruised face tightening. Lucio dangled the necklace just out of reach, letting it sway like a pendulum, a cruel smirk tugging at his split lip.

“Say it,” Lucio rasped, his voice low and taunting. “Beg for it. Go on, big guy—plead like you mean it.”

Thanos’s jaw clenched, his swollen cheek twitching as he glared at Lucio. His hands flexed at his sides, nails digging into his palms, leaving crescent marks in the skin. “We’re not doing that again,” he spat, but his voice cracked, betraying the tremor beneath it. His gaze flicked back to the pills, his breath hitching as Lucio tilted the necklace, letting one pill roll teasingly close to the edge.

“Not good enough,” Lucio said, his tone icy despite the blood still crusting on his chin. He leaned closer, the necklace swinging nearer to Thanos’s face, close enough that Thanos could smell the faint chemical tang of the pills. “Come on, Thanos. Get on your knees. Make it pretty. You want it so bad, don’t you? Show me how much.”

Thanos stared for a moment.

Then he lunged. his bruised hands snatching at the necklace with a speed that belied his battered state. Lucio yanked it back, but Thanos was faster, his fingers closing around the cross in a vice-like grip. He ripped it from Lucio’s grasp with a snarl, the chain snapping with a sharp twang that echoed in the cramped room. Lucio stumbled back, caught off guard, his smirk vanishing as Thanos held the prize aloft, panting triumphantly.

“Fuck your games,” Thanos said simply, blood still seeping from his split lip. He popped the compartment open wider, spilling the pills into his palm—two small, white ovals. He shoved one into his mouth, swallowing it dry, his throat bobbing painfully. The second he held between his fingers, rolling it around, then he looked up at Lucio. “You know, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of doing that before. Just… taking it.”

Lucio stared, his chest heaving, hands twitching at his sides as if he might lunge back. “Give that back.”

Thanos hummed, clicking his fingers into a finger gun. “Beg me.”

Lucio’s eyebrow twitched, his face remaining blank. “What?”

“Get on your knees. Make it pretty.”

Lucio nodded slowly, brows furrowed, and he let out a small laugh. “Yeah, okay, Thanos– I see what you’re doing here–”

Thanos’s grin twisted, his swollen lip pulling tight as he dangled the pill just out of reach. “You want it so bad, don’t you? Show me how much, dog.” His eyes glinted, wild and unyielding, as he leaned forward, the bunk creaking under his shifting weight. Without warning, he surged up, his free hand swinging toward Lucio’s jaw. The same move as last time. The blow landed hard, a dull crack splitting the air as Lucio’s head snapped back, his body lurching against the wall with a thud.

Lucio’s hands flew up, scrabbling for balance, but Thanos was already on him, his knee driving into Lucio’s gut. The air rushed out of Lucio in a choked gasp, his fingers clawing at Thanos’s shirt as he doubled over, eyes watering. Thanos grabbed a fistful of Lucio’s hair, yanking his head back, his breath hot and ragged against Lucio’s ear. “You like playing king?” he hissed. His grip tightened, pulling harder until Lucio’s neck strained, a sharp wince flickering across his face.

But then Lucio moved—fast. His elbow shot up, slamming into Thanos’s chin with a sickening crunch. Thanos staggered, his hold faltering, and Lucio twisted free, his chest heaving as he shoved Thanos back. Thanos hit the bunk hard, the frame groaning, and before he could recover, Lucio was on him. He grabbed a tuft of hair, then slammed Thanos’s face into his knee. Thanos jerked his head back, a knee jerk reaction, succeeding in ripping a chunk of his own hair out. He yelped in pain, but Lucio grabbed him by the head this time, then brought his face down again. Then again.

Thanos flailed, his arms swinging wildly, but Lucio pinned him down, knees pressing into Thanos’s thighs, his hands a blur of motion—punch after punch, each one landing with a thud.

Thanos’s head lolled, his breaths coming in shallow, gurgling bursts, blood bubbling at his lips. Lucio paused, tilting his head. His fingers darted to Thanos’s limp hand, prying the cross necklace free from his slack grip. He clutched it tight, the chain biting into his palm, his eyes blazing as he stared down at Thanos’s battered form. Thanos blinked up at him, dazed, his swollen face slackening in shock, one hand twitching toward his empty palm as if he couldn’t believe it was gone.

Lucio straightened, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze locked on Thanos, who coughed weakly, a trickle of red spilling down his chin.

“Don’t try that again.” Lucio said. He cocked his head again, inspecting Thanos, and his brow furrowed. His hand snaked around to the back of Thanos’s head, fingers carding through the hair. “I ripped your hair out,” he murmured. “Does it hurt?”

Thanos became acutely aware of the searing, pulsing throb at the back of his head. “No.” He replied, but his voice cracked involuntarily.

“Of course it does,” Lucio sighed, his head tilted even further to the left, as if he were sleeping upright. “You look good like that, you know. Have I told you that?”

Thanos coughed, a wet rattle. “I believe it may have come up.” 

Lucio didn’t respond. He reached into the cross and popped it open with a quick flick. Thanos’s eyes flicked to it, his bruised face tightening. Lucio held the necklace steady, his gaze sharp as he studied Thanos, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You know what might help?”

Thanos’s chest heaved, a wet cough rattling through him as he propped himself up on one elbow, his free hand clutching the back of his head where the hair had been torn out. His swollen lip curled, blood crusting at the corner, but his gaze stayed locked on the pill. “Just… give it to me,” he muttered, the words slurring slightly, his bravado fraying at the edges.

Lucio leaned closer, the necklace dangling from his grip, the pill tantalizingly close. “Oh, no,” he said, his tone mockingly sweet. “You don’t get it that easy. Not after that little stunt. Ask nicely, Thanos. Say ‘pretty please.’ Let’s see if you’ve learned anything from all this.”

Thanos’s chest heaved, his eyes darting between Lucio’s face and the necklace. A low, guttural sound escaped him—a moan twisted with frustration and need. He shifted, his knees hitting the mattress, his hands trembling as they hovered near Lucio’s legs. “Please,” he muttered, the word barely audible, forced out through gritted teeth. “Give it to me, you bastard. Please.”

Lucio’s smirk widened, but his eyes were cold. He plucked a single pill from the cross, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, “That’s it,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he pressed the pill against Thanos’s lips, forcing him to part them. “Swallow it down.”

Thanos’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands clenching into fists again, but he didn’t pull away. His head dipped, shoulders slumping as the pill slid down, a faint shudder running through him. Lucio watched, his expression a mix of triumph and something else, and he placed the cross around his own neck, where it’s always been. He leaned back, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve. His eyes flickered, as if turning an idea over in his mind, but then he said, “Come here.”

Thanos froze, his bruised hands still clenched, the faint tremor in his fingers betraying the pill’s slow creep into his bloodstream. His eyes flicked up, meeting Lucio’s—those pale, blue eyes, with hollowed out,  bruise like bags beneath them. He didn’t move, not at first, his jaw tightening as if he could will himself to resist. But it wasn’t just that. It was an instinctual feeling, not of desire, but of something unfamiliar.

Fear.

His chest tightens, as if an invisible hand has gripped his ribs and squeezed, forcing the air out. It’s not a feeling he’s known—no word he’s learned fits this sensation. His hands tremble, not from cold or exhaustion, but from a strange, electric pulse that races through him, urging him to step back , to run , though he stays rooted still. It’s as if his body understands something his mind can’t grasp, a warning whispered in a language he’s never heard.

But then it rolls around into something different. Lucio didn’t lunged forward, closing the gap in one fluid motion, his hand shooting out to grab Thanos by the front of his shirt. The fabric twisted in his fist, pulling tight against Thanos’s chest as he yanked him closer, their faces inches apart. Thanos’s breath hitched, a ragged sound that mingled with Lucio’s own uneven panting. For a split second, they hung there—eyes locked, blood still crusting on their skin, the bunk creaking beneath them like it might collapse.

Thanos moved. His lips crashed into Lucio’s with a force that felt more like a strike than a kiss, all teeth and heat and bruising pressure. It wasn’t gentle—it couldn’t be, not with them. Thanos’s split lip split wider, a fresh sting of pain sparking as blood smeared between them, coppery and warm. He grunted into it, his hands flying up
instinctively, one clamping onto Lucio’s shoulder, the other tangling in his hair—pulling, not pushing. The grip was hard, fingers digging in deep enough to leave marks, as if he could anchor himself.

Lucio pressed harder, his free hand sliding to the back of Thanos’s neck, nails scraping against the tender spot where the hair had been ripped out. Thanos flinched, a low growl rumbling in his throat, but he didn’t pull away—he pushed back, meeting the aggression with his own. Their teeth clacked. The taste of blood mingled with the chemical bitterness still lingering on Thanos’s tongue, and Lucio’s breath was hot, sharp, a snarl caught in every exhale.

Lucio broke it first, wrenching back just enough to breathe, his lips hovering over Thanos’s, swollen and smeared red. His chest heaved, his grip still iron-tight on Thanos’s shirt, and his eyes blazed with a mix of fury and triumph. Thanos stared back, dazed, his own breath coming in harsh bursts, one hand still knotted in Lucio’s hair like he couldn’t let go.

“Is this really hot to you too?” Thanos breathed out, brown eyes searching blue.

“Extremely,” Lucio replied, then shoved Thanos onto his back, and climbed on top of him.

—-----------------------------

“What’s your favourite disease?”

Lucio grunted, not looking up from the ball he was curled into. Thanos groaned, swing his head down from the top bunk, grinning. “Mine is rabies. Wanna know why?”

Lucio’s shoulders tensed, his fingers digging into his knees as he pulled them tighter against his chest, but he didn’t respond. Thanos didn’t seem to notice, his voice booming as he launched into his spiel. “Apparently, and now I haven’t tried this so don’t quote me on it, but apparently it feels fantastic during oral sex. Isn’t that weird? Don’t ask me why I know that– Just clap. Oh, oh it’s too much– Hold your applause!” 

Lucio’s head dipped lower, his knuckles whitening as he gripped himself harder, as if trying to hold something together that was already fraying. Thanos kept going, oblivious, his hands gesturing wildly. “Well held! Think about it—No reasoning, no mercy, just… pain. That’s what I admire. Kinda sexy. Not… Not rabies. Rabies isn’t sexy, I mean, not objectively. But like, on a sexiness meter? Out of all diseases? I think rabies might just be a top ten contender, up there with… Actually, I don’t have a list of sexy diseases on the ready, but you get what I mean.”

A single, shaky exhale escaped Lucio, his body rocking slightly as he pressed his forehead into his knees, fingers twitching against the fabric of his pants. Thanos, still dangling upside down, chuckled to himself, lost in his own thoughts, “But listen to me rambling on and on and on, how are you doing? You are looking mad stressed. What’s cookin’ in that noogin’ good lookin’?” His eyes widened. “Yo, I should be a rapper or some shit. You can’t stop me from rhyming, I’ve got perfect timing, I just owned your ass, and…” He made a face. “I’ve got a… Pocket, full of grass–”

“Would you just,” Lucio’s voice floated up slowly. “Stop, talking.”

Thanos grinned. “Nope. I’m fucking buzzin’, yo. We’re getting out of this shit hole next week! Nine months going strong. Did you know, I thought it’d be like, kidnapping or some shit– But nope! With our parents signatures, it’s like a mental hospital they can keep you for as long as they want or some shit. It’s madness. You should meet my Dad, I mean… Okay, maybe that’s not a good idea. We’ll just say that I met you at school or some shit. Do you wanna meet my Dad? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t–”

“Thanos,” Lucio managed, then sucked in breathe. “I need quiet, please.”

Thanos blinked.  Lucio’s hands trembled as he pressed them harder against his skull, fingers threading through sweat-dampened hair, pulling just enough to feel the sting. His breaths came in shallow, uneven. He rocked forward slightly, then back.

Thanos swung his legs over the bunk’s edge, landing with a thud that made Lucio flinch, his whole body jolting as if struck. Unfazed, Thanos strutted over, his grin widening as he leaned in close—too close—his shadow falling over Lucio’s hunched form. “What’s that? Quiet? Nah, fam, you need noise to drown out whatever’s eating you alive. Look at you, all folded up like a sad little origami crane.” He clapped his hands once, loud and sharp, and Lucio’s shoulders jerked, his nails scraping against his scalp.

“See? That’s the spirit! Gotta keep the blood pumping!” Thanos crowed, pacing now, his boots stomping a rhythm that echoed in the small room. He spun on his heel, pointing a finger like a mock gun. “You’re too quiet, man. Makes me think you’re plotting something. Are you? Huh? Gonna shank me in my sleep? I’d respect it, honestly. Go big or go home, right?”

Lucio’s jaw tightened, a faint shudder rippling through him as he curled inward further, his knees digging into his chest. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, and he swiped at it with a shaky hand, smearing it across his cheek. His lips parted, but only a ragged whisper slipped out, “I can’t—please, just…”

Thanos tilted his head, eyes glinting with something cold and amused. He crouched down, elbows on his knees, staring at Lucio like he was a specimen under glass. “Can’t what? Can’t handle the party in your head? Boo-hoo, little soldier. Life’s a bitch, and I’m the DJ. Deal with it.” He flicked Lucio’s knee with a finger, hard enough to sting, and stood up with a laugh that bounced off the walls.

Lucio’s fingers spasmed, curling into fists as he pressed them against his eyes, then he groaned, and that groan turned into a moan, and that moan into a yell. He growled, jerking upright and clawing at his hair.  Lucio’s fists slammed against his thighs, the dull thuds reverberating as he rocked forward, his breaths hitching into sharp, jagged gasps, half sobbing. He dragged his nails down his arms, leaving faint red trails, his whole body trembling.

Thanos froze mid-step, his grin faltering for a split second before stretching widert. He sauntered closer, hands shoved casually into his pockets, and kicked the edge of Lucio’s bunk with the toe of his boot—once, twice, each jolt making Lucio’s frame twitch. “Oh, shit, we’ve got a live one!” Thanos yelled, his voice dripping with mockery. He leaned down, breath hot against Lucio’s ear, and stage-whispered, “What’s it feel like, huh? All that poison leaking out? Bet it’s a real trip.”

Lucio’s head jerked up, his bloodshot eyes locking onto Thanos for a fleeting moment—wild, pleading, furious—before he doubled over again, a choked sob breaking free as he clutched his stomach. His fingers dug into his shirt, twisting the fabric until his knuckles strained white. Another shudder wracked him, and he bit down hard on his lip, a thin trickle of blood staining his chin. “I need fucking – I know you have some, you sociopathic piece of shit!”

Thanos straightened, snorting as he crossed his arms, his shadow looming larger. “Pathetic,” he muttered. He paced a tight circle, then snapped his fingers right by Lucio’s ear. Lucio flinched hard, his hands flying to cover his head, curling tighter into himself as if he could vanish into the mattress. Thanos laughed—a short, barking sound—and kicked the bunk again, harder this time. “Come on, drama queen, scream louder! Give me a show worth watching!”

Lucio’s voice cracked as he forced the words out, each syllable scraping against his raw throat. “Thanos, I’m serious—give me a fucking Xanax. Now.”

Thanos paused, his head tilting as if he’d just heard the punchline to a joke he hadn’t expected. His grin twisted into something sharper, and he let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. The Lucio Conrad– Heir to his father’s company, begging ?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic baggie that dangled between his fingers like a prize. The faint rattle of pills inside cut through the air, and Lucio’s eyes snapped to it, his trembling hands unclenching slightly, reaching out on instinct before he caught himself and pulled back, toying with his cross necklace. 

“Usually, it’s you waving this shit in my face,” Thanos said, his tone mockingly casual as he swung the baggie back and forth, just out of reach. “You’d sit there, all smug, watching me twitch while you popped one like it was candy. ‘Oh, Thanos, you look like you need this more than me,’” he mimicked in a high-pitched sneer, then dropped his voice back to its usual growl. “Funny how the tables turn, huh? Now you’re the one sweating it out, and I get to play king. What, does that crusty ass Councilor not want you anymore? Getting sick of negotiating? No wonder, you’re a biter!” He lunged forward suddenly, clacking his teeth, mocking a bite, and he laughed. 

Lucio’s breath hitched, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his gaze off the baggie. “I don’t care—just give it to me,” he rasped, his body rocking again, a faint whimper slipping out as another wave of nausea clawed through him. His skin glistened with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead in damp clumps, and his legs twitched like they might give out even though he was already sitting.

Thanos chuckled, stepping closer, close enough that Lucio could smell the stale cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket. He dangled the baggie an inch from Lucio’s face, letting it sway like a pendulum. “Say ‘pretty please’ first. Come on, you know the drill. You’ve made me grovel plenty—your turn.”

Lucio’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he glared up at Thanos through bloodshot eyes. “Fuck you,” he spat, but his voice wavered, undercut by the desperation seeping through. His hand shot out, swiping for the bag, but Thanos yanked it back with a laugh, spinning away like it was a game.

“Nah, nah, not so fast,” Thanos taunted, holding the baggie high above his head now, forcing Lucio to look up at him. “You don’t get to snatch it like some junkie in an alley. You gotta earn it, bro. Tell me how bad you need it. Paint me a picture.”

Lucio’s chest heaved, his fists slamming into the mattress as he lurched forward, nearly toppling off the edge. “It’s like my fucking insides are on fire, okay? Like everything’s spinning and I can’t—can’t breathe right, can’t think—please, Thanos, I’m losing it!” His voice broke into a ragged shout, and he clawed at his own arms again, leaving fresh red streaks.

Thanos’s eyes glinted, “That’s more like it,” he said, his tone softening into something almost tender, but still laced with that cruel edge. He tossed the baggie onto the bed beside Lucio, letting it land with a soft thud. “There you go, princess. Don’t say I never did nothing for you.”

Lucio lunged for it, fingers fumbling as he tore the bag open, spilling a couple of pills onto the blanket. He snatched one up, shoving it into his mouth with a shaky hand, dry-swallowing it like his life depended on it. His head dropped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut as he waited for the relief to kick in, his breaths slowing slightly, though his body still trembled.

Thanos flopped back onto the top bunk, sprawling out with a satisfied sigh. “See? I’m a goddamn saint. You’re welcome.” He smirked, kicking his boots against the frame just to make it shake, knowing it’d rattle Lucio’s fragile calm. “Next time, maybe don’t lord it over me when I’m the one jonesing, yeah? Karma’s a bitch. I didn’t even make you suck me off or anything, see how charitable I am? And it’s all because I wuuuvvvv yoooouuu–”

“Shut up!” Lucio screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Do you ever shut your mouth? Oh my god –You–”

Thanos chuckled, the sound low and grating, as he propped himself up on one elbow to peer down at Lucio. "Oh, come on, don’t be so dramatic. I’m just basking in my own generosity here. You’d think a guy could get a little gratitude for being so selfless."

“Selfless?” Lucio snapped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You call that selfless? You’re insufferable! I swear, if I had a nickel for every time you opened your mouth and made me want to punch you—”

“You’d be rich enough to buy me out of this dump,” Thanos cut in, grinning wider. “But you’d miss me too much. Admit it, Lucio, you love the sound of my voice. It’s like music to your twitchy little ears.”

“Music?!” Lucio’s voice hit a pitch that could’ve cracked glass. “Why can’t you just— I need quiet!” His voice dropped to a wail, half sob.

Thanos tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. Five seconds? I could, but then you’d have to say ‘pretty please’ first. Go on, let’s hear it. ‘Pretty please, Thanos, my saintly savior, shut your godly trap.’”

Lucio’s shoulders slumped, his head tipping forward as he pressed his palms against his temples, fingers splaying wide as if he could squeeze the noise out of his skull. His chest hitched with a shallow, uneven breath, and he rocked slightly, the pill’s edge barely doing anything. His lips trembled, parting just enough to let a faint, broken noisee scape—a sound more animal than human, raw and pleading.

Thanos’s grin softened at the corners, his eyes narrowing as he watched Lucio from above. He shifted, the bunk creaking under his weight, and for a moment, his fingers twitched against the edge of the mattress, hesitating. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face—his usual bravado faltering as Lucio’s hum cut through the air. Slowly, he slid his legs over the side again, dropping down with a quieter thud this time, his boots scuffing the floor deliberately softer.

Lucio didn’t look up, his hands sliding down to clutch at his cross necklace, twisting it until the chain bit into his skin. His breathing stuttered, a wet sniff breaking the rhythm, and his shoulders shook with the effort to hold it all in. Thanos stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. His gaze darted to the floor, then back to Lucio, lingering on the way his friend’s frame seemed to shrink into itself.

Without a word, Thanos turned, his steps slow and measured—uncharacteristically so—as he crossed the room. He reached the small, cracked window and nudged it open with his elbow, letting a thin stream of cool air slip in. Then he turned—something he doesn’t recognize in himself throbbing until it’s already pulling him to the bunk. He lands beside Lucio, the mattress creaking under his weight. His hand hovers awkwardly over Lucio’s shoulder, fingers twitching like he’s not sure how to make contact without breaking something.

“Yo, man, you’re… you’re really fucked up, huh?” Thanos mutters, his voice low. He watches Lucio’s chest rise and fall too fast, the way his hands shake even after the pill’s gone down, and something tightens in his gut. He’s seen Lucio messed up before—hell, he’s laughed at it—but this feels different, rawer, like he’s peeling back a layer he didn’t mean to touch. “Shit, uh… just… breathe or something, okay? Like, in and out. You’re not dying on me in this dump.”

Lucio doesn’t respond, his head still pressed back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the Xanax starts to dull the edges of his panic. Thanos shifts, uneasy, then grabs the water bottle from the floor—half-empty and lukewarm—and shoves it into Lucio’s lap. “Here, drink this. Don’t choke, though, ‘cause I ain’t doing CPR on your ass.” His tone’s gruff, but his hand lingers a second too long, steadying the bottle until Lucio’s fingers close around it.

For a moment, Thanos just sits there, knees drawn up, staring at the red marks on Lucio’s arms. He scratches the back of his neck, then mutters, “Look, I’m… I dunno, sorry or whatever. Didn’t mean to push you that far. Just… don’t freak out on me again, yeah? We’re almost outta here.” His voice cracks faintly, and he covers it with a cough, glancing away like he’s embarrassed to even be trying. His eyes rake Lucio up and down, and his hands reach out to grab his arms, not to yank Lucio, but simply to rest skin to skin. Lucio stiffens, eyes going wide with alarm, but Thanos didn’t move.

“I like touching you, you know that?” Thanos continued, filling the silence. “It stops my brain. Stops that emptiness. I don’t usually feel much of anything. I do, but it feels weird. Wrong. Don’t ask how. But when I’m with you, I know what I’m feeling is normal. It’s real, it’s not dulled or muted or weird, it’s overwhelming. It feels great. You feel great.”

“I can’t go home.” Lucio gritted out.

Thanos blinked. “What?”

Lucio’s hands jerked away from Thanos’s grip, his fingers curling back into tight fists. His chest heaved, and his eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape that wasn’t there. The water bottle tipped over in his lap, spilling across his jeans, but he didn’t flinch—just kept staring at Thanos.

Thanos rocked back slightly, his hands hovering in the air where Lucio’s arms had been, fingers flexing like he’d lost something he didn’t know how to reclaim. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, squinting as if Lucio were a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “What’s that supposed to mean, ‘can’t go home’?” he said, his voice quieter now, but still edged with that careless lilt. He leaned forward, elbows digging into his knees, and flashed a crooked grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You got a hot date or something?”

“You don’t get it,” Lucio hissed, his voice low and shaking, each word punctuated by a gasp. He dragged his hands through his hair again, tugging hard enough to make his scalp burn, and his knees bounced as he fought to keep still. “I can’t go back there. He’ll—he’ll—” His voice cracked, and he bit down on his tongue, hard, swallowing the rest.

Thanos blinked again, slower this time. He shifted closer, the bunk groaning under him, and reached out to clap a hand on Lucio’s shoulder—too heavy, too sudden. Lucio flinched violently, his whole body recoiling as if the touch were a live wire, and he shoved Thanos’s arm away with a force that sent his own elbow cracking against the wall. A sharp hiss escaped him, pain flashing across his face, but he didn’t stop moving—scrambling to the edge of the bunk, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he tried to put space between them.

“Chill, man, what the hell?” Thanos said, his hands rising in mock surrender, though his eyes glinted with something darker—curiosity, maybe, or irritation. He slid off the bunk and stood, towering over Lucio, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the mattress. “You’re acting like I’m the one about to clock you. What’s this ‘he’ll’ shit? Who’s ‘he’? Your old man?” He snorted, crossing his arms, and kicked at the spilled water bottle, sending it skittering across the room. “Thought you were the golden boy, heir to the throne and all that. What’s he gonna do, ground you?”

Lucio’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing as he lurched to his feet, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the bunk’s frame. “You think this is funny?” he spat, his voice rising, cracking with every syllable. He took a step forward, then stopped, his whole body trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “You don’t know shit. You don’t know what it’s like—every fucking day, waiting for him to—” He cut off, his breath hitching, and he turned away sharply, slamming a fist into the wall. The thud echoed, and he pressed his forehead against the wood, shoulders heaving.

Thanos’s smirk vanished, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he watched Lucio’s outburst. He rocked on his heels again, hands flexing at his sides, then shoved them back into his pockets. “Okay, whoa, rewind,” he said, his tone shifting—still flippant, but with a thread of unease woven through it. He stepped closer,  “So your dad’s a dick. Big deal. Mine’s a prick too. We’re basically twinsies. What’s he doing, huh? Yelling? Smacking you around? Gotta give me something to work with here, bro.”

Lucio spun around, his face contorted, sweat beading on his brow as he bared his teeth. “You don’t fucking get it!” he roared, his hands flying up to shove Thanos back—not hard, but enough to make him stumble. His chest heaved, and he paced a tight circle, fingers raking through his hair again, pulling until strands stuck to his damp palms. “It’s not just yelling—it’s—he—” His voice broke into a choked sob, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach as if the words themselves were tearing him apart. “I can’t go back!”

Thanos staggered back a step, his hands flailing briefly before he caught himself, eyes wide with a mix of shock and annoyance. He straightened up, brushing off his jacket like the shove was nothing, but his jaw ticked, a muscle jumping under the skin. “Jesus, man, you’re a mess,” he muttered, his voice flat now, all traces of playfulness gone. He crossed his arms again, staring at Lucio like he was a bomb about to blow. “Look, I’m trying, okay? I don’t do this feelings crap, but you’re freaking me out. What’s he doing that’s so bad you’re losing your shit like this?”

Lucio’s knees buckled, and he sank back onto the bunk, his hands gripping the edge until his knuckles whitened. His head hung low, hair falling into his eyes, and his breaths came in short, ragged bursts. “Read between the lines, bartard,” he gritted, so quiet it was almost lost in the hum of the room. 

Thanos stood frozen, his arms dropping to his sides as his brows knit together. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Is he fucking you?” He asked casually, as if suggesting an idea for the whiteboard.

Lucio’s head snapped up, his lips a thin line. He didn’t respond.

“That’s… fucked up,” Thanos said slowly, his voice rough, like the words didn’t fit right in his mouth. “I mean, I get shitty dads, but… damn.” He rubbed a hand over his face, then glanced sideways, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and a failed attempt at empathy. “So, what, you’re just gonna… what? Run? Hide? You can’t stay here forever, man.”

Lucio’s shoulders jerked with a bitter, hollow laugh, and he wiped his face with the back of his hand, smearing the tear into a streak. “You think I haven’t thought about that?” he snapped, his voice rising again, sharp and brittle. He shot to his feet, pacing again, his hands balling into fists as he glared at Thanos. “You think I want to be this—this fucking wreck? I don’t know what to do! I don’t have anywhere else, and you—” He jabbed a finger at Thanos, his arm trembling. “You just sit there, acting like it’s all a big joke, like I’m some toy you can wind up and watch break!”

Thanos’s eyes narrowed, and he stood too, squaring his shoulders as he stepped into Lucio’s space, his voice dropping low and hard. “Hey, I’m not the enemy here, asshole,” he growled, his hands flexing at his sides like he was itching to grab something—or someone. “I’m trying to help you, but you’re yelling at me like I’m the one raping you! I don’t know how to fix this shit—I don’t even know what ‘this’ is!” He threw his hands up, then let them drop, his chest rising and falling fast. “You wann–”

Lucio was holding a water bottle, but then it was airborne– aimed straight for Thanos’s skull. He grunted, ducking just in time as the bottle sailed past his head and smashed against the wall, spraying water. Lucio didn’t stop—he grabbed the nearest thing, a battered paperback from the bunk, and hurled it too, the pages flapping wildly before it hit the floor. His screams ripped through the cramped cabin, bouncing off the walls as he snatched up anything within reach—his shoe, a crumpled shirt—throwing them with wild, uncoordinated fury. “Get out! Get the fuck out!” he bellowed, his voice cracking into a sob as he crumpled.

Thanos watched him fall to the floor, then tilted his head, as if inspecting him. “I don’t think I like you like this.” He mused, then made a face. “Yeah… this isn’t doing it for me.”

The door banged open, and two Camp workers burst in, their boots scuffing the floor as they froze at the sight. Lucio was a whirlwind—sweat-soaked, trembling. “Whoa, whoa, calm down!” one of them shouted, a stocky guy with a clipboard, stepping forward with his hands raised. The other, a wiry woman with a ponytail, darted a glance at Thanos, who stood rooted by the bunk, arms slack at his sides, watching Lucio unravel with a blank stare.

“He’s tweaked out,” Thanos said, pointing a finger at Lucio as he stepped back. “You lot need to get him an epi-pen or something.”

The man dropped his clipboard and grabbed Lucio’s shoulders, firm but not rough, holding him steady as he thrashed. “Hey, kid, look at me—breathe. You’re okay, just breathe.”

“He’s going through withdrawals,” the woman muttered, kneeling to inspect the spilled baggie of pills on the bed, her jaw tightening. She shot a look at her partner. “Get him to the office. We need to figure out how he got this shit in here.” Together, they hauled Lucio up, his legs dragging as he fought weakly against their grip, his head lolling forward. His cross necklace swung loose, glinting faintly in the dim light as they half-carried, half-dragged him out the door, his ragged sobs fading down the hall.

Thanos didn’t move. He stood there, hands still in his pockets, staring at the wet spot on the wall where the bottle had hit. Feathers drifted lazily to the floor around him, catching in the faint breeze from the open window. His jaw ticked once, then stilled, and he let out a slow, quiet breath, his eyes fixed on nothing. The room felt too big without Lucio’s noise, too empty, and he didn’t budge—not to follow, not to help, not even to close the window. He just stayed there, a shadow against the bunk. 

“So much for getting out next week.” He mumbled, kicking the empty bottle across the room. He bent down, kicked the heel of his shoe off, and reached into the soles, retrieving a clear white baggie. He smiled, smacking the powder against his nose, then opened it up. 

—-------------------------------------------

People said that Thanos couldn’t love. That he mimics, mirrors, and manipulates. That he doesn’t feel the way others do. Maybe they’re right. Maybe he doesn't love Lucio the way a normal person would. But he feels something. And it’s not going away.

It’s been four days. Four days since they dragged him out of the dorms like a dog that pissed on the wrong floor. Four days since Thanos saw his eyes—glassy, twitching, terrified. He didn’t even look at Thanos. Or maybe he did. Maybe he couldn’t look away. Thanos can’t tell anymore. He replays it over and over, like a film reel stuck on loop. His arms flailing, the way his voice cracked when he screamed. Thanos didn’t move. He just watched.

He always watches.

They think he’s clean now. That he’s been “reformed.” That he’s found God or whatever flavor of salvation they’re peddling this week. Nine months ago, Lucio stumbled into this hellhole with a busted lip and a face that didn’t match the bruises. Thanos remembers thinking he was stupid. Pretty, but stupid. The kind of boy who’d get eaten alive in a place like this. And yet, he didn’t. Lucio found him. Or maybe Thanos found him. Doesn’t matter.

Thanos had never done drugs before he’d met Lucio. He’d smoked the odd joint, but that was about it. Just little things at first. Pills. Powder. Whatever they could get their hands on. But somewhere along the way, Thanos stopped pulling the strings. Lucio started getting under his skin. His laugh stopped being annoying. His touch stopped being a game. Thanos started needing him. Not in the way he needs air or food or sleep. In the way a knife needs a wound.

And now he’s gone.

They say he’s in the infirmary. That he’s “getting help.” But he knows what that means. They’ll strip him down, inject him with whatever cocktail of chemicals they think will make him “normal,” and if that doesn’t work, they’ll bury him in silence. Lock him in a room until he forgets who he is. Until he forgets Thanos.

He should feel angry. He should want to burn this place to the ground. But all he feels is dread. Like something inside him cracked and the pieces don’t fit anymore. He doesn’t miss people. He doesn’t care about people. But Thanos misses him. Thanos cares about him.

Maybe that makes him weak. Maybe that makes him human.

Or maybe it just makes him pathetic. Because Thanos is currently laying on Lucio’s bunk, high on ketamine.

“Oh, Thanos, don’t worry!” The nurse grinned, “Xanax withdrawals are ssssoooo deadly! I’m totally not pumping him full of sedatives, making sure he’s just a drooling shell by the time we’re done!” Thanos mimics her voice in a high-pitched sneer, rolling his eyes as he sprawls across the thin mattress. The ketamine hums through his veins, a dull buzz that blurs the edges of the room, that feels like how a beep sounds, but it’s not enough to drown out the noise in his head. Lucio’s bunk smells like him—sweat, expensive soap, and something faintly metallic, like the chain of that damn cross necklace he’s always twisting. Thanos presses his face into the pillow, inhaling deep.

He flops onto his back, staring at the underside of the top bunk. The wood’s scratched with old carvings—names, dates, a crooked heart someone etched with a knife. His fingers trace the lines absently, the ketamine making them his fingers feel, too, like a beep. “Deadly, my ass,” he mutters, voice slurring slightly. “If it was that deadly, he’d be six feet under, not strapped to some cot getting juiced up like a lab rat.” He doesn’t know if that’s true. He doesn’t know shit about withdrawals—Xanax or otherwise. Lucio’s the one who knew that stuff, always rattling off facts like a walking pharmacy. Thanos just nodded along, half-listening, more interested in watching his mouth move than the words coming out.

His hand slips into his pocket, fishing out the baggie he’d pulled from his shoe. It’s lighter now, half the powder gone up his nose in the three hours. He dangles it above his face, squinting at the faint white shards through the plastic, then lets it drop onto his chest. “You’d be pissed if you saw me wasting this,” he says to the empty room, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Always hoarding your stash like some greedy little dragon. Bet you’re kicking yourself now, huh? Should’ve shared more.”

The grin fades fast, and he scrubs a hand over his face, fingers digging into his skin. Four days. Four days of silence, of pacing the dorm, of dodging the camp workers’ sidelong glances like he’s the one who’s gonna snap next. They keep asking him questions— “Where’d he get the pills, Thanos?” “What’d you give him, Thanos?” —like he’s the mastermind behind Lucio’s meltdown. He didn’t tell them shit. Not because he’s loyal, but because he can’t have his supply cut out. Lucio always had his ways, slinking around like a cat, coming back with baggies and secrets Thanos never bothered to question.

He rolls onto his side, curling into the space where Lucio used to sleep, knees tucking up like he’s mirroring the way Lucio would ball himself up during the bad nights. The mattress creaks under him, and he imagines Lucio’s voice—hoarse, trembling—cutting through the haze. “I can’t go home.” 

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word slipping out soft and shaky. He presses his palms against his eyes, hard enough to see stars, trying to push back the image of Lucio’s face—those wild, pleading eyes, the blood on his lip, the way he’d looked at Thanos like he was begging for something Thanos didn’t know how to give. He’d wanted to help. Maybe. Or maybe he’d just wanted to keep Lucio close, keep that feeling—the one that made him real—tethered to him. And now it’s gone, and he’s snorting horse tranquilizers on a dead man’s bed, chasing a high that won’t fix shit.

The window’s still open, letting in a cold draft that rattles the feathers on the floor. He doesn’t know where they came from—some busted pillow, probably—but they’re everywhere now, like snow that won’t melt. He watches one drift past his nose, caught in the blur, and wonders if Lucio’s still screaming somewhere, or if they’ve doped him up so bad he’s just a husk. Thanos doesn’t realise that xanax withdrawals are genuinely deadly—not in the abstract, not in the way the nurse chirped it like a fun fact. He’s starting to see it now, though. The shaking. The sobbing. The way Lucio’s body turned against him, like it was eating itself alive. He should’ve known. Should’ve done something.

But he didn’t. He just watched.

His hand twitches toward the baggie again, but he stops, fingers hovering. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he mutters—to himself, to Lucio, to the empty room. He doesn’t know who he’s mad at anymore. The camp? Lucio’s dad? Himself? All of it, maybe. He grabs the baggie anyway, tipping out a line on the back of his hand, sloppy and uneven. He snorts it hard, the burn sharp and familiar, and flops back down, waiting for the numbness to swallow him whole.

—-----------------------

Lucio returned on day six. Thanos’s bags were packed, his boots scuffing the floor as he paced the dorm, the baggie in his pocket still half full. The door creaked open, and there he was—Lucio, alive, standing in the frame with a pallor that made him look half-ghost. He was okay, mostly. The wild edge in his eyes had dulled, replaced by a sluggish haze, and his frame sagged like it was too heavy to hold up.

“Miss me, princess?” Lucio rasped, his voice rough but steady, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. He looked like hell—pale, gaunt, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow—but he was upright, and that was something. 

Thanos stopped pacing, his hands flexing at his sides as he took Lucio in—up and down, slow, like he was checking for cracks. “You look like shit,” he said, blunt as ever, but his voice was softer than usual, missing its usual bite. He stepped closer, boots scuffing deliberately quiet, and tilted his head. “Thought you’d be drooling in a padded cell by now. Guess they didn’t zap you hard enough.”

Lucio snorted, a weak, brittle sound, and slumped onto the bottom bunk—his bunk—wincing as the mattress groaned under him. “Yeah, well, they tried,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Risperidone’s not bad, though. Keeps me from wanting to claw my brain out. And the other stuff… I dunno, makes me feel like I’m floating half the time.” He glanced up, eyes narrowing. “You’re still here. Figured you’d bolt the second they dragged me out.”

Thanos shrugged, dropping onto the bunk beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. The contact sent a jolt through him, familiar and grounding, and he didn’t pull away. “Nowhere to go,” he said, his tone flat but his eyes fixed on Lucio’s face—searching, maybe. “Plus, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t choke on your own tongue next time you flip out.” He flashed a grin.

Lucio rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “You’re such a saint,” he mocked, echoing Thanos’s old taunt, his voice full of that familiar venom. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, the cross necklace glinting faintly as it shifted. “They’re letting me stay, by the way. Said I’m ‘stable enough’ now. Guess the meds convinced ‘em I’m not gonna burn the place down.”

“Good,” Thanos said, too quick, then coughed to cover it, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, whatever. Less paperwork for me if you’re not dead.” He nudged Lucio’s leg with his knee, harder than necessary, and smirked. “You owe me, though. Kept your shitty bunk warm while you were off getting high on the good stuff.”

Lucio huffed a laugh, short and dry, and shoved back. “Yeah, I can smell it. That chemical stink. What’d you do, snort half the stash while I was gone?” He paused, his smirk fading as he studied Thanos—really looked at him, past the bravado and the bullshit. “You okay? You look… I don’t know. Weird.”

Thanos stiffened, his grin faltering for a split second before he forced it back. “Me? I’m golden, baby,” he said, leaning in close, his voice dropping to that low, teasing drawl. “Just been missing my favorite pain in the ass, that’s all. Keeps me grounded, you know? All that touchy-feely crap you hate.” His hand darted out, ruffling Lucio’s hair roughly, and he laughed when Lucio swatted him away.

“Fuck off,” Lucio grumbled, but he didn’t move far, letting his shoulder rest against Thanos’s. The meds made him sluggish, sure, but there was something else there too—a quiet acceptance, maybe, or just exhaustion. He tipped his head back, staring at the underside of the top bunk, and muttered, “I’m not going home. Not ever. They can keep me here forever if they want.”

Thanos didn’t say anything at first, just watched him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then he nodded, slow and deliberate. “Yeah, well, I’m not either,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost serious. “So we’re stuck, huh? You, me, and your fancy new pills.” He bumped Lucio’s shoulder, lighter this time, and added, “Guess I’ll have to get used to you being all mellow and shit. Kinda ruins my fun.”

Lucio’s brows furrowed. “You’re not getting out? I thought you were leaving on the 18th.”

“Oh, I am,” Thanos replied with a grin. “I’ll just overdose or something, my dad won’t miss me. He’ll probably sign off on keeping me here for another few months.”

Lucio’s head jerked slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed Thanos’s words. His fingers tightened around the edge of the bunk, knuckles whitening for a moment before he forced them to relax. He didn’t look at Thanos—just stared straight ahead, his jaw working silently as if chewing on something bitter.

“Overdose?” Lucio finally muttered, but then he looked up, and he was smiling. A genuine smile.  “That’s your big plan? Real fucking genius, right here."

Thanos leaned back, stretching his arms out along the bunk’s frame, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm against the wood. “What, you got a better one?”

“I’m thinking of something more long term,” Lucio said, flopping back onto his bunk. He sniffed his sheets, then grimaced, releasing them as he wiped his hand on his grey khakis as if they had a new layer of dirt. “I need you here, do what you must, slit your wrists or something, stay by my side.” His voice dipped, teasing but laced with a strange, quiet urgency, and he nudged Thanos’s foot with his own, the toe of his boot tapping against his sneaker. “Remember that saying? Horizontal for attention, vertical for results? I think you’d look good with a scar down your arm.”

Thanos stilled, his smile twitching as he stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Vertical?” He repeated.

“Yeah, vertical, what– You need me to spell it out for you?” Lucio yawned, then clicked his fingers. “Oh! I forgot you can’t spell.”

Thanos’s head tilted back, a sharp laugh bursting out of him, and it felt good. To laugh. He doesn’t laugh often. He laughs at people, at his own jokes, but this laughter rips out of him, and it feels like his heart just doubled in size. The noise cut through the stale air of the dorm. “Oh, you’re a riot, princess,” he said, his voice dripping with mock offense as he swung his legs up onto the bunk, crossing them at the ankles. “I can spell just fine—‘F-U-C-K O-F-F’—see? Perfect score.” 

Lucio rolled his eyes, but the smirk didn’t fade entirely as he shifted to prop himself up on one elbow, facing Thanos. “Yeah, real impressive,” he drawled, his tone lighter now, the meds smoothing out the jagged edges of his nerves. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, then let it drop, his fingers brushing absently against the cross necklace. “I suppose it’s a bit sloppy. I’d have to mop you up, and I’m not doing that shit.”

Thanos snorted, his hand darting out to flick Lucio’s forehead, quick and playful. “Aw, you’d miss me too much to let me bleed out,” he said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, I’d make it dramatic—give you something to tell the grandkids about. ‘Thanos, the legend, went out in a blaze of glory.’ You’d eat that shit up.” He winked, then flopped back, the bunk creaking under his weight as he stared up at the ceiling again, hands laced behind his head.

Lucio huffed, swatting at the air where Thanos’s hand had been. “Grandkids? I’d have to survive this place first,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a spark that hadn’t been there six days ago. He shifted, tucking one arm under his head, and glanced sideways at Thanos. “You’re such a dumbass. Slit your wrists, overdose—what’s next, jumping off the roof? You’re not that coordinated. You’d need me to plan it all for you, then nurse you back to health.”

“Psh, I’d stick the landing,” Thanos giggled, grinning as he mimed a dive with his hands, complete with a dramatic swoosh sound. “But nah, I’ll stick around. Gotta keep you entertained, right? Can’t have you getting all cozy with some other asshole who doesn’t know how to push your buttons.” He nudged Lucio’s side with his elbow, just hard enough to make him grunt, and chuckled when Lucio shoved him back twice as hard.

“Entertained?” Lucio repeated, his voice dry as he sat up straighter, brushing off his shirt like Thanos had left a mark. “I’d trade you for a mute in a heartbeat.” But his lips twitched again, betraying him, and he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Still… I mean it. Stay. I don’t care how you do it—just don’t leave me here with these homos.”

Thanos’s grin softened, just for a second, and he tilted his head to meet Lucio’s gaze. The drumming of his fingers stopped, and his hands dropped to his lap, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all sappy on me,” he said, his tone gruff but lacking its usual edge. He cleared his throat, then reached into his pocket, pulling out the half-full baggie and dangling it between his fingers. “Guess I’ll have to ration this shit, then. Keep me from doing anything too stupid ‘til we figure out how to bust outta here for real.”

Lucio’s eyes flicked to the baggie, then back to Thanos, narrowing slightly. “What is that?”

“Rah, I’m feeling propah ketty right now!” Thanos mimicked in a high pitched voice, making himself sound a touch too posh. When Lucio kept staring, he deadpanned. “It’s ketamine. Fuck you for making me explain the joke.”

Lucio’s brows lifted slightly, a faint crease forming as he processed the word. His hand stilled on the necklace, fingers curling around the cross “Ketamine,” he said,, but his lips pressed into a thin line, holding back something—maybe a laugh, maybe a curse. He shifted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk, and climbed up to the top bunk with a grunt, the frame rattling under his weight. Thanos followed without a word, his boots thudding softly as he hoisted himself up, settling beside Lucio. Their shoulders brushed, and Lucio didn’t pull away—instead, he leaned into it, just enough to feel the warmth through his thin shirt.

“Gimme that,” Lucio said, snatching the baggie from Thanos’s fingers with a quick swipe. He held it up, squinting at the powder inside, his nose wrinkling faintly. “You’re an idiot. This shit’ll fry what’s left of your brain.” His voice stayed sharp, but his free hand opened the baggie and poured the remainder on his hand.

Thanos’s hand darted out, gripping Lucio’s wrist. “Yo,” he said, voice low and serious, brows furrowed. “Fuck are you doing?”

Lucio’s head snapped up, eyes wide, as if caught red handed. Thanos’s eyes narrowed, but then he sighed, releasing him. “I guess you can have a freebie. No kinky power play, whatever whatever.”

Lucio froze, the baggie hovering midair, his fingers trembling just enough to scatter a few grains of powder onto the bunk. He exhaled sharply through his nose, a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so tight, and shoved the baggie back into Thanos’s hand. His movements were jerky, like he’d startled himself, and he snorted the line off of his hand.

Thanos did the same, clearing both of his airways, and he let out a low chuckle, his head tipping back against the wall, eyes half-lidded as he watched Lucio. “You know something,” he said, hand sliding up Lucio’s back, fingers curling around his shoulder, pulling him closer. The motion was slow, deliberate, and his smirk faded into something quieter. “I really missed you.”

Lucio snorted, tossing the baggie onto the mattress between them like it offended him. “That’s likely,” he muttered, but his head dipped, resting against Thanos’s shoulder, the tension in his frame easing as his breaths slowed. “You probably just missed your pharmacy.”

“Don’t say that,” Thanos frowned, voice dropping low, almost soft. He turned his head, chin grazing Lucio’s hair, and his hand tightened on his shoulder, holding him there. “I really… Don’t make the say all that gay shit, man. You know I missed you. I was worried.” His lips quirked, but his eyes stayed fixed on Lucio, tracing the lines of his face like he was memorizing them.

Lucio’s head stayed pressed against Thanos’s shoulder, the weight of it heavier than the meds could explain. His fingers twitched, brushing the edge of the baggie before curling into a loose fist. “Worried,” he echoed, voice flat but his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. He shifted, just enough to nudge Thanos’s ribs with his elbow, a half-hearted jab that lingered too long to sting. “That’s new.”

Thanos’s mouth twitched, a grin fighting to break through as he tilted his head down, nose brushing Lucio’s temple. “Yeah, worried,” he murmured, his free hand sliding down to rest on Lucio’s knee, fingers tapping once, twice, then stilling. “Had to sit here wondering if you’d come back drooling or not. Or… Come back at all. Fucking nightmare.” His voice stayed low, teasing, but his grip tightened.

Lucio huffed, a sharp breath that ruffled Thanos’s collar, and pulled his legs up, tucking them under himself on the narrow bunk. “Nightmare’s being babysit by your ass,” he shot back, but his hand drifted up, brushing Thanos’s wrist before settling there, thumb pressing lightly against the pulse. “You’re shit at it. Probably spiked my water while I was out.”

 “Nah, saved the good stuff for me,” he said, dangling the baggie again. “You’re still breathing, though. Guess I did something right.”

Lucio’s lips pressed tight, a flicker of something crossing his face as he snatched the baggie again, tossing it off the bunk with a flick of his wrist. It hit the floor with a soft rustle, and he turned, eyes locking on Thanos’s. “Breathing’s overrated,” he muttered, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched, his breath warm against Thanos’s jaw. “You’re still here. That’s the part I don’t get.”

Thanos’s grin faded, his hand lifting to cup the back of Lucio’s neck, fingers threading through his hair and tugging. He wanted to see how much he could pull on the hair before it hurt, but he didn't. Just carded his fingers through gently. “Told you,” he said, “Horizontal, vertical, swan dive off the roof, I’m staying by your side. I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone. I saw your name in my head like an obituary headline, over and over, and I couldn’t stop it. I kept seeing your face in the mirror, in the walls, in the spaces between my fingers. I thought I’d never get to hold you again.”

His chest tightened, his eyes stinging, but he didn’t feel ashamed. Didn’t feel embarrassed. He looked down at Lucio, “But you came back. You always do.” Thanos’s voice cracked involuntarily, and he sniffed, wiping at his nose. “Well, on that note– I’m haunting your ass even in death. Watch out.”

Lucio’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pull back—just tilted his head, letting Thanos’s hand stay where it was. “You’d deserve it. Keeping me around like some stray you can’t ditch.”

Thanos slung an arm around Lucio’s shoulders, pulling him in until their sides were flush. “Stray?” he said, resting his cheek against Lucio’s hair, “Well if you're the stray, I'm the leech. Sucking the fun outta you ‘til you're dry.”

They stayed in silence for a moment. When Thanos spoke again, Lucio flinched upright slightly. “We should run away.”

Lucio chuckled. “I– What? Where?”

Thanos pursed his lips. “Like…. Shit, I don’t know, man. South Korea?”

“You don’t have to specify the South bit, that’s implied.”

“Shut up. I’m out here, tryna reconnect with my roots, like a pilgrim, and you’re just hatin’.”

Lucio’s head tilted back, a faint snort escaping as he rubbed his thumb along the edge of his jaw, scraping at the stubble there. “Do you even know what a pilgrim is?" He asked. “You don’t even know where South Korea is , do you?”

 “Sure I do,” Thanos scowled, jabbing a finger toward Lucio’s chest. “It’s that way. East. Ish. Probably got some dope street food, too—none of this canned slop.” His hand waved vaguely toward the dorm’s corner, where a stack of empty ravioli tins teetered precariously.

“That sounds… Nice,” Lucio’s brows lifted. “What about my family?”

“Fuck your family, you haven’t lived life till you’ve tried it.”

Lucio’s lips twitched, and he shoved Thanos’s shoulder, hard enough to make him sway. “Be serious for once, you damn ingrate,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, fingers fidgeting with the frayed edge. “My dad would never allow it.”

Thanus looked down, grinning. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Lucio stared up at him, blue eyes searching brown, and he laughed. It was a choked sound, and his eyes welled up with tears,  he bit his lip to contain his smile. “Don’t say shit like that, you psychopath.”

“I’m serious!” Thanos said as he scooted closer, their knees knocking together. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Love conquers all, Lucio. Love conquers all. You ain’t never hear that in Disney?”

Lucio’s shoulders stiffened. He tilted his head away, staring at the chipped wood on the wall, his breath hitching just enough to betray him. “Love?” he repeated, quieter this time, rolling it around like it burned his tongue.

Thanos didn’t catch the shift, his grin still wide as he clapped a hand on Lucio’s back, the sound sharp in the cramped dorm. “Yeah, love, man! You know, that mushy stuff that makes people do dumb shit like run off to South Korea—or slit their wrists for a laugh.” He said. “I’d off your old man in a heartbeat if it meant we’d get outta here. Picture it: you, me, some spicy noodles, no more of this hellhole.”

Lucio’s head turned slightly, just enough to glance at Thanos from the corner of his eye. His lips parted, but the words came slow, like they had to crawl out. “You’d… kill for me?” His hand drifted to the cross necklace again, thumb rubbing over the metal.

“Damn right,” Thanos said, then flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles one by one. “I’d snap his neck, toss him in a ditch—boom, problem solved. We’d be halfway across the world before anyone noticed. You’d owe me big time, though. I’d expect some serious groveling.”

Lucio’s chest rose with a shallow breath, his shoulders hunching as he leaned forward, elbows digging into his thighs. His fingers laced together, tightening until the knuckles paled, then relaxed into a limp curl. He blinked,  his lashes brushing his cheeks before his eyes drifted back to Thanos. “You know I don’t… grovel.”

“Yeah, well,” Thanos sighed out. “Guess we both have a lot to learn.”

Lucio’s gaze lingered on Thanos, his fingers still tracing the edges of the cross necklace. He shifted, his weight creaking the bunk as he straightened, his shoulders squaring like he’d made up his mind about something. Without a word, he slipped the chain over his head, his jaw tight as he held it out. The cross dangled between them, catching the dim light, but his hand didn’t waver—just hovered there, rigid.

Thanos’s grin faltered, his eyes flicking from the necklace to Lucio’s face. He leaned back slightly, his hands dropping to his sides, fingers curling into the edge of the mattress. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice clipped, sharper than he meant it to be. He didn’t reach for it—didn’t move at all—just stared, his brows knitting together as a muscle ticked in his cheek.

Lucio’s lips pressed thin, his arm still extended, the necklace swaying faintly. He didn’t meet Thanos’s eyes—kept his gaze fixed on the cross instead, his breath shallow, controlled. “Take it,” he said, the words flat, stripped of warmth, like he was handing over a receipt instead of something that’d hung around his neck for the past year. His fingers twitched, tightening briefly around the chain before loosening again.

Thanos’s hand jerked up, then stopped midair, hovering inches from the necklace. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest instead, his shoulders hunching inward. “Nah,” he muttered, his voice low, rougher now.. “I can’t take it. Haven’t earned it.”

Lucio stared, then let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, eyes wide with disbelief. “Oh you lonely deranged, ignorant fool.” His hand drops from the necklace, fingers brushing the bunk’s edge before curling loosely into his lap, the chain pooling there. He stared down at the cross, then up at Thanos’s irritated, confused stare, then settled back into the curve of his arm, knees to his chest.

Lucio’s head tilted, just enough to catch Thanos in his peripheral. His fingers curled around the chain again, gripping it tight, and a faint crease formed between his brows. He didn’t say anything—just sat there, the silence stretching thin, his thumb brushing over the cross once, twice, before his hand fell still. 

Thanos can feel his breath on his neck. Or—he thinks he can. It’s warm, or maybe that’s just Thanos. Everything’s soft around the edges, like the world’s been dipped in milk. His limbs are heavy, but he doesn’t want to move anyway.

“That’s me,” Thanos repeated quietly, staring out of the window, rubbing s mall circles into Lucio’s back. It was a nice day, the sun was setting a little early, but it wasn’t cold. It was nice. “The poor laughing fool. And you're the one that has to carry that cross. Until I snatch it from you, anyways. When I can finally beat you in a fight."

“ I thought you were gone. I thought I’d lost you to the dark, to the shaking and the sweat and the silence. I thought I’d never see you again, never hear that ugly laugh of yours, the one that always made me feel like the world wasn’t so heavy. And now you’re here. You came back. You came back to me.”

“Are you sleeping? You look like you’re sleeping. You always looked younger when you slept. Softer. Like the world hadn’t touched you yet. Like you hadn’t touched me and left fingerprints all over my ribs, my lungs, my heart.”

“I’m talking too much, aren’t I? Blink once if you’re asleep. Blink twice if you’re a sleeper agent and your trigger word is ‘strawberry lubricant’. You always said I did that when I was high. Said I turned into a poet with no rhythm. But you never told me to stop. You just listened. You always listened. Do you know how many people listen to me? Like, nobody.”

He breathed out shakily. “I missed you. I missed you so much it made me sick. And now you’re here, and I’m holding you, and everything’s quiet. Except for me.”

Thanos looked down. “You’re so still.”

“Peaceful. I like that. You never looked peaceful before. You always had that twitch in your jaw, that little tremor in your fingers like you were trying to hold the world together with just your hands. But now… now you’re calm.

I missed your smell. You still smell like expensive shampoo and drugs. I don’t even care that it’s probably just the sweat and the street and the way your skin always carries the night with it. I missed it. I missed you .

“I gave you something, didn’t I? I think I did. I wanted you to feel what I feel. I don’t even know what I gave you. I just wanted you to feel okay. I just wanted you to stop hurting. I wanted you to float with me. I didn’t want to be alone up here, in this cotton-candy sky where nothing hurts and everything is slow.”

“You’re so quiet.”

“Are you asleep?”

Thanos stared for a moment, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “You can sleep, whatever, better for me. I’ll talk. I love to talk. I always talk too much, don’t I? You used to say I filled the silence like a leaking faucet. Drip, drip, drip.”

“I was scared. When you disappeared. I thought the city swallowed you whole. I thought the drugs took you and left me with a ghost. I thought I’d have to live with that.”

“But you came back.”

“You came back.”

“And you’re cold.”

“Are you cold?”

“I can get a blanket. I think. I don’t know where the blankets are. Everything’s so far away. My hands don’t work right.”

“Lucio?”

The dorm was quiet. Except for the faint whistle of wind slipping through the cracked window. The feathers on the floor stirred, drifting in lazy circle. Except for the faint whistle of wind slipping through the cracked window. and Thanos’s eyes flicked to it, and for a brief moment, everything felt still. The soft light outside poured into the room, casting long shadows against the cracked walls. The rusted bars of the window, chipped from years of neglect, framed the sky beyond—a sky painted in orange as the sun dipped lower, vanishing beneath the horizon. A faint breeze carried the scent of fresh rain.

Thanos’s gaze lingered on the window, his thoughts dissolving with the slow wind, the flicker of fading light, the sound of crickets beginning their evening song outside. Even as the sounds of Thanos’s words began to rise in pitch, growing more frantic, spilling out of the window, turning to screams, the world spun on. The nest of birds startled, fluttering into the air with a rush of wings