thingpuncher | @glavesworn.

"Fuck," is the only response Nyx can manage, heartfelt and emphatic as he leans heavily back against the kitchen counter. Between their options-- some sort of blackout fit on Nyx's end, hallucinations, fucking ghosts, Midnighter malfunctioning does seem like their best bet.

But that's-- isn't that a big fucking deal? Nyx doesn't know what to say or do, whether he can help in any way, as much as he wants to. Fucking useless, not like he knows shit about computers or hardware, let along the complex workings of whatever makes up Midnighter. Not like he knows how to offer comfort, reassurance in the face of this. Futility beats its own rhythm in his ears even as he reaches out to set a tentative hand on Midnighter's shoulder.

"Anything you need, alright? Anything at all."

He hates this.

The beep of his email is a welcome distraction. Nyx opens the attachments included in Pelna's message and a video pops up. Waving Midnighter over, he hits play.

There's a strange graininess to the video, black spots appearing and disappearing, but Midnighter is clearly visible standing next to one of the long tables. More black spots, static crackling, blurring the feed, and then--

Nyx. Sauntering up to stand beside him.

"What the hell..." Shocked beyond words, his voice is all breath.

The video is too distant to capture any sound, but the body language between the two of them is evident-- Nyx, all smiles and charm, Midnighter closed off and angry, arms crossed. The figure that is and isn't Nyx leans in close, intimate, and then--

--bzzt. The feed dies. Try as Nyx might, he can't seem to bring it back up again. His fingers stumble over the keys, and he can't-- can't process what he just saw.

"You said... he-- fuck, I lured you out. Servant's quarters. When?"

But this is just more data. A welcome distraction from his own self-pity, or the incredible way his heart lurches when Nyx reaches out to him with concern. It's not love, he knows that now, but it's... kindness. Midnighter should learn to be happy with that.

The video is quickly analyzed, and Midnighter picks up a few oddities. Watching it from a detached perspective, Midnighter notes a slight difference in posture, a neatness and perfection the man next to him lacks. It's... odd. What's odder is- "Are the palace feeds always so low quality?" This is royalty they're talking about. Shouldn't they be able to shell out for better cameras?

But that's not the point. Midnighter answers the question-- "Hour and a half later. Right inside back entry."

"No, they shouldn't be. There's gotta be some kind of interference."

With the second video, the distortion is a little worse, the view darker, and black splotches team at the edges of the screen, which occasionally shorts out with bursts of static. One other difference: this one comes with audio.

It's quiet, even after he turns the volume all the way up, the sound tinny through the speakers. But it's indisputably, inarguably Nyx's voice.

Not a chance, with a freak like you.

He feels a little sick just hearing it. No fucking wonder Midnighter had been pissed as hell at him. Other than that, he's not... not sure what they're talking about, exactly, something about the truth of how someone-- Midnighter?-- feels, truth and lies, and something more--

And there at the end, as the light of the Door disappears and leaves Nyx's form slumped against the wall, an arm crossed over his side. For a moment, pale green eyes flick upward, seeming to lock onto the camera before his knees buckle and he doubles over in gales of laughter.

Even now, Midnighter feels a reaction from those words. The laughter compounds it, and Midnighter slowly inches back from Nyx on instinct. The data he has-- odd distortions in the film, the changed body language, the oddity of Nyx's behavior and his own lack of memory-- don't point to anything conclusive.

Midnighter's throat is tight through it all, and he forces himself to relax.

"You- you don't remember any of that?"

"Think I'd remember acting like a huge shitstain to you, yeah." Nyx drops the phone onto the table with a clatter, running a hand through his hair. The laughter at the end had left him in cold sweat, not the least of which because it was his voice taking awful, sick glee at Midnighter's pain.

"Fuck. If you still want to punch me a good one or five times, go right ahead. You've earned it."

Hell, he might even feel better if Midnighter took him up on the offer. This wasn't him, Nyx is sure of that. But that doesn't mean he was unmoved by seeing... whatever the fuck that was. What kind of comfort could he possibly offer Midnighter, after some asshole wearing his face and his skin had torn into him like that?

"At least we know it's not some issue with your computer. And it's not--" Nyx hesitates, trying to find the words. This should be obvious, shouldn't it? And yet... "That's not what I think. At all."

A muscle twitches in Midnighter's jaw; he doesn't quite believe Nyx, not fully, not after hearing those words again. Nyx doesn't enjoy his pain, but that doesn't mean he gives a shit beyond, well, what Midnighter already knows. He's... a friend. That's all.

Midnighter might wait a moment too long before answering.

"Where were you all night?" Midnighter looks up. "Cross reference that with the videos of me. I wanna make sure you're not losing time."

Shapeshifting is a possibility, but Midnighter can't imagine why.

Nyx isn't sure what he's expecting-- maybe some kind of acknowledgment of his words, confirmation that this is all bullshit, that they'd figure it out together. But Midnighter just brushes them aside, moving on, and Nyx is left feeling strangely hollow, even as he pulls up the two feeds, finally plugging his phone into the ancient and dusty monitor sitting on his bedstand.

Two videos, side by side. Midnighter making the rounds, standing next to the table as he's accosted by Nyx, later leaving for the servant's quarters. In the other, Nyx barely moves from his position, except once to interfere with a heated argument, and another time to accompany the princess, stiffly offering his arm as she beams up at him, his expression softening into a grin and a wink as he turns to reply, stooping slightly to her height.

Nyx would be lying if he said he didn't heave a slight sigh of relief at that.

"...So we've ruled out the obvious. What's next?"

"It's some kind of shapeshifter, and it uses magic." Midnighter says, all cold analysis. He'd prefer to focus on the mystery, the raw data, and now his increasingly mixed feelings about Nyx and possibly empty words. He wasn't kidding about being a doormat. He doesn't want to be used anymore.

He taps the ghost image of Nyx, leaning in flirtatiously while Midnighter stares daggers at him. "My computer can't pick up magic. Bendix never figured out how. So it's some kind of magic bullshit, and it's interested in us, or at least me. You know more about the magic in this world than I do."

He turns to Nyx; it's his turn to provide the data.

"Most of the magic in this world is divine, imbued in Lucian royalty. Like what I've got. Nothing like this." Nyx crosses his arms, thinking, brow furrowed and lips pressed into a hard line.

"Daemons have their own magic. Some can even shapeshift or disguise themselves, but they can't pass the barrier into the city. Niflheim's magitek shit is based all on daemon magic, chop 'em up and puree them, I don't know, but it fucks you up like nothing else. Other than that..." He's at a loss, watching the scene replay before his eyes, not-Nyx's careless shrug as his face is overtaken by spots of black that just as quickly fade out of sight.

"Wait."

He pulls up the feed again, this time opening them up to play simultaneously in a grid. Watching the videos blur and warp, edged in black, and then slowly fade back into clarity.

"This is near the Nif delegation. You can barely see the emperor here--" he taps a spot of white, the man's face obscured by grainy pixels. "And here, again."

His fingers track the thread of the distortion, following Niflheim courtiers, the chancellor... to the tables, near Midnighter, back around again, the chancellor's hat a blob in the corner, black spots by him and the princess, the emperor, the chancellor again.

And again, the shadowy edge of a long coat whisking out of sight by the servant's entrance. His mouth tightens.

"...I've heard shit about him, but it was always rumors and gossip, smoke and mirrors, nothing solid. So what the fuck is this?"

"Motherfucker," Midnighter spits, teeth bared. "Came here to catch his ass, ended up getting caught. Shit." Midnighter drags his hand down his face, pent-up anger vibrating in his bones. "I'll kill the bastard."

Finally, his sense of anger and betrayal has a outlet. Midnighter is happy to focus on that, and not his own disappointed heartbreak.

Well, fuck. It's with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that Nyx turns to face Midnighter. Shit, he'd really screwed up here, didn't he? Involving Midnighter in the war, letting him catch Chancellor Izunia's attention, and now...

"Normally I'd be right there behind you, but..." Exhale, because Nyx has the feeling that this is going to get ugly. "Midnighter, this is a top dignitary for a foreign nation you're talking about. I can't let you do that."

Midnighter stills, tensing as more anger coils up. It's all totally impotent; there's nothing he can do for himself or anyone else, here. This isn't his world, and he doesn't understand it. Of course Nyx is right. You can't just fight your way out of every problem. If you could, Midnighter would have a life he understood.

He exhales, and steps away from Nyx, turning to sit on a worn sofa and stare at the wall, avoiding Nyx entirely. "You're right," he says. "Of course you're right."

But... what next? He feels claustrophobic. There's no way further. They just let the insult fester as the danger grows. "He'll come after you, next," Midnighter says with absolute certainty. "However he figured out just what to say-- it was all because I was thinking of you. Had to be it. In my fucking head."

There are few things that cause Midnighter's skin to crawl more. He continues to tense, a spring coiling with no outletl

Somehow, Midnighter's defeated resignation is even worse than the fight he'd anticipated, and the furious line of tension in his shoulders, the grim edge to his voice, all of it makes his gut twist. This is his fault. He should never had dragged the other man into Glaive business, into a war that has nothing to do with him.

In sharp contrast, the thought that the Chancellor of Niflheim might go after Nyx with his awful, mindtwisting powers is.... almost reassuring, in a way. As long as he leaves Midnighter well enough alone.

"Hey, don't worry about it. You know I can take care of myself."

Taking a seat on the sagging couch behind Midnighter, Nyx sets a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward to press an affectionate kiss to the nape of his neck, hoping against hope to gentle the hard set of his shoulders, to soothe away a little bit of the damage already done.

"Nyx, if he was in my head, he-" And then the computer throws up a proximity alert, and rather than ignoring it, Midnighter inches away, just out of Nyx's reach. "Don't." He's not angry-- well, no, he's pissed, but not at Nyx. After everything, as far as Nyx is concerned, he's just tired.

Does he really want to talk about that right now? His own lovesick bullshit? No, not when Nyx is in danger.

"If he was in my head, he knows what I am. And he saw a Door."

Nyx blinks, brought up short by Midnighter's refusal before he sits back, expression deliberately relaxed. Internally, he's a little... surprised? Can't remember the last time Midnighter had turned away from him. But then again, he should have fucking figured, right? Of course Midnighter's probably still sore about getting jerked around by this asshole. Of course he probably blames Nyx for putting him in this position.

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do, but unless you think he got enough to start Dooring himself around too, what's he going to do with that information?" He crosses his arms, leaning back against the sofa cushions in thought. "You've got no connections to Lucis, you're not involved in the war. You're not even here most of the time. As long as you don't go anywhere near that asshole again, he can't touch you."

"I know, that's not what I was saying." Midnighter shakes his head, bringing two fingers up to rub at his temple while he grimaces. This isn't what he wanted. Every word feels like it has to be forced up a hill, like Sisyphus from Andrew's stories. Sitting so close to Nyx, the man who doesn't love him... at least, when he'd thought Nyx had said those awful things, Midnighter had some sense of closure on his emotions surrounding this man.

Now, it's just a festering fucking wound all over again, made worse by Nyx's proximity, and his earnest concern. Earnest and friendly, and maybe that's what friendship is in Lucis, or Galahd. Maybe you just fuck all your friends, and Midnighter is the one with shitty expectations.

He's thought about that, too. He's so tired of thinking of all the reasons why Nyx doesn't love him.

"What I mean is," Midnighter says, taking a conscious effort to pull his thoughts back to the present. "If he can't get to me, and he wants something, he'll go for you. And if he can fucking make himself appear as somebody else?"

He looks at Nyx, concern and unease clear on his face.

Nyx just grins back, that familiar edge of confidence edging on arrogance.

"Now who's being cute? Told you I can handle whatever he throws at me."

Midnighter looks so damned concerned though, and Nyx wants nothing more than to just-- lean forward and kiss his worries away, to reassure Midnighter the only way he knows how that he's not nothing to him, not a freak, not some thing to be used and tossed aside. Nyx's gaze drops to his lips, eyes sharpening with wanting before he looks away. Don't. He won't push.

"Would you fucking stop?" It's out of his mouth before he can catch it. Midnighter generally prides himself on being controlled, but this is too much, the waiting a month to break up with a man who likely didn't even think there was anything to break, and then the doppelganger, the reassurance, the attempted kiss-- it's all too much. "Stop fucking flirting with me. We're not- I can't do this anymore."

He should mention how he's worried about Nyx, how Nyx most certainly can't handle this monster by himself, how they're both out of their fucking league, and yet- all he can think of is Nyx's pale blue eyes, soft with longing.

Fuck.

Midnighter gets up from the sofa, turning his back to Nyx, not wanting to look at him anymore.

Nyx just sits there stunned, not sure where this had come from or why--

"...What?"

(It feels like all of the air has been sucked right out of his lungs, left him empty and hollow and jagged. Was there a mistake? Did Midnighter still think he was the one who...?)

Midnighter rounds on him, "You-" And then stops himself. No, too harsh. He had this speech all prepared. He was going to start it simple, be calm and collected, break things off maturely.

The entire night threw a fighting wrench in that. He's angry and dejected-- it's so much easier to be angry than sad-- and it makes it hard to speak in the calm and clinical terms he'd planned. "You don't- I can't... be with somebody who doesn't..."

How does he even explain this? He can't possibly make it clear. All his gentle words are stuck in his throat, and what he's left with is the raw betrayal he thought he'd at least come to terms with, if not gotten over. "How long have you been fucking other people?"

At the look of white-hot fury Midnighter shoots him, Nyx instinctively braces himself for the worst. Damn, he must've really fucked up this time. But of all the things it could have possibly been... Nyx opens his mouth, closes his mouth, slowly shaking his head before letting out a disbelieving scoff.

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

Emotions flicker across his face, pure surprise shading into bafflement just beginning to turn into indignation. Fucking other people? Since when has that been a problem?

"How the hell is that any of your business?"

Midnighter straightens, expression folding away from dejection into sharp, disappointed anger. "Yeah," he says, scowling. "I can't do this. I'm not gonna just be some- fuck, boytoy? Some side piece for you to fuck around with when you're bored."

He'd meant to say you mean so much to me, and I can't be with someone who doesn't feel the same. It doesn't come out that way.

Edited (wooords.) 2018-02-01 02:01 (UTC)

"Boytoy?! I thought you were my friend."

Nyx's huff of disbelief is harder, sharper this time, as he turns to face Midnighter head on with a jerk of his chin. There's no recognition in his eyes as he looks upon Midnighter like a stranger.

How long have you been fucking with me? That's what Midnighter had meant. Words meant for him, the real Nyx, not the monster wearing his face.

"Is that what you think this is? That I-- what, ring you up when I'm bored, sure. Bored between waves of fucking daemons on the west reach, or when I've got two days between busting out of the infirmary and my next deployment, 'cause I've got all that time to fuck around on my hands."

"Sorry, I didn't know a war being on meant you had an obligation to keep your dick wet."

It's too cruel, too callow, everything Midnighter had hoped to avoid in this conversation. He can already feel the regret welling up inside him. This isn't what he meant. He wanted, if nothing else, to finally be able to tell Nyx how he felt.

So he does.

"Fuck, Nyx, the shit I told you? Said to you? That's not shit for 'friends'." Despair breaks through in the end, though only briefly. Midnighter swears under his breath and looks away, glowering at the floor.

"Yeah," Nyx snaps back. It's easier to be angry than to dwell on Midnighter's words (to put two and two together...) or to acknowledge how Midnighter had apparently never even considered him a friend.

"You've made that clear by now. My fucking bad, I won't make that mistake again."

His hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists at his side, and he still-- he doesn't know what brought this on. Why Midnighter apparently gives a fuck now who he bangs or why, why he's treating everything between them, every soft word, every tender touch, like something Nyx had taken from him, strings attached.

"So then what the hell do you want from me? You don't want to do this anymore? Fine. Can't even call me a fucking friend? Fine. Then you tell me-- why the shit do you care if I'm fucking other people or half the Kingsglaive?"

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject