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It wasn’t fun anymore.
He didn’t know when it stopped being fun and just started to hurt, but it must’ve been a while ago, because Octavio was pretty sure he hadn’t been having any fun with this for quite a while now. It had been something gradual, something that had snuck up on him too silently and too quickly for him to realize. And for Octavio Silva? Man, if that wasn’t rare.
He couldn’t sleep. He rarely could, after eventful nights like these. He found himself awake and unsettled, sitting propped up against the headboard, the blankets pooling around his waist, staring at the wall. His legs were set up neatly at the edge of the bed— within reach, if he wanted to move for them. Not that he could... what with the way the other two by his sides were pressed against him.
It was that lazy morning hour, the moment between dark and dawn where the whole world was saturated in indigo and purple, where everything was a little less heavy from the depth of the night and preparing to welcome the sun and it’s light for another day. Sometimes, this time could be comforting. Now, it just felt suffocating.
It was quiet, except for their breathing. Two bodies, one on either side, soft and silent and still with sleep. They both looked so different when they slept- it was almost fascinating. Octavio never knew he’d be enough of a fucking sap to want to watch someone sleep- let alone two-- and yet here he was, appreciating their still figures as if they were art.
Elliott looked even softer… as if Octavio ever thought that was ever possible to begin with. Despite all his jokes, his smiles, his winks and his charm, there was this omnipresent weight that seemed to rest upon his shoulders. If you knew where to look, you could see the tension in the way he carried himself, the exhaustion in his eyes.
Now, swathed in the most ridiculously plush blankets, head nestled comfortably into his pillow, snoring and drooling quietly, Elliott Witt looked at peace. There was no strain in his figure- just softness, comfort, warmth. His brow was relaxed and gentle, thick lashes splayed against his cheekbones. He was beautiful, and Octavio’s stomach twisted at the thought.
He shouldn’t be looking at Elliott this way. Elliott was not his to appreciate. Elliott was not his to adore, to watch, to comfort, to care for.
To his left was a wild mane of crimson curls, the only thing visible from underneath the covers. Even with their strong height and build, Bloodhound always seemed to take up so little space in the bed. They would fall asleep on their back or on their side, but always end up hidden completely under the blanket, face tucked away- secure and hidden-, knees pulled up to their chest until they were just a little cozy ball. Octavio had almost laughed the first time he saw it. The most brutal warrior in the Apex games, liked to sleep like a kitten under the blankets.
It was endearing. It was just another little treasured secret they trusted him with- when he didn’t deserve to be trusted with any. They were not his to enjoy, his to slowly discover, his to get to know. Bloodhound was an enigma to everyone except for their beloved, their kær, their elaskan. Octavio was none of those things.
Really, when it came down to it, he wasn’t anything. Nothing but a joke that was taken much farther than it ever should have gone. A trusted friend, invited in for a little extra fun. An addition to the bedroom.
And like everything else in his life, Octavio Silva really did have to overdo it.
Always trying to go faster, faster faster faster, until he wound himself up in a world of hurt and trouble that he wouldn’t be able to get out of.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to get out of the mess he made this time. Because this wasn’t just a stunt gone wrong, a prank that backfired. It wasn’t a mess he could whine for Ajay to fix, and it certainly wasn’t a new pair of legs he could slap on and saunter out of the hospital with. No, this was something much different. No matter what step he took, things were going to change, and they were going to change painfully.
Could he really afford to keep doing this? Keep the easygoing facade up and running? The first time he had fallen asleep, crushed between Elliot and Hound, the three of them still breathing heavily, skin slick with sweat- it had felt like a high, a rush. It felt good, he felt giddy, he already felt excited to do it again.
Now, the nights after felt filled with a sense of impending doom. He wished he could go back to the days where he didn’t sleep over- to the days where he used to just tug his pants back on and slip out the door. If that were the case, he could wallow in the privacy of his own room. Nothing sounded better then smoking a fat bowl and trying to forget how much his mistakes hurt. Now, he’d slept over so many times, he knew they would ask what was wrong if he tried to leave before breakfast the next morning... Elliott made some killer pancakes, after all.
Now, whenever he came over, the two of them would always lay off to either side of the bed, leaving the perfect Octavio shaped spot in the middle. They would smile, pat the blankets, and like a moth to the light- or maybe more like a fly to the zapper, Octavio would climb in, hiding his face in the pillow as they curled around him and whispered good night.
And god, it hurt. The pain was tangible- he could taste it in the back of his tongue, could feel the exact moment when his stomach twisted violently and his ribs began to curl in, until they jabbed uncomfortably into his heart. It always happened the same time that Elliot lazily nudged one of his legs between Octavio’s thighs, tangling them together. The same time that Hound would gently sling a tired arm at his waist, the same time he could feel Elliott’s warm breath sigh against his neck and Hound’s nose nudge into his bleach-fried acid green hair.
He knew it was just fun for them. He knew it had to be. Because there was nothing in the world that could ever make anyone doubt Bloodhound and Elliott’s love for each other. He saw the way they spoke, the way they carried themselves, the way they seemed to fit into each other’s lives so well- as if they were made for each other. Two pieces of a whole.
And maybe Octavio was more of a masochist than he thought- because that was the funny bit. He liked that they were together. He liked seeing them happy to be with one another. It made his heart flutter in his chest when he witnessed Hound leaning in to croon something into Elliot’s ear. It made his ribs constrict when he listened to Elliott make flirty cheesy pick up lines, as if Hound was a pretty stranger he bumped into at the bar, rather than his partner. It made his lungs tighten when he heard them laugh together, watch their hands intertwine. The way they existed together- it was genuinely something so beautiful, and god, he didn’t want to change that. Not any single part of it.
He didn’t even know how to explain what he wanted. What exactly it was that his heart ached for. Really- he wanted things to go back to how they were. Where Elliott was his friend, and Bloodhound was his friend’s partner, and maybe he’d come over to fuck shit up on Mario Kart instead of getting tangled up in their bedroom.
Tangled up in his feelings.
The light in the room was slowly shifting, the air tasting warmer as the first rays of sun began to kiss the horizon. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting awake, how long ago the tears dried on his cheeks, leaving his skin tacky and damp. Staring at the ceiling, to try and avoid staring at the beautiful people snoozing beside him, blissfully unaware of the fact that their trusted friend had taken everything stupidly far, had gone and caught feelings and made everything way more complicated than it had to be.
He let out a sigh, shaky and unstable, that sounded way to loud for the stillness of the room around him. God, he knew he didn’t deserve this little place in their lives, not after he went and pulled the ultimate stunt, earning the cheeky invitation to fun only to ruin it in such a way. He knew he had to stop, he had to pull away, but the thought of no longer being allowed to feel them like this- no longer being allowed to nibble at the lines etched into Bloodhound’s skin or slide his hands under Elliott’s shirt— the idea of having to go back and pretend it never happened, even though he knew what Bloodhound’s euphoria tasted like, what Elliott’s desperation sounded like? That hurt even more than the suffering he was stuck with now.
He didn’t know what to do. He could tell them, but how would that help anything? It would make everything awkward, and ruin his chances at even salvaging the friendship that he and Elliott used to share. But at the same time, he couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep sitting here and rotting inside. He wasn’t the kind of guy to just lean back and wait for things to get better. Maybe ripping off the bandaid was the better decision to make…
It’s not like things could ever work out in his favor. ‘There’s a crowd’, they’d say, and Octavio couldn’t help but agree.