Chapter Text
Vector punches in the number for Alit’s apartment, a duffle bag slung across him and a backpack making his shoulders ache. The comm beeps for fifteen seconds before Alit finally answers.
“Vector?” he says when the cam comes on, static blurring the image. “What are you--”
He rolls his eyes. “Can I stay with you for a while?”
“What happened to your place?”
“What do you think?”
“You got kicked out?”
Vector adjusts his duffle bag over his shoulder and scowls. “Why else would I ask to live in this dump?” he grumbles. “Can I stay or not?”
“I’d have to ask my roommate. Here, come up at least.”
There’s a loud buzzing sound and the doors to the building crack open. Vector sighs at the now-dark screen and heads inside. The apartment really is a dump, at least compared to his boyfriend’s place. Always spick and span and irritatingly clean, like no one lived there because he wasn’t ever home. And when he was, well…
Vector jams his thumb into the elevator’s call button before realizing all three are out of service. All of them? Really? He scoffs, then glances around. He’s never had to take the stairs before, so he has no idea where they are.
He pulls out his phone and calls Alit. It takes three rings for him to pick up.
“Your damn elevators are out. Where’re the stairs?”
“What, really? Fuck. Hold on, I’ll come down. You’ll need help with those bags, anyway.”
He hangs up and Vector stuffs the phone back into his jacket. There’s only one bench in the lobby and it looks like it’d break if he dared sit down, so instead he leans against the wall next to an empty vending machine and takes off his backpack. Rolls his shoulders. Tries not to think about the fight that got him here.
“Vector!”
He looks up and frowns in response to Alit’s bright grin. “Hey.”
Alit’s already grabbing both his bags, throwing one over his shoulder. “C’mon. You look like shit, by the way.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Vector says dryly. “It’s really the lack of effort that makes it work.”
Alit just snickers as he leads him down the hall. There’s a part of the drywall that’s dented in and Vector wonders exactly what kind of apartment this is. Do they not do upkeep?
At least he knows he’s safe with Alit, with his six-pack and the boxing classes he teaches on weekends.
“So, what happened?” Alit asks when they hit the stairway. “Nothing good, if you’re here.”
Vector doesn’t want to tell him, but it’s the fastest way to garner pity from whoever he’s got to convince up in the apartment. “Yuuma broke up with me. Gave me an hour to leave.”
“That’s rough. You okay?”
Stairs are exhausting. Vector pauses for a second to take a breather. “I’m fucking fine. I just need a place to crash for a while.”
“How long, you think?”
“The hell am I supposed to know?”
“So, indefinitely?”
Vector doesn’t respond, dragging himself up to the next floor. “How many more?”
“We’re on the ninth floor.”
“Fuck.”
Alit waits patiently up on the fifth floor, snickering again. “You’re really out of shape,” he says. “I can get you a discount if you wanna join the gym.”
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugs. “Dunno when the elevators will work again. You might as well get your stamina up.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Well, one went out,” he explains, “then a couple months later the other went out. I guess the third one finally died.”
Vector really wonders who the hell is in charge of this damn building.
Finally, they’re in front of Alit’s apartment. The door opens up to the living room and there’s a mirror set against the wall by the door. Vector’s reminded of exactly how terrible he looks.
“Miza’s not home yet, but make yourself comfy,” Alit says, setting his bags by the shoe rack. “Even if he says no, you can still stay the night.”
“How kind,” Vector says wryly.
Then he kneels down to dig through his duffel. “What’s your policy on smoking, anyway?”
“Miza vapes. Says weed and cigs smell like shit.”
“Fuck,” Vector hisses. “I don’t have my pen.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Shut up.”
They end up in Alit’s room, Vector collapsing on his bed as Alit sits at his desk continuing the movie he’d been in the middle of. There’s nothing to do, and Vector hates it. He’d left half his stuff, too angry to remember anything important other than clothes and his phone charger and the stupid fucking bag of pills this was all about in the first place.
The movie is stupid, the kind of cheesy action movie with a terribly cliche romantic subplot. It’s barely distracting and Vector desperately needs something in his system, but he’s not about to pop anything in front of Alit.
“When’s your roommate gonna be home?”
Alit shrugs. “Not sure.”
“This fucking sucks.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No. Yes. I don’t fucking know.”
“Well, when you figure it out--”
“I can’t believe he fucking broke up with me,” Vector says before he can stop himself. He covers his face with his hands. He won’t cry. He still hasn’t cried. “It’s not like he didn’t know.”
The sound from the movie stops. He hears Alit’s chair creak as he spins around to face him. “Know what?”
It’s only been a couple of hours. Vector’s head pounds. “Remember Don?”
He waits for the disappointment. Or the anger. Frustration, even. But Alit gives him none of it. “I thought you were done with that shit. Did something happen?” He’s nothing but curious.
“Nothing happened, that’s the problem.”
The only thing Vector has ever told Alit about his boyfriend is that he must be rich because he spends all of his time travelling, away from his expensive downtown apartment. Vector barely remembers the last time they had a weekend together. A night when Yuuma wasn’t packing or doing laundry just to shove everything back in his goddamn suitcase.
Like he’d rather be anywhere than with Vector, and the pills were just a convenient excuse to finally throw him out.
“What did you get from him?” Alit prompts.
“Ketamine.”
“What’ll it take for you to quit?”
“You really think I’m in the right headspace to quit?”
Alit shrugs. “I mean, you did once.”
He’s not wrong. But he’d been broke then, the last of his stash thrown into an incinerator. Vector doesn’t think he could go cold turkey again.
The front door unlocks, the sound of the deadbolt clacking into place loud enough that Vector can hear it. “Your roommate?”
“Mizael, yeah. Hold on, lemme grab him.”
Alit leaves, and Vector strains to hear their hushed conversation. He sits up and wishes he’d at least tried to look half-decent. First impressions seem important, but whatever. It’s too late now.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Alit’s back. A blonde follows him with milky skin and icy blue eyes, wearing the kind of outfit Vector would expect to see on fashion billboards. A far cry from the sweats he and Alit are in.
“So, Vector, this is my roommate, Mizael.”
His mouth goes dry. “Hey,” he croaks out.
Alit sits back down at his desk, but Mizael just leans against the doorframe. He loosely folds his arms and considers Vector for a moment that lasts too long. “Alit told me you need a place to stay for a while?”
Even his voice is smooth. “Yeah,” Vector says. “I don’t know how long.”
“You have money for the month?”
“Enough to pitch in.”
“A job?”
“Nights at the card shop. The one on Leviath, near the mall.”
“Alit says you smoke.”
“Not inside.”
“Good.” His fingers drum lightly against his bicep. “What about allergies? We take turns cooking, so is there anything you can’t eat?”
“No.”
He nods. Strands of his blonde hair fall out of his ponytail and frame his face. “Do you need me to know anything else?”
Vector knows it’s a question to suss him out. Alit probably mentioned something to him. Triggers or something, anything that could fuck him up at a moment’s notice. He grits his teeth. “No.”
“Okay. We have a spare room we’ve been meaning to clean out, anyway.” Mizael tucks the loose strands behind his ear and turns to Alit. “Why don’t you show him? I’ll get dinner started. If we’re gonna live together indefinitely, we might as well get to know each other.”
~
The room is basically a closet. Not in that it’s the size of a closet, but in that an entire wall is lined with clothes racks that practically sag with the weight of designer clothes. Alit flicks the light on and Vector squints at the too-bright room, the twin mattress shoved in the corner, the dresser that’s no doubt full of even more clothes.
“Does your roommate have a shopping problem?”
Alit shrugs. “Can’t be a problem if it’s his job.”
Vector doesn’t really understand, but he doesn’t need to. “Well. I get a bed,” he says wryly. “I honestly expected the couch.”
“I’ll grab your stuff. You’ve got more than those two bags back there, right?”
“... Yeah.” He doesn’t want to think about going back downtown right now, but he’ll have to, eventually.
The too-clean apartment of Tsukumo Yuuma, who’ll be out of the country again over the weekend. Vector still has the key, too. He pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll drive you down,” Alit offers. “We can pack it all into the car.”
“That’d be helpful.”
Alit disappears around the corner and Vector finally makes it past the door, over the threshold. He stares at the mattress, surrounded by nothing but racks of clothes, and sighs. It’s not a queen-sized bed that feels too empty every night, and maybe that’s for the best. Somehow, he wishes it really were a couch.
He sits down on it, pulling up his legs and crossing them. There’s an outlet for his phone charger next to the mattress. Helpful. The ceiling has a fan. Nice. The situation could be so much worse.
Right?
Vector thinks again about the pills. Tiny pink pills the size of the end of a pen cap shoved into a Ziploc bag. His headache still hasn’t taken its leave. Would it be better or worse to be running on a high during dinner?
Alit’s back, setting his duffel and backpack on the floor at the end of the mattress. “You okay? I know I keep asking, but you look rough.”
“Wanna drive me to the pharmacy?”
“Sure. We can pick up whatever other shit you didn’t bring too.”
Walking down the damn nine floors of stairs is easier than climbing it, and soon they’re down in the sub-level parking lot. Alit’s car is old, but he’s clearly looked after it. No rust, no dents. Unlike the building it’s parked under.
Somehow, when Vector wasn’t paying attention, night fell. The dark sky over the edges of the city feels suffocating, but the bright fluorescent lights of the pharmacy might be worse. Alit follows him right to the counter at the back of the store, through the refrigerated aisle full of drinks and ice cream and frozen pizzas.
Vector grabs a pack of nicotine patches, a toothbrush, and an energy drink and throws it all on the counter. “Just this, thanks,” he tells the pharmacist, digging his wallet out and tapping his card.
“That’s your solve?” Alit asks when they tear back through the same aisle toward the exit.
“Don’t fucking judge me, asshole.”
On the ride back, Vector takes off his hoodie and presses a patch to his arm. He debates a second one, but they’re already the highest dose on the shelf and he’s not a junkie, he’s just desperate. He cracks open the energy drink and gulps down half of it at a stoplight. Alit hums along to the radio, and when he parks back in the building’s underground lot, he cuts the engine and locks the doors.
“The fuck?” Vector says when he fails to open the door.
“Maybe you need better help than me,” Alit says, looking directly at him. “I mean, I’m not saying I’m not gonna help, but maybe… you need something more than a friend’s place to crash at. Know what I mean?”
“No.”
“I mean therapy. Or using the services at the addiction centre. Or literally anything other than backtracking,” he explains. “And you don’t have to do it alone. We both work nights so I can come with you.”
“Are you done?”
“I’ll tell Miza you’re only staying a week--”
“Manipulative bitch.”
Alit just grins at him. “Get your shit together, Vec.”
~
Somehow, in the brief span of time between getting acquainted with his temporary bedroom and getting back from the pharmacy, Mizael has gotten dinner ready and showered. And is half-naked in the kitchen, pressing the excess water out of his hair with a towel while he checks on the oven.
Vector can’t deal with this, and the nicotine patch is barely doing anything. He should’ve stuck two on, but it’s too goddamn late now.
“What’d you make?” Alit asks, casually, because apparently this is normal for him.
His arms are toned as hell, his shoulders equally so. Vector tears his eyes away. No way is he about to stare. Maybe Mizael goes to the gym Alit runs classes at. Maybe he should take up Alit’s offer, because nine floors of stairs is fucking killer and his thighs are burning.
“The salmon was gonna go off tomorrow, so I baked it. And made stir-fry.” Mizael throws the towel around his shoulders and turns.
Of course he’s got abs too. Vector refuses to stare, feeling his face heat up.
“Are you okay?” Mizael asks, staring directly at him.
Alit glances over to him, and Vector just knows he’s holding in laughter. “He’s fine,” he says with another of his infuriating grins, elbowing him in the side. “Just winded from the stairs, right?”
“There’s so fucking many,” Vector says.
Mizael regards him for a moment and he feels way too seen. “They really need to fix the elevators. Anyway, let’s eat.”
Over dinner, sitting at their cramped dining table and eating the healthiest food he’s eaten in weeks, Vector does not spend every second Mizael’s not paying attention admiring his bone structure. Or his plush lips. Or his wispy blonde lashes.
Alit, to his credit, does not tease him relentlessly.
And when it’s over, Vector heads back to the room-sized closet he’s been given and wonders where the hell Alit met a literal walking piece of art.