1:43 AM

the fic

12:43 AM read the clock, the bold letters red glow illuminating the dark, confined corner of the room where the bright, encompassing moonlight couldn't reach. It was like a coin, a circular motion with two sides that lead to each other.

On one side of the coin, Warchief's mind swirled with the determined, yet annoyed, thoughts of sleep, facing the slightly reddened, dark side of the room. Yet on the other side of the coin, his mind was racing. Racing with possibilities, with thoughts. Memories and what-if's. Even in the slight warmth of his room, he swore he could feel the air of the Airship, the cool, crisp air flowing past his cheeks and in his hair as he raced to do tasks, the footsteps of the man who turned that cold air into a warmth on his cheeks. He quickly snapped out of it, lecturing himself in his mind. That he had other things to think about, like sleep.. With a distressed, annoyed sigh, he rolled over, the moonlight hitting his face, causing that sigh to turn into an agitated groan, quickly shutting his eyes again to fade out the light.

And so he was left with his thoughts, back to telling himself it was pointless. Whatever, he'd just count numbers. He'd eventually get so bored, his mind would just let him fall asleep.. So, he started from 1 to 10, 10 to 60, and 60 to 80. The seconds passed, and Warchief's mind swirled, numbers fading and blurring to those oh-so pointless memories and possibilities he thought about. His mind halted to the number 182, striking a particularly fond one, feeling his face start to warm up, like the moon itself that he tried to fade out was cupping his cheeks, the sound of the wind outside turning to whispers. Whispers of sweet nothings, praises and compliments. The air turned cold again, and the footsteps finally caught up to him, the whispers turning to firm, hearable syllables.

"You're doing great!"

"Only a few more left."

"Always the best, buddy!"

"You know I love you, right?"

Warchief's eyes quickly snapped open, a sharp gasp escaping his throat with a slight jolt of his body. His face was warm, almost matching the humidity of his room. His eyes stared out the window, the whispers faded into nothing but wind, whistling against the concrete and glass of his apartment. His eyes were locked onto his window, and he probably didn't even blink for a few solid moments before he felt his eyes start to sting, causing him to finally snap out of his trance.

He slowly sat up, groaning as he glanced towards the clock. 1:26. How has it already been that long? Guess time really did pass by when he was thinking.. Especially about that damn.. Idiot. Warchief shuffled in his bed, slowly rising to his feet, hands raised to his face as he rubbed his weary eyes. Despite his tiredness, he knew it'd only be worse if he tossed and turned in bed, losing himself in the abyss of numbers and thoughts.

The floor creaked like the trees outside, his feet struggling to find symmetry in the dark, a hand caressing the wall as he stumbled forward, patting everywhere before his hand found the doorknob to his bathroom, carelessly swinging it open. It took a moment for him to find the switch, knowing he had found it when the lights suddenly flickered to light, eyes quickly shuttering like blinds. Once his feet found the cold tiles, Warchief's eyes finally opened, adjusting to the harsh, flavescent light. His calloused hands rubbed at his eyes again, only causing them to feel worse, groaning in agitation.

The metal of the sink handle felt like a godsend against his coarse hands, feeling like a refreshing drink on a hot day. He turned the handle and the sound of water hitting his ears like a wave, throwing his hands under the refreshing coolness. He sighed softly, the coldness feeling satisfying. It was a stark contrast compared to the harsh humidity outside and in his room, soothing the roughness and aches in both mind and body. Warchief let his hands simmer under the water before bringing them up to his face, rubbing the water against his pores. He felt a bit sweaty, eyebrows knitting with a grimace.

He brought his hands to the edge of the marble countertop, his gaze meeting the sharp, narrowed gray eyes bore into his own. They studied his features, how his face scrunched up to a sour, resting expression, how his brows furrowed to what can only be described as a "resting bitch face", his hair tucked away in a rose colored bonnet.. And he also noticed the dark red blush across his dark skin.

Warchief let out a dragged sigh, facing away from the mirror, slowly letting his body slide down to the ground, hunched over and propped against the cabinets of the counter. He buried his face in his hands, feeling the warmth from his cheeks fizzle over to his palms, causing them to sweat just slightly against his face. The feeling made him grimace, immediately tearing his face from his palms. He pulled his knees into his chest, arms wrapped around them to draw them closer, resting his chin against the top of them. His eyes traced the patterns on the cold, hard tiles of the bathroom, trying to distract his racing mind.

While a part of him knew his feelings, the other part of him tried to deny it. It was all just.. Stupid. And all these stupid things were because of that stupid man.

Thinking about him just made his face burn even more, his brows furrowing further as he let out a frustrated groan, shutting his eyes. Why was he thinking so much about him? Why is it whenever his thoughts went silent, trying to think of other things, that rose colored, always optimistic man slipped into his thoughts, memories and what-if's cascading like an array of stars against the pitch-black, void sky?

1:31 read the clock, his eyes darting back to the white, marbled tiles. They were dull, slightly beige, they could never compare to the colorful thoughts he seemed to be having. He tilted his head up, letting it rest against the wood of the cabinet sink, eyes staring up at the ceiling, as if asking for some sign from any higher power being. Warchief tried to think of other things, like how to fall asleep faster, anything but that man. Yet his mind was relentless, like a rushing current in a shrouded, forested off river. One wrong move, and you'd be swept away. That's what it was like, a river. One that showed mercy on the outside, yet was merciless inside—A pointless battle. And Warchief knew it.

So, he accepted it and dove deep, deep, searching for what could possibly be causing this. What was it about him? Why was he so drawn to someone so.. So lively. It was funny. Funny how someone who always had his heart in his head could be so attached to someone who wore their heart on their sleeve, who probably had nothing going on in their head, their only mind being occupied with thoughts of dreams, dreams, dreams. They were the exact opposite, one who was always on the ground, determined with a serious manner, the other one who seemed to have their head in the clouds, determined yet with a more upbeat manner. Maybe that's what drew them together, their determination.

Warchief continued to think, yet the more he did the warmer his face became. It had to be their determination, the way their personalities intertwined and collided together, even if it was a chaotic mush of blurs, browns and rust.. It somehow ended up in a rainbow.. It just didn't make sense when everything else did, that seemed to be the only similar thing about them when everything else seemed to be the opposite. He didn't understand it. Why, him, of all people?

Before he knew it, his eyes snapped open wide, that feeling of tire and exhaustion sweeping away to make room for pure shock.. And maybe even horror. It was like a gunshot rung through his ears as the realization hit him.

He loved him.

1:43 AM read the clock.

Now it made sense, why he needed him by his side, why he always thought about him in the dead of night. The stoic man let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, feeling his senses slowly sizzle back to life against the slightly cool cabinet, the cold tiles gracing his skin again. Warchief sighed, a bit annoyed in himself and the predicament he'd found himself in.

He quickly stood back up, his unease and restlessness washing away with the revelation. Maybe that's what kept him up at night, now that the pieces of the puzzle came together. His hands fumbled against the wall for a moment before the lights flicked off, feet rhythmically stepping in a similar motion, stepping inside the moonlight bedroom for a final time that night.

Despite the stumble into bed and the roughness he found trying to get himself comfortable, he felt better, more relaxed, even if a bit annoyed. The wind against the rustling trees outside whispered their praises and compliments again, his eyes shutting like curtains to the finale of a play, finding solace and comfort in the memories that he thought were once pointless. It didn't matter anymore, they'd lead to the same ending: With him finding himself struggling against his mind again at 1:43 AM.