Only If For a Night(MxM)

The Threat

Warning for just general unpleasantness.

"Are you listening to yourself?" Zuko blanched at Jet. "There is no way in hell that McGregor would win against Mayweather. No way. You're delusional,"

The elevator was a little too narrow for both of them to walk through at the same time, but they pretended not to notice that they were smushed shoulder to shoulder, hands brushing as they walked.

"I'm not sayin' that I would necessarily want McGregor to win, that dude is a major asshole, but I think he has just enough of the crazy in him to stand a shot,"

"I'm sorry, but your logic is flawed," Zuko shook his head.

"Please, I have been watchin' boxin' since before you were born," Jet scoffed.

"Jet, you are six years older than me. It's not like that gave you more of an advantage. I bet you were still watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,"

"Excuse you," Jet pretended to be hurt, but the smile was too hard to fight. They were still walking pushed up together as if the hallway was shrinking on them. It was not. "But I watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles last week,"

"Are you telling me that you have the same maturity level as a six-year-old? Because I will not argue with you about it,"

Jet boomed out a laugh, standing close enough to Zuko that he could feel the vibration of it from where he stood. It made his stomach tingle.

His laughter paused in his throat when they made it to his apartment, his demeanor changing in an instant.

"What?" Zuko asked, glancing around the charming hall.

"The door is open," Jet whispered, gesturing to the cracked open door.

"What?" Sure enough, the door was open.

"Oh my god, did someone break-in?" Zuko whispered.

"Shh," Jet took a step ahead of him and swept him behind his back, pushing him closer. "Stay behind me, do not move; do not make a sound. Get out your phone and call the cops,"

With shockingly steady fingers, Zuko pulled his phone from his back pocket and started dialing the police. It had been two weeks since the stalker had hit Jet with his car, two weeks without any contact with him of any kind. And now this.

The massive brass statue of a praying Taoist monk that sat on a table by the door fits nicely in Jet's hand. Zuko was whispering something into his phone as they crept into the foyer.

Something pressed into Jet's other hand, and he glanced down, recognizing the tube of pepper spray that he had given to Zuko weeks earlier. He had no idea where Zuko had stashed it up until that point, but he couldn't care about that right now.

All of the lights were on, and Jet wished that they weren't. He didn't want Zuko to see it all.

Top to bottom, the apartment was trashed. Books from the tightly crammed cases laid scattered across the floor, stomped on and ripped up. Vases smashed, lamps tipped over, tables flipped.

Jet stepped over the tattered remains of a complete encyclopedia set, Zuko close behind him.

Cold fingers wrapped around Jet's belt, knuckles pressed into the small of his back.

Rage filtered through him. He hated this scumbag before, but oh how he hated him right now. For making Zuko scared. For ruining his house. All of it. He wanted him to burn.