Wax

Eight

A/N: the museum date is finally here ;v; I'm sorry it's so late and I took so long with it! It's a pretty lengthy chapter despite the fact that it's only one scene but it's heavy on fireboy's thoughts and dialogue. A whole lot of it is ambiguous (as Leroy's POV tends to be) so there are tiny clues here and there but it you don't catch them, they'll be revealed later on anyway. BUT IF U DO then I suppose it's an added treat! As it always is with my readers who are used to my language and foreshadowing. Enjoy!

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It usually starts with him talking. The slow kind of talk; long and lost in the waves that keep on coming. The ones that lap against the shores and touch the tips of your toes before retreating, as though shy of having travelled a little too far from its original body. Then he's sitting on that outdoor recliner with a cup of tea in his hands and the fireworks behind his head, blooming in the sky and I can't hear what he's saying but I know it's something nice. I start to smell him. The faint scent of chamomile and paper in the breeze. Crisp and warm like vanilla and cinnamon and he's close. We're not sitting anymore. We're standing on the edge of something and this is when he says goodbye and I try to stop him from falling only to fall myself. And then, we both fall and its dark; I feel him in my arms and the wind, the breeze, it becomes a bed and his fingers they sink into the sheets every time I look into his eyes and watch them melt under the heat, under my gaze, with cheeks dusted red, he shivers. Like ripples on the surface.

Stirred.

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It was beside me when I woke. I forget to put it away sometimes, after returning home at six in the morning with barely any energy left to think and heading straight for the bed with just enough to move one hand. That, and one brain cell for imagination, I guess. Which I was able to live with ever since I started clocking in seventy-two-hour shifts. You'll be surprised—the wonders one hand and one brain cell can work once combined.

I remember Jaeger saying that one time: 'No one's really ever too tired to jerk off.' The first couple of weeks into the job, I didn't believe him. Things gradually changed. I adapted to the lifestyle. The one hand; the one braincell.

I checked the time. It was twelve... another hour till the end of his class. We'd agreed to meet in front of the west entrance but knowing him, he'd probably have to Uber down without lunch just to get there on time. I could get there early and grab him a bite.

I thought of staying in bed for another ten to fifteen but there was a ton of laundry to do and if the academy drilled anything into my head, it was the importance of chores. So I got up, washed, and put on some pants before heading downstairs. Chicken was there, waiting by his bowl with his tail going off the charts. For some reason, he always seemed to know when exactly to leave me alone. Which was every time I was in the mood for imagination.

I filled his bowl and gave him a couple of deserving pats, then got out my laptop for some background noise on YouTube. Mainly firefighting memes and people blowing up their kitchens. Occasionally Hell's Kitchen because the shouting was fun and animal documentaries because deer.