Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch.12.1 Titanic-Level Maiden Voyage

Only in the shuddery, scared silence that follows does Zef realise how often he'd wanted to kiss Gray. How many of his thoughts were occupied with that curve of Gray's mouth. He wants to know what tequila tastes like when it's on Gray's tongue. He wants to know if he can make Gray's rough voice crack the way his own just did. He wants, more than anything, to feel like the world isn't relentlessly hard, cold, and callous. Or, if it is, there are soft arms to fall into at night that make a callous world worth enduring.

But...

"I can't."

Gray's hooded eyes fly open.

"You're drunk," Zef whispers. "I don't want to take advantage—"

It's not even half the reason. Gray's expression twists. He hides it by rolling away, hopping off the piano and ambling towards the bar where he pours himself another drink.

The surge of guilt hits Zef harder than hangover symptoms. Gray always struck him as fearless, but he doesn't need to question how much hidden bravery it took for Gray to ask to be kissed.

Or how much it stings to be told, 'no.'

Zef had thought about the Faraday cage, and brunch with Rylan, and the hidden iceberg of deceit upon which Gray's fragile trust was about to make its Titanic-level maiden voyage.

He just couldn't do that to him. Not before coming clean. A confession that could shatter Gray's trust in him anyway.

"I'm sorry—" he starts to say.

"It's no thing," Gray interrupts, forcefully chipper. He downs the drink. Pours himself another. Downs that, too. "Want one?"

"Gray—"

"I'm pouring you one, 'cause I have another idea. Treasure hunt. This place is big, right? If you were a rich, fancy fucker, wouldn't you have a secret treasure vault somewhere?"

Zef fights the fuzz in his brain and the emotional whiplash. If Gray is embarrassed and changing the subject, maybe the kindest thing to do is let him.

Going along with it, "Breaking into the house is one thing. Breaking into treasure vaults? It'll be raining pigs."

Gray puts an arm around him, glossing over the awkwardness of five minutes prior. "C'mon. You with your engineering brain, me with my top-o'-the-line implants. We can crack any safe. 'Sides, I wanna find a secret doorway or some other Indiana Jones hootenanny."

"Won't the bots know if there's any secrets?"

One of the bots nearby answers, "Error. Data inaccessible."

"Outside their purview," Gray murmurs. "C'mon. It'll be fun."

Which is how Zef finds himself watching Gray kick off the Louboutins and crouch on all fours to examine an air-conditioning vent for secret control panels, feeling along walls for hidden seams.

It's cute. And endearing. And makes it difficult for Zef to sulk about cockblocking himself.

Zef has a nerdier method of finding hidden rooms. He starts outside, walking the (not insignificant) perimeter of the building. His implant's measurement function, normally used to cut scrap metal down to size in his DIY days, comes in handy for taking stock of the mansion's footprint.

It's a mathematician's method. An architect's method. Provided the place doesn't have a basement, it should work. Most importantly, it keeps Zef's brain distracted from considering how he should tell Gray about Rylan's plot.

After measuring the mansion's footprint, he goes inside and starts doing the same thing with each room. Mapping the dimensions, the shape, the amount of that footprint occupied by each room. In the software downloaded to his implant, he creates a 3D model of the house. As he does, he reflects that this is probably not the adventure Gray intended. It's going to be epically disappointing when his findings point out there's no unaccounted for space where a secret room could hide.