Neon Rush {M/M} ❀

Ch.23.2 Ethically, Empathetically Empty

They have an hour to luxuriate in each other, Zef tracing lines of ink on Gray's skin while Gray connects the freckles on Zef's. It isn't long enough. The time for Phase Three of Damo's Master Plan comes too soon.

This time they'll pose as waiters. It comes with a convenient disguise; all the servers are required to wear a holographic implant which alters their appearance so that every server appears like an identical clone. All of them generically well-groomed white men and women; a choice Zef can't fathom being appealing or ethical, but the rich never did have taste. It will allow them to blend in.

The fear of the implant flickering for even a second still prompts them to cover Gray's tattoos in foundation. He dabs it on with a sponge, his lip curling.

"Hate this stuff. It's a sensory nightmare."

Zef finishes buttoning his starchy shirt and rolls up the cuffs. "Let me help."

Gray hands over the beauty blender and lifts his chin. Zef blots some foundation onto the sponge and dabs it over the leaf of a blooming peony. Gray's Adam's apple bobs on a visible swallow.

Tension sprinkles thinly over them like the stick of setting powder.

"Can't use my gild again or I'll glow," Gray says.

They'd gone over the plan already. Tonight's part was easiest of all. Just drug the deserts and ferry away their marks to be heavily sedated for the duration of the conference. The dinner itself is held around a company-wide presentation of upcoming projects and initiatives at Bionic Capital. In between drinks, food and schmoozing, a number of big shots would share all their Great Big World-Changing Innovations.

Damo warned Zef that Project Serenity might come up. He'd practised his poker face in the mirror that morning.

Otherwise, their job is fairly simple.

But Gray seems...

"Nervous?" Zef asks.

"Naw."

"Liar."

Gray's throat contracts on a swallow. "If she's there..."

"She's not scheduled to be," Zef reassures him.

"I know. Just..." He shudders. "Got a feeling."

Zef puts down the makeup sponge and takes Gray's hand, tracing the panicked pulse of a vein. "We'll be okay. I'll protect you."

It was meant to be a silly, comforting joke. Zef doesn't cut an intimidating figure.

Gray's hand tightens fiercely around his. "It ain't my life I'm afraid of losing."

A cold sweat prickles at Zef's neck. Raw grief laced with anger cuts from two separate directions. Don't you dare go valuing my life over yours, he thinks, but also, that sounds like something Ollie would say.

He doesn't know how to communicate it without pushing Gray too far. He doesn't want them pulling out of this—their best plan to free Gray from Rylan's control—all because he's afraid of what might happen to Zef. Don't want him pulling any kamikaze bullshit, neither.

Ollie's skeleton makes up the bones of Zef's aversion to the way Gray sometimes talks about himself like his life is worthless. Zef wishes he could have held out a little longer at Bionic Capital, long enough to make Project Serenity work and steal it away. Give it to Gray.

"We'll be okay," Zef repeats.

Once disguised and in uniform, they head to the kitchens. Damo sent rehearsal footage so they could perform the bizarre, choreographed pageantry of placing plates on tables alongside their fellow servers in perfect unison. Two other servers were 'mysteriously way-layed' and cut off from communicating with the caterers, allowing Zef and Gray to take their places.