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The bus doors folded open with a metallic hiss.
“Stubbles!” Heathcliff yelled in a hushed tone.
He leaned halfway out before spotting him immediately.
“There you are—”
Gregor sat curled against the side of the bus, shoulders tucked in against the cold metal. One knee was drawn close to his chest, his mutated arm wrapped loosely around it like he was keeping himself anchored there. Smoke drifted lazily from the cigarette balanced between his fingers.
His hair was down.
Not tied back for once, just falling messily around his face and over the collar of his shirt. The dim light from inside the bus caught along the loose strands, softened the sharpness of his features. Curled up like this, half-hidden in smoke and shadow, he looked—
Well he was dangerously easy to stare at is what he was.
Heathcliff realized a second too late he’d been doing exactly that.
Right beside him stood Ryoshu, cigarette balanced between her lips with effortless poise. Her eyes flicked toward Heathcliff the moment he approached, sharp enough to cut straight through the poorly-hidden tension in his shoulders.
He forced his expression flat before it could twist into a scowl.
“W.D.Y.W.?” Ryoshu asked around a slow exhale of smoke.
Heathcliff ignored the acronym entirely. Couldn’t be bothered deciphering whatever cryptic nonsense she was on about this time.
“Don’t mean to interrupt your smoke break,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck before shoving his hand back into his pocket, “but I wanna talk to Stubbles. In private.”
Gregor’s gaze lifted toward him then.
There was immediate curiosity there. Concern, too.
That almost made Heathcliff lose his nerve. Because suddenly this didn’t feel nearly as simple as it had inside his own head.
“It’s nothin’ bad,” he added quickly. Hopefully.
Ryoshu let out a quiet huff that might’ve been amusement. She pushed herself off the bus with lazy ease.
“I’ll leave you two L.B. alone then.”
But Ryoshu was already walking off, snuffing her cigarette out beneath her heel as she disappeared back toward the bus entrance.
Heathcliff muttered a distracted thanks on her way past before dropping down beside Gregor.
Gregor tipped his head toward him, cigarette glowing faintly near his mouth as a smirk tugged at his lips.
“Shooing my smoking buddy away like that,” he murmured through a puff of smoke, “how rude.”
“Wha— she left on her own!” Heathcliff crossed his arms too quickly, defensive on instinct. “If the lass wants, she can come back when I’m done talkin’ to you.”
Gregor hummed in response.
Then silence settled between them.
The ember at the end of Gregor’s cigarette crackled softly in the dark. Somewhere nearby, leaves rustled with the wind. The bus behind them grounded faintly as it cooled from the engine being shut off hours ago. If Heathcliff paid enough attention you could hear some of the sinners walking through the corridors, most likely getting ready for bed.
“So,” Gregor finally said, smoke curling past his lips as he glanced over, “what’d you wanna talk about?”
Right.
That.
Heathcliff swallowed hard.
This was easy. It's supposed to be easy.
Tell Gregor they need to stop fooling around. Then tell him he was in love with him.
Simple.
Except now that the words actually had to leave his mouth, they felt impossible.
Because what kind of idiot caught feelings after agreeing not to?
The whole point had been keeping things uncomplicated. No strings. No expectations. Just something easy between missions and bloodshed and near-death experiences. And Heathcliff had gone and ruined it.
Worse—he wanted Gregor to feel the same way. That was the part claiming at his ribs now. The stupid, desperate hope sitting ugly in his chest.
Because Gregor could laugh. Could reject him. Could look at him differently after this. Hell, maybe he’d already crossed some line just by bringing it up. Maybe he should just get up and leave before he makes a bigger mess of things.
“Heathcliff?”
Gregor’s voice pulled him violently out of his spiral.
He blinked.
Gregor was looking at him properly now, cigarette lowered slightly from his mouth. Concern had started creeping into his expression.
A small frown tugged at Heathcliff’s lips.
“Sorry.”
God, he sounded nervous.
He dragged a hand down his face before forcing himself to continue.
“I wanted to ask if we could stop…” His voice nearly caught for a second. “...our little excursions.”
The second the words left his mouth, Heathcliff wanted to grab them back.
Gregor went still.
It was subtle. So subtle most wouldn’t have noticed it.
Gregor’s shoulders stiffened first before he deliberately forced them loose again. His cigarette paused halfway to his mouth.
Silence stretched.
Long enough for dread to start sinking claws into Heathcliff’s stomach.
Before he could stumble into an explanation, Gregor spoke quietly.
“We can.”
He turned his gaze downward afterward, staring somewhere near the floor between his boots. And Christ. He looked devastated.
“Did I do something?” Gregor asked after a moment, voice carefully neutral. “I mean—you don’t need a reason or anything. You can stop whenever you want. We both knew this wasn’t exactly long-term…”He laughed once under his breath, weak and humorless.
“I just thought you were enjoying it as much as I was.” He more so mumbled to himself than at Heathcliff.
Gregor kept going before he could interrupt.
“Unless this whole thing’s been one-sided and I completely misread—” His expression shifted abruptly toward alarm. “Wait. Hold on. I didn’t pressure you into anythin’, did I?”
“Stubbles—”
“Holy shit.” Gregor sat forward suddenly, panic starting to bleed into his voice now. “Bud, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I genuinely didn’t mean to—”
“Stubbles.”
Gregor kept talking over him, words tripping over each other faster the more anxious he got. “I knew we probably should’ve talked clearer about boundaries but you never seemed upset and I just assumed—”
“STUBBLES!”
Gregor finally quieted down.
“You didn’t do anythin’ wrong,” Heathcliff said quickly, nearly breathless himself now. “Jesus Christ, mate. Let me finish talkin’ before you dig yourself into a damn grave, yeah?”
Gregor stared at him for a moment.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
“You didn’t do anythin’ wrong,” Heathcliff repeated, quieter this time. Gregor still looked tense beside him. “Mate, if anythin’, I’m the problem.” Heathcliff attempted a reassuring grin, but it came out crooked and uneven.
Gregor’s brows pinched together immediately at that, though he mercifully kept quiet.
Heathcliff dragged both hands over his face.
Right. Here it was.
“I—We…” The words jammed somewhere in his throat. “Fuckin’ hell.”
For once, Gregor didn’t try to fill the silence. He just waited patiently beside him, cigarette burning low between his fingers while Heathcliff tried not to combust on the spot.
“When we started our little…” Heathcliff gestured vaguely between them. “One-night stand thing.” He exhaled slowly before continuing.
“We both agreed none of it had to mean anythin’. No strings attached. Just…” He shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “Somethin’ simple.”
And for a while, it had been.
Back when Heathcliff had too much of his own wreckage rattling around in his skull to think about anybody else that way.
Back when every soft thing still reminded him of her.
His chest tightened painfully. “That was true at first,” he admitted. “I had too much shit goin’ on with myself to even think about getting attached to someone.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Especially someone on this nut job of a bus.”
Gregor let out a quiet huff of amusement at that, smoke curling from his nose as he shook his head. The sound gave Heathcliff just enough courage to keep going.
“So I wanna respect what we agreed on,” he said.
Then, against his better judgment, he looked directly at Gregor.
Which was a big mistake.
Because Gregor was watching him so carefully now. Cigarette forgotten between his fingers, expression soft in a way that made Heathcliff’s stomach turn itself inside out.
God, he looked unfairly pretty tonight. Hair falling loose around his face. Curled into the side of the bus like he belonged there beside Heathcliff.
Heathcliff’s resolve nearly died on the spot.
“Look, I dunno when it happened…” His voice dropped rougher now. “But somewhere along the line, I started—”
He broke eye contact hard, staring out into the dark instead. His pulse hammered against his ribs.
“I got feelings for you, alright?”
The confession finally left him, almost aggravated, as if he was angry at himself for it.
Heathcliff could hear his own breathing now. Could feel anxiety building thick in his lungs the longer Gregor didn’t answer.
“So.” He laughed once under his breath, tense and humorless. “That’s why I thought maybe we should stop all the fling shit. Figured it wasn't exactly fair t’keep doing this when I…” He swallowed. “When I want more than that now.”
“You really mean it?” Gregor asked quietly after a moment.
The vulnerability in his voice caught Heathcliff off guard.
All at once, the embarrassment faded enough for sincerity to push through.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Course I do.”
Gregor looked down briefly, almost shy in a way Heathcliff had never really seen from him before. Then he gave a small laugh under his breath.
“Christ, Heathcliff, I thought you were breaking things off because I accidentally traumatized you.”
“Well I was tryin’ to break things off!”
“That is not helping your case.”
“Oh, sod off.”
A laugh tumbled from Gregor's lips again and caused Heathcliff to smirk.
Gregor shifted slightly beside him before speaking again, quieter this time.
“For the record…” His fingers tapped lightly against his cigarette. “I kinda ruined the ‘no feelings attached’ rule a while ago too.”
Heathcliff blinked. “…You serious?”
Gregor’s mouth curled upward.
And maybe it was the relief finally crashing into him all at once. Maybe it was the way Gregor was looking at him now. Or maybe Heathcliff just couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Before he could think better of it, he leaned in.
The kiss caught Gregor mid-breath. He quickly melted into it with a quiet sound low in his throat, cigarette forgotten completely as his good hand came up to catch Heathcliff’s wrist.
It was nothing like the kisses they’d shared before.
Those had always been rushed things. Heated. Desperate distractions snatched between exhaustion and adrenaline. All teeth and bruising pressure.
But this—
This was slow and deliberate in a way that made Heathcliff’s chest ache.
Gregor’s lips were warm against his own, softened further by the small surprised smile threatening at the corners of them. Heathcliff could still taste cigarette smoke lingering there, bitter and familiar and undeniably Gregor.
And Heathcliff was gone for him.
Completely.
His hand found its way to Gregor’s jaw almost hesitantly, thumb brushing against rough stubble while he tilted closer without even realizing it. Gregor responded instantly, fingers curling tighter around Heathcliff’s wrist.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn’t by much.
Gregor stared at him for a long moment, visibly dazed.
“Well,” he murmured eventually, voice quieter than before, “that was significantly more convincing than your speech.”
Heathcliff let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“Don’t start.”