Archive of Our Own ^beta

Iso is a handyman by necessity.

He’d spent far too many stakeouts in dilapidated buildings, hunkering down in stressful, shitty conditions thanks to the bullshit assignments Hourglass tack next to his name. By his third encounter with two sparking wires next to a chipped, dripping excuse of a bathroom sink, he’s automatically ripping electric tape by the teeth and sticking those suckers back together with one hand behind his back. All so he doesn’t die in a stupid fire.

It comes in handy when Gekko’s screams of bloody murder tear him awake from whatever Hourglass fueled nightmare haunts him, the sound piercing through his earbuds. That leftover adrenaline, coupled with his default fight over flight reaction, leads him to point his gun straight at the fountain of water spraying out of Gekko’s overflowing, bubbling toilet once he kicks his way into the bathroom.

Iso blinks once, confused. Relief washes over him when Gekko and Gekko’s lean, toned, bare shoulder peeks out from behind a shower curtain. The initiator dons a deeply embarrassed and horrified expression, cheeks a sunkissed, fire engine red. Iso’s eyes flit between the man stock still in the shower, the geyser disguised as a toilet, himself pointing a gun at said toilet, and yeah, he gets the picture.

“I just came back from a mission like, two hours ago!” Gekko complains later, throwing another towel down to absorb the leftover toilet water. “I just wanted to take a damn shower!” He snatches a patterned, bright green ceramic cup, reminiscent of his signature hair color, off the counter, mumbling in restrained frustration. The sole toothbrush and toothpaste rattles as Gekko transfers it to his bedroom.

Iso welcomes the complaining, after a solid 30 seconds of ruthless, flustered apologies from the other agent. It’s one of the things he admires most about Gekko, his automatic generosity. But watching the water spray on the ceiling while it seeped slowly into the bedroom, coupled with the hot realization that Gekko was naked behind the curtain, Iso had to put a stop to the ‘sorry’ train.

It took one minute of scrambling to shut the toilet’s water supply valve, another to get himself together enough to hand off Gekko's sleep clothes, before he made the run back to his room to grab his toolbox. The situation calmed down considerably once he returned to the scene, albeit the initiator is stomping around trying to clear the mess . Iso’s heart rate is another matter, but that is easily taken to the side with the ongoing situation. He can process his racing, fluttering feelings later. Or ideally, never at all. Blame it on the unnecessary sprint he took back to his room.

Still, Iso smiles small to himself and doesn’t answer any of Gekko’s outbursts, bowing over the now calm toilet, clanking away. His toolbox sits right next to him, carefully placed on a particularly fluffy towel (the only one capable of drying Thrash, according to Gekko). He’d already fiddled around in the tank and found the overflow indicator at fault for the constant stream of water, but something else plugged the actual bowl to keep it full, leading to the mess on Gekko’s bathroom floor.

What’s strange is that it doesn’t smell bad, so it’s not the usual suspects. But whatever is stuck in the bowl is so far in there that Iso has to warp his arm awkwardly before his pliers are able to grab onto some abstract thing in the toilet. He drags the cause of the situation out carefully.

But really, there’s no need to be careful. Because the arbitrary weird thing clogging Gekko’s toilet is a large lamb plushy the size of Iso’s forearm, sopping wet.

Iso squeezes it between his pliers. It answers back with a high pitched squeak. Coupled with the faulty overflow indicator in the tank, it was a recipe for disaster that was slow in the making, but devastating in the aftermath.

To his credit, Gekko seems unfazed by the lamb plushie when Iso turns to look at him. Iso is beyond confused at its presence, wrinkles deep between his brow.

“Is this… yours?” Iso asks, sounding out each word with skepticism. It’s not uncommon for agents to have stuffed animals, but this is not to the initiator’s usual taste.

Rather than answer his question, Gekko pulls out his radivore pack and summons all four of his creatures into the blinding LED light of the bathroom.

They’re dazed for a second until they look at their trainer’s face. Then, they scramble into a neat line in half a second, never paying Iso any attention, fixed upon their agent’s stern, pissed off expression.

”Okay,” Gekko starts, “Which one of you,” He points at Iso, who is still holding a sopping wet lamb, in his pajamas, on a damp, slightly flooded floor. “Did that?”

All four of the radivores turn to Iso. All are surprised, but one seems especially startled, then immediately shrinks away in shame.

Gekko groans heavy, holds his face in his hands. Iso smiles apologetically. Poor Wingman.

===

The toilet incident defines his place at the Valorant protocol.

Yes, he’s Iso: a tank of an entry, a hawk eyed sharpshooter, a one man army. But he’s also Iso: the guy with crazy good playlists, a Sichuan spice specialist, a wizard with a wrench. It wasn’t like Hourglass, where his reputation drove people away out of fear, or brought him in closer to try and punch him in the face and prove their own worth. Rather, people here approached him with steadfast sincerity and kindness. He wasn’t just the dead Lilac any longer. Valorant made him feel like something beyond a mission objective.

One downside to this is the sudden uptick of socializing Iso does in everyday life. Daunting, at first, especially since a vast majority of the agents are brilliant scientists, engineers, or straight up sorcerers turned absolute forces for good. But that barrier gets broken easily enough when a dryer or dishwasher is down and out of service.

Phoenix? Installing LED strips that sync to his monitor for gaming. Astra? Built her a PC so she could ‘school these kids on some real games’. Breach? Fixed his projector after the bulb burned out and audio stopped working so he could stay up to date on his Swedish dramas. He’s gotten a work order from almost everyone.

(Iso felt like he was crossing a line at first when he started fixing things around the base. Killjoy reassured him that taking on the busy work meant she and Raze had more time to fine tune everyone’s actual battle gear. A much better endeavor, in his opinion.)

Six months into officially joining the Valorant protocol, crawled under Jett’s sink (she had somehow summoned a gust of wind that cut into her drain pipe while belting out one of her Korean power anthems), the guilt hits him again.

It‘s a guilt that sits on his chest that no one outside of Omen, Brimstone, and Cypher know about. His triple cross between Hourglass and Valorant. Iso’s been reassured time and time again that it’s not about what he was tasked to do, it’s about what he chose to do. But it still aches his psyche, that the protocol could have lost a beloved member at his hands. That he walks the grounds and halls of his new home and friends freely and with no consequence, when half a year ago, he was seriously considering putting a bullet in Omen’s head for the sake of some soulless cover up.

It weighs on him the most when he’s around Gekko.

If Iso spent most of his time before Valorant adding to the bottomless pool of death, Gekko spent his time nurturing the life it actively protects through his radivores. The irony isn’t lost on him. He often finds himself brooding in some corner of the room, watching while Gekko projects constant comfort and benevolence. It’s overwhelming, but never oppressive, his presence. Iso’s gaze will always follow him around the room, like a magnet made of an unknown feeling. The closest thing Iso can call it is admiration.

Their line of work is a necessary horror. But, Gekko celebrates every round win, still mourns every version of themselves that dies on the sites, the possibilities they could have been. Even his radianite abilities leave Iso awed. He couldn’t imagine any of the agents caring for radivores. Not even his mentor, Sage. But Gekko has this captivating warmth that brings the best out of his creatures, leads them and his team to victory. Gekko honors what it means to live and be alive.

Maybe he’s been reading too many of Skye’s romance novels.

A drip of water falls on his face. The duelist shakes his head. Iso screws the drain pipe together with unnecessary force. Shakes it a little harder, jostling the sink. Making sure it’s secure. With a nod, he sits up, closes his eyes, and takes a breath.

As Iso blindly taps around for his wrench, his hands grasp onto something spherical and solid, only slightly bigger than a coin. Stupefied, he picks it up to his eye, rolling the foreign object between his fingers.

It’s a ceramic figurine, reminiscent of the Korean agent’s cloud burst ability, but in cat form. A light blue bulb with two pointy cat ears and wide, alert eyes, grinning wildly in delight. There are white grooves that resemble Jett’s signature wisps of wind, shadowed by the tiniest paint streaks of gray to give it depth. When he holds it up to the light, he can see sparkles of a silvery sheen, making it glimmer brightly in the bathroom. He twists it to look under the bottom of the cat. Carved neatly, are the letters MAF.

Whoever MAF is, they make beautiful things with the utmost care.

His music blares pop punk loudly, but he can still hear Jett’s bedroom door open. A second later, she’s in the bathroom, barely making a sound as she floats to the bathroom’s open doorway. ”Yo, how are things going? Killjoy’s coming over soonish because she needs my help packing for her trip with Raze.”

“Trip? Brimstone said it was a mission,” Iso quirks an eyebrow.

She waves her hand flippantly. “Trip, mission, whatever, it’s all the same.”

He barely registers her answer, fixated on the little figurine. “Just need to test the sink out and clean up,” he murmurs, holding out the figurine. “I’m sorry, but I knocked this down while I was finishing up my repair.”

“Nah, you’re good,” she flips her palm up. He drops it into her hand neatly. “Gekko’s stuff is pretty durable. Also super cute!” Jetts holds it next to her face, matching its untamed grin.

His heart thumps hard. “Gekko?”

“Yeah! He makes these super cute miniatures out of clay and paints them himself,” She says, tossing it around mindlessly with her abilities.

“His initials are MAF?”

“Yeah! But you’ll have to ask for yourself, you know how we roll.” The clay cat bounces around in the air on the tips of her fingers. She leans against the doorway with a sparkle in her eyes. “I know he said he’s making something cool for all the agents. Have you gotten one?”

“No.” The word weighs heavy on his tongue.

“Oh.” Iso can see the gears turning in her head, the figure spinning on her finger like the tiniest, cutest, most mocking basketball.

The duelist hums in affirmation. Again, Gekko has more friends than Iso does. The initiator probably doesn’t have enough time to think about him. Much less make something for him.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s been busy with a bunch of missions. Or thinking about what to make for you,” Jett reassures him.

Iso grunts. Jett gives him a funny look for a second before it leaves with a shake of her head. A passing judgement because of his impatience? Understandable, he supposes. But he doesn't know why he's so impatient in the first place. Jealousy? Of what? A clay cat?

His eyes follow the figurine as it floats to the sink with a gentle breeze from her hands. It lands on the countertop, rattling to adjust itself like a spinning top, before it settles with its big void eyes on Iso.

===

Once he starts noticing them, he can’t stop. Iso spots a mini clay camera, balanced carefully on Cypher’s computer monitor. Harbor is often caught spinning his replica of a spice dabba, no bigger than the cap of a pill bottle. An hourglass timer that resembles a coffee siphon sits on Viper’s desk, timed to the second for perfect coffee steeping.

In the kitchen’s cutlery drawer, there’s a collection of MAF branded chopstick holders that resembles leaves from different trees. Iso seriously considers taking one of these, but one sit down around a pot of ramyun changes his mind very quickly when Clove and Sova get into an almost fist fight for the ‘cute’ oak leaf.

The weeks go by, and there is nothing for him.

While fixing Deadlock’s air conditioner, he sees a clay figurine of her sonic sensor resting on the nightstand, propping up a pair of glasses. Well detailed, carefully crafted, as expected from Gekko.

“Did you get that from Gekko?” He asks, brain too slow to stop his mouth.

Deadlock looks up from her book, matches his gaze until she lands on the sensor. “Oh,” there’s a pause, and she returns to her book, unflinching. “Yes. He gave it to me last week.”

It’s a shot to the gut. But it’s a shot to the gut he ignores with a hum, electing to study the air conditioner’s compressor. A hairline fracture sits right on the side, causing the release pulley to go loose, therefore wracking the piston, which in turn puts too much pressure on the discharge port, and the air from the fracture means the suction port doesn’t stay as it should so the piston can pull back into the loose release pulley, but if he glues it carefully, he won’t have to use the replacement and he can save that for a more severe repair-

“I thought you didn’t like him,” Iso says out loud. He did not mean to.

Deadlock doesn’t answer right away, which is typical of her. Unlike Iso, she chooses her words carefully.

She flips a page before she says anything. “I thought I didn’t. But it turns out my fear of his abilities stopped me from truly understanding him and his creatures. In turn, he mistrusted me because he did not know where my intolerance of radivores came from,” She heaves a small sigh, as though defeated. “We had a long talk about it. That’s when he gave me the stand for my spectacles.”

Iso nods wordlessly.

The music is so low in his ears, he can hear her turn the pages of her novel as he glues the crack shut. “He’s a really nice guy,” She admits, quiet.

Iso’s hand slips with a yelp, straying away from the fracture, spilling glue all over the compressor. He snaps up at the Norwegian agent. Deadlock’s gaze is unimpressed, her mouth a flat line from cheek to cheek.

Great. Forget being a wizard with a wrench. The sentinel probably thinks he's some extremely nosy, blustering, klutz. What an impression to make on one of the coolest agents in the protocol.

With drooping shoulders, Iso puts down the ruined compressor, and reaches for the replacement.

===

One of the hardest things Iso had to get used to in Valorant was carrying two guns at once.

When he worked as an assassin, he only used one firearm at a time. Carrying one was already suspicious, and carrying two sent immediate alarms off, no matter how concealed they were. Hourglass were also cheapskates, who didn’t care to spare expenses to advance current weapons when they could otherwise study how to harness multiverse theory for their own shit morals.

Iso only needed one shot anyway. The weapon did not matter.

But with Valorant, he had to learn to carry two. A ghost has been the catalyst to victory in too many clutch situations. His vandal picked up the slack when his sheriff shots weren’t making their mark. Carrying two guns on these missions was objectively important.

Doesn’t change the fact that he hated it.

Especially switching between weapons. Iso’s not clumsy by any means, but he needs his hands free to use his abilities, and at least one to hold his rifle. He’s fumbled that switch more than once, with too many close calls. It’s annoying, and even with the straps given by Valorant, they’re ill fitting and hinder his overall performance.

So, in an afternoon free of work orders, Iso makes his way from the residency quarters to the large communal workshop. The door slides open with a scan of his card and a beep.

The workshop is empty, save for him. Large desks and overhead lamps line the left and back side of the wall, supplies scattered on their surfaces, while some spill out from the drawers underneath. The right side hosts a large window and doorway to a soundproof room full of heavy machinery. The upper half of a practice bot and its miscellaneous parts scatter the center console, with Chamber, KAY/O, and Tejo’s nameplates resting close by. Other agents have their own nameplates on many other desks, claiming space for their own projects. Two whiteboards sit in random corners. One has a string of complex, intricate math equations on it. The other has a detailed drawing of Brimstone lying useless in a crater, surrounded by the Tactifriends laughing and pointing at him.

As always, in a state of organized chaos. Iso can’t help but smile at it.

Iso grabs his own nameplate off the wall, and places it on one of the desks closest to the door. Not his favorite place to be, with the feng shui of being so close to the entry, but it’s the only corner spot, and he wants all the space he can get. He put his weapons down one side and his tools in front of him, claiming the perpendicular desks as his own for the afternoon, everything laid out for easy reach.

He works steadily on the prototype blueprints, cross referencing his weapons to his sketches and laptop, scratching things out, adding things on. It’s a good thirty minutes, music playing low in his ears, before he finally lands on a concept he likes, holding it up to the overhead lamp.

The door opens. Iso turns to the doorway, and stamps down any emotion of surprise as Gekko walks through the door and meets his gaze with high eyebrows. The look morphs into a signature smile, and oh, there’s nothing Iso can do about the heat creeping up his neck.

“Hey Iso! Just you here today?” Gekko waves amicably, his dimple deepening on his right cheek.

Iso nods. His own neck feels stiff. “I think there were more people here earlier, but it’s been clear since I came in.”

Gekko hums, grabbing his nameplate and scanning the room. Iso follows his eyeline, dread growing as he realizes there is no room left for Gekko to work. Save for a spot next to him.

The agent strides over with a whistle, pointing at the empty workspace. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Iso scrambles, “Yeah, let me move some of my things-“

Gekko shakes his head, holding up a structured tote bag lined with tools, shrugging his crossbody radivore pack over his shoulder. “Nah, this is all I need. You look like you’re working on something a little more important anyway,” he says, putting his nameplate and pack next to Iso’s workspace.

The other agent walks around the room, humming to himself as he gathers materials. He’s dressed casually, donning a light cropped sweater with a distressed edge that stops right above his hips. He bends slightly to reach a lower drawer, and a tan, slim line of waist catches Iso’s gaze. He blinks hard, blinks rapidly, willing it to erase itself from his mind. But like a photograph, it keeps the image permanently, pinning itself to the back of Iso’s eyes.

He rips his eyes away, scowls at his sketches with his head in his hands. What the fuck is he doing? Looking inappropriately at another agent, a teammate, a friend. Or maybe Gekko sees them as casual acquaintances. Iso’s never thought to ask such a crucial question.

“Whatcha working on?” Gekko asks beside him. Iso glances, watches Gekko slide into his seat and starts taking his tools out. He’s now wearing an apron with his name embroidered in the front. Cute.

“I’m trying to make some adjustments to the placement of my weapon slings. They tend to get in the way when I’m in combat.” Iso reaches over to fiddle with a piece of scrap metal that matches his blueprint.

“Oh wow! That’s super thoughtful,” He commends with a clap. “Let me know how it goes. Sometimes my sling gets in the way of my buddies when I try to use them, so I get it.”

“Hm,” Iso looks at the colorful pack next to his nameplate. “Are they asleep?”

“Yup! Got all tuckered out after a pretty intense training session.” The initiator sighs, “I just hope they don’t sleep until the night, cause they’ll get crazy zoomies. Then I won’t be getting any sleep.”

Iso huffs out a laugh in response, imagining Thrash rush after an already hyper Wingman. “I can see how that can be a problem.” He tips his chin in the direction of Gekko’s tools. “What are you working on?”

“Oh, all this? It’s for Vyse. Just something to welcome her.”

“Ah.” Iso ignores the sting.

“I’m trying to make something like her arc rose, but it’s pretty detailed. I’ve started and stopped like three times now.” Gekko scratches at his chin, stares up at the ceiling. His nail polish is slightly chipped, lightly neglected. “I haven’t been on a mission with her yet, but she seems pretty intense, so I’m trying to make sure it’s as good as I can get it.”

Iso nods in empathetic agreement. “You would be correct. But that intensity tends to be directed toward the opponents and herself,” He ponders. “She accidentally activated her flash while I was still in its eyeline. She was quite adamant on correcting her form.”

“Huh, good to know.” Gekko says, pulling a small bag of clay from out of his bag, rolling it around his bare hands.

”She will not show it, but she will be grateful.” Iso reassures him.

Gekko pulls his gaze from the ceiling to Iso with an indiscernible look on his face. It’s gone quickly, sending him a small smile, a red flush across his cheeks. “Thanks. That’s nice to know.“ He finishes rolling the clay around, barely bigger than a tablespoon, letting it rest on his palm. Gekko turns on an overhead lamp, pulling it out and down to shine perfectly on the ball. “I’ll uh, leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.”

Iso’s fingers tingle against the metal in his hand. “You too,” he says slowly, turning back to his work. He turns down the volume on his music.

They continue their work like that, Iso acutely aware of Gekko’s presence. They’re not so close as to be shoulder to shoulder, but one stray movement could bump their elbows together.

It’s not long until Gekko reaches out, and Iso catches the movement in his periphery. He whips his head around at Gekko’s hand hanging in the air, as though to tap him. Gekko’s wide brown eyes betray his embarrassment. Iso finds it deeply endearing. “Oh-uh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Iso can’t help but give a small smile. “You didn’t. What’s up?”

Gekko bites at the corner of his lips, as if wracking up his courage. Iso waits patiently. It would be easy to wait forever for the initiator. “I, uh, just wanted to say sorry about whole shower and toilet thing,” Gekko scratches the back of his neck. “It was awkward and probably not a great first impression. I can't help but feel like you’ve been avoiding me because of it.”

Is that... what Gekko thought of Iso this whole time? The duelist thought the toilet incident cleared things up between them, opened a door to a previously closed interaction. “What do you have to apologize for? It was out of your control,” Iso shakes his head. “I’d just been inundated with work orders. Plus, I find it hard to approach people.” Especially those with warm, comforting auras. But he doesn't mention that part.

"Still, I feel like the whole thing was embarrassing. I totally understood why you kept your space." Gekko sends him an apologetic smile. “If Wingman hadn’t done that…”

The duelist internally groans at his own awkwardness. Iso is such a stupid wreck. Estranged from a normal life, trained to be a killer. Of course he'd be missing a piece or two. He holds up a palm, stopping the initiator’s train of thought. “I'm the one who's terrible at social interaction. My training at Hourglass taught me many things. It taught me how to be an assassin, espionage, how to talk to someone to get information of them. But one thing I didn't learn was how to make a legitimate friend. It's part of the reason why I keep fixing things around the base. I find that's the only way I've been able to show any... affection for people. So please excuse me if I'm not the best at expressing myself, and I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was avoiding you. That... that was not my intention." The duelist sends (or at least, tries to send), a comforting nod Gekko’s way. His lips quirk into an awkward smirk.

There’s a beat, then two. Then, the apologetic expression morphs into something soft, and Iso feels like he can breathe easier. “It sounds like your love language is acts of service."

Immediate whiplash. "Uh, what?" Iso's neck is definitely red now.

Gekko's eyes get wide in alarm, waving his arms around. "Uh, I mean! There are these things called love languages and it's how people like to show that they lo-like someone, and it sounded like you express yourself best when doing something for someone else so it was just a quick analysis from what you told me and I think that's really cool! So yeah, keep doing you! We don't have to talk! Feel free to fix my toilet anytime! Never feel pressure to talk to me! In fact, I'm going to shut up now," The initiator buries his head into the desk in what looks like self-imposed defeat. His freckled neck and ears are flushed a deep, wine red.

His cheeks hurt. Iso can't stop the smile on his face. Thank everything Gekko isn't looking at him. Is this what it's like to be instantly understood? It's awesome. He's happy.

"That actually helps a lot, categorizing it like that," Iso reassures him gently. "Thank you. I appreciate your insight. I'll do my best to talk to people more."

Gekko turns his head, peering up at him from the desk. "Iso, that's not necessary. You just have to keep being yourself."

“Part of being yourself is knowing when to change to get better. In fact, let me try opening conversation now,” Iso pulls out the charging port for his earbuds, placing them next to Gekko’s radivore pack. He removes his earbuds, looking at Gekko. “Would you mind picking our background music?” That’s an easy olive branch, right?

The other agent sits up fast with his mouth hanging wide, and immediately, Iso wants to take it back. But a sparkle revives itself in Gekko’s big brown eyes, elation lighting up his face. “Of course! Oh man, are you in the mood for anything?” Gekko eagerly picks up his phone, scrolling through his music, project resting still on his hand.

Iso shakes his head, fighting the smile that threatens to erupt on his face. “I trust you. You have a good taste in music.”

Gekko laughs, a bright sound. “Oh god, that’s so much pressure!”

“I’ve seen you ace a three versus you clutch. How is this a lot of pressure?” Iso teases with a gleeful nudge to his elbow.

“Ugh, you know what I mean! Everyone knows you have the best taste in music, I can’t fumble now!” Gekko blows a raspberry his way in exasperation, scrolling aimlessly, until his thumb pauses on one spot on the screen. His face lights up, tapping on the track.

It plays over the speakers. A slow guitar, then a woman’s voice, soothing and rich, sings in Spanish, creating a harmony that builds with each new instrument.

Iso closes his eyes and relaxes into it, taking in the song. He peeks an eye open at Gekko, who’s already looking at him expectantly. “I don’t know why you were nervous. She’s a great singer.”

Gekko sighs in relief, and Iso can’t help but huff another soft laugh. Who knew joy could be this easy? “What, was it really that nerve wracking?” Iso asks.

“Yes, I mean, no- you get what I mean. It’s always hard to match someone’s vibes when it comes to music, you know?”

“I understand what you mean.” He listens a little more, lets it wash over him. “I really like her voice. Can you keep this on shuffle?”

“Already on it!” Gekko answers excitedly. Iso doesn’t even have to ask to turn down the music, Gekko’s taking it down low enough for ambience, but never forgotten. Iso was listening to some electronica before, but this brings a calmer vibe that helps him focus on what he’s doing. “By the way, where did you get your earbuds? I’ve never seen that model.”

“Raze modified the pair I was using when I first joined Valorant,” Iso says, recalling the engineer’s insistence. “The sound is a lot crisper. And it’s more my style. I also think she put a tracking device in there.”

“Probably so you don’t ever lose them,” Gekko muses. The other agent cocks his head to the side with a quirk of his mouth. “Maybe I should ask her for a pair…” he drifts off, studying his toolkit.

Iso nods wordlessly, and goes back to his own work.

Being next to Gekko, he thought he would be frantic. That his heart would not be able to take having the person of admiration so close to him. But the atmosphere they created together is so comfortable, so right, that Iso finds himself in a state of ease. A willing vulnerability, thanks to Gekko. Something to be in awe of.

The music washes over them, lulling them both into a comfortable flow state.

===

A camaraderie blossoms between them after their shared afternoon in the workshop.

They had never ignored each other, per se. But now, around every corner, down every hallway, in most common spaces, the two were seen together. Iso doesn’t remember the scope of their conversations, but he always remembers what’s being said in them. Half the time it’s Gekko talking brightly about this and that, coaxing an answer or two out of Iso’s ever listening attention. He takes off his earbuds around Gekko. He puts them back on when he’s not there.

It’s unfairly easy. The admiration Iso holds for him melds with their deepening friendship, and tucks itself into a compartment between his heart and his ribs. An ever present pressure that leaves Iso sighing if he stares for too long in the initiator’s direction. Iso calls it affection.

Sage apparently took special notice of their camaraderie. She tells it to him, to his face, and in the next sentence lets him know she signed Gekko and him up for team dinner duty.

“I think you two will work together wonderfully to make something delicious for all of us.” She claps him on the arm with a smile, either totally oblivious or totally tuned in to Iso’s tense shoulders. “It can be daunting, but seeing you two work together reassures me that dinner is in good hands.”

Daunting doesn’t even begin to cover the duty of team dinner. Once a month, every second Wednesday, all agents sit elbow to elbow at the world's biggest, roundest, dinner table to shoot the shit, recall their best plays, meet the agents they’ve only ever seen in passing. It’s a time for celebrating birthdays and anniversaries, bonding over new inside jokes, and enjoying good food.

Exclusively good food. If half of the Valorant protocol are geniuses and the other half are sorcerers, all of them are avid foodies.

“Iso, this has to be enough for the whole team,” Gekko interrupts the duelist’s internal monologue. He looks over to see a small mountain of cut up green onions piled precariously in a steel bowl. Gekko is staring up at him with water in his eyes, a slight pout on his plush lips.

Stop it. Shut up. “I think that’s a little more than enough. If not, they can cut more themselves,” Iso replies, brushing away any more thoughts of pretty lips belonging to compassionate, green haired initiators.

Gekko hums. “But, there’s a chance that we might run out, especially since a lot of them do like using them to top stuff off.” He sighs and reaches out towards the uncut pile. “I might as well cut a few more stalks.”

Iso reaches out automatically, placing a hand on Gekko’s. The other agent turns his gaze back to him, tilting his head up ever so slightly to reach his stare. “They are grown adults who can cut their own green onions if we somehow run out. You do not need to cater to nonexistent whims.”

Gekko’s mouth drops open slightly in awe before giggling, his face shining in delight. “Wow, thank you. I didn’t think I’d be thinking so seriously over hotpot toppings.”

Iso pulls his hand away, mentally praying to every higher being out there that Gekko couldn’t feel his rushing heartbeat in his fingertips. He stares into the pot of milky broth he’d been nursing for hours, picks up a ladle, stirs. “Anyway, shouldn’t I be the one stressing out? I’m the one who was put in charge and whatnot.” He sips at the broth with a tasting spoon and promptly frowns. Not fragrant enough.

“That’s kinda the reason why, I’m, like, fussing on your behalf, I guess,” Gekko’s knife slices some napa cabbage into equal pieces. “I’ve seen and been part of plenty of team dinners before. But, I don’t know. You put a lot of thought and effort into this. Allergies, preferences, options. You thought of it all.”

Iso follows his gaze to the plethora of ingredients crowding the kitchen island behind them. Bowls piled high with everything from leafy vegetables (bok choy, spinach, edible chrysanthemum), starchy vegetables (taro root, lotus root, potato slices, bamboo shoots), three different kinds of mushrooms (Enoki, king oyster, wood ear), five variants of tofu (firm, silken, friend bean curd, sheets cut into noodles, frozen) six types of noodles and rice cakes (not including the rice in the rice cookers). All the other protein was stacked in the fridge, alongside two trays of homemade dumplings Iso made yesterday. Another pot of spicy, sichuan broth simmers low next to the one Iso works on.

Iso purses his lips. “Hm, I still don’t think it’s enough.”

“Oh shut up,” Gekko chirps with a light bump of his hip. “Just take the compliment. You thought of everything everyone might need.”

Iso thumbs through a small pile of goji berries off to the side, picking a portion of the brighter red pieces before dropping them into the pot. “You overestimate me. It’s just broth and sliced ingredients. Anyone in the protocol would think of everyone.” He takes another tasting spoon up to his lips, nodding at the newly added depth of the berries into the broth. It’ll taste even better with more time to steep. He smacks his lips. “Here, try this.” Iso scoops a small portion into a tasting dish, absentmindedly handing it off to the initiator.

He doesn’t take it right away. Iso looks over, and the other agent is gazing up at him with an amused, warm smile that does silly things to his chest. Gekko takes the tasting dish from his hand, fingers brushing past each other with an electric current. The silly feelings in his chest swirl into a familiar uncertainty as the other man sips the broth, blinking blankly.

Oh God. Iso didn’t even consider the possibility that Gekko might want the soup to be less fragrant. The Goji berries were fucking overkill, weren’t they? Can Iso rewind time? Preferably to a time where he didn’t add more goji berries? Is that a radianate ability? Actually, a time manipulation ability would be horrible: to discover, to have, to go up against-

“Wow.” Gekko interrupts Iso's self-imposed spiral. “This is really, really, really good.” He gulps the rest of the soup with a satisfied sigh, happiness flush across his features.

On the contrary, is there an ability to freeze time? A way to stay in this moment forever, to keep it close? Would it be creepy if he took a photo of Gekko looking this happy because of him?

Definitively, yes. So Iso just turns back to his soup, stirring robotically, processing the silly, giddy things that dance in his chest. Damned admiration and awe and affection. Over some damn soup. “I’m glad you like it,” Iso says, after too long of a beat.

“Well, I knew I was going to like it.” Gekko responds, dumping the last of the napa cabbage into a bowl. Leafy vegetable number four. “I just hope everyone else does.”

“If they don’t, they’re not eating dinner,” he scoffs. He can feel Gekko’s annoyed glare beam in his direction. If possible, Iso would like to keep that too. “Come on, let’s go set up. We can start with the sauce station.”

The stocks simmer on low. Iso and Gekko dance around the room to set things up as the dinner hour ticks closer. They disagree (“Think about presentation, Iso! You can just put things out in a line.” “But it’ll be easier to see everything.”), they agree (“I’m thinking of giving Clove the oak leaf.” “That lines up with their personality, but won’t Sova get mad?”), and there’s an occasional question, (“Agh! Why are you crawling under the table?!” “I have to do cord management for the hotpots.”), but everything finishes just in time for the agents to start streaming in for dinner.

The Valorant protocol ooh and aah at the table and the fixings before them. Their genuine excitement is contagious, but Iso’s eyes follow Gekko across the room, as the initiator is roped into conversation between Harbor and Astra. He meets the duelist’s gaze, and lights up, waving quickly before returning to his conversation. Harbor and Astra follow suit, but Iso barely registers it until their hands are already down. He nods in return. Harbor elbows Gekko, whispering conspiratorially as Astra giggles behind her metal hand and Gekko’s ears go bright red. What on Earth could they be talking about?

“This looks great, Iso!” Skye greets him at the doorway. Iso flinches in her direction as Viper and Omen trail behind her.

Did the room fill so quickly, so soon? From the near empty table of twenty something chairs to all seats claimed in under five minutes. Conversation bounces around the room, Phoenix eggs on Yoru, Tejo tries to calm them both down. It’s that camaraderie he’s used to, that default extroverted nature of the Valorant protocol that thrives in group settings. A feeling he was once wary of, now an everyday setting that feels strange to go without.

He played off being stressed, the pressure of such a big responsibility all week. It was something akin to installing new shower heads, or touching down on the Icebox. Something typical, easy, routine. Iso’s seen other agents do it before- why can’t he?

Brimstone stands up and clears his throat. The noise dies down, and heads turn in his direction. “Alright guys, I won’t keep you guys long, just need to say a few things. First off, welcome back Astra and Harbor, glad you’re both safe. As we know, they’ve been out for a few weeks investigating some radianite activity over in the south of France,”

To Iso’s surprise, Harbor rolls his eyes and throws an arm over Astra’s chair, while the rest of the agents snicker. Is there something he’s missing? Either way, the lead agent ignores it.

“Second, stop using your abilities when you do daily chores around the base. I know it’s convenient, but I’m tired of…”

The controller’s voice fades away as Iso sweeps his eyes across the room. While some people are actually listening to Brimstone, others are eyeing the food piled high, the bubbling broth and the endless fixings of hotpot ingredients in front of them. They’re… excited. And shouldn’t Iso be glad?

Anxiety starts as a pleasant feeling, funnily enough. Iso’s never dealt with it before, never given the choice to face his ever deteriorating mental health at Hourglass. But the warmth of the room seeps into his bones and all of a sudden- freezes his very marrow.

The distant rumble of Brimstone’s voice fades further as he makes his arbitrary announcements. It morphs through his earbuds, twists into a terrible cackle that whispers the worst things into his brain.

Did he forget something? A request someone had? Tteobokki for Jett. Shito for Astra. Preferences? Skye and Deadlock are pescatarian. Cypher doesn’t eat meat on Mondays. Allergies?

A blank void blinks back. Nothing comes to mind. No one comes to mind. Holy shit. Is he about to kill somebody?

A streak of lightning lights the void of his mind. It illuminates a folder with Hourglass’s icon, containing Omen’s picture in it. The controller’s face crossed out. More lightning, more agents, more faces crossed out. Thunder rings out with each of his colleagues.

Gekko’s face doesn’t even appear in his photo. It’s torn off at the base of his neck.

”Alright, no one’s paying attention to me, so I give up. Iso,” Brimstone prompts the duelist. “What’s for dinner?”

What’s for dinner. What is for dinner? Iso suddenly doesn’t know. He spent two weeks planning, from the moment Sage told him. He spent three days preparing. But he doesn’t know what’s on the damn table. Iso just knows he’s about to kill somebody. Iso’s breath shortens. He can do nothing but stand stock still, stupid. Balling his fist, spreading his fingers wide. Dry air fills his mouth, sticks to the walls of his throat, never truly going down. His heart is trying to punch itself out of his body.

What the fuck did he make for dinner?

A hand smoothes circles on his back, between his shoulder blades. Iso flinches at the contact, eyes darting around the room in alarm. No one is looking at him.

“It looks like a lot, but trust. Once everything cooks down, it actually goes back into the soup, making it more flavorful.”

Iso follows their eyes a little to his left. The warmth in the room falls on an ever chattering Gekko, pointing at each thing on the table like he was naming new stars in the sky. Gekko’s palm is warm against Iso’s spine, giving him a focus to steer his mind away from his ugly thoughts. Soothing and grounding, inflating the air back into Iso’s chest.

“And yes, you have to put on the aprons. You can choose not to, but you’ll make a mess of yourself. Trust.”

“Can we mix the soup bases together? Or would that taste weird?” Raze wrinkles her nose in thought.

“Y-yes,” Iso stutters. Everyone turns to him. But it doesn’t feel as oppressive as it once did. Still, Iso anchors himself to Gekko’s touch. “And we made more to refill once it starts to run out.”

Gekko removes his palm off, clapping his shoulder with a blinding smile. “So! We’ll prep that super quickly. Go ahead and dig in ahead of us. Enjoy!”

Iso catches a glimpse of Sage’s concerned gaze as Gekko ushers him back into the kitchen. Away from prying eyes, Iso immediately lurches over, his hands catching themselves on his knees, swallows big gulps of air through his mouth. Gekko stays by his side through it all, circling his hand around Iso’s shoulder blade in those same easy motions.

It’s the longest minute of his life, buying back his sanity with every breath. His eyes are watering. His stomach hurts. “What the fuck was that?” He asks. He doesn't know to who.

Gekko doesn’t answer right away. He squats in front of Iso, steadies him with his big, brown eyes. “An anxiety attack, I think. Or, a panic attack, Sage tried to explain it to me once, but I couldn’t really retain it.” Gekko gives him a reassuring smile, squeezes his arm. “Take your time, breathe through it. I’m right here.”

Iso does. He doesn’t know how much time it takes. He doesn’t know how much time passes. Iso hears laughs and lively conversation, smells his grandmother’s dumplings, clenches at the rough texture of his jeans. A pair of shining, golden eyes and the man behind them.

Iso is here. He’s not in Hourglass anymore. He doesn’t have to look over his shoulder, questioning every gesture of the people around him. No more torture at the result of honest mistakes. Forgiveness, empathy, courtesy are forged here.

That ugly, spiked weight finally, finally lifts itself from his bones. He feels like himself again. A worn down, version of himself. But he's still here.

“Have you ever had one?” Iso asks, urgency dripping from his voice.

Gekko’s face morphs into something somber. “My very first mission. First time I killed someone.” His lip quivers. “Alpha Reyna, actually. You know how it is. Naive, eager, too much bull shit machismo. Our Reyna tried looking out for me, but it was real bad. I went 2 to 26, and we barely won.”

“I thought I was going to kill someone,” Iso rasps out. “Just now. I thought I forgot something, and that I was going to kill someone in front of everybody, during fucking dinner. Someone was going to drop dead- at my hand.” The duelist stops himself, ball his fists up. His knuckles ache with the pressure. “I didn’t want that.”

Iso can feel his confession freeze the air. Makes the atmosphere heavy. But instead of slowing him down, Gekko’s arms surge around his shoulders, pulling him in so hard that Iso almost stumbles before catching himself on the initiator’s waist. He can feel Gekko’s steady heartbeat pulse through his chest, as his eyes widen at the sudden contact. But Iso automatically circles his arms tight around Gekko, tucks his face into his hair. He smells like soup. Total safety.

“You wouldn’t have. I told you, you thought everything through, and then some. You did so good. I’m so proud of you.”

Iso’s lashes flutter shut against Gekko’s hair. Soft on softer. Doesn’t respond. Just holds him close.

The duelist doesn’t know how much time passes. He just knows when it’s time to let go, his palms sliding across the initiator’s warm waist. Gekko asks if he’s okay. Iso nods with resolution. They keep each other’s gaze. The air is warm and comforting again.

Utensils clatter in the other room, groans follow right after. They pull apart further as Sova starts defending himself from the rest of the other agents’ ribbing (“Chopsticks are not my strong suit!”). Gekko cranes his head to peek through the doorway, can barely contain his laughter from crossing his features as watches the commotion in the other room. Iso lets a careless smile fall on his face as he watches the initiator.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Iso drops his smile as Gekko pats around his pockets, pulling out a small velvet pouch. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but we got so caught up in prep that I wasn’t able to. Here,” He holds it out.

Iso picks it up gingerly, rubbing at the solid, amorphous shape within. He pushes the drawstrings out, and drops it into his hand. His eyes widen as a white case falls into his hands, lidded by a transluscent, purple acrylic. Under the lid, are shaped indents carved into the black case to create a perfect space for his earbuds. Hairline thin lilac and silver highlights reminiscent of his abilities decorate the inside, stemming from a red triangle. A sturdy leather strap dangles at the top.

“Uh, sorry it took awhile.” A rosy red blooms on the initiator’s ears, rubbing sheepishly at his neck. “It was a pretty advanced project, what with the lid and stuff. I had the idea after we were in the workshop and you were working on your new sling attachment. It kinda looked like a perfect place to put a cool charm or something, maybe an easy place to have your stuff so it doesn’t fall out of your pocket? I had to ask Raze for the blueprint of your earbuds to make the mold inside. It doesn’t charge them, unfortunately, because that would have taken way longer to make, and I was already pretty feeling bad about making you wait so long-”

“It’s beautifully crafted.” Iso keeps his eyes on the new home for his earbuds, admiration and affection for Gekko surging through him with each second it rests in his hand. “I am grateful to have it. Thank you.”

When Iso is finally able to tear his eyes away from it to meet Gekko’s eyes, the other agent has this unreadable expression on his face. Something akin to light embarrassment and uncontrollable happiness. But it’s gone a moment later, replaced with a crooked smile and overexaggerated waving. “Aw man, that’s kind of a crazy compliment coming from you. I appreciate it! No pressure to use it or anything, by the way. I won’t be offended.”

“Nonsense. It would be a waste of your wonderful work.” The duelist says matter of factly.

“Wonderful-!” Another crash falls in the other room, and Gekko leans back, wincing at the scene. “Pinche, okay, they’re starting a drinking game. I better go make sure they have extra stuff for when they spill.” Gekko points at Iso as he starts to back up deeper into the kitchen. “Stay here until you’re ready! I’ll cover it till then!”

Iso tracks the initiator as he scampers around the room, summoning Dizzy to help him pick up extra bowls and utensils, before snatching two kettles of broth in his hands. He shoots Iso one last pointed look, before rushing out, a loud cheer responding to his and the radivore’s arrival.

He stands there for a few moments, blinking, the case a steady presence in his hand. Dreamily, he turns it over with a push of his thumb.

Lightly engraved into the back, blending into the shiny white paint, sit the initials MAF.

===

“Okay, and if everything works, it should light up, right?”

Iso passes Fade the remote, frowning at the thrice installed mirror across from them. “Ideally, yes. But who knows what will go wrong this time.”

Fade matches his frustration with a sigh. “I usually don’t look to optimism, but at this point, I’ll take anything.” She absentmindedly flips the remote in her hand. “Honestly, even if it doesn’t light up, I‘ll keep it as is.”

“Please don’t say that. I have too much pride to be defeated by a mirror.”

“Is that why you’re always extra aggressive when we go up against a copy of you?”

“Just press the button.”

Iso grits his teeth as Fade extends her hand toward the floor length mirror in front of them, thumb hovering over the power button. If all goes well, the embedded lights will illuminate with an aggressive, cold glow. Iso will take temporary blindness. He just needs it to work.

Click. Nothing.

Click. Not a flicker of light.

Click. Click Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick!

“Stop.” Iso bites out. He rubs his palms into his eyes, heaving a heavy breath through his nose. “Just. Stop.”

He keeps his hands there until stars and blobs dot his vision. It’s a perfect prison. He’d rather see random shapes the rest of his days than have to look at electric wires ever again. Death via mirror installation frustration. Who fuckin’ knew that’s how the Dead Lilac would go out?

Iso’s pride and some foolish beacon of hope, protests. “I might have to remove the mirror and inspect the wiring to the outlet again.”

“If you take this thing off my wall one more time, my dogs will haunt you for the rest of the week.”

“Happy Monday!” A bubbly voice chirps from the doorway. Iso and Fade swing their heads around, sending nasty scowls in Gekko’s direction. Gekko seizes up, his smile growing tight. Yet somehow, still blinding. “Or, uh… not?”

A shape wriggles beside him. From the corner of his eye, Iso spies Thrash scurrying behind Gekko’s legs like a frightened child. He does not blame the poor creature. Iso’s so tense his shoulders feel like they’re permanently shrugged up to his ears. He fears his brow won’t be smooth again from all his frowning.

Beside him, Fade relaxes. “Sorry Gekko. This thing,” she jerks a thumb toward the mirror. “Has been giving us problems all day.”

Gekko approaches cautiously, almost tiptoeing into the room until he can inspect it close. Thrash crawls just as slowly. “Um, I think it’s just a mirror.” He turns to Iso, concern drawn on his features. “You’ve installed plenty of these before.”

“This one is supposed to light up,” Iso says through gritted teeth. His blood feels like it’s on a permanent, rolling boil. “Ideally, it can also adjust it’s brightness and warmth, with a press of a fucking button. But for the past four hours it has refused to work. No matter what I fucking do.”

“Oh, man. That’s rough,” Gekko’s hand rubs his shoulder. Turns down the dial on the stove of Iso’s body into a low simmer. He's been touching him more freely as of late. Iso still aches for more. “I wish I could help. What do you have to do?”

“Ideally, just plug it into a wall,” Iso explains, staring into his reflection. Gekko isn’t looking at the mirror, just gazing concerned at the taller duelist. “But there was no immediate outlet on this wall, where Fade requested it. So I had to add an outlet, which makes things more complicated. The first time, there was a problem with the connection. The second time, Fade’s dog ate one of the wires, so I had to reconfigure everything.”

“Hm… that is pretty frustrating,” Gekko tucks his chin between his thumb and pointer fingers, deep in thought. “Oh! I can check the breaker for you? Maybe you forgot to turn it back on after installing it the second time around.”

Realization flashes through Iso like Neon’s stun to the gut. “Oh my god, the breaker. I completely forgot about that.” Iso smacks his forehead.

Gekko laughs, lively and honest. It sounds lovely. “No sweat dude! It happens. One time I almost forgot my lil guys like, right before I was going to step onto the VULTR. Omen pointed out I didn’t have my pack on me and I had to scramble. Super embarrassing. Let me go check on it.”

Relief exhales through Iso, tilting his head down to get a better look at the shorter agent. “That would be really nice. Thanks for offering.”

“Of course. It’s the least I could do. I’m literally just flipping a switch!” Gekko beams at him. Iso returns it automatically, smaller, ever present. He can feel his brow smoothing out. That same admiration toward the initiator pulses in his ribs. His frustration from earlier, basically forgotten.

It would be very easy to touch his forehead to Gekko’s. Get just a bit closer and see his freckles up close, memorize all the constellations on his face. Feel his breath against his lips, taste the salt on his tongue as he pulls away-

“Yeah, you go check on it.” Fade’s voice breaks through his daze of affection. The duo pull away from each other, whip fast in her direction, meet her dull and studying gaze. “In fact, both of you should go. Maybe a nice walk and some fresh air will help.” She raises an eyebrow at the duelist. Iso feels like she can see right through him. What is with the women of Valorant who can read him like a book? Iso barely knows the words to the first page.

“Oh- uh. There’s no need! I can go by myself! Iso should- uh, probably stay here to make sure it all works! Yeah! I’ll be right back!” Gekko makes a move to step away, but a loud gurgle makes them all pause in their tracks. At their feet, Thrash wiggles back and forth. Iso just now notices the radivore is carrying a fairly large paper bag on its back. “Ah, good point, buddy.”

Gekko hands it to Fade. She takes it. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Yup! Sorry it’s a little late, had to double check a couple of things measurement wise.” Gekko rubs the back of his neck, ears bright red. Iso wants to nip at them. “Hopefully it lives up to what we talked about?”

“I’m sure it does,” she tilts her head toward the door. “The breaker?”

“Oh! Yeah! Be back in a sec,” Gekko rushes out of the room, Thrash weaving between his heels. Iso’s eyes linger on the empty doorway for one second, two, three. He loses count.

Fade mutters something under her breath. Distractedly, Iso hums in response, halfway listening to her. What if he misses Gekko’s return?

“The breakers are on the other side of the building.” Fade responds. “It’ll take him at least five minutes to get there and back here.”

Iso whips his head in her direction. “How did you know I was thinking about that?”

“You said it out loud, dumbass,” she answers, annoyed. “I figured you wanted an answer.”

If he could, Iso would sink his whole head into his hoodie, like a cowardly turtle. But he is not a turtle, he is a grown man. He’d like to avoid giving Fade more ammunition to her ever growing pile of duelist blackmail.

The seconds pass in stiff silence. Then a minute.

Fade breaks first. “Do you want to see what Gekko made for me?”

“Not particularly.”

“Shut up, liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

She doesn’t answer, instead pulling out a circular two tiered tray, reminiscent of a cupcake stand at tea parties. Iso takes it after she silently grants him permissions, holding it gingerly by the handle. The sheer weight of it startles him momentarily, grips it tight to prevent it from leaving his grasp.

The craftsmanship is not delicate. It’s made to be sturdy and protective of whatever is placed upon it. Each tier is bordered by a high lipped edge, as though to prevent something from falling when placed upon it. The design of the whole thing is utilitarian, but the tiers themselves tell a different story.

Painted carefully, against a streaked bold blue and black galaxy, bright, silvery constellations dot the tiers. Next to each constellation, is a small location tag. Draco, Antalya Gelemiş. Orion, Bumthang Valley. Cassiopeia, Santa Fe. Draco, Zambales. There are more, each one labeled carefully. Iso recognizes some of the locations from common mission sites. He can’t put his finger on others.

Iso runs his fingers over etched designs on the lipped edge. Out of curiosity, he brings it closer to his face.

kıvılcımım, yıldızım. Aking bituin. My spark, my star.

Iso blinks. Shakes his head and scrutinizes closer.

My Spark, My Star.

“It’s supposed to hold nail polish.” Fade says. Iso tries to meet her eyes, but she’s already looked away. Is she… blushing? “Tala and I bonded over it the first time we met. She would always paint my nails after I chipped them on missions. Eventually, she started painting them anyway, regardless of how they looked.

“One day I asked her, ‘Are you doing this just so you have an excuse to hold my hand?’ And she said ‘Yeah, should I have been more obvious?’”

Her face morphs into… something Iso can’t read. A quiet happiness. Fondness? “That was almost two years ago. She told me she wanted to get back into nail art when we went stargazing a few months ago. Tala’s been pretty busy in the last year, and I could tell it was really weighing on her, the stress of being on so many missions. It was killing me inside, but she always accepted each job with a smile.”

Fade blows a hair out of her face. “But every time she came back, things felt worse. Her sparks were crazy when she came home, our sheets felt like laying in an active lightning storm. She’d fry her fingertips on almost any metal surface, and we basically live in a big airplane hanger. It got so bad that I almost kicked the door down to KJ and Raze’s work room, demanding they help her with her inhibitors,” She sighs, “Took a couple of shouting matches, and one good, long conversation, but they finally helped her with her inhibitors, and now she’s much happier, even if she’s not as strong as before.”

She shrugs in the direction of the bag. “Anyway I built this organization thing I saw online, but it looked ugly as it was, and I can’t be trusted with anything outside of henna. So I asked Gekko to paint the trays for me. It was really embarrassing, sending him all the constellations, but he just laughed it off and told me he got it. He did a really good job.”

Iso gazes at the tray with a newfound awe. His fingers hover over the delicate lettering. Lepus, Cebu City. Auriga, Kuşadası. Camelopardalis, Athens. As though Gekko captured their every memory and poured their feelings into the night sky. He nods resolutely, meeting Fade’s eyes. “I think Neon will appreciate it. Your gesture of friendship will not be overlooked.”

Fade blinks away the warmth from her face. Her eyes turn to steel, sending a chill down his spine. Pure disgust and flat disbelief, as though Iso had offended her whole family, ghosts and all. “A gesture of what?”

“Of… friendship?” Iso shapes the word through the sudden cotton in his mouth. He swears he can see wisps of shadow form around her wrists. He takes the slightest shuffle back.

Fade groans, running a hand down her face. “Iso. Are you stupid? Neon is my girlfriend.”

The duelist’s mouth drops open so wide, a fly could hover right in and he wouldn’t feel a thing. “Y-your girlfriend? Since when?”

“Since before you were here, dumbass,” Fade clenches her teeth. “Our anniversary is coming up! Does this look like a gesture of friendship to you?” She points at the organizer in his hand.

Iso spits and stutters. ”Neon and Gekko buy each other stuff all the time!”

“They buy each other food, or maybe a bottle of nail polish, considering that’s how they got to know each other!” The initiator throws another finger at a photo on the wall. “Didn't you notice Neon and I were gone for like, what, two weeks? We took our parents on vacation!”

Iso blinks, bug eyed at the photo on the wall. Neon and Fade smile wide in the middle, surrounded by four older adults who look like their parents. They’re all wearing horrifying, orange, palm tree patterned t-shirts and raising drinks with umbrellas in them.

What the fuck is happening? “Brimstone said you were on a mission.” Iso tries to reason.

“Oh my god Iso, he says that about everything. It’s an open secret in the protocol that if it's only two people leaving, they’re vacationing together. Haven’t you ever noticed? Even if it’s recon he sends at least three agents!”

Visions flash before his eyes. Jett helping Killjoy pack for her mission with Raze. The giggles after Brimstone announced Astra and Harbor returned from France. Was he dense, or did he simply never pay attention? Either way, his mind is thoroughly boggled. “Valorant… allows relationships?” His mind reels. Iso can only laugh hollowly. “If Hourglass ever found out their agents were together, they would have killed them both on the spot.”

The steel in Fade’s face softens in sympathy. “Ah. That explains a lot.” She coughs into her fist. “Well, if it helps, Neon and I have been together for two years. We are lesbians. Strictly sapphic. Extremely exclusive.” She counts one on her finger, “Killjoy and Raze are also lesbians. Astra and Harbor-”

“We don’t need to go over it like this,” Iso waves frantically, stopping the initiator in her tracks. “Not right now. Also, it would probably be more respectful if I asked the others themselves.”

“Hmph,” She frowns again, but not as severely. She holds her hand out, and Iso gingerly hands her back the organizer, tucks it back into the bag. “To be completely honest, they have bigger secrets to keep. Sexual preference and gender identity are nothing. They would answer honestly. You are in good hands.”

“That’s… nice to know.” Iso says slowly.

“Is there anyone you plan on asking first?” Fade fires back.

An image of bright green hair and freckled smile appears in a flash, before leaving his vision all together, as though delivering a swift punch in Iso’s gut. For the second time in five minutes, the duelist is stunned. “I… um…”

“Whoop, sorry for the wait. Thrash started wrestling with Skye’s dog.” Gekko reappears in the doorway, no Thrash behind him. “Real big mess. He’s on time out.”

Iso can almost see Thrash pouting in Gekko’s crossbody bag. He turns away fast, heat flashing on his face. “Still off, huh?” Iso muses loud. Maybe it’ll drown out the noisy sirens of his mind to ask for Gekko’s- nope. “Maybe I do have to take it off the wall.”

“Uh, did you try turning it on?”

Fade speaks up before Iso can get a word in. “No, not yet, we were waiting for you. By the way, what’s your sexuality?”

Why. Why would she do this to him?

Gekko doesn’t even pause to answer, instead inspecting the mirror’s lights closer. “Dudes for sure. Uh, I think I said achillean last time? Gay or achillean, either one.”

Click! The light of the mirrors flicker on. Gekko beams instantly, matching the blinding LED lights, Fade crosses her arms with a nod, remote in hand, and Iso turns so red he could be mistaken for a tomato.

“Whoa, it works! I knew it had to be something else. You’re usually pretty thorough,” Gekko turns to Iso. Unfortunately, Iso’s jaw hit the floor hard, still struck stupid, as though flashed three times over by the enemy team. “Whoa! You don’t look so good. Are you okay?” Gekko reaches out to touch his forehead.

Panicked, Iso high fives Gekko’s outstretched hand. Gekko’s eyebrows go sky high, and Iso has to turn away or he’ll be seen as stupid forever. “Woo! Or uh, -yes. Haha, it must be all the stress leaving me. I’m so glad I don’t have to take this thing off the wall a third time. I should clean up as soon as possible, so I can get out of Fade’s hair sooner.” Iso chuckles nervously. He can barely meet the initiator’s eyes.

“Oh…kay?” Gekko slowly revolves his head toward his fellow initiator, leaving Iso to stare at his freshly dyed buzzcut. It looks good. He can make out his jaw moving ever so slightly, mouthing words to Fade. She just shrugs. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

“Nope!”

“Oh… Okay…” Iso doesn’t even look in the initiator’s direction.”Are you sure? There’s a lot of drywall on the ground and you know Thrash loves drywall.”

“No. All good here. Have a good afternoon.” Iso answers stiffly, kneeling down to start packing his tools up.

“Then… I guess I’ll get going.” Gekko tries to meet Iso’s eyes one more time, earnest as ever. If Iso were a lesser man, his knees would buckle.

There’s a momentary silence, heavy with awkwardness except for the sound of metal clanking into his toolbox. He grunts in affirmation when Gekko says “See you around,” footfalls headed away.

He allows himself a hefty sigh when the door slides shut. That could have gone worse. It could have been much worse. Newly gifted with the knowledge that Gekko likes men, cursed with the realization that the man he might like is not Iso. Which shouldn’t really even matter. Iso knows how he feels towards Gekko. Admiration for his empathy. Awe in his abilities and battlefield prowess. Affection for his existence. Not love-

“I know what you are, Iso.” Fade interrupts his internal monologue. He can only imagine her judgemental expression.

Iso braces himself for impact. “And what would that be?”

Her boots click across the floor. They pause when the door slides open. “A fool.”

The door shuts behind her. Iso sighs, surrounded by scattered tools.

===

The ground beneath him trembles, the lamps overhead creak and groan. Iso keeps his eyes trained on short, voices communicate through his earpiece, while shots ring out on the other side of the Moroccan market. Unwavering in his stance while Skye gasps in desperation, Deadlock yells in pain, Harbor falls to his knees. Iso just tightens his hand around his sheriff.

”Iso,” Cypher rasps in pain, “Do not respond. They- ah! Three headed to you. Two toward short. One tower. I’m in B elbow, licking my damn wounds. I won’t make it on time, but my camera is there. They do not know where you are.”

The camera on site clicks open. The radianite in Iso’s body pulses in response, traveling down his veins like an active sound wave. Cold metal from the van behind him digs into his hip. He used his shield too soon. One wall, one disable left.

Cypher lets out a disgusting cough, soaked in blood. “S-Standby.”

Iso keeps his trigger pointer steady, narrows his eyes to the corner, and focuses on the cool metal of his sheriff. Counts his heartbeats with the seconds that pass. One, two, three.

The camera fires toward the tower, sinking a dart into Vyse. The duelist swings his body around the corner fast, spots her as she falls into the left side. Three, two, one bullets sink into her torso, and she collapses, to the floors, useless.

“Sova dart coming through cubby. Hide, I’m coming now!”

Iso sends his wall out toward cubby, runs fast as Sova’s dart arches above him, throws himself into showers as it strikes the back wall. He gets his breath under control as footsteps rush onto the site. Their Sova barks orders, and the spike plummets into the ground. A shot rings out.

“Tripwire destroyed, lamps to tower.”

Bright pink smoke obscures the tower balcony. Someone settles into the wall behind him, reloads their gun. If he plays this right, he can catch them off guard.

“My eyes are down, shit!”

Gunfire erupts tower side, bullets whizzing past. One shot is all it takes, and the Clove goes down.

“Back, like I never left!”

“No!”

Iso winces as Cypher’s utility disappears from the map, powering down to nothing.

Iso’s teeth ache, clenching his jaw so hard he can feel his molars grind across each other. The spike beeps with an unstoppable fervor, unforgiving and annoying.

The mind games are the worst, and the most important part of the protocol’s missions. The duelist readies his pistol, taking quiet steps toward the tower, while keeping his eyes toward the teleporter in short. The footsteps from the tower get louder, and Iso dips behind dice. He counts. One. Two.

Iso snaps his body toward the tower side, and as the smoke fades the Clove appears in the doorway. Their eyes go wide at the sight of him, then blank, their body tumbling to the lower ground as the sheriff's bullets snap between their eyes.

Iso scrabbles for the vandal in front of him. The radianite pulses as he summons energy outward in a tight ball toward the stacked crates hiding the Sova. He waits for it to pass the boxes, then automatically sprays the clip into the wood, rifle shaking violently in his hands.

Shrapnel flies. A second later, another body falls, blonde hair splaying against the red dirt.

Iso doesn’t remember defusing the spike. The adrenaline haze clears when he’s back in spawn, the violent lurch of transportation through space and time punching him back to the present.

“Hm! Well played.” Harbor claps his shoulder. “You should be proud!”

“He played like a rat,” Deadlock spits out, stabbing her pointer finger into his arm. Iso matches her angry snarl, squaring his shoulders against her outburst. “Hiding behind corners, slow walking the entire time. You could’ve helped us when they started flooding the site!”

“We are down two rounds, and we were playing for picks, Deadlock,” He snaps back. “They have us on the back foot, and I was directed to kill their economy. Not to win.“

Skye’s palm shoves at his sternum. He stumbles back, more out of courtesy than anything, as the initiator moves between them. The sentinel barely budges. “Cool off! We won, we can buy. We can deal with shit strategies later, we have to focus now.”

“Deadlock started it.”

“Techinically, I did.” Cypher’s voice crackles through their earpieces. The remaining four members of the team whirl around. They don’t see him anywhere. “I told him to anchor. And as de facto team captain, he played out my strategy perfectly. Unfortunately it was quite shit because I didn’t tell the rest of you about it. My bad.”

Iso exhales through his nostrils, grateful that Cypher took the fall. Still Deadlock is irked. “I’ll apologize later,” she huffs. Deadlock flips the karambit in her hand as she stomps to the right, away from Cypher. Skye shoots him an apologetic look before running right behind her.

Iso shoves the Clove’s colorful rifle to Harbor. He barely registers the controller’s nod, opening his shop and immediately picking his own vandal. It materializes into his hands plain and sleek, safe for the colorful case that hangs pretty against the dark metal.

He takes long inhales through his nose. One, two slow, like he and Gekko practiced.

“I also personally like to think of things that make me happy between each breath. This kinda stuff seems cheesy, but Reyna calls it centering yourself, you know?” Gekko laughed, embarrassed. “It helps me, so hopefully it’ll help you when you’re out there.”

Studying herbs with their Vyse. Musically analyzing Charli XCX’s extended brat album with KAY/O. The way Gekko smiles at him.

His eyes flutter open, and he makes his way to tower.

Morocco is a sore spot to their protocol. An almost lost cause that Valorant reclaims by the skin of their teeth when they win, and lose with little grace. The combination of oppressive heat and radianite instability tests the best of agents. Some rounds, the grip of his own gun feels alien. He grimaces when he pulls up the leaderboard. Seven kills, nine deaths. Disappointing at best.

The timer strikes down, drowns out his irritation. He shoulders the barrel of his rifle, and waits right at the corner. Phoenix dots his vision. Iso wins.

Their fights are a damned crawl, exchanging round after round with the enemy. Iso’s performance climbs with it, his shots getting steadier, his awareness clearer with each tick of the clock, each damned drop of the spike.

Skye gets the last kill on round 23. Finally, finally, after lagging behind all game, they finally go up one. 12 to 11.

Even Harbor is getting tested, picking up the spike with a groan. “I don’t think I can do overtime.”

“We are not going to overtime.” Iso taps at his playlist. Gekko’s charm swings empty on his vandal. “And even if we do, you’re expected to perform just the same.”

“Says you,” Deadlock grits her teeth, snarling at the market spices. “I keep getting shot by that goddamn Vyse. I can not keep getting picked like that.”

“Noted,” Cypher hums, snapping his rifle bolt back into place. “How about this? Deadlock and I will go A site. Make noise, and so on. You three, go slow, lure out kills. The defenders rotate quickly, so once they sniff a threat, they will, how do the kids say it? Haul ass.” Cypher stabs at the wall twice, slashes at the wall once. “From there, spike quietly goes to the free site. Maybe even keep one person on each site to sell the illusion, and catch flanks for a bit before regrouping.”

Iso hums in affirmation, finally settles on a song. Weirdly moody, a little cinematic, a steady beat behind it. His temple throbs. He’s most certain it came from the Breach’s bullet from two rounds ago. The duelist’s hands settle steady on the vandal.

Skye taps him on the shoulder, urging him to follow her down long. Harbor quietly steps toward hookah. The sand under Iso’s feet grinds as he holds the corner, Skye right behind him.

A radianite orb dings, a measure away, like a bell in the wind. Skye, flash! Iso mouths urgently. Her bird flies around the corner and Iso turns with it, catches the Sova crouching close toward the doorway of the garden. His gun fires, bullets sinking into the initiator’s arm. Vyse’s flower blinds Iso back, purple and gold piercing his vision. When he goes to look, Sova is gone, and Vyse’s thorns grip his shoes.

They hear steps scramble toward their site. Iso can make out one elbow, one retreating back close under hookah.

“They’re leaving,” Cypher communicates. “Head over quietly.”

Five versus five. Iso nods at Skye, who nods back, tells the sentinels she and Harbor are headed their way, Iso is staying behind. Vyse’s thorns retract as they retreat quietly, Iso alone in the long hall to the garden.

“Back site clear, trapping their spawn now.” Deadlock’s voice crackles to life.

He listens to the team with bated breath, waits for the communication they’ve arrived to Cypher. There’s a quiet shuffling on site, an arrow releases into the sky. It’s all too late, they’re going to plant at dice, Skye’s ult will be online soon. He grasps his vandal tighter. Gekko’s case barely swings.

“Iso, retreat. We’re set up here.”

He doesn’t respond. He waits.

The spike goes down, and the commotion is immediate. Sova spits expletives at the team to run to site, two on flank, the rest with him. The duelist moves fast, throws his wall through the garden wall while sprinting to the teleporter. Iso’s toes are a millimeter toward portal but he catches himself. He doesn’t go through.

Iso yanks his shoddy classic out of the holster, and chucks it into the teleporter. It rings out in response. “Watch your flank. I’m lurking.” He clips through communication. Deadlock starts to protest, but he’s already turning his team down, brings his music up. Pure and utter focus.

He takes his first steps into the site, sand swirling under his sneakers. Looks left and right, checks his corners for rats, finds none. Skye dies to the Breach.

Iso continues through the site, walking through the metal hall.

Deadlock knocks the Breach down. Harbor takes out Phoenix and Clove with a collateral, before dying himself to the Sova. Silence falls on his site as the spike ticks closer to detonating. He can barely make out its beeping, from how far he is.

He turns the corner of the long metal hallway, watches and waits for a flank, a late lurker. They never come. The final seconds tick down on the bomb, Cypher catches the Sova in their desperate attempt to defuse the spike. It’s over.

The duelist brings up the volume on comms. “-work team. Skye, prepare us for extraction. We will meet at defender spawn.”

Iso lets go a sigh of relief. Easy. No overtime, and they’re headed home. Back to making dumplings and trashy television with the crew. Gekko’s been invested in a spanish television show and by proxy, Iso’s also gotten sucked into it-

Pain, red hot, scorches itself into his lower stomach, a deafening sniper bullet striking the floor. Iso collapses onto his knee, pulling his vandal up from his hip. Gunfire sears into his hand, rips his sling, vandal clattering uselessly away from him. Iso reaches for his pistol- but it’s not there.

His desperation feeds the wild animal of his radianite, pops his shield without a trigger of his hands. Iso’s eyes dart around wildly as his wounds sear new scars into him, blood pooling at his feet.

“You look quite stupid, boy.” Vyse saunters up to him, outlaw slung across her back, ghost in hand. “I’m grateful our Iso was not so incompetent.”

“Was, huh?” Iso spits blood at her feet. “He’s fucking dead. And I’m still alive. So, kill me now! Make it even!” He grits out, breath catching in his lungs.

“No, I don’t think I will.” She kneels in front of him, meets his angry eyes with a cat-like flash of gold. “I think I’ll take you back to my dimension. Answer our questions. Bring you to our side, one way or another. Maybe through torture, or perhaps through diplomacy.” The enemy tilts her head. “Your death hurt many in the protocol. Tell me, are you in love with your Gekko?”

At the sound of the initiator’s name on her lips, adrenaline and radianite rush through him violently. Iso lunges at her, but she slams her boot into his shoulder with a haughty laugh. “Oh, you read just as easy around that radianite tamer. He’s become useless since Iso’s passing. A schlump who barely uses his utility, doesn’t even think to raise his gun against the enemy. A waste of space and who takes up our air.”

“Shut up! You don’t know him!”

“I won’t have to. You can know him well enough for the rest of us.” Vyse presses her boot harder into his shoulder. “Now, don’t move.”

A light falls out of her tech, and starts scanning Iso. Alarmed, he writhes as it passes over his face and chest, his wounds pulsing angry with each movement. He pushes at her boot, punches at her knee, but all Vyse does is press harder, watches a bar slowly fill to completion on her scan.

“Many people cried at your funeral,” The Vyse murmurs. “Losing a friend is never easy. But you sacrificed yourself, and everyone was unscathed because of your actions. Still... all of us felt the weight of your death.”

Ice splinters Iso’s insides. He stops struggling, lays there limp as the information floods over him. Him? A self- sacrificing hero? Now dead, and sorely missed? Who knew there was a world out there like that.

“It hurt that radivore tamer most of all.”

There’s a world out there. A world empty of him, and Gekko is all alone. Where they are, were, in love until he died, and that Gekko is still in love with him. Becomes a lesser version of himself because he lost someone important to him. Where Gekko’s drive to protect, unwavering warmth, his smile, are all gone. Because Iso died.

Spikes of realization numb the burn of his gunshot wounds. All the pain blinded, eclipsed by the revelation that he would be the same.

If he lost Gekko, he’d be hollow. No more crafting sessions, no more bleary eyed, late nights, no more of the sweet ache that feels like longing, no matter how close they are. The sum of affection and admiration and awe all along. Love.

Iso’s vision clouds. His mind is an anthill in chaos, miniscule pieces of himself scattered and scrambling to patch himself together again. The gray floor underneath him slowly turns to red.

A gunshot rings through his muffled senses. The duelist slumps over as Vyse’s boot and body fall limp in front of him. He can make out an error message on his scanner. He hears his name somewhere. Maybe someone is coming to finish him off. One less Iso in the world.

He crawls toward his vandal, desperate to find his last shot to live. To stay in this realm. The spots in his eyes grow bigger, barely able to see the barrel of his gun. Next to it, lies Gekko’s precious gift, shattered under the weight of the rifle, pieces dotting the pool of his own blood.

Iso lets out a pathetic laugh. Here he is, the handyman of Valorant, lying near dead on a hallway floor. The guy Brimstone calls to figure out what’s wrong with the internet antennae, the one they call to install the new basketball hoop after Neon shattered it, the guy who figured out the movie room’s electrical wiring with one hand behind his back, just so he could see the look on Gekko’s face during his first watch through of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. He’s fixed it all. But there’s no way he can fix this.

And it’s all his fault.

The last bits of his own sight blur out. Someone jostles his side and presses their hands, hard, into his bleeding abdomen. Someone else is screaming, an apology, his name, something else. He can’t hear the VLTR.

Iso’s hand curls around what’s left of the case, and closes his eyes.

===

According to Cypher, it’s unlucky that Vyse shot him right after the radianite’s protection faded, bringing no immediate regeneration typical of a round end. Sage says he’s lucky the enemy’s sniper bullet steered clear of all vital organs and that Skye was there to heal him to stop his bleeding. Otherwise, he’d be a corpse.

(“If she’s anything like me, she probably missed on purpose,” Vyse muses when she visits him. “Since she was so desperate to get you back to their universe, she meant to incapacitate, not kill. I know I would have done the same thing. Do you know why she kept you alive?”

“I don’t know,” Iso lies.)

He’s put on bed rest for two weeks, and is off missions for two months. He’s allowed to take on work orders after a month, but only with Sage’s approval. No assembling desks, but he can cable manage PC’s.

Gekko visits every other day. Iso feigns sleep when he can until the initiator leaves. When that stops working, he gives clipped, avoidant answers to his friend’s eager questions, requests for things he can do for Iso’s health, invitations to watch trashy Spanish dating television or play video games. Gekko’s eyes quiver with a sadness that curdles Iso’s marrow, but the initiator is quick to disguise it with an apologetic smile and a quick excuse out the door.

Does it hurt to see Gekko’s disappointment at every short response? It does. But it will hurt less for the initiator when Iso does die. If Iso kills any of that affection early, whether romantic or friendly, Gekko won’t turn into a shadow of who he is. He’ll stay that bright, great light for everyone. Just without Iso in his life.

Gekko, as always, respects the message and leaves him alone. As Iso’s answers get shorter and shorter, he shows up less, before stopping the visits altogether. Is Iso forlorn about it? Maybe.

(On the days Gekko is deployed , Iso painstakingly cleans the blood from the last pieces of the earbuds case, before tucking it away in a box. But every time he inspects it, he always finds blood, somewhere, no matter how hard he scrubs at it.)

When Sage gives him the green light out of bed rest, he throws himself into a self-imposed isolation. When he’s not training, he picks up a work order. When he doesn’t have a work order, he’s studying intel on Kingdom, planning against Hourglass. When he’s not studying the enemy, he’s in his room, blaring music, reading Deadlock’s horror novels. It keeps his mind off of things.

He doesn’t like sleeping. It leads to many dreams of Gekko.

Clang! A month off of missions, Iso finds himself dismantling the kitchen faucet in a fervor. The calcium buildup at the base of the faucet made it particularly difficult to move. Iso’s only way of loosening the bolts is chipping away at the hardened mineral and whacking at it with the butt of his wrench, clangs echoing through the kitchen.

Clang! If Iso were smarter, he would have soaked it overnight in a vinegar solution at least a day earlier to soften the calcium. But, Iso isn’t smart, he’s extremely stupid, and he breaks everything in his way anyway, like he broke Gekko’s beautiful, thoughtful, well made, earbuds case to him, which still lies in pieces next to his dresser, reminding him everyday that he’s a fool who can’t take care of the things that really matter-

“Yo,” Clove cuts in. “Uh… Chill?”

Clang! Iso strikes at it one more time, harder. He turns to Clove, wrench gripped in his hand. “I’m busy.”

“Beating the shit out of this sink?”

Clang! “This place has a hard water problem, so I’m killing two birds with one stone by replacing all the sinks with motion activated plumbing, while installing filters.” He scowls back at the offending sink. “So I don’t have to do this again.”

Clove whistles. “That’s… a big project. Must be frustrating.”

Iso gives them a sideways glance. “It is.” He whacks at the calcium.

Clang! The controller winces at the sound. “You know who would be a great person to talk about frustration with? You might know him actually. His name is Gekko! Wingman’s food bank? The druid in our DnD games? Your friend?”

Clang! Iso’s wrench swings wide, hitting the sink with a force that reverberates through his knuckles. Not a damn flake falls off. He glowers at the offending plumbing, “No thank you.”

They shove at his shoulder, forcing Iso to look in their direction. Immaculate makeup, marred by the barely contained red in their eyes. “Let me rephrase that. You have to talk to Gekko. Need to. You two went from doing everything together to being on different sides of the room, pretending like you don’t know each other. What gives?”

“Nothing gave, Clove. We just drifted apart and started talking to other people. He and I aren’t the only beings in the compound.” Iso answers. Really, he’s lying. He doesn’t talk to anyone much these days, unless he owes them something or they have a work order.

“Oh shut up!” Clove throws their hands up in exasperation, jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m calling you on your bullshit. You two hung out all the time! Whenever I needed to find you, I asked Gekko where you were. No offense, but you barely hang out with anyone else unless he’s in the room too. And what if you’re assigned to a mission? You can’t just click around the site and expect a ding to go off in his head. That’s stupid!”

Iso crosses his arms, ignores the sting of their words. How dare they point out that Iso’s become worse since he stopped talking to Gekko. “We’re professionals, Clove. We’ll comm on missions. Talk when we need to. Exchange greetings in the hallways. We’re fine.”

“But it used to not be- oh my god.” They grit their teeth, brow furrowing. A beat passes, stewing in their frustration. Clever’s the type of person to blurt out how they feel, all straightforward like on the battlefield. This hesitation is uncharacteristic at best, and frightening at their worst. “Listen to me Iso. You like Gekko.”

He knows what they mean. “I do. Am I supposed to like him less?” He shakes his head, mocking disbelief. The wrench in his grip cuts cold in his hand.

They see right through him anyway. “Stop deflecting, asshole!” The controller raises their hand as if to shove at him again. But they pause, clenching their fist into the open air instead, face twisting in some sort of defeated exasperation. “I just want to see you both happy again. You made each other happy.”

His heart pulses hard. There’s that ache again, that terrible knowing that they’re right. That forcing Gekko out made him lesser, something akin to his existence under Hourglass. A hollow vessel.

Iso scoffs the thought away. “We can find happiness some other way,” A way that won’t hurt the initiator.

“Do you even know what I’m talking about, or are you being dense on purpose?” They bark back.

“What, that I have feelings for him?” He laughs, “Yeah, I know. I’ve known for awhile now. I didn’t know what it was before, but I stopped kidding myself after I thought about kissing the mole under his eye for the tenth time.

“I’m not stupid. There’s some sort of reciprocation between us, and that’s scary. I’ve never been allowed to have feelings. Let alone feelings this big. But I know, I know, that if I did pursue this with him, we’d be happy. And it’s terrifying to think about, because our work is full of too many what ifs. Hell, I almost died on my last mission because I was fucking stupid. He doesn’t- it shouldn’t be me that has his affections.” Iso clenches his fists. “It should be someone else.”

The timbre of his voice is a desperate, depressing whine that won’t stop pouring out. Call it years of repression, an awakening of what he’s pushed to the very bottom of the barrel. It betrays everything he never wanted to say, leaves it in the open air to turn cold and awkward.

Clove doesn’t let it happen.

Clang! The wrench falls from his hand, as Clove fists their hands into his hoodie, pulls him down to their height. Forcing him to stare into their eyes, once filled with a bright anger, now full of their signature determination. “Iso. I will always remember the day you punched someone in the face because they purposefully kept misgendering me.”

Iso’s jaw drops. Clove barrels on. “It was one of the best feckin days of my life. Not just because some asshole got socked in the face, but because it was you who did it. We’d only known each other a week, and you went up to bat for me without blinking an eye. That shite ruled,” They clench their hands tighter into the fabric. “Everyone gassed this place up, so much so that I thought it was too good to be true. One of you had to be a bad egg, right? But you, some dark and broody fucker who only ever listened to music and sat in the back of the room, came to my defense. It proved to me that Valorant wasn’t bullshit. That they cared. It would have been different with anyone else. But it meant the most because it was you.”

“Now, imagine Gekko. For a second. Just one second! You’re right, he could have done a million things with other people: but he chooses you!” They poke him right in the middle of his forehead. “You! You fucking dolt! He chooses you everytime, the same way you choose him! And you stopped giving him that choice because you’re scared of some arbitrary future that has nothing to do with either of you in this universe!”

The words rattle his skull, each syllable a drumstick strike on a bright bassy cymbal. All gas no brakes, and Iso’s heart races to the beat, a million miles per hour. A million, hopeful, miles. That it could work. That he wants to make it work, risks be damned, despite the years of training that strong bonds are nuisances, vulnerabilities to be severed.

He thinks about every time he smiled around Gekko. He never felt weak once.

Clove let him go a long time ago, and his back is starting to ache when he comes to from his stupor. “I… should talk to him.”

“You should.” They cross their arms.

“When?”

Clove knocks their head to the side, looks off in some arbitrary direction. But a small smile crosses their face, and it lingers as they answer. “You’ll know when.

===

He wakes up with an alarmed start to the sound of what can only be described as violent destruction. Metal shattering glass, pieces echoing on tile floor. Iso’s up and out of his room in a second, sheriff in hand, eyes darting straight to the initiator’s room.

Instead, Iso finds Sova calmly eating cereal at 2 am, chewing through spoonfuls in a fluffy robe like a bomb wasn't going off in Gekko’s room behind him.

He swallows his cereal. “I thought you would be out here sooner.”

“Why aren’t you helping him?!” The duelist gestures wildly at Gekko’s door. The neurons fire off alarms in his brain, a million rings a minute. Is Sova not concerned?!

Sova gives a halfhearted glance over his shoulder. More loud noises erupt from the room behind him, but he merely shrugs and stirs his spoon in his bowl. “Because I can’t fix things like that. Only survey them.”

Iso’s mouth swings wide in disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I should ask you that question.” Sova shoves more cereal in his mouth. There are shadows under his eyes, heavy with burden. “If you had gotten your shit together sooner, I wouldn’t be dealing with this.”

“What do you mean ‘this'?! Gekko’s in trouble!”

“The alarms are off, genius. If he really were in trouble, there’d be agents already in there,” Sova scrapes the last of his cereal into his spoon. He meets Iso’s befuddled face with a still, cold, expression. Almost unwelcome towards the duelist. Iso can hear his metal eye whirring, on high alert, contrary to the senior initiator’s cool facade.

A crash interrupts their tense air. Iso jumps, Sova doesn’t. “Whatever, I don’t have time for you,” Iso growls, low, stalking toward the door.

The spoon clatters into the now empty bowl. Before Iso can run in, Sova stops him with a firm hand. “Do not. And I mean, do not. Fuck this up.”

Iso stops the urge to grit his teeth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sova barrels on. “I don’t matter here. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about you after what you’ve done. But I’m going to give you a warning anyway.

“I personally don’t care about this and all these rampant emotions. This is all extremely juvenile. How would Jett say it? ‘So high school drama.’ But I also think he deserves better than you. Far better than you. Someone who is in tune with him and doesn’t keep taking from his generosity, while selfishly looking for his own survival. But here we are. So, prove me wrong, will you? And if you don’t want to prove me wrong, let him down easy.” Sova pats his shoulder twice. Each smack dense with disdain.

All of Iso’s alarm dissipates into a seething, bewildered fury that steams under his skin. Sova’s already walking back into his room, doesn’t give him Iso a chance to respond. Just strolls back at a lackadaisical pace, completely uncaring of the duelist’s anger. What other emotion should he feel? Gekko’s room is crumbling to bits, no one is alarmed, and the most senior initiator of the Valorant protocol just gave Iso a thinly veiled threat. Over what?

Another crash bellows through the hallway. All thought of Sova flies out the window. He scrabbles to enter Gekko’s room code, emergency bulbs flashing through his head. If no one will pick up the pieces, he’ll damn sure try.

Nothing in the bedroom. He swivels to the bathrooms and slams the door open. His jaw unhinges wide at the scene before him.

Gekko, dressed as normal, mid swing over a crumbling toilet bowl, heavy wrench in his hands. Chunks of porcelain scatter across the tile, covering the floor in debris. The tank is gone, and the bowl is a joke that looks like a Greek amphitheater.

The initiator tilts his head in his direction, and Iso’s blood thins when their eyes meet, sharpens with cold. Gekko’s expression… Iso’s never seen it so dead. Devoid of anything. His eyes don’t shine with that familiar spark, mouth taut and thin with tension, jaw clenched. The only thing that betrays any emotion are the shadows under his eyes, the red puffiness that stain the corner of lashes.

It looks like he had never smiled in his life. Like joy had never crossed his path. Iso can count and recall every single laugh Gekko owns, but it feels alien to connect to the man in front of him.

Silence fills the canyon between them. Gekko still mid swing, Iso curls his toes on the tile. The radianite crawls to the soles of his feet, protecting them from the porcelain.

“Ah.” Gekko breaks the silence. “Don’t worry. I turned off the water to the toilet.”

Iso doesn’t respond.

Gekko drops his arms, stares blankly at the destroyed toilet. “I wanted to make a mess, not be messy. It seemed like the only way I could get you to talk to me. But that didn’t totally work out.” The initiator laughs, but it sounds more like a dejected cough.

“Are you okay?”

For a flash, Iso can read him. The person Iso’s been attuned to all these months, they appear for a second, before a shield glazes over them. “I’m fine. And you know what, actually? I-I can fix this. I don’t need you to fix a toilet for me, what was I thinking? Wasting your precious sleep.” The initiator looks away, hides his face from the duelist. “Go back to bed, I’ll figure out what to do on my own.”

Iso is stunned at the dismissal, lingers in the doorway like an unwelcome, but persistent guest. “W-why did you do this?”

It’s a long moment before he speaks. The voice that comes out is sheepish, scared. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk to him? “Talk to me?” Iso scoffs, stepping into the bathroom. “This was unnecessary. You didn’t need to do this to just, just talk to me.”

“Yes I did.” The initiator barks at him. “What else was I supposed to do?” He’s still not looking at Iso.

“I don’t know! Not destroy the fucking toilet! Anything but this!”

Gekko’s hands crush the hammer in his grip, as he lets out a choke of a laugh. “You only come around whenever someone needs something fixed.”

It’s a spear in the heart. A message reminiscent of an Hourglass, reducing Iso’s existence to a mission statement. But the words don’t come from some shadowy figure. No, they came from Gekko. Gekko, who reassured him of the fullness of life, who lets him win at video games. Reassures him time and time again that there’s always more, beyond the walls of the Valorant protocol, his past. That the future will always be his to claim. Those sentiments are gone.

Iso’s lips are dry. His mouth has been hanging open too long. His teeth are cold, he isn’t swallowing any air. Iso gulps loudly. His heart is angry, rattling his ribs. But he betrays none of it. None of his frustration, his agony. He’s about to lose something precious.

And if this is what Gekko wants, Iso will let him go. “I- I’ll go get my toolbox.”

Whip fast, the initiator turns on his heel, faces the duelist straight on, despair open on his freckled face. His expression resembles crumpled paper. “You’re such a joke.”

They’re finally eye to eye, but Iso can’t register any of the emotion he used to read with ease. There are walls in front of Gekko’s blank stare, dulling the bronze that used to shine. Everything about him is dialled to a familiar nothing.

A vision crosses Iso’s mind. A flash of a memory, in a dilapidated bathroom on Kingdom’s orders. Iso staring at what he thought was himself. But he couldn’t read and register his body, his existence in the cracked mirror, only registered the words on a missive of some assassination that he never wanted in his hands. There’s a sparking wire, a missing electrical outlet. A showerhead that weakly spits water. A sink that drips every second. And in the cracked mirror, a blank slate, a broken man.

Iso crosses his arms with an exhausted huff. His hands are cold. He’s still in his pajamas. “What do you want me to say? It seems like you already made up your mind about me.”

“What the fuck-” Gekko groans, stomps over to him, kicking porcelain every which way. “That’s not what I meant to say, and you know it.”

“You just called me a joke.”

“Because you’re acting like an idiot! You’re not this stupid, yet for some reason, around me, you just ignore me like I’m going to leave you alone like some fucking doormat.”

Iso squares his shoulders, makes himself taller. “Can’t you take a hint?”

“I can, and choose not to. Because I care about you, and I want to know what’s going on in your stupid head.”

“Oh, because I’m going to respond positively when you call me stupid.”

Tears well up in Gekko’s eyes. “I don’t know what I did, and I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to ignore me anymore. I miss you, and I-I just want to go back to the way things were.” His voice warbles, thick with tears. He’s trying not to cry, Iso knows.

He wants to say yes. But he pictures himself dead, a sobbing Gekko by his side. The image hurts. And in another life, its real. “I- I can’t.” Iso hangs his head. “I can’t go back to that.”

“Why?”

“You don't need to know why.”

Something bumps his chest. Iso blinks down, turns red when he realizes Gekko knocked his forehead into his body. Iso can't see his face, just the top of his head. It looks soft. His arms hang limp by his sides. The wrench hangs on by a thread. “Humor me. Just tell me, and I swear I won’t ever bother you again. It just kills me that I did something that might have hurt you. If me being around you pains you this much, I’ll never talk to you again. I just need to know.”

This is it. Make or break. Iso’s teetering on an edge he created himself. But for some reason, Gekko is still here, holding him back.

Two broken men. Let him down easy.

Like hell he will.

“In my last mission, I broke your gift to me,” Iso shuts his eyes. “And the enemy Vyse told me I died in her universe.”

Gekko’s breath hitches.

“She told- she told me that my death affected a lot of people. More than I ever could have imagined. I’m not used to anyone thinking about me, caring about me. But here she was, desperate to pull me into a world that lost me. Away from you a-all,” Iso’s voice cracks. “And she was close. She almost did it. If Deadlock hadn’t killed her, I would be a placeholder for some other version of myself- but they all thought it was enough. That having even me, even if I wasn’t their real Iso, was enough.

“I’m not used to being. Valued. I was never a prize in Hourglass. I was a weapon, to be deployed, to be expendable. But here, in Valorant, with you- with all of you,” Iso coughs at his slip, “That was never the case. And when I realized the depth of that connection. That scared the shit out of me.”

He exhales, hard. Watches as Gekko flows with movement of his chest. They still aren’t eye to eye. “There’s a light to this place. And I’m so selfish, I want it for myself. I want to keep it safe. But I can’t do that if I’m fucking dead. So I went back to my old patterns. I figured it would hurt less if I thinned those stings of connections myself. Thread by thread, slow enough so that I’m back to being a tool. I save all of you, and spare you the pain of losing me.”

Gekko lets out the smallest of laughs. It makes Iso’s sternum vibrate anyway. “So, once you stop caring about us, it’ll be over?”

“If I no longer care for you all, it means I’m dead.”

The other man scoffs into his chest. Iso’s hands ache to hold him. “And that’s it for you, huh? What’s it going to say on your grave? ‘Lived a tool, died a tool’. Did you want a grave at all?”

Rage rises. “Gekko-”

“I don’t know why you think you can just make this choice for everyone. It’s unfair. Why do you get to push me- push us away for your stupid knight in shining armor act? I just want my friend back.”

“I’m doing this to protect you!”

“I didn’t want you to protect me,” Gekko whispers. “ I want to be next to you. I want to protect you too.”

Iso clenches his eyes shut. For all the feelings he’s pushed aside, there’s a betrayal of warmth that seeps in between his ribs and his skin, feeding the affection and admiration and awe and love he’s held so close to his heart for this man. Gekko, gorgeous, giving, unforgettable Gekko. His heart thumps still, but it’s calmer, as though surrounded by comfort now.

Gekko nuzzles his head into his sternum. Iso gives up.

He drops his forehead on the initiator’s hair. “I’m sorry I pushed you away. It hurt, but some twisted part of myself thought it was the only way to protect you. Hourglass trained me to keep my distance and aim from afar. It was the only way I knew how to keep people safe,” He scoffs in amusement. “But no one here would let me do that.”

“Of course not, you idiot,” Gekko sniffles. He’d been crying this whole time. Iso can barely hold back his own tears. “We like you too much.”

Iso doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around the initiator, pulls him in tight to his chest. Not enough to suffocate, but enough to reassure that he’ll be there. That he’ll continue to be there. Maybe even always.

They stand together in the room, quietly, before Gekko sniffles and places his chin on Iso’s chest. “So can we go back?”

“Back to what?” Iso smiles.

“Being friends, silly.” Gekko rolls his watery eyes at him. “Now that we’ve talked.”

Iso’s face falls. It’s automatic. Because there’s still more to be said that Gekko doesn’t know about. “I can’t go back. At least, not to how we used to be.”

“What, why?” Gekko pushes himself away slightly, confused.

Iso swallows. The whole truth. Here it goes. “Vyse… the enemy. She told me something else I have to tell you. Why I can’t go back to just being your friend.”

“What could she have said-”

“I love you,” Iso gasps out. “I loved you in that other world too. In fact, we loved each other. And when I died, you become a shell of yourself. She told me you hadn’t been the same since I died. I fucking died, and left him all alone. I can’t do that. Not again. Not again. Not to you.”

There’s a stunned silence on the initiator's end. Iso cups Gekko’s head in his hands, wipes the tears from his eyes. Still, his heartbeat flows in his fingertips and to Gekko’s temple, desperate affection in every thump. Iso pushes his head back, only slightly, as if trying to keep him away. Waiting for the bad answer.

But he should know better. Gekko never cared about that distance. Instead, he surges himself from Iso’s grip, and kisses him with a content sigh.

Iso hesitates for only a second. Because it’s too natural, too perfect, the way their lips slot into each other. He holds the back of Gekko’s head, precious and soft, kisses back, and feels the other melt into his hold.

They pull apart, breathless, the salt from their kiss lingering in their silence. “You can be two things at once.” Gekko breathes between them.

Iso’s head is still spinning. “What?”

“You can be scared, and still in love. I know I was, when I realized how I felt about you.”

He feels Gekko laugh in his arms. “But for every minute we spent together, that fear slowly went away. And I’m not going to lie, I’m definitely scared as fuck right now, even though you just told me you loved me. That in the next second, you’ll change your mind, and I’ll have broken my toilet for nothing.”

Iso blinks in shock. “You broke your toilet because…”

“Because I love you too, you idiot. And I missed the hell out of you, and you weren’t talking to me, and you were throwing yourself at these stupid heavy duty work orders even though Sage told you no, and I was so worried. But you weren’t talking, so I did the next best thing.”

The duelist can’t help the grin that curls onto his face. It’s wide and bright. Joyous and celebratory. It hurts his cheeks. It’s there because of Gekko. “You’re incredible.”

“Stooop, no I’m not,” Gekko whines, all pout and no malice. “I just told you the truth.”

“It’s an incredible truth, coming from an incredible person,” Iso states, all pride and joy. Regret strikes it down fast. “I’m sorry about breaking your gift,”

Gekko pecks his mouth. Probably to shut him up. “It’s okay, I can make another one. Not everything has to be fixed. It’s okay to leave things behind and start anew.”

Iso places his lips on the initiator’s forehead. Awe, affection, admiration, love. Everything he feels for him, he hopes he can convey in one easy sentence. “I love you.”

Gekko hums, sweet and comforting. “Say it again.”

Iso does. Whispers into the initiator’s hairline, hoping it travels all the way down Gekko’s heart. Iso will tell him again, and again, and again.

===

Music blares into his eardrums as Iso whistles along out the hallway, twirling an allen key in his hand when he spots a familiar shock of green hair. Gekko, bright as always, chats with someone around the corner as Mosh snoozes on his shoulder. The duelist lights up at the sight, and springs his step faster toward his boyfriend.

A deep, baritone laugh rumbles out of nowhere. The tips of Gekko’s ears go red, his typical response when he gets all shy. Iso stutters in his stride, eyes narrowing in suspicion. They have not formally announced their relationship to the majority of the protocol, but word does spread around regardless. Still, if this person does not know and they’re making a move, right here, right now on Gekko… He turns down his music, steps slowly around the corner, angling himself before the two can see him.

Iso grits his teeth when he spots an inked shoulder that could only belong to Harbor. Not the biggest flirt in Valorant, but a well known one. A natural charisma that Iso’s always been envious of, now pointed at his initiator.

The duelist’s eyes flash purple with radianite. His palm reaches out fast, sliding across Gekko’s back, maneuvering their bodies closer while placing himself in front of the offending controller, nudging Gekko to the side. Iso’s arm rests comfortably on the apex of Gekko’s shoulder while he squares his own and straightens his back, staring down at Harbor. He may not have the charisma, but he certainly has the height advantage.

Somewhere off to the side, Mosh squeaks in protest, no doubt annoyed from being awoken from his nap. Iso can feel the confusion radiating off of Gekko. The sudden hostility towards a fellow agent, his lack of a friendly greeting, and the weird manhandling. Iso can imagine the very cute look of bewilderment on Gekko’s face, and it takes everything in him to not peek. Right now, he’s focused on keeping Harbor in check around his man. He’ll apologize to them both later.

Harbor blinks, no doubt startled at Iso’s harsh presence. It melts into a friendly, familiar smile. “Iso! Good to see you, all rested up and better. You had us scared for a moment there!”

“Yes.” Iso answers, clipped. He tucks his other hand into his hoodie pocket. He leaves it at that.

An awkward silence falls on the trio. He does nothing to quell it. In fact, Iso wishes his radianite had the power to will people away from conversations, especially now. Would sending out an undercut be too much of a signal?

A warm hand rubs between his shoulders, familiar and warm. “Iso, Harbor was recommending some Bollywood for us to watch on our next movie night. I think there was one about an airline pilot…?”

“Oh, yes! Neerja is a great drama based on a true story.” Harbor yaps with enthusiasm. Iso drowns him out in favor of peering at his boyfriend. He’s already staring back, glaring at the taller duelist with all the intensity of a tiny bird, lips thinned in a confused frown. Adorable. Iso clenches his fist in his hoodie to stop himself from kissing Gekko, right there in front of an unsuspecting Harbor.

“We’ll watch it,” Iso interrupts Harbor, tearing himself away from Gekko’s beautiful face. Turning his head away had never taken so much effort. “Anything else?”

“Well, I was in the middle of explaining why you shouldn’t watch Slumdog Millionaire, because that isn’t even Bollywood. It’s actually British, but people think it’s Bollywood for some odd reason, even though it paints my wonderful country in such a negative light-!”

A gold arm slinks in the space between the controller’s bicep and flank, curling around his arm. Astra apparates out of nowhere, all smiles and pleasantry, addressing the three stooges with a soft smile. “Varun, m’ahoɔfɛ, I understand your beef with Slumdog Millionaire. But you get so heated about it, and this hallway is not ready for your passion!”

Harbor lights up in an instant. “Efia, my love, what a surprise! Yes, I was telling them about how terrible Slumdog Millionaire is, but there are a few more things I need to discuss before they get into their first formal dive into Bollywood,” He turns to Gekko sharp like a knife, who stiffens up next to Iso. “Gekko, you know about telenovelas? Well imagine Bollywood as that, but turned up into a thousand!”

Iso drifts off again, rubbing at his partner’s shoulder with an absent mind as the initiator nods along. Somewhere along the way, his eyes meet with Astra’s, her own eyes glimmering with understanding.

He gets like this. She tilts her head, featherlight.

The duelist nods back. I get it. Mine talks a little less though.

Yours, hm? Astra raises an eyebrow in response, flitting an observant eye to his arm around Gekko. Ah well. If mine talked less, it wouldn’t be the same.

Iso inhales deep, exhales slow. He sneaks his gaze to the initiator, feels himself soften as Gekko’s eyelashes flutter across the curve of his cheek. A tenacious, courageous, compassionate man, who chose Iso to experience life alongside him. He turns to Astra, gives another resolute nod. A good way to put it.

She blinks once, before her lips curve into a softer smile. Love looks good on you. She winks.

Iso smiles back. Love looks the same on everyone.

“Well!” Astra exclaims, jostling her lover’s arm. Harbor snaps to attention, and even Gekko is a little startled. Iso holds back a snicker. “I’m sure they have plenty of movies to pick from now, m’ahoɔfɛ, and if you have more, you can always text it to them later. Now come on, Sova needs you in the workshop.” She tugs at him, waves with her free hand. Harbor follows her step for step, promising more movies as he gets pulled down the corridor.

Once they turn the corner, Gekko checks him with his shoulder. Iso keeps his hold steady, meeting Gekko’s scrutinizing expression with a smirk of his own. “What was that all about?!”

“Oh, this?” Iso hauls him in closer, enough for Gekko to stumble and brace himself on the duelist’s chest. “I got a little jealous, I guess.” He shrugs.

Gekko sputters in disbelief. “J-jealous! He’s already in a relationship. And besides, you weren’t even listening.” He pokes at Iso’s sternum. “You were talking to Astra about something else. ”

“I don’t remember saying anything.”

His boyfriend gives him a mighty eye roll, the kind that circles from floor to ceiling in a smooth arc. “Okay, not out loud. But you had one! With your eyes! We have those all the time during boring meetings, I should know!”

“Not just during boring meetings anymore.” Iso winks salaciously.

“Ay, osito! Keep it down!” Gekko slaps his hands over Iso’s mouth, turning his head rapidly left and right. His ears are a full blown magenta now, practically glowing with embarassment. Iso wants to bite them. “Why are you being so annoying! You’re acting like a high schooler!”

Iso hums patiently against Gekko’s palms, knocking his back against the wall. He pulls the initiator with him, closer than before, so they’re chest to chest, face to face, his partner following along smoothly to step between his legs. The duelist’s heart races ever so slightly as he watches the initiator’s observant eyes work.

He’s spent a lot of his life breaking other people’s things. Setting permanent ends to broken deals, fixing vendettas with a shot of a sheriff, tearing apart empires with a bloody rampage. They were never his. Always at the whim of some arbitrary higher power, some nameless transaction, or greedy hand of Hourglass. That life fell into the lap of a desperate man, who happened to be good at destroying whatever name appeared on the call sheet. It was a life that broke him down for parts, stripped him to his most efficient parts. It was a simple life. It was not his.

Here? Bloodletting has a better purpose. It’s still destruction, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel. For all the aches of radianite in his veins, there’s a city saved. For every kill, there’s an ever unraveling sinister plot. For every person, there’s a purpose. And while Valorant has its faults, they all look for one thing: a better world.

And amongst them, shines Gekko. In lieu of it all, a bright, determined presence who believes in the core of good, who pulled Iso from the scattered remains of his broken pieces, and helped him put himself back together. There’s still plenty of missing parts, but he’s more whole than ever. And in turn, hopefully, Iso helps Gekko grow into his own potential. The two of them, becoming better version of themselves. Together.

When his initiator deems the coast clear, he drops his hands onto Iso’s shoulders, stares at him patiently. Waiting for an answer.

“I was thinking about when I can ask Brimstone to send us on a duo mission.” The duelist answers honestly. “Also, when it would be appropriate for me to start calling you Mateo.”

Gekko blooms a lovely red, hides his face into Iso’s chest, muttering something about having an embarrassing boyfriend. Iso laughs out loud, unashamed and happy, pulls his hand out of his hoodie to hug him tighter. Presses a kiss into Gekko’s temple, feels the promise of his new life pulse on his lips.

This life is his now. Iso owns it.