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The crowd in Lumina Square is a restless sea of bodies, vendors shouting over one another to hawk everything from glittering trinkets to steaming street food. The air is hazy with mingling scents—spiced meats, fried dumplings, and the faint tang of ozone from one of the nearby Etheric converters.
Wise slips through the chaos with practiced ease, his route purposeful as he heads toward the corner of the square. A job to run, a schedule to keep. He barely spares the street performers or the glowing digital billboards a glance. That high schooler girl Tina is even holding up her sketchy sign again, but Wise continues past her.
That is, until he feels the sharp bump of a shoulder slamming into his.
The force jolts him back a step, his chest tightening as his hand instinctively checks for his wallet. Still there. Good. His narrowed gaze snaps to the offender: a man in a leather jacket, tall and broad-shouldered, with unruly dark hair. His sunglasses catch the neon lights above, obscuring his face as he barely acknowledges the collision.
“Watch it,” Wise mutters, irritation already bubbling.
The man pauses mid-step, turning back with an expression Wise can only assume is an amused smirk—it’s hard to tell with the shades. “Me? You’re the one walking around like you own the place,” he says, his voice low and drawling.
Wise plants his feet, folding his arms as he glares up at the guy. “It’s called walking. Maybe try it without taking up the entire square next time.”
The man chuckles, shaking his head as though he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Relax, slick. I didn’t even see you down there.”
God, Wise hates these sorts of guys. “Right,” Wise shoots back. “Guess the sunglasses aren’t just for show—you really can’t see.”
That gets a reaction. The smirk falters for the briefest moment before returning, sharper this time. The guy steps closer, towering slightly but not enough to make Wise flinch. “You’ve got a smart mouth,” he says, leaning in. “Maybe save it for someone who’s got time to waste.”
“Funny,” Wise retorts, tone biting. “I was going to say the same thing to you.”
The two of them lock eyes—or at least Wise assumes they do, hard to tell behind those stupid glasses. Around them, the flow of pedestrians continues, most too preoccupied to notice the brewing tension. A nearby vendor pauses mid-shout, eyeing them with mild interest.
“You looking for a problem?” the man asks, his voice still casual but edged with something dangerous.
“No,” Wise says coolly. “Just passing through. But you keep this up, and I might make time for one.”
The man exhales sharply, his smirk returning in full force. He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a twist, city boy.”
Wise’s jaw tightens at the jab. “Maybe if you focused less on bad jokes and more on not being a walking obstacle, you wouldn’t have to fake the tough guy act.”
That seems to hit a nerve. The man takes another step forward, but a vendor shouting about discounted noodles interrupts him. He glances sideways, shaking his head again before turning back to Wise. “You’re lucky I’ve got better things to do,” he mutters. “Don’t get yourself trampled out here, shrimp.”
Wise watches him walk away, tension still simmering under his skin. He mutters under his breath, “Same to you, sunglasses.”
The guy doesn’t turn back, but something about the cocky shrug of his shoulders tells Wise this won’t be the last time they run into each other.
“Asshole,” Wise mutters under his breath.
Wise doesn’t think much about the encounter after the guy disappears into the crowd. Lumina Square is a big place, and New Eridu has no shortage of cocky jerks with bad attitudes. He assumes the odds of running into the sunglasses-wearing asshole again are slim.
He’s wrong.
It happens two days later in one of his favorite noodle stands tucked into a corner of Lumina Square: Waterfall Soup. Wise sits at the counter, quietly picking at a bowl of Chop Junior’s mushroom noodles, the broth steaming up into his face. He enjoys the rare lull in his schedule—a moment to eat and maybe check his messages before diving back into the grind.
That is, until he shows up again.
“Guess we’ve got the same taste in lunch spots.” The voice is unmistakable, even before Wise glances up.
And there he is: Sunglasses Guy, standing casually with one hand on the counter, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. He looks utterly unbothered by the world, which only irritates Wise more.
“Small city,” Wise replies dryly, stabbing at his noodles with his chopsticks. “Shame it couldn’t be smaller.”
Lighter—because Wise has learned his name by now, overheard in passing during another run-in in the square—pulls up a stool next to him, uninvited. The guy orders without glancing at the menu, rattling off something about “extra spice” and “don’t skimp on the meat.” When Chop Junior moves to prepare it, Lighter leans his elbows on the counter, turning his attention back to Wise.
“So, shrimp,” he starts, as though they’re old friends catching up. “You working around here, or do you just like loitering in my way?”
Wise doesn’t look at him, focusing instead on his food. “I’d tell you, but I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
“Touchy,” Lighter says, clearly amused. “Must be one hell of a job to put you in such a great mood all the time.”
Wise finally sets down his chopsticks, his patience fraying. He looks over at Lighter, his gaze sharp. “You always talk this much to people who aren’t interested, or am I just special?”
Lighter grins wider, leaning back in his seat as though Wise’s annoyance is the most entertaining thing he’s seen all day. “What can I say? You’ve got a vibe about you. Like you’re fun to mess with.”
Wise exhales slowly, reminding himself that punching this guy in the face probably wouldn’t go over well in a public noodle stand. “Well, congratulations,” he says flatly. “You’ve successfully annoyed me. Job done. Now can you move on?”
“See, that’s the thing,” Lighter says, resting his chin on one hand. “You keep showing up wherever I am. Makes me wonder if you’re the one following me.”
Wise blinks, caught off guard for half a second before his glare intensifies. “In your dreams,” he mutters, grabbing his bowl and standing up.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Lighter calls after him, his tone dripping with mock sweetness. “It’s cute how you’re pretending you’re not enjoying this.”
Wise doesn’t respond, weaving through the crowded square with a simmering mix of irritation and disbelief.
Goddamn. He doesn’t know what this guy’s deal is, but one thing’s for sure: New Eridu just got a whole lot more annoying.
And, of course, they run into each other again the next week.
Wise is starting to think Lumina Square has it out for him. Every job, every errand—somehow, it leads him back here. The bustling chaos, the vendors, the glaring lights. And, apparently, the very same asshole who evidently will never let him be.
This time, it’s a courier job. A simple delivery of some obscure tech parts to a shop tucked into a quieter side street. Wise keeps his head down, weaving through the crowd with practiced efficiency, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s almost there when he hears it.
“Hey! It’s the city boy again.”
Wise freezes mid-step, groaning internally. Turning slowly, he spots him leaning casually against a vending machine, a can of something bright green and carbonated in hand. Lighter’s grin is as insufferable as ever.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Wise asks, exasperated.
“Better than this? Not likely.” Lighter takes a sip of his drink, unfazed by Wise’s tone. “Besides, you make it way too easy. Every time I turn around, there you are. Starting to think fate’s got a sense of humor.”
“Fate,” Wise deadpans, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure. That’s one way to put it.”
Lighter pushes off the vending machine, sauntering closer with the kind of swagger that makes Wise want to trip him. “So what’s the gig today, boss? You don’t look like you’re here for the nightlife.”
Wise adjusts the strap of his bag, his expression guarded. “None of your business.”
“Again with the secrets.” Lighter chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re consistent. I’ll give you that.”
Wise doesn’t have time for this. He starts walking again, determined to lose Lighter in the crowd. But, of course, the guy falls into step beside him, as though they’re suddenly partners in crime.
“You know,” Lighter says conversationally, “you’ve got a real gift for making friends. Ever thought about going pro?”
“Only if you’re the first one on the list,” Wise mutters.
Lighter laughs, a low, genuine sound that catches Wise off guard. He glances sideways at the guy, frowning. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” Lighter says simply. “You’re wound up tighter than a clock. What’s it take to get you to loosen up?”
Wise huffs, quickening his pace. “You’re really asking the wrong person that question.”
Lighter keeps up easily, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop bugging you—for now. But something tells me we’re gonna keep running into each other.”
“Not if I see you first,” Wise mutters, turning sharply down the alley leading to his destination.
“Looking forward to it!” Lighter calls after him, the grin clear in his voice.
Wise shakes his head, his irritation bubbling over. He doesn’t stop until he’s safely inside the shop, the door shutting out the noise of the square—and the lingering annoyance of that guy.
As he hands over the package, he mutters under his breath, “New Eridu’s way too small for the both of us.”
The shopkeeper glances up, confused. “You say something?”
“Nothing,” Wise says quickly, already heading for the door.
He steps back into the street, glancing around warily. No sign of Lighter. Yet.
Somehow, that doesn’t feel like a victory.
The next time Wise sees Lighter, it’s at one of the seedier corners of Lumina Square. He’s waiting outside a sketchy dive bar, arms crossed, trying not to look like he’s loitering. Because he’s not loitering, obviously. His client’s late—of course—and now he’s stuck with nothing to do except watch drunk college students amble around like idiots.
And then, like clockwork, the thorn in his side saunters into view, sunglasses still on despite the low light.
Wise’s first instinct is to walk away. But Lighter has a way of making himself impossible to ignore.
“Well, well,” Lighter calls out. “Look who’s still lurking around this side of town. You moonlighting as a streetlamp, or is there something shady I should know about?”
Wise stops dead in his tracks, fixing Lighter with a glare that only seems to amuse him. “You’re one to talk about shady, considering you’re standing here like some kind of cheap mob extra.”
Lighter laughs—a low, easy sound that Wise feels more than hears. He pushes off the lamppost and takes a step closer, hands in his pockets, his grin as insufferable as ever.
“Careful, shrimp,” Lighter says, voice dropping just a fraction. “You keep talking to me like that, and I might think you missed me.”
“I didn’t,” Wise replies flatly, though his pulse quickens at the way Lighter closes the distance between them.
“Sure you didn’t,” Lighter says, tilting his head slightly, the sunglasses slipping just enough for Wise to catch a glimpse of his eyes—a sharp, piercing green that feels like it’s cutting right through him.
There’s something in the air between them now, charged and electric, and Wise can’t seem to look away.
Lighter leans in, just enough to make Wise feel the heat of his presence again, his voice low and teasing. “You always this uptight, or is it just me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wise says, but his voice comes out quieter than he intended, the words lacking the bite he was going for.
Lighter smirks, and Wise hates how good it looks on him. “You sure about that? ’Cause I think I’m getting under your skin.”
Wise steps back, trying to regain some semblance of control, but Lighter doesn’t let up. He follows, closing the gap like it’s some kind of game he’s determined to win.
“Relax,” Lighter says, his tone softening just a little, though the playful edge remains. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Not tonight, anyway.”
“You say that like I’m supposed to believe you,” Wise replies, his voice steady now, though his heart is anything but.
“Believe what you want,” Lighter says with a shrug, his grin widening. “But you don’t seem like the kind of guy who scares easy. Or are you?”
The challenge in his voice is unmistakable, and Wise feels his jaw tighten in response.
“I’m not scared of you,” he says, his words firm.
“Good,” Lighter says, his voice dropping even lower, the smirk on his lips turning into something almost predatory. “’Cause I like a little fight.”
The words hang in the air between them, heavy with implication, and for a split second, Wise wonders what would happen if he didn’t look away.
But then the moment shatters as a group of passersby bumps into them, breaking whatever strange spell had formed.
Lighter steps back, his grin firmly back in place, though there’s something in his gaze that lingers—a flicker of heat that Wise isn’t sure he imagined.
“See you around, Wise,” Lighter says, his tone light, but his eyes saying something else entirely.
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Wise standing there, his heart annoyingly loud in his chest.
Wise doesn’t respond, watching as Lighter disappears into the crowd. It’s only when he’s gone that Wise lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
It takes a moment for Wise to gather himself, scowling at the empty space where Lighter had been.
What the hell was that?
Whatever it was, it’s not happening again.
The next time their paths cross, Wise doesn’t have the luxury of ignoring Lighter.
It’s late, the artificial glow of the overhead neon signs reflecting through the myriad of puddles across the concrete. Wise is following up on a lead—nothing major, just a recon job—but, as luck would have it, Lighter is already there, lounging by the alley he needs to go through like some overconfident guard dog.
“You lost, sunshine?” Lighter asks as Wise approaches, his grin as sharp as ever.
“I don’t have time for your games,” Wise replies, though his voice lacks conviction.
Lighter steps forward, blocking his path. “See, I think you do. And I think you keep running into me because maybe, deep down, you don’t mind.”
Wise huffs, crossing his arms. “Or maybe you’re just everywhere you shouldn’t be.”
Lighter smirks. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.”
It’s maddening, the way Lighter leans in slightly, just close enough to invade Wise’s space without crossing any definitive lines. His presence is intoxicating, and Wise hates how aware he is of every small movement—the faint tilt of Lighter’s head, the subtle curve of his lips, the way the faint glow of the neon catches on the edge of his sunglasses.
“You going to move, or are we going to stand here all night?” Wise asks, his voice sharper now.
Lighter chuckles, low and quiet. “Depends. You in a hurry, or are you just trying to get away from me?”
Wise narrows his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“That’s not a no,” Lighter replies, and the spark of challenge in his voice sends something hot and unwelcome coursing through Wise.
“Move,” Wise says again, stepping forward as if to push past him.
But Lighter doesn’t budge. Instead, he catches Wise’s wrist—gently but firmly—and pulls him just a fraction closer.
“Careful,” Lighter murmurs, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You’re starting to look like you don’t mind this.”
Wise freezes. The space between them feels impossibly small now, the air thick with something unspoken but undeniably real. His heart pounds in his chest, and he hates how he can’t quite bring himself to pull away.
Lighter tilts his head slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the glasses. “You keep staring at me like that, Wise, and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”
“I don’t,” Wise says, but his voice falters, betraying the heat rising in his chest.
“Liar,” Lighter replies, and then, before Wise can respond, Lighter leans in.
The kiss is sudden and sharp, an electric jolt that leaves Wise’s mind reeling. It’s not soft, not careful—it’s heated, all tongue and teeth, as if Lighter is testing him, daring him to push back.
And push back he does. Wise grabs Lighter’s jacket, yanking him closer as he kisses back with equal fervor. Their teeth clash for a moment, and Lighter laughs against his mouth, a low, throaty sound that makes Wise’s knees feel dangerously weak.
“Guess you’re not as uptight as I thought,” Lighter murmurs against his lips, his tone teasing.
“Shut up,” Wise snaps, but it’s breathless, almost desperate, and it only makes Lighter grin wider.
They stumble into the shadowed alley, out of sight from prying eyes, Lighter pressing Wise against the wall. The cold brick against his back is a sharp contrast to the heat pooling in his chest, and for once, Wise doesn’t think.
It’s messy, chaotic, every touch and kiss charged with unspoken tension. Lighter’s hand slides to Wise’s waist, pulling him closer, and Wise’s fingers find their way into Lighter’s hair, tugging hard enough to make the other man groan.
It’s not until they both come up for air, breaths heavy and uneven, that reality starts to creep back in.
“Well,” Lighter says, his voice rough but amused, “didn’t think you had it in you.”
Wise glares, but the effect is ruined by the way he’s still catching his breath. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sure it doesn’t,” Lighter replies, smirking as he steps back, his lips red and swollen. “But you let me know when you’re ready for round two, sunshine.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving Wise alone in the alley, his heart pounding and his thoughts a tangled mess.
The sound of Lighter’s footsteps echoing away should be Wise’s cue to get his act together, but instead, he finds himself rooted to the spot, the lingering heat of Lighter’s touch burning through his jacket. His breath comes fast and uneven, and his mind races with everything that just happened.
He’s not sure what possesses him, but before he knows it, his feet are moving, following the faint trail of Lighter’s shadow.
“Hey,” Wise’s traitorous mouth calls out, his voice sharper than he intends.
Lighter pauses mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
Wise doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs Lighter’s arm, yanks him back into the alley, and slams him against the wall.
For a moment, Lighter looks genuinely surprised, his grin faltering. Then it comes back with a vengeance. “Didn’t know you liked it rough.”
“Shut up,” Wise snaps for the second time, his voice low and breathless, and before Lighter can get another word in, he’s kissing him again.
This time, there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Wise presses him hard against the wall, their bodies flush as the tension that’s been building between them finally boils over. Lighter’s hands find his waist, his grip firm and unapologetic, and Wise shudders at the heat of it.
“You’re full of surprises tonight,” Lighter murmurs against Wise’s mouth, his tone teasing but thick with something darker.
Wise pulls back just enough to glare at him, his lips red and swollen. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah?” Lighter grins, tilting his head. “You going to do something about it?”
Wise doesn’t answer—at least, not with words. He kisses Lighter again, harder this time, swallowing the smug quip that was no doubt on the tip of his tongue. His fingers tangle in the front of Lighter’s jacket, tugging him closer until there’s no space left between them.
Lighter groans into the kiss, the sound low and guttural, and it sends a shiver down Wise’s spine. One of Lighter’s hands slides up to cup the back of Wise’s neck, his thumb brushing against the edge of his jaw in a way that makes Wise’s breath hitch.
“You sure you don’t like me?” Lighter asks when they part again, his voice rough but laced with amusement.
“Positive,” Wise mutters, but the way he’s panting, the way his hands are still fisted in Lighter’s jacket, makes it sound like a lie.
Lighter chuckles, the sound warm and wicked. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Wise doesn’t bother responding this time. Instead, he drags Lighter further into the shadows, away from the streetlights and prying eyes.
“You know,” Lighter says as Wise pushes him against the opposite wall, his grin never faltering, “if this is how you usually treat people you don’t like, I’d hate to see what happens to the ones you do.”
Wise cuts him off with another kiss, his teeth catching Lighter’s lower lip in a way that makes the other man curse softly under his breath. It’s messy, desperate, and utterly reckless, but Wise doesn’t care.
Not about the alley, not about the danger of being seen, and definitely not about the fact that he’s breaking every unspoken rule he’s ever set for himself.
Because right now, all he can think about is the heat of Lighter’s mouth against his, the press of his body, and the way everything else seems to fade into the background.
He’ll regret this later, he knows he will.
But later feels like a long way off.
The sharp bite of cold air stings Wise’s face as they step out of the alley, his jacket hanging a little looser around his shoulders after Lighter’s hands—god, his hands—had yanked and pulled at him like the fabric was just in the way.
He avoids looking at Lighter, who, unsurprisingly, is strolling like he didn’t just spend the last ten minutes pressed against a wall, like the two of them weren’t just rutting up against each other like it was the end of the world.
Wise shoves his hands in his pockets, his gaze locked on the pavement as they walk. It’s late, the streets mostly deserted, the occasional hum of a passing tram the only sound cutting through the silence. And there’s an uncomfortable wetness in his undergarments that he refuses to acknowledge.
“You always get that intense after a bad day?” Lighter’s voice breaks through, casual as ever, but with an edge that makes Wise bristle.
“Shut up.” It’s automatic, clipped, but Wise can feel his ears burning. He knows Lighter can see it, too, judging by the amused chuckle he gets in response.
“I’m just saying,” Lighter drawls, walking backward now so he can face Wise. His grin is maddening, cocky, but there’s something else in his eyes—something softer that Wise doesn’t want to think too much about. “If that’s how you blow off steam, I’d be happy to volunteer anytime.”
Wise stops in his tracks, glaring at him. “Do you ever stop talking?”
Lighter leans in, his face way too close, and Wise has to fight the instinct to back up. “Do you ever stop pretending you don’t like it?”
Wise doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he brushes past Lighter and keeps walking, his pace quick and deliberate.
The problem is, Lighter doesn’t fall behind.
“Relax, I’m kidding,” Lighter says, falling into step beside him. He’s quieter now, almost serious, and that throws Wise more than the teasing ever could.
They walk in silence for a while, the tension still buzzing between them but subdued, like the aftermath of a storm.
Eventually, Lighter breaks it. “You good?”
Wise glances at him, surprised by the question. “What?”
“You seemed… I don’t know. Tense earlier.” Lighter shrugs, like he’s trying to play it off, but his expression is uncharacteristically sincere. “I mean, not that I’m complaining about how you handled it, but…”
“I’m fine,” Wise cuts in, his tone sharper than intended. He looks away, focusing on the dim glow of the streetlights. “Don’t read too much into it.”
“Right.” Lighter’s voice is light, but Wise can hear the smirk in it. “No deeper meaning. Just two guys making out in an alley for no reason.”
“Exactly,” Wise mutters, refusing to rise to the bait.
But he can feel Lighter’s gaze on him, steady and unrelenting, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving in a way Wise can’t quite explain, and he doesn’t like it.
“I meant what I said,” Lighter says suddenly, and Wise blinks, startled by the abrupt change in tone. “About volunteering.”
Wise glances at him, caught off guard. For once, Lighter’s not smirking or teasing. He looks… earnest.
The moment stretches, heavy and charged, until Wise finally looks away. “You’re impossible.”
Lighter chuckles, and just like that, the tension breaks. “You’re welcome.”
They reach a crossroad, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. Lighter stops, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks at Wise.
“This is me,” he says, jerking his head towards a motorcycle.
Wise nods, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Right.”
Lighter lingers for a moment, like he’s waiting for something. When Wise doesn’t offer anything, he grins, the familiar cockiness sliding back into place.
“See you around, tough guy.”
And then he’s gone, disappearing down the street with the same effortless swagger that drives Wise insane.
Wise exhales, running a hand through his hair. His fingers brush against his lips, and he freezes, the memory of Lighter’s kiss hitting him like a freight train.
“Idiot,” he mutters under his breath, though he’s not sure if he’s talking about Lighter or himself.
Probably both.
The first time, it had been a mistake. An alleyway, a heated argument, and a moment of weakness that Wise was certain he wouldn’t let happen again.
The second time? That was on him.
Now, as he leans against Lighter’s apartment door at some ungodly hour, his shirt askew and his hair still damp from the rain, Wise tells himself—once again—that this is the last time.
Lighter greets him with that stupid, smug grin, shirtless and entirely too comfortable for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
“Shut up,” Wise mutters, brushing past him into the room. It’s small, cluttered with mismatched furniture and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. The place screams Lighter—chaotic but weirdly inviting.
Lighter shuts the door behind him and leans against it, arms crossed as he watches Wise with that infuriating, lopsided smirk. “You wanna tell me what excuse you’ve got this time, or should we skip the pretense?”
Wise glares at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah, but you like it.” Lighter pushes off the door, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. His hands find Wise’s hips, pulling him closer, and Wise hates—hates—that he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he tilts his head up, meeting Lighter’s gaze with a mix of defiance and something he refuses to name. “You’re lucky I don’t have better options.”
Lighter laughs, low and warm, before dipping his head to capture Wise’s lips in a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. It’s familiar now, almost routine, but it still sends a shiver down Wise’s spine, still makes him forget how much he hates himself for this.
It’s only after they’ve tumbled onto the worn-out couch, breaths mingling and clothes discarded, that the voice in Wise’s head starts up again. This is insane. He’s insane. I’m insane.
And yet, when Lighter’s hand skims down his side, when he murmurs something teasing and far too intimate, Wise doesn’t pull back.
Because Lighter is like a drug. Dangerous, addictive, and impossible to quit.
He tells himself this is temporary. That it doesn’t mean anything. That it’s just two people blowing off steam in a city that never gives anyone a break.
But then Lighter looks at him with those stupid, soft eyes—like Wise is something worth holding onto—and Wise feels himself unravel just a little more.
“I’m staying the night,” Wise mutters after, voice muffled against Lighter’s shoulder.
“Obviously,” Lighter says, his tone somewhere between smug and amused. He stretches out on the couch, pulling Wise against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Wise doesn’t bother arguing. He’s too tired, too comfortable, and too far gone to fight it.
Just one more time, he tells himself. Just one more.
Wise convinces himself, every time, that this arrangement is purely physical. Lighter has a good body, good hands, good… everything, and Wise isn’t about to pretend he doesn’t enjoy it. But that’s all it is. A stress reliever. A bad habit. Nothing more.
The arrangement is simple. Keep things physical. No strings, no complications. Wise tells himself it’s working, even when it absolutely isn’t.
Because Lighter? Lighter has this way of getting under his skin, in more ways than one.
It’s annoying how Lighter seems to know exactly when to push and when to back off. He can go from teasing Wise relentlessly to sitting next to him in a bar, offering quiet companionship without a single word exchanged. And somehow, that contrast—infuriatingly cocky one moment, disarmingly considerate the next—leaves Wise reeling.
This isn’t supposed to mean anything. Yet somehow, Wise finds himself waiting for the next text, the next call, the next flimsy excuse to end up tangled in Lighter’s sheets again. The guy is impossible, but he’s also magnetic in a way Wise doesn’t quite know how to handle.
It’s the stupidest things that stick in his head. The way Lighter hums tunelessly while cleaning up. The way he calls Wise “city boy” in that teasing, infuriating tone. The way he knows exactly when Wise has had a bad day, sliding him a drink without asking and saying something stupidly thoughtful like, “You look like you could use a break.”
The worst part? Lighter is still an asshole. A charming, handsome, absolutely maddening asshole, but an asshole all the same.
The moments between them blur together, more frequent than Wise ever intended.
One night, after another round of what Wise adamantly refuses to call “anything meaningful,” Lighter sprawls out beside him, completely at ease. His hair is a mess, his sunglasses nowhere to be seen, and he’s nursing a lazy, self-satisfied grin that Wise has no business finding attractive.
“That’s the third time this week,” Lighter says, voice low and teasing. “Starting to think you’re getting attached.”
Wise scoffs, sitting up and grabbing his shirt. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just convenient.”
“Convenient, huh?” Lighter props himself up on one elbow, that damn grin still in place. “That why you keep coming back? ‘Cause I’m convenient?”
Wise doesn’t answer. He pulls on his shirt, refusing to meet Lighter’s eyes. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the heat rising in his chest or the fact that, yeah, maybe Lighter has a point.
Lighter chuckles, low and warm, and Wise feels it in his bones. “You know,” he says, “for someone who acts like he’s got it all together, you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying,” Wise snaps, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “This is exactly what it looks like. Nothing more.”
Lighter raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he leans back, arms behind his head, looking every bit as insufferable as ever. “Sure, boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Wise hates the way his heart stumbles at the word boss. He hates the way Lighter looks at him, like he knows every damn thing running through his head. Most of all, he hates that Lighter might actually be right.
But that doesn’t matter. It can’t.
Because this is just sex. It has to be. Anything else would be dangerous.
Wise tells himself he doesn’t care when Lighter throws him a cocky grin or casually drapes an arm around him in public, like they’re friends—or something worse. He tells himself he doesn’t care when Lighter laughs at his expense, calling him uptight and saying things like, “Relax, boss. You’ll live longer.”
He definitely doesn’t care when they fall into bed again and again, Wise muttering curses against Lighter’s neck while Lighter holds him like he’s something precious.
But it’s weird. He does care, doesn’t he? He’s thinking about Lighter when he’s supposed to be focusing on commissions. When Belle tells him they need to prioritize their next job, Wise finds himself wondering what Lighter would think about it instead.
It’s a quiet night when it finally hits him.
Wise is perched on Lighter’s couch, scrolling through his Inter-Knot account as Lighter leans over the counter, fiddling with some leftover takeout. The light’s dim, the apartment unusually quiet save for Lighter’s occasional muttered curses about the state of his fridge.
And Wise thinks, out of nowhere: This is nice.
He freezes, horrified.
The words won’t leave his head, echoing in the worst way. He shakes himself, trying to focus on his phone, but the warmth in his chest refuses to go away.
“Hey.” Lighter’s voice cuts through the silence, casual but somehow pointed. “You want anything from this mess, or are you just gonna keep pretending to work?”
Wise scowls, grateful for the distraction. “I’m working, actually. Some of us have real jobs.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lighter saunters over, takeout box in hand. “Tell me more about your super mysterious real job. The one that keeps you up all night but apparently lets you hang out here whenever you feel like it.”
Wise glares at him, heat rising to his cheeks. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”
“Yeah, but you like it,” Lighter says, smirking as he sits next to him, close enough that their knees touch.
And Wise doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push Lighter away, even though he knows he should.
Because despite everything—despite Lighter being an infuriating, arrogant bastard—Wise has grown used to him. Maybe too used to him.
The street is quieter tonight, the usual bustle of Sixth Street softened by the cool evening air. It’s the kind of night where people just want to go about their business, keeping to themselves, and Wise is no exception—he’s just trying to put some space between himself and the mess that’s been hanging over him for weeks now.
He spots Lighter leaning against a brick wall, hands stuffed in his pockets, casually observing the street like he has nothing else to do. It’s not surprising, but still, it rubs Wise the wrong way. He doesn’t know why, but it does.
“You’re late,” Wise mutters, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he approaches.
Lighter shrugs, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Time’s just a suggestion, really.”
Wise snorts but doesn’t bother to argue. He’s getting used to Lighter’s nonsense, but it still gets under his skin in ways he doesn’t like to admit. He paces a few steps, trying to clear his head, before turning back to face him.
“Look, we need to talk,” Wise says, hands still in his pockets, voice deliberately casual. “About... this.” He gestures vaguely between them.
Lighter eyes him curiously, then crosses his arms over his chest. “This? You mean the... whatever this is?” He tilts his head like he’s trying to figure out what exactly Wise is getting at.
Wise sighs, trying to stay chill. “Yeah. Just physical stuff. That’s all it is, right? No strings attached. No expectations. No nothing.”
Lighter snorts, unimpressed. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.”
Wise’s eyebrows furrow, feeling that familiar irritation start to creep up his spine. He wants to shrug it off, but it’s hard when he’s the one who’s been saying it over and over again, trying to convince himself more than anything.
“I’m serious, man,” Wise insists. “We never really... defined what this was, but I’m not looking for anything more than that. You get what you want, I get what I want. That’s it.”
Lighter uncrosses his arms, his gaze narrowing, but there’s no anger in it—just an unsettling kind of amusement. “Bullshit,” he says flatly. “You act like you’re so above it all, but you keep coming back. Don’t you?”
Wise’s jaw tightens at the words, but he tries to brush it off. “Yeah, and?” He tries to sound casual about it, but there's a strange edge to his voice. “You’re not exactly complaining.”
Lighter gives a small shrug. “Doesn’t mean I’m buying the ‘just sex’ story. You can’t keep pretending like it’s nothing when you keep showing up for more.”
There it is again—the truth of it, just hanging in the air. Wise clenches his fists, his patience wearing thin, but he can’t quite bring himself to walk away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Lighter. I’m not in the mood for some long-winded... whatever you want to call it.”
Lighter takes a step forward, his expression softer now, but no less intense. “I’m not asking for anything, Wise. I’m just saying—stop acting like this doesn’t mean anything. We never really talked about it, but we’re still here, right?”
Wise sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t want it to mean anything.” But even as the words leave his mouth, he feels the contradiction gnawing at him. He keeps coming back. Hell, he's already here.
Lighter watches him carefully, studying him like he’s trying to figure out how much of this Wise is really telling the truth. “If it’s just sex,” he says slowly, “then why do you keep coming back to me?”
Wise stops pacing, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this all sounds. He’d always thought it was simple—just sex, nothing else. But Lighter’s here, and that stupid, magnetic pull is still there. “I don’t know,” Wise admits quietly, looking away. “I don’t know why I keep showing up.”
Lighter nods like he knew that all along. “You’re not fooling me, Wise. But I’m not gonna push you to say what you don’t want to. Just... stop pretending it’s nothing when we both know it’s more than that.”
Wise doesn’t know how to respond. Instead, he turns and starts walking away, his heart beating harder in his chest, a mixture of frustration and something else he refuses to name.
“Fine,” he mutters over his shoulder, not looking back. “Whatever.”
He can’t do this. Not tonight. Not with Lighter, not with this. He can still feel Lighter’s eyes on him, though. And no matter how much he tries to convince himself that it’s just sex, the truth hangs in the air like smoke.
Wise slams the door to Random Play harder than he means to. His sneakers squeak against the floor, and Fairy chirps a curious greeting from the H.D.D.. Belle’s gone somewhere for the night, leaving Wise to stew in the silence of the shop.
He doesn’t know why he’s so worked up. It’s not like anything new happened. Just Lighter being his usual insufferable self—stupidly cocky, stupidly attractive, and stupidly… right about everything.
Wise shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair, pacing the room. He keeps replaying their earlier argument in his head, every word, every infuriating smirk.
“You act like you’re so above it all, but you keep coming back, don’t you?”
Wise grits his teeth. He hates how Lighter gets under his skin. Hates how the guy sees right through every flimsy excuse he throws up, like it’s all some kind of game.
But it’s not a game. Not to Wise.
The shop door swings open, and there he is, as if summoned by sheer frustration: Lighter, leaning casually against the doorframe, his sunglasses perched low on his nose.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Wise snaps, voice sharper than intended. God, he should have locked the door.
“Following up,” Lighter says easily, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “Figured you’d have more to say after storming off like that.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Sure about that?” Lighter crosses his arms, his tone light but probing. “’Cause you look like you’re about to explode.”
Wise scowls, his fists clenching at his sides. “You don’t know me.”
“Don’t I?” Lighter challenges, stepping closer. His voice softens, though it loses none of its intensity. “You think I can’t tell what’s going on? You’re not as hard to read as you think, shrimp.”
“Stop calling me that,” Wise snaps, his voice cracking just slightly.
Lighter doesn’t back off. “Why? Does it bother you? Or is that just another excuse to push me away?”
“You’re—” Wise swallows hard, his chest tight. “You’re the one who keeps showing up like this. I didn’t ask for it.”
Lighter raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you?”
The words hit too close to home, and Wise feels something in him snap. “You’re so full of yourself, you know that? You think you’ve got me all figured out, but you don’t. You don’t know what this is like—what you’re like.”
Lighter tilts his head, his gaze steady. “So tell me. What am I like?”
Wise opens his mouth to retort, but the words catch in his throat. He takes a shaky breath, his voice breaking as he says, “You make me feel like I’m losing my mind. Like I can’t think straight when you’re around. And it’s—it’s stupid because I know this is a bad idea. But I can’t stop.”
The room falls silent. Wise’s heart pounds as the confession hangs in the air, raw and unguarded.
Lighter blinks. For once, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback.
“Wise…” he starts, his voice quieter than usual.
But Wise shakes his head, backing away. “Forget it. I didn’t mean—just forget I said anything.”
“Hey,” Lighter steps forward, catching his wrist. His grip is firm but not forceful, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere. So if you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Wise meets his gaze, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. The vulnerability in Lighter’s eyes is unexpected, and it throws him off balance.
The silence stretches between them, thick and loaded. Wise shifts on his feet, looking everywhere but at Lighter, his chest tight as the words fight their way to the surface. He’s been holding this in for way too long.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Wise says, his voice rough, biting back the frustration. “I keep... I keep coming back, but I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to deal with someone like you.”
His voice shakes as he spits out the next words, all the fear and doubt spilling out before he can stop it. “I’m just afraid of getting hurt, okay? Because I don’t know how serious this is for you, but if I let myself think it’s more than sex, then I think I’m just going to get my heart broken. Because I feel like this has all just been one big game to you.”
Lighter’s eyes narrow, all hints of teasing gone. The heat in his gaze shifts, something softer, more understanding there beneath the usual cocky veneer.
Wise’s throat goes dry, the words tumbling out faster than he can keep up. “I know I’ve been a mess about this. I don’t know how to just— feel anything for you without thinking it’s all going to blow up in my face. I don’t even know if I trust you enough to—” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “But it’s not just sex for me, alright? I don’t know if that’s what you want, but I’m trying to figure it out. And I don’t know how to do it without... without the fear of getting burned.”
Lighter doesn’t step back this time. He just stands there, quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, processing the confession.
For a second, Wise thinks maybe he’s said too much. Maybe he’s made himself too vulnerable, and now Lighter’s just going to turn it into a joke, like he always does.
But then Lighter’s voice cuts through the tension. “I’m not playing games with you, Wise,” he says, his tone firm, surprisingly serious. “If I wanted to fuck with you, I’d have done it already. You think I’d be standing here now if I didn’t care?”
Wise doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s still trying to process the fact that Lighter isn’t making light of this—that he’s taking it seriously. His hands are shaking, his chest tight, but for the first time in a while, it feels like the air between them is finally clearing.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me,” Lighter continues, taking a small step forward, “but I’m not here just for the fun of it. And if you want to figure out what this is, then... I’ll figure it out with you. No games.”
The words hit harder than Wise expects. His stomach twists with a mix of relief and dread, the weight of his own feelings almost too much to handle.
“I don’t know if I can just—let go of the fear,” Wise mutters, more to himself than to Lighter. “I’m not... I’m not good at this. You can say all you want, but I don’t know if I can believe it.”
Lighter’s face softens, but he’s still resolute. “Then don’t believe me. Just— be with me. No pressure. No promises. Let’s just see what happens.”
Wise looks at him for a long moment, the words sticking in his throat. He’s not sure he’s ready to stop being afraid. But... maybe he’s not as alone in this as he thought.
Taking a deep breath, Wise nods. It’s not perfect. It’s not what he had in mind. But maybe that’s the point.
“I’ll try,” Wise says, voice quieter now, the weight of everything settling. “I can’t promise anything. But I’ll try.”
Lighter doesn’t smirk, doesn’t make a joke. He just reaches out, grabbing Wise by the shoulder, pulling him into a hug that feels oddly comfortable for all its mess.
“No rush, Wise,” Lighter murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”
Wise lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, the tension starting to drain away. For the first time in a long time, maybe things aren’t so bad. And maybe he’s not the only one afraid of getting hurt.
“I hate you,” Wise says, though there’s no heat behind the words.
Lighter smirks faintly, his thumb brushing against Wise’s wrist. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“Shut up,” Wise mutters, but there’s no bite in it.
The tension between them snaps like a rubber band, and before Wise can talk himself out of it, he surges forward, crashing their lips together.
Lighter doesn’t hesitate. His arms come around Wise’s waist, pulling him closer as he deepens the kiss. It’s messy and desperate, a clash of frustration and longing neither of them can deny anymore.
When they finally pull apart, both of them are breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together.
“Well,” Lighter says, his voice low and rough, “if that’s what hate feels like, I might be in trouble.”
Wise groans, burying his face in Lighter’s shoulder. “I seriously can’t stand you.”
Lighter just laughs, holding him tighter. “Sure, boss. Whatever you say.”
Maybe they really will figure it out.