thebogushasbeenunleashed

[clownbasedintrigue]

You and I // cryptalore

as part of @apex-legends-champion‘s writing collaboration, for @kamizaki-53,

bangalore/crypto, prompt word ‘singer’, sfw

more under the break

words: 2,713

note: this was meant to be out a lot earlier (think like, three or four months ago) but with everything going to absolute shit where i am, as well as personal happenings, this fell to the wayside. very to the wayside. sorry about that :/

the song used is ‘you and i’ by barns courtney, but i wouldn’t suggest listening to it as you read, the pacing i had in mind for the fic is not the same as the actual song. just keep that in mind. however, it’s a good song so i DO suggest listening to it beforehand.

this might eventually end up on ao3, if i get the chance. if so, i’ll link it. i also scrapped about another 2k words from this because they just didnt fit the way i wanted them to. if i find the energy, i plan to make that into a fic as well.

ft. gratuitous headcanons and dubious hacking

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“We’re sitting ducks up here, any rookie with a scope could pick us off.” she says, but judging by the way she leans back against the air conditioning unit, she’s not bothered by the idea.

Crypto hums in response, and tucks his legs underneath him. She’s not wrong, the wide expanse of desert does nothing to obscure their spot on the rooftop. As worrying as that would be anywhere else, his drone hovers above them, constantly scanning. If there’s anyone around, the drone will tell them.

Pulling the bag between them into his lap, which they filled with drinks and snacks before escaping to the quiet of the roof, he digs through it, hands closing around two glass bottles. He passes one off to Bangalore, and rests the other beside him as he rifles around for the bottle opener.

They rest out here sometimes. When the noise of social nights or tenseness of a newcomer makes the compound unwelcoming. The flat concrete and the surrounding sand offers peace and quiet, something the building below them often lacks. The quiet is a welcome relief.

Emerging triumphantly with the opener, he goes to pass that, too, to her, only to realize she already has the edge of her utility knife wedged underneath the cap. A bit of leverage, and it flies off with a pop, bouncing further across the rooftop and landing with the din of metal on concrete. They watch it in silence. The weight of the bottle opener-now obsolete-resting solidly in his palm.

Bangalore holds out her hand to him. He blinks, sets the bottle opener down, and softly places his atop her opened one, feeling the way hers have calloused from her work. The impressions left behind by years of artillery work and battle not having faded yet.

She turns to face him with raised eyebrows, “The bottle, TJ.”

Oh. He huffs a breath at her, stomach twisting at the abbreviated use of his real name, nervous butterflies and anxiety alike. It’s not something he hears often. Hasn’t, since Mila happened. He’s not sure how wise using it is, but he can’t say he doesn’t like it.

Before he can pull his hand back, she laces her fingers with his and drags it down to rest between them. His nerves turn to warmth as he gives her the bottle with his other hand, and relishes in the feeling of her palm on his.

What they have is quiet, on the down-low, moments stolen in the corner of the dropship when no one’s watching, or gentle nights like this, sitting away from the rest of the legends.

The clatter of the bottle cap draws his attention back to her, and taking the bottle from it’s spot wedged between her knees, Anita sneaks a swig before handing it to him. With the utility knife safely covered and slipped back into her boot, she leans into his side.

They sip at their drinks underneath the tranquil sky. Double moons, and stars bright enough to light up the area, the night was clear and the breeze was crisp.

Through their silence, the bass of the music in the common room reaches them, though barely. Three stories up, not a lot makes it up here, save for stray sand and the occasional legend looking for a quiet space. But tonight had been movie night, and those rarely stay quiet.

Movie night is a time where a few of them make a snack run at noon to the city, and the others pick a host of movies to watch. When the snack runners get back, usually a few hours later, they all have ‘dinner’, if junk food and sugar can count as dinner, and from ‘dinner’ to midnight, they feast, watch, and argue about the others’ lack of taste in movies. A weekly routine he’s gotten used to. Looks forward to, almost.

Even though neither of them are particularly shy about public affection, they never hesitate to take advantage of movie night, the dark of the room during which allows for the two to lean against each other, hold hands, and sneak quiet kisses without the others noticing.

Tonight, they had sat for the movie, as they usually did, and slipped into the hall before the last movie ended. Things could get loud afterwards. After a quick raid of the kitchen, and grabbing a few things from their room, including blankets, they made for the roof. Which had led to them sitting up here, with only the company of the moons, themselves, and TJ’s drone, perched up high, keeping a watchful eye from the sky.

Lowly, music drifts up from the commons room. it’s muffled by laughter and concrete, but not so much that they cannot hear the vague baritone of the singer.

“They must’ve opened the balcony,” Crypto murmurs in displeasure, resting his head on her shoulder, “The quiet was better,”

“Yeah, I’m with you,” Anita falls silent, leaning her head on top of his and drinking in the melody. She pulls back for a moment, her brows scrunch and her gaze drifts away as she focuses in on the music. He lifts his head, and as he’s about to ask what’s wrong, she speaks, softly.

“I think I know this song.”

Crypto shuts his mouth and strains to listen. He hears the beat, the tune, although the actual words elude him. The notes lead each other in a waltz, music twirling out off the balcony into the desert air, a lullaby, or maybe a love ballad. He doesn’t know where it’s from, and it’s different from his usual taste, but Anita must enjoy it, from the way she sways and nods along to it

She smiles at him and relaxes, taking a drink from her bottle and resting back on the metal, closing her eyes. Her mouth moves with the words of the song, reciting a long-engrained memory.

When the chorus peters out, she is left humming to the bridge. The double moons cast double lights onto her upturned face, silhouetting the slope of her nose, brows, and soft cheeks. The moonlight paints silver on her skin, every ridge and bone reflecting the glimmer of the night sky.

“Sounds like something we used to play at home. Could be wrong, though,” she says, setting the bottle at her side. Crypto sets his aside as well, turning his full attention to her.

”Back on Gridiron, we had this crate of discs,” Bangalore mimes a box with her hands, “Along with this vintage radio. An old hunk of a thing, big as the box itself, and just about as functional. They were our grandma’s, from her grandma, and hers before that. They’ve been in the family forever.”

Looking out over the desert, she continues, “You’d put in one of the discs, and it’d play music. Old stuff. Back from when they still made ‘em. Don’t see them around much anymore. I used to pick them up anytime I saw one, maybe in salvage or a second-hand store, and add it to the box. Then when Thanksgiving came around, or some other family dinner, we’d dig out the box and try out all the new ones. We all had a blast dancing around drunk on moonshine and full of cake.”

She tears her eyes away from the skyline, and turns to him, “I miss it, y’know. Them, mostly, but the little things too. Being able to annoy the hell out of my brothers. Grandma’s red velvet. The tacky oldies music, especially.”

Crypto nods, solemn, and reaches out to cup her cheek, fingertips brushing over her cheekbones. Losing family-it’s a pain he understands well, just not one he can fix. Or would even know how. Anita rests her hand atop his and tips her face against his palm. She knows this, knows their shared pain, knows how he wants to do something about it. Right now, what happened to their families is a wrong that can’t be righted. Though he wishes there was something he could do to ease the weight of it. For both of them.

Ideas strike him like lightning. He jerks up, nearly knocking his drink over, and pulls his hand away, already putting it to use digging through their backpack before Anita can so much as blink.

”Hold on,” Crypto says, and when she reaches out to him, he looks up at her, “Trust me.”

She watches with fond confusion as he pulls out what he was searching for. His laptop, which he flips open and boots up. It takes a minute, fingers tapping on its side in the meantime. As soon as the screen comes to life, he sets about finding the artist. He can, at the least, do this much.

Pulling up code, he types a bit, scrolls through the numbers some, and slips into the compound’s encrypted network like it’s butter and his weapon of choice is a hot knife. From there, it’s a matter of getting past the password-locked music app, and pulling up the corresponding artist’s page, which he slides over to her when he’s done.

“There, not hard to do,” he leans back into Anita as she adjusts the laptop to rest in her lap, “You said you recognized the music. Is that them?”

The real-time display totes the current song in the bottom corner, while a dark page lists the artist at the top, along with their songs below. Words scroll past as Anita takes control of the touchpad and flicks down the list. Eyebrows drawn together in focus, she scans page.

With a hum, and without taking her eyes off the screen, she says to Crypto, “The problem’s not that I don’t remember the songs, it’s that I don’t remember the titles. There’s a few that use the choruses as titles, I think. I’ll look for those.”

When she doesn’t seem to remember any right away, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and settles down onto her shoulder, content to stay snuggled into her side for the time being.

They stay like that for a while, nothing but the click of the keyboard and quiet music as one song ends and another begins. It’s peaceful, and if they weren’t out in the open like this, he’d have fallen asleep where he was.

Eventually, the arm underneath him jostles upward, and her warm voice calls him.

“TJ,” he lifts his head to see Anita gazing gently at him, “I found one.” He rubs his eyes and shifts upward off his place against her shoulder as she hits play.

The current song cuts off abruptly, causing a chorus of objections and confused cries to erupt from below. After a moment, the meandering music fades in and drifts above the stray noise, leaving them with only each other. Anita hums along, and Tae Joon feels his heart thrum.

“Used to dance to this one with my mom. It’s her favorite,” she pulls herself to her feet and holds out her hand to him, “C’mon. Can’t not dance to it.”

Crypto hesitates, arm half-risen at his side. He doesn’t dance. He doesn’t know how to, at least not the way she wants to. The closest he’s ever gotten to dancing is with Mila, bouncing around their shared room at a young age, or trying to learn choreographies with her, and badly, as Mystik watched from the doorway. But that was a long time ago, and they were young. This is different.

He’s about to say no, that he’d only make a fool out of himself, when she kneels down and takes his hands in hers.

She doesn’t pull him up, instead she brings them to her lips, humming still. Ever so lightly, she brushes the back of his hand with a kiss, and his stomach flips. Distantly, he realizes there’s someone singing, in the song, though it’s too quiet to make out the words. More presently, he realizes Anita is singing along, lowly, quietly, against his skin.

“Suitcase in your hand,” it comes out warmly, and his words catch in his throat as he feels her lips move, “Wave goodbye to mom and dad.”

That’s ironic, he’s pretty sure.

She turns it over, and presses a tender kiss to his palm, “Never thought I would see the back of you.”

Her voice is his favorite sound in the world, he decides. In a more poetic moment, he’d describe it as sugar and amber, like the sweet syrup she puts too much of on her pancakes, or the rising sun drifting through their window in the morning. For now, it takes his breath away and leaves his heart hammering.

She rises, and pulls him up. This time, he goes with her. He doesn’t need any more convincing.

“Mixtape’s wearing down,” she pulls him close and he takes a moment to reflect on how perfectly their hands fit together, “Crystal ships are sailing out.”

They’re close enough that he can feel her breath on his face when she sings, “Now the doors are opening for you.”

When she takes a step back away from their seat, and towards the flat expanse of the rest of the roof, he follows without question.

Hand in hand, she leads him out as she sings, “I wanna swim, swim out into the dark night,” each footstep in sync with the song.

“I wanna melt you down into the stars,” they take slow, deliberate steps. It’s in time with the steady flow of the music, low notes like a heartbeat.

“I wanna crumble, tumble, like a landslide.” as they reach the wide, open portion of the roof, she stops. One hand slips free of his, and finds its way to rest on his neck, fingers brushing over the shaved stubble of his undercut

She rests their foreheads together, and sings, “I wanna live, die, wherever you are.”

Crypto thrills at the touch, as he always does, and untangles his other hand to rest it tentatively at her waist. Yet again, he wonders how he got so lucky.

She dips down and brushes the corner of his mouth with a ghost of a kiss, “Just you and I.”

As the singer echoes the ending of the phrase, she presses her lips to his in a firm kiss that he doesn’t hesitate to return. With each ‘you and i’ that the song brings, she kisses him again. Peppers him with affection as they sway to the tune. A kiss to the cheek, the corner of his mouth, his nose, his lips again.

“Just you and I,” she hums against him before she pulls back, “Just you and I.”

Her thumb sweeps over his cheek as she cups his chin, her enamored gaze never leaving his. They sway in place to the music, and as the singing fades out, she hums to the tune.

In a way, he still can’t believe that he’s with her. He doesn’t know how a man like him ends up with someone like her.

She starts to sing again, voice sweet as honey, “Lovesick melody, carry my words across the sea.”

She looks at him like he’s the stars, eyes full of admiration and awe.

“Tell her I miss her,” her thumb drifts over his lips, “Tell her I’m torn in two.”

In the pit of his stomach, he has a feeling this is where he’s supposed to be.

“Salt burns in my eyes, none of these streets feel right tonight.”

Because being with her? It’s a tether in a storm, a lull in the chaos. It’s home.

“I’ll be your wild man, you’ll be my baby blue,” and when she kisses him again, he can feel her smile.

He loves it when she smiles, so he pulls her back in, and kisses her. Again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t stop. Not even as the song slips into the chorus again. The laugh she makes as he digs his fingers into her coat to keep her close, it’s enchanting, and he thinks, briefly, that hearing it again is worth any price.

He thinks that he’d do just about anything for her, anything to keep that smile on her face, anything to hear her sing again. Anything to remain by her side.

And then he stops thinking, because he’s back to kissing her, and that is far more important.