Chapter Text
Fit empties his backpack.
The contents spill all over. His spyglass shatters along the way down before landing in the ocean with a splash and sinks like a rock. So does his compass, his communicator and broken off pieces of his arm he is never fixing. Pages from his notebooks flutter about, littering the ocean with useless words that will never be read again.
Fit discards it one by one. Piece by piece. Photos of smiling friends, of his island…his family. They slip through his fingers like grains of sand, and the ocean greedily swallows every memory. No one is going to look at those anyway. They are all gone.
He takes off his clothes, leaving only his shorts. The t-shirt hurts like a bitch to remove. His sweat makes it cling to the scar, and the fabric drags and tugs along the wound with every movement. Fit grits his teeth when he finally gets it around his neck and drops it to his feet.
The wind whispers past his ear. Any trace of the sun is gone.
It’s time.
Fit looks at his feet, staring into the grand abyss below. The colors reflect back up at him, crawling up the walls of the ice, reaching for him.
It’s enticing. Beautiful almost. Makes it easy for once.
He has seen death. Known death. Worked alongside her. Watched her wrath. Helped her cause it. But he never felt death. The knife stitched into his heart. The aching wounds time will never heal.
Fit loves. He loves so much. But his love has no music, no warmth, no one to hold, no hand to hold, no words to be spoken, no confessions to be made, no good nights and good mornings, no I missed yous.
No attachments.
It was never about ill will, he realizes that now. It’s because Madagio always knew it would come to this. Madagio knew love would kill him. That love is too much, too dangerous for broken people like them. Fit was always meant to drown, like an anchor without his ship.
If he was a stronger man. A better man. He maybe could have at least saved them.
“I’m sorry,” He says to no one here, and to everyone in his heart. “I’m always too late.”
Too late to save Pac.
Too late to save his son.
Too late to save himself.
Fit is tired.
He cuts the final wire and jumps.
The ocean sounds like the roaring of explosions. Biting cold envelopes him, chilling him to his core.
He sees Ramón. His round little face, sleeping safe and sound in his bed. He remembers brushing away strands of curly hair from his eyes. Feeling that aching warmth for the first time. Learning what affection really is.
“Can you leave a light on when you go?”
“Of course, my boy.”
He remembers Ramón’s last hopeful smile. He remembers the fear in his eyes. The fear that his dad would never come back for him. Cold hands ending up leading him away to empty halls, to never wake up again. For the federation; a broken, unloaded gun.
But, Ramón was never a weapon.
That was his boy.
He was supposed to save his child.
To come home.
Ramón, forgive me.
Everything is too much.
Then it fades, flickers, and like a candle blown out, it’s gone.
Now, everything is silent.
And for a moment, Fit is finally able to let go.
The moment passes. Fate would never be so kind as to allow him peace.
He knew that already. He is not immortal, but probably its closest human likeness. The world has its claws in him, and he can never be the one who dies.
Fit blankly stares up at the aurora borealis. He is lying down in a fishing boat of some kind. Saved by some dude, speaking obnoxiously loud, hovering right above him. Fit closes his eyes. If he does not engage, maybe the man will just throw him back in the sea.
“Hey, buddy. Are you that committed to becoming fishfood?”
“What’s it to you?” Fit mutters. His voice is hoarse and fucked up.
“Nothing, I guess! But my bet’s you still got some fight left in you.” He says and Fit gives him a long look. They stare awkwardly at each other, the fisherman seemingly just waiting for Fit to do something. Fit doesn’t want to do anything. But this guy is starting to piss him off, so that is enough for now.
He pushes himself to a stand.
Multe is a weird one.
Judging by his appearance, he is definitely some kind of ex-fed. Fit has encountered a few of those in the past. Maybe Multe shares a connection to them, or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter anymore.
Anyway, he lets himself be convinced to find his clothes, and the few remaining things that the ocean has not claimed. It’s like his body is on autopilot, just a vague sense of curiosity stopping him from just telling Multe to fuck off and get back to what he intended to do here.
The scar aches like a bitch. Doesn’t help Multe’s pointing it out either. Luckily, he doesn’t dwell because Fit sure does not want to get into it.
“Wait. Hold up a sec. I know you from somewhere.” Multe says suddenly. He tilts his head, walking around Fit in a half-circle. He then jumps up with a gasps and points at his face.
“You were on the news!”
“...what?” Fit deadpans.
“Yeah! That’s it! You were on the news just a few days ago.”
Cogs start moving in Fit’s brain again. It’s making him feel dizzy.
“Can you show me?”
“Yeah, yeah! Look!” Multe produces an ancient, scrappy looking communicator from his pocket. It’s definitely been in the ocean more than once. He presses the screen a couple of times with one finger, squinting down at the screen. “There you are!” He grins, handing Fit the communicator.
Fit cannot fucking belive this. That is him alright. His face, his body. But that is not Fit.
It’s that damn feline piece of shit. That damn bastard took his data and decided to put on a show, huh? Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Madagio decides to dance around with his basically dead corpse. Wonderful, just absolutely wonderful.
Well. He doesn’t really give a fuck. Who cares? Madagio might as well spit on him while he is down.
Then, he continues to study the photo. There are lots of people around him that he does not recognize. Lots of strangers…and…
Fit’s world comes to a screeching halt.
Everything is spinning. It can’t be? It’s not possible.
Fit pulls the communicator right up to his face, eyes wide as saucerplates. He studies the shape so closely, trying to find any indication that he is wrong. Anything to stop the devastating hope from planting roots in his heart.
“Pac.”
It’s Pac. There is no question. He would recognize him in a heartbeat. If Pac is in this photo, and it’s taken recently, that means…he is alive.
Fit spins around and presses the communicator against his forehead hard enough to make a dent in his skin, squeezing his eyes shut. Keep it together. Keep it together.
“What’s up, bud? See someone you know?” Multe asks.
“S-Something like that.” Fit mumbles. His eyes sting. His heart is boiling over. But he knows what he has to do now. Fucking fate once again dragging him back from the dead by the skin of his neck. He wipes his eyes with one quick swipe of his hand, forces air down his lungs, and then turns back to Multe with newfound focus.
“Where was this taken?”
Turns out money still had some use to him.
Fit sits at the end of the fishing boat, leaving the ice and freezing cold behind them. But even when it left his sight, he knew that colored night sky would haunt him for a long time. It’s the closest he’s gotten to…finally finding his peace. But turns out it’s not his time, like usual.
He has one last thing to do before then. That is finding Pac. If there is still a chance Pac is being hurt, from the consequences of Fit’s actions then he has to put an end to it. Put an end to Madagio.
If Madagio had not sent him back to the wastes, maybe he could have saved his son. Reunited with Pac. Saved them from all this needless suffering. Fit lets that hunger for vengeance fuel him. Let it be enough to keep his eyes above the horizon line.
But still, there are lots of concerns ending up going through Fit’s head. Most were filled with aching worry for Pac.
What if Madagio hurts him while disguised as Fit? All sorts of unpleasant imagery flicker through his skull. Surely Madagio would want to keep up the act? Would that entail acting all…sweet with Pac. All while Pac had no idea.
How far would Madagio be willing to go for a convincing performance?
The thought made Fit feel ill. Someone else living the life he wanted so desperately. Like it was all a joke, playpretend.
How long will they be treated like dirt under a shoe? Toys, a means to an end. Images of Ramon flutter through his inner mind. Fit squeezes his forhead, biting at his lip hard to stop himself from reacting.
If there was the smallest chance to save Pac from Madagio’s plans, Fit had to do whatever it takes.
Whatever it takes.
This time, he prays to god,
he will not be too late.
Fit checks Multe’s communicator every night.
Fit softens into a smile at the newest image that has popped up in the feed. It takes him a millisecond to spot Pac, his blue hoodie being a great help. He is standing in a crowd of people, a mix of familiar and new faces. Among them are Vegetta, wearing some kind of birthday crown. His face is flushed from laughing, eyes glimmering with joy. Must be a damn good party. Fit remember them to be more wild than tame.
Fit’s eyes move back to Pac, and he gingerly trails his finger along the shape.
Pac is laughing.
The sight makes Fit’s heart feel like it’s thawing, warmth blossoming there once more somewhere. It’s been so long since he has seen Pac’s face. Even just a new picture sends sparks of joy through his body. This is a better angle too than the first one.
His eyes, fuck, he misses loosing himself in them.
Fit turns his gaze to the horizon.
It’s not long now.
“Hey, buddy,” Multe says, interrupting Fit’s nap. Fit begrudgingly opens an eye, and shoots him an unimpressed look.
“What’s up?”
“Your…friend’s on the news again.”
Fit shoots up like a fired gun. He practically leaps over, doesn’t care how it must make him look. Like an excited dog, probably.
“Give me that!” He doesn’t wait for Multe to agree and just yoinks the phone out of his hands.
“Hey!” Multe protests but then just does a fond eyeroll and accepts it. Fit retreats back to his hangmat, and holds the phone close to his face. His heart skips a beat when he sees the little triangle in the corner. It’s a video. It’s a fucking video!
Fit suddenly can’t sit down. He shoots back to his feet and hurries over to the back of the ship, holding the phone up like it’s a gift from god.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck yes,” He mutters under his breath like a crazy man. Because that’s what he is, absolutely crazy. Being on the ocean with a stranger with fuck all to do other than longing for his brazillian boyfriend will do that to a person.
With a shaky finger he presses play and turns up the volume as far as it goes. The speakers are dog shit, so he still has to hold it up to his ear to hear.
He is immediately struck with the sound of Pac’s voice. Something is going on, there are other people speaking, but Fit strains to hear every noise Pac makes. He is being dramatic about something, holding an instrument he barely knows how to play. The rest of the video is just a chaotic mess of out of tune playing, so Fit just keeps rewinding the first ten seconds.
Pac is speaking Portuguese. He loves hearing him speak. Fit will tell him that every day when he gets there. He fishes up an unused tattered notebook he borrowed from Multe out of his pocket. He makes a new entry. He titles it; ‘things you must know.’
The architecture is unmistakable.
Those are buildings only Tubbo could create. No one else does fabrics quite like that mad man. It’s the first thing that stuck out to him when he reaches shore. With nothing else to go on, he decided to approach this place first. And now, he is glad that he did.
If this Tubbo really is here, then he has to also know where Pac is.
Fit picks up the pace, following train tracks along a bridge leading up to the area. It’s much grander than the last island. He wonders if there are other people involved here.
He walks right up to the first building, eyes wide as he takes in the huge scope of it. He can hear the huffing and puffing of machines and gears shifting into place inside.
“Oh! Hey, F- the hell is wrong with you!?”
Fit flinches. He whips his head to his right. A familiar sight to behold stands a little further ahead on the concrete road. Young, messy brown hair. Goggles pushed up on his forehead, motor oil smushed underneath his left eye. Suspenders, brown working pants.
Tubbo. There is no mistaking it. That’s fucking Tubbo.
“Tubbo!?” He bursts out.
“Yeah?” The man walks up to him with raised brows and a tilted head. “Holy shit, you look awful. Like really terrible. Wait- how do you have a beard!? Does your beard grow that long in just a few days? That’s crazy!”
Fit can’t help the maniacal grin slowly growing across his face. He doesn’t even care. Giddiness warms his chest out to his fingertips, surprised how unbelievably happy he was to see a familiar face. He takes a few big strides towards Tubbo, and before he has time to react, he wraps him up in the tightest hug, almost lifting the other man off the ground.
Tubbo screeches in protest like a seagull being stepped on. “What the hell!? Ew! You smell like shit! What is your issue?” He wiggles for a few seconds before giving up with a huge sigh. “The shit I have to put up with. It never ends.”
Fit barks a laugh and gives Tubbo one last squeeze before showing pity on him, letting him back on the ground.
“Tubbo, it really is you! Fuck man, I missed you. How are you doing? Are you good?” Fit grins so wide it almost hurts. It’s the first time he’s seen, well, anyone in fucking forever.
Tubbo looks at him like he is the biggest enigma on planet earth.
“Am I good? Wow. Well, i’d be good if my friends could act normal for one fucking day, jesus!” Tubbo pinches the bridge of his nose before looking at Fit again. “Go take a shower before I pass out and please keep your clingy bullshit for your boyfriend.”
Fit’s smile falls just as quickly as it arrived. He opens and closes his mouth. So it is real. He really is here on this island. He knew from the photos and the videos, of course, but it never fully clicked until now. Pac is alive, and he is going to see him again soon.
“Uhh, you okay?” Tubbo gives him a slightly concerned look. “You’re not fainting on me, right?”
“Um. Yeah. No, I’m good. Just overwhelmed, I guess.”
Tubbo squints his eyes at him, then realization phases across his face. He slaps his hands over his mouth.
“No fucking way,” His words are muffled against his hands. “He was right!? He wasn’t high?”
“What the actual hell are you talking about, Tubbo?” Fit frowns.
“You have a clone! Like an actual fucking imposter.”
Fit runs his hand down his face. “Don’t I know it…wait, how do you know about that?”
Tubbo shakes his head in disbelief. He swallows, looking a little nervous for a second before trying to shrug it off, instead puffing up his chest.
“Okay, so, basically, you gotta go find Pac asap. Like yesterday.” Tubbo says, surprisingly serious.
“Wait, what do you mean by that?
“I mean that Pac stormed in here last night all freaked out. He rambled on about you not being real, and that he thought he was going crazy. I kinda, maybe just assumed he just took a little too much of Foolish’s greens if you know what I mean.”
“Tubbo! You didn’t fucking listen to him?” Fit flails his arms outwards in exasperation.
“Come on, man! I didn’t know you were actually fucking cloned? How was I supposed to know?”
“Wow, thanks alot, dude.”
“Not gonna lie, my friend, it was a stellar performance.” Tubbo says with a shrug. Fit gives it a second, then something more real seeps through Tubbo’s nonchalant facade. “I’m happy to see you though, boss. The real you.” He gives a quick smile before doing a salute. “Go on and kick some imposter ass. Let me know if you need my help, I got plenty of gizmos you can use for murderous purposes. As long as you clean them afterwards.”
“I don’t doubt it. Thanks, Tubbo, I’ll let you know.” Fit huffs with a short smile. “Now I gotta find my boyfriend you called high and crazy.”
“I’m sorryyy! Look, I’ll give you directions on where you’ll find him. When you’re there, maybe slip in an apology somewhere for assuming he was just on drugs.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
When Fit arrives at the location Tubbo gave him, there is already some kind of scene. There are loud thuds and noises coming from a house with a big windmill attached to it.
Fit decides to hang back for a moment, as he gathers his bearings. There is no need to interrupt in case something important is going on in there. He has a minute in him or two, even though his whole being is screaming to find Pac.
He doesn’t have to wait very long. Suddenly, the doors swing wide open. Out comes a familiar blur of blues and yellows and a set of messy dark hair. Fit is like hypnotized, tracking the figure like a hawk as he storms outside.
Pac’s eyes are wide and dark, brows twisted into an intense scowl. His shoulders are almost up to his neck, holding onto a various set of random items, weapons, backpacks. His knuckles are white from holding it all so tightly. He throws it into a pile on the ground with no care.
Fit catches himself staring with his mouth wide open, and has to force his jaw shut. It looks like Pac is preparing to go on a war path, and he has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with what Tubbo described yesterday.
Suddenly, his feet are moving on their own, and he is approaching.
“Pac!” Fit calls out. It comes out wet and emotional, more a plea than a greeting.
Pac freezes right in his step. His whole body is tense like a wound up spring.
“Stop. Don’t come any closer.” Pac hisses in a cold and distant tone. It feels like a stab through the chest, or actually that might have been less painful. Fit has to muster every strength he has to keep his cool. Pac might think he is talking to Madagio right now. The hostility is not directed at him. It isn’t. It can’t be.
It could be.
Fit takes a shaky breath.
“It’s not what you-”
“I don’t want to hear anymore of your lies! Unless you have come here to tell me where Fit is, I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“Look Pac, just look at me for a second.” Fit tries to move closer, tries to reach out a hand. If Pac just looked he would know.
“Don’t touch me!” Pac yells, and Fit flinches harshly.” Don’t- I will kill you!” He snarls.
Okay, Fit better be fucking careful or Pac will actually murder him. He raises his hands into the air, his chest so tight it’s like he is back to drowning in that cold ocean.
“Where is Fit!? Tell me!” Pac’s eyes wells up with frustrated tears and Fit can’t take it.
“Please. Please just-”
“How could you do this to me!?” Pac’s voice cracks completely. “Why couldn’t I just have been happy? Why did you have to take him away from me?” Pac gasps for air, breath hitching, before furiously wiping his eyes with his hoodie sleeve.
Fit’s heart is broken. He wants to curl up and sob. He wants Pac to see him. He can’t do this.
“Pac.” He pleads but Pac just shakes his head, struggling to keep it together. Fit tries to approach once more, hands reaching for Pac.
This time Pac wasn’t fucking around. Suddenly the world is spinning and Fit gasps when he is shoved to his knees. Something sharp is pressed to his neck, threatening to take his life in a second. For a moment, there are only the sounds of their heavy breathing.
Fit looks up and finally, finally, Pac meets his gaze. They stare at each other, and he watches in real time as Pac’s murderous scowl softens into something confused.
“Hey, you.” Fit breathes.
Pac’s eyes darts all over Fit’s face. He must see that he is different. There is no way Madagio can accurately portray the fucked up state he is in.
There is a sharp inhale. Then the noise of the knife dropping to the ground. Pac turns into a puddle, falling onto his knees before grabbing fistfulls of Fit’s t-shirt, as if preparing to hurl him off a cliff, or hug him until he passes out. Fit would gladly let him do either.
“Fitchie? It’s…it’s you?”
Fit raises his hands and lays them on top of Pac’s. Touching Pac again after so long, he would never be able to describe such a pure, unfiltered joy in his lifetime.
“I missed you,” He croaks, then the waterworks come, and this time there is no keeping it together, no composure, no control. Fit feels like he is falling. “I’m so sorry, Pac,” He chokes out “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Fuck, I just- I-”
He doesn’t get further than that. Pac releases his grip and instantly fling his arms around Fit’s shoulders, burying his face in his shirt with a muffled cry. Fit’s body is on fire, rediscovering what Pac’s hugs feels like. The sensations overwhelm him, and he gives in entirely.
He falls into Pac’s embrace like he is dead weight, holding onto the back of his hoodie like it’s his only tether to life. Which would not be far from the truth.
Fit chokes on the sob escaping him, a pathetic noise he has never heard himself make ever. He presses his face into Pac’s lower chest, arms wrapped tight around his waist.
“Fit, fitche, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I-I-” Pac rambles through tears.
Fit wants to protest, say it’s not his fault, but sentences aren’t a thing his brain can do right now. He can only cry and try to force air back into his lungs.
Pac squeezes himself closer as he mumbles a mixture of apologies and words in portuguese Fit doesn’t understand. They cling to each other for god knows how long. Fit doesn’t dare to move. He doesn’t even know where to begin with anything. His head and heart spins.
He is overjoyed. He is devastated. And he loves Pac so fucking much.
“You mean...I was kissing the person who hurt you.” Pac’s face is distraught. Fit catches Pac’s hands in his own and squeezes them tight. They are still outside, sitting opposite eachother in the soft grass.
“You couldn’t have known. Madagio, he knew everything. About us, you and me. He had our data, that includes, um, my feelings.”
He blushes, heart racing, but he continues.
“Everything Madagio did, it was based on what I wanted to do, but was too much of a coward at the time. He knew that I,” He swallows, takes a deep breath and looks Pac straight in the eye. “He knew how much I love you.”
Pac’s eyes go wide like saucerplates, cheeks beet red. He sinks into his hoodie, in the way he does only when truly flustered.
“S-Say it again.” Pac mumbles.
Fit’s flush grows deeper, but he complies.
“I love you, Pac.”
Pac’s hands catches Fit’s face. He leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek. He pulls back, then kisses his forehead before meeting Fit’s eyes again.
“I love you too, Fit. Always. Eu te amo.”
Fit melts, new tears escaping his eyes. He never cries, but now it's like a flood he can no longer control.
“Really? After everything you’ve had to put up with because of me.”
Pac looks offended that Fit would even imply such a thing. His eyes are so soft, so full of affection, that Fit can’t even begin to comprehend that it’s meant for him.
“You don’t remember? I would go to the pits of hell for you. I was going to go right now if you didn’t show up.” Pac turns his head, and Fit follows his gaze, looking at the pile of deadly weapons and gear. “You are always in here,” Pac grabs Fit’s hand and holds it to his heart. “I love you.”
More tears escape Fit’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve this. Treated so softly, so carefully, like he is important. Still after all this time.
“Just the thought of you kept me warm all these years. Even just the memories of us. That’s how I could keep going after I left our home before being sent back to the wastes.“ Fit tells him.
Pac’s glossy eyes are quickly replaced with something worried.
“Wait. You came home? Like home to the old island?”
“Yeah. I did. Not that it mattered, I know I was too late. I always am.”
Pac throws his hands over his mouth. His eyes well up with tears. He looks mortified. Panic shoots through Fit at the sight.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Did you…know what happened to me?”
Fit looks to the ground. He doesn’t like thinking about his return. It’s haunted him every day since. Clinging to a cold stone surface, the only remains of the love of his life.
“I saw your grave.”
“Meus deus.” Pac gasps, like it’s being torn out of his chest. “You thought I was…all those years.”
Fit nods.
Pac swings his arms around his neck, pulling him into another bone-crushing hug.
“I’m so sorry, Fitche.”
“No, it's not your fault, Pac.”
“I should’ve been there when you came home. I abandoned you. I’m useless, Fitche. I-I just gave up! How could I do this to you?”
“I don’t blame you.” Fit moves his hands along Pac’s back in soothing motions. He understands. More than Pac knows. “You didn’t do this. Madagio caused this, and I will put him in the fucking ground for you.”
Pac sniffles, nuzzling into Fit’s neck.
“Not if I kill him first.”
“We’ll do it together.”
Pac has to convince Fit to move inside.
What Fit actually wants to do is to sit in his boyfriend’s embrace for the rest of time. He doesn’t care that his whole body hurts. He just wants to stay in this feeling forever, not risk it slipping away.
He always used to joke about his separation anxiety, but this feels…different. Intense. But that’s a problem to deal with another day. He might feel better about it later.
Pac helps Fit back on his feet and the ground feels wobbly. Luckily, Pac sticks close, a steady arm remaining around his waist as they make it inside the house.
He gets Fit a glass of water, and offers food, but Fit cannot realistically stomach anything right now. Later though, he cannot wait to scarf down a ludicrous amount of Brazilian food. God damn, it’s been so long.
“You always thought about kissing me, huh?” Pac asks out of nowhere. Fit chokes on his water, almost spitting it all right back out. Pac snickers and apologizes, patting Fit’s back.
“Sorry.”
“Wow, no warning, huh?”
“It just came out, sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I’m still upset about your boss taking advantage of your feelings like that.”
Fit clears his throat, feeling bashful as he always does around Pac.
“I did think about it. All the time. I just-” Fit scratched the back of his head. “I was scared. About letting you in all the way and then…loosing you.”
Pac winces, they both do.
“But I realize I was wrong. Because all I ended up with were regrets. I lost every chance I had.” Fit glances at Pac, who was looking right back at him with a new kind of intensity.
“Well,” Pac moves closer. “You have me now, and a hundred thousand million chances. Whenever you’re ready you can have anything you want.”
Anything. Fit cannot compute that sentence in a way that won’t require him to take a cold shower this instant.
“Oh, wow, uh, yeah.” He stumbles over his own words like an idiot and Pac giggles. “Um, actually, do you mind if we..” He swallows, fights the instinct to hold back. He catches Pac’s eyes and it's a mistake. Fuck they’re beautiful and now he’s dizzy. It’s hot today too, maybe they should do this some other day.
Pac steps into his personal space, and Fit forgets every worry he has ever had.
“Anything, Fitche.” His boyfriend whispers and it sends shivers up and down Fit’s arms, butterflies in his stomach. He is so close, Pac’s breath fans Fit’s lips.
He can’t take it anymore. He takes a chance. His hands finds either side of Pac’s jaw, tilting it up slightly, then press their lips together. He takes it slow, just concerned with making sure Pac is okay.
Pac hums into their kiss, hands landing on Fit’s hip, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into the divots there. It’s soft and sweet, both basking in the feeling of them connected.
After all this time,
Fit is finally home.
Fit feels like he is about to cry again, but narrowly manages to hold back. Instead he deepens the kiss as much as he dares, knees weak from the beautiful noises Pac makes. There is nothing else left in the world except for them.
Pac pulls back, and Fit chases him, but to his disappointment he is a little too far away. Pac seems to have a purpose to this though, guiding Fit to move up against the wall. Fit sinks down slightly, and having Pac hover over him sends excited sparks through his body.
“Do you still doubt that I love you?” Pac asks him sweetly, lips ghosting Fit’s. Fit is going to die. Pac is going to kill him. And he is so unbelievably happy about it.
“Uh, no?” Fit tries to kiss Pac again, but he pulls away. It wasn’t good enough.
“Fitche,” Pac’s voice is teasing. He leans forward, planting a kiss right under Fit’s jaw. He then continues administering lingering kisses all over his neck. It’s so caring and gentle, and Fit can’t take it, but needs it so badly. He holds onto Pac’s back, his breathing reduced to jittery, soft gaps.
When Pac pulls back, Fit knows he is looking like a complete mess. But Pac looks at him like he is admiring a piece of art, eyes glossy and pupils blown.
“How about now?” He asks.
“You love me.” Fit breathes, voice hoarse and emotional, and it feels real. Pac looks like a kid on Christmas, and Fit feels featherlight.
“That’s right.” Pac hums and finally sinks back into Fit’s world, their next kiss much more passionate than the first. It’s so much more than he could have ever hoped it could be.
Only when his lungs are screaming does Fit reluctantly pull away, just in time for the feeling of Pac’s hand sliding up his chest. His touch is a drug more dangerous than anything he will ever experience.
“I’m so happy.” Pac sighs in contentment. “Your boss was a really bad kisser and I didn’t know how to tell them. I was really scared about it, you know?”
Fit bursts out laughing at that, a welcome outlet for all the emotional tension they just experienced.
“So, I’m better you think?”
“It’s not even comparable. I’m an idiot, I should have known from the first kiss.”
“You had several!?” Fit does not feel great about that.
“Maybe? I don’t know, it’s hard to remember, you know?” Pac says with feigned innocence. “You’re hot, Fit. It was really hard for me.”
“Hah, uh, calma, calma.” Fit tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Um, well, we have time to make you forget about those.”
Pac smiles eagerly and nods.
“I’m excited.”
“Me too.”
There is a beat, then Fit turns to him, amused.
"Oh yeah by the way, Tubbo says he is sorry for calling you high and crazy."
Pac's eyebrows shoot up before laughing. Fit smiles, hoping to keep that wonderful sound in his life forever.