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The morning after always seems like a hassle for Elliott. The pounding headache from one too many drinks, the sore muscles from whatever physical activity he engaged in the night before, the bright bedroom lights that stood neglected all through the night. Most of that he's gotten used to by now. The soreness is nothing a hot shower and a little stretching can't fix, and a good hangover meal always seems to get his head back in the game. Despite all that, there's almost always one thing that really makes his heart heavy. One thing that seems to nag at him all morning with an awful, awful feeling. When he wakes up to the blinding rays of light, and feels the bed empty and cold beside him.
Crumpled sheets, a blanket visibly thrown to the side, the rest of the house dark and uninhabited. Traces of someone he had spent the night with can be found only in their efforts to leave before he wakes. The glaring lights from his bedside lamps and the uncomfortable pains from god knows what muscle are all nothing compared to the feeling of utter disappointment that seems to overtake him the morning after, when he realizes just how alone he is.
But this morning, Elliott… doesn't feel that way. He doesn't wake up to his annoying alarm and try to figure out what or who he did the night before. This morning, he wakes up to the rustle of sheets and the dip of the bed. He blinks his eyes open just as a nearby light softly flickers on because for some magical reason, they were turned off before he fell asleep.
Elliott rubs his eyes tiredly as the gentle light from one of his bedside lamps bathes his room in a dim glow. His curtains are drawn closed, so neither the moonlight nor sunlight can peak itself in. The room is lit just enough for Elliott to see a person sitting at the opposite side of the bed. He immediately notices their dazzling white hair. Parts at the side are still braided loosely to fold over each other at the back, which seems to be a miracle in itself for being able to hold for so long. Broad shoulders and lean muscles shift beneath the silky white shirt they wear. The cloudy color contrasts beautifully with their chocolate brown skin, their hair shifting over their face as they lean to pick something up from the floor, the shirt swaying comfortably as they stand to their full height in, what he knows is, nothing but that shirt and some underwear.
With a careless, lopsided smile, Elliott watches from the bed as they slip into the jeans from the night before. He admires how he can still see the defining muscles of their legs even as the deep red denim slides over them. The slightly oversized shirt hangs low enough to hide their wonderfully curved bottom, and all the dark marks he knows are placed high on the inside of their thighs. Memories from the night before slink back into his mind like an early morning fog. He remembers how he had slowly run his palms from their hips down to their thighs, then hooked a hand around their knees to change their position to one oh so slightly better.
In a swift, distracting movement, they toss off the silky white shirt that definitely wasn't theirs in the first place. It's Elliott's from the night before. He had worn it because it was comfortable and looked good on him, then he took it off because it was suddenly an annoyance and looked way better on the floor. Late into the night, when their bodies were finally cooling down to rest, and for the first time they looked a little shy, he lent it as some kind of offering. It wasn't necessarily to keep them warm, but more to keep them from feeling like they didn't belong. They had seemed out of place for the first time and wondered if they should leave sooner rather than later. He asked if it was cold and offered his shirt then. They nodded and took it with a quiet thanks. He noticed, as he was blinking in and out of sleep, the way they shifted out from under the sheets to keep from overheating.
He doesn't mind them sleeping in it. His shirt fit well on them considering their similar sizes, despite his muscles being a little more bulky. The only drawback seemed to be that he couldn't see that beautiful brown skin anymore. He gets to see it now, however, as they search topless for their shirt they began the night before with. Once again, Elliott is slipped back into the memory of touching that skin, exploring their body. He remembers how soft they are beneath his hands, how expertly their muscles move with his, how slick the surface gets when they're both so so close and breathing hot onto each other's skin, touching and sliding and grabbing and keeping close without a care in the world.
Elliott feels a lazy heat pool in his stomach at the memory, at just looking at them. This gentle yearning for another few moments with someone is rare. His partner usually leaves before he wakes, and if they stay, he either hesitates and wonders if they'll think of him as something more than just a hookup, or he simply doesn't feel that same attraction he felt the night before. This is different. He wants them again, but he holds himself back because he knows deep down, this won't be the last time he'll see them. Not because he's sure the two of them will do this again, but because they're friends and he knows he isn't necessarily alone.
They catch his eyes as he's smiling dumbly. To himself or to them, he isn't sure, but there's a little content smile on his face that grows more like his charming grin when they meet. He gets nothing more than an indifferent blink in response. Elliott chuckles softly to himself, noticing a swirl of something a lot like happiness fill his chest. Someone close chose to stick around simply because they wanted to.
"What is it that you're laughing at?" Bloodhound wonders aloud. Their voice is low and distracted, different in the way he remembers it the night before, when it was low, distracted, deep, and breathy. Elliott sighs almost dreamily, apparently forgetting to answer because they turn to look at him curiously. They don't repeat themself, they hardly ever do, but simply watch him.
Elliott quickly blinks himself to. Bloodhound's dagger-like gaze is felt equally as strong without glass lenses as with them. He scratches his neck and shrugs, "I don't know," he mumbles through a barely concealed smile.
Bloodhound blinks once, then turns away. They stand now to assess the ground more seriously. Elliott gets to watch them walk around shirtless as they carefully squint at the floor, eyebrows furrowed and hair falling into their face every so often. A hand comes up to messily push the strands back in a way that reminds Elliott a lot like a child that doesn't know how to deal with their hair growing past their eyes yet. It's clear Bloodhound has had long hair for years, but he can tell they aren't used to having it in their face. He wonders why that is.
"What're you lookin' for?" Elliott asks instead, even if he knows the answer.
"My shirt," Bloodhound says. They frown and face him in confusion. Elliott does his best not to be distracted by their bare chest and exposed marks. Dark spots litter their neck, across their collar bone, and sprinkle their chest. He usually doesn't make so many marks, but they were so willing to sit back once he got going, they both got carried away. His eyes are always drawn to the shiny pinkened skin in a circular mark, a woman's head also burned inside. She wears a winged helmet and is surrounded by symbols similar to the ones on their arms. He guesses they're letters of a different language. Bloodhound's language. The first time he saw the scar, he paused for just a second, then took his time pressing his lips to every dip in the skin, knowing this mark is what Bloodhound pointed to when he asked if their skin was branded. Bloodhound had scoffed as he kissed the wound but let him continue. The woman's head sits right above their heart. If they were willing to sit through the pain of putting her in such an important place, he shouldn't think to treat it like an accident. He wonders who she is.
"You don't need one," Elliott says mindlessly instead. Bloodhound surely knows he's staring. Flicking his eyes up, he sees an unimpressed but rather blank expression. Their arms are crossed, they stand evenly on straight legs, and their head is tilted just a hair. Elliott shrugs again and yawns. "I think it's behind the door."
As Bloodhound nods and goes to retrieve it, Elliott decides it's best to get dressed himself. He drags himself out of bed, heads for his dresser, and digs out a pair of sweats he can efficiently wear for the rest of the day. Another simple plain t-shirt will do just fine as well. It's not like he'll need any real sort of protection. Equipment like his isn't allowed during these tests and King's Canyon has never been cooler than warm, even in the winter.
"Will you be wearing that to the field test?" Bloodhound asks gently.
Elliott frowns at the curious tone and turns to them. They've fastened their shirt just how it was the night before. It's almost like being dropped back to when Elliott didn't know who they were and he was just having fun with a stranger from the bar. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or not. Bloodhound doesn't speak, but continues to look at Elliott, specifically his collar. He follows their gaze to see purple and pink marks peeking out from beneath his shirt. Bloodhound hadn't been as enthusiastic about the action as Elliott, but they did make sure to give him a variety of dark bruises with faint scratches from their teeth - fangs, Elliott quickly began to call them. Most of these marks, actually, are plainly visible. Elliott snorts, then approaches Bloodhound, who hasn't stopped staring with an odd look of uncertainty.
He stops just before them and smirks, "What? You embarrassed?"
Their gaze finally flickers to his, eyes narrowed. "No."
"Good," he says. Elliott leans in to their own exposed neck and shoulders. Every mark is visible on their skin and it fills him with something a lot like pride. They don't pull away when he ghosts his hands over their hips or takes his time to barely touch his lips to their skin, so he takes it as a go-ahead. He hums and closes his eyes, "'Cause I wanna show them off." Gently, he kisses their shoulder, feeling the heat against his lips. "Wanna show you off…" He places another a bit higher up their neck and feels the way they huff, tilting their head to give access. "Want them to see." His fingers rest in the loops of their pants as he trails soft kisses up their skin until he's just beneath their ear. "Want them to be jealous," he whispers by their ear, pressing a longer, hotter kiss just where he knows gets them shuddering.
They do, as he hopes. They shudder beneath him but make no noise other than a carefully concealed sigh. He frowns and pulls back to watch them. He notices their drifting eyes. The way they look off to the side almost sadly makes his heart quiver. Slowly, Elliott moves a hand up to touch their chin. He frowns as their eyes drift to his when he tilts their head toward him. Emotions he can't quite understand swim in those rich brown eyes.
Elliott continues to frown as they stare at each other. He's showing his concern but they seem to look at him blankly. "What's wrong?" he asks lowly. He tries to lean in - to do what, he's not sure, only wanting to get closer - but they put a strong hand on his stomach to keep him back.
He stares at them, concern and anxiety filling him almost instantly as their eyes flicker down, then back up, with a hint of exhaustion. "You do not know who I am, Mirage," they say.
The words hit him like a thermite grenade. It doesn't seem more than a little odd at first, but ends up hurting him good slowly and surely, worming into him to linger even when it's over. Elliott can hardly find words to reply. They used his stage name to drive their point home but he isn't sure he wants to believe them in the first place. "N-no, wha-t? I - I know you," he tries to respond. His fingers slip out from their clothes as they set to distance themself from him more. "Hey, what - what did I do, baby, really--"
They freeze. Baffled dark eyes peer into Elliott's nervous ones and make him instantly uneasy. Their mouth pops open slightly, their eyebrows furrow, and they even take a step back in clear disbelief. He hasn't seen emotions this clear on them since he had them gasping on his sheets. The thought nearly distracts him, but it brings him to understanding a lot later than it should have. He realizes his mistake as their disbelief morphs quickly into a mix of disgust and disappointment.
"Who am I, Elliott." Their voice, low with simmering anger, thick with a unique accent, and terrifying with a familiar snarl, has Elliott stepping back to scratch his neck nervously. He tries to avoid eye contact but their gaze keeps him grounded and tongue tied. He must take too long to reply because they quickly huff and scowl.
"Mirage, tell me!" they demand, anger rising, something like desperation hidden underneath. "Tell me my name! Say it, who am I?"
"Bloodhound!" he says at last. His voice is unsteady and his emotions are too. "You're - you're Bloodhound! You're one of the best L-Legends in the Games, one of the veterans, one of the most mysterious, one of the - the best. And we… work. Together. Sometimes."
This calms them down. Bloodhound's breath evens out and their eyes finally fall to the ground. Their shoulders slump as acceptance colors their features. Nodding, they whisper, "Yes."
Elliott is quiet for a moment. Shame curls in his belly and ants crawl up his skin. All at once, he regrets ever opening his mouth. "I'm sorry," he tries. Bloodhound looks at him with blank features but big brown puppy eyes. He can't seem to keep eye contact for longer than a few glances as he speaks.
"I didn't - no, I did know. I just - I wasn't thinking… Hound. It's - It's sort of hard to connect the two, you know? When I see you like this, I sort of - my brain kinda just short circuits. I've said it before but, you're really… you're really my type." Bloodhound purses their lips together but doesn't say anything. Elliott shuffles on his feet, embarrassment yelling at him to stop making himself so vulnerable. He takes a breath and continues. "I know your name. I know you're not a man or a woman, and I haven't been thinking of you as either all this time but - but… not seeing you in all your stuff and running around killing things right away… It takes a minute to connect. So I… guess I got carried away."
Bloodhound crosses their arms and stands evenly, their head doesn't tilt up in confidence but Elliott recognizes their stance easily. "I know," they say, careful with the calm tone of each word. "I feared as much. That is why I made you say it. What we did is uncharacteristic, and I'm sure it only makes things worse for you."
"N-no, no. I mean, yes, but no," he tries to explain with a red face. "I don't regret any of that. I know what we did, Hound. Bloodhound. I - I know. Like, yes it's really not something we would do together and not seeing you as... you makes - made- um, it disconnect for a bit but - I don't regret it. Do y-you?"
"No," they state easily. "It is easy for me to say because nothing has changed from my perspective. I see you how I always see you. Last week, last evening, and now, you are the same Mirage. I had sex with you, Elliott, knowing we are partners and friends. It is not so easy for you to say this, I know."
Mixed emotions fill Elliott's body. He feels giddy hearing this beautiful person say they wanted to be intimate with him, and embarrassed knowing he keeps forgetting he had sex with his friend, then confused trying to find out if that makes him a bad person. He keeps trying too hard to connect his close friend with the person he's seeing in front of him, but he had done it so easily last night because he wasn't trying at all. Then this morning, he was too caught up in their beauty and his groggy morning mind to really remember who he was with.
"Elliott, it is alright," Bloodhound's voice comes to him, unusually soothing but still familiar. It reminds him of a particularly scary moment in the Apex Games when he had been gassed blind and fell off a cliff. The breath had been knocked out of him, he was in a pool of his own blood, and all he could hear was yelling and shooting behind white noise as they were being ambushed. It hadn't even registered he was down until Bloodhound had come to his side. Bangalore's smoke cancelled out confusing sights until all he knew was the needle in his chest and Bloodhound's voice telling him he was going to be okay.
"When I change into more recognizable clothes, I will speak to you about this again. It will help the both of us," they say. Elliott watches Bloodhound purse their lips. They tilt their head without their signature swaying charms but he catches the familiar action like it's deja vu. "Privately, of course. I have no pressing desire for the others to know about our activities together."
Elliott nods, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. It takes a minute before he finds words to reply so he tries to break the silence by clearing his throat. Bloodhound seems confused. "Y-yeah. Yeah, sounds good," he manages. They give a small nod. "You know… you're not that different without your stuff, really. Like - when I see you in the smoke and I see how you walk, it's kinda the same. And your head always tilts the same. The way you move. And talk. It's - it's cuz I know you, you know? All the killing and dying together and all…"
He noticed Bloodhound go a little tense when he said they were recognizable but they relaxed as he continued. There's a faint smile on their lips when he brings up their work together. He doesn't recognize the way it looks, but does notice the way it sounds mixed with their words.
"Focus, Elliott, we have to leave," they say. He hears it clear as day. If he closed his eyes it'd be just another day of Elliott messing around with the younger legends and Bloodhound trying to get them to focus. There was always a confusing lilt in their words he could never understand what meant until now. They were smiling. They're smiling now.
He watches them turn and leave the room with a familiar shake of their head. By now, Elliott's mind is clearer than this morning, when he was still in a dream-like haze and wanted nothing more than to slip back into bed with someone who he could care for and who cared for him.
Their careful yet strong hands on his body remind him of their times in training together or when Bloodhound wrangles him away from a speeding bullet. Their heavy but even breaths in his ear remind him of when the entire squad has to run in opposite directions until the only thing they have left of each other is a voice in their earpieces. Their soft grunts and growls remind him of when Bloodhound becomes one with the moment and passionately does whatever their heart desires - going on a killing spree, yelling at a rookie legend, or rolling around in bed with Elliott.
It was the little things he recognized that gave Elliott confidence throughout the night. He recognized the way they stood their ground, tilted their head, nodded sternly, spoke plainly, moved confidently, and had that same, unique accent laced into every sound they made. All of it. He recognized Bloodhound, the hunter and his friend.
Before they had smiled and willingly showed off their teeth to Elliott, what drew him to the woman he saw was the curious way she moved. She didn't speak, but he's acquainted with people who use their body language to communicate more than their verbal language. He found the way she acted familiar and he was comfortable enough to know how to hold a conversation with someone that way. After they revealed their identity, he could pinpoint where he recognized those movements. It was easy, then, to accept that this person is Bloodhound. If anything, he felt more comfortable spending the night with them because he didn't feel like he needed to impress a hookup. For once, he sort of let go.
He finds them in the main room, pulling on their shoes beside the front door. When Elliott comes in, Bloodhound looks up through their fallen white hair to ask, "May I borrow your phone?"
Elliott pulls a face as he finds his own shoes. "Sure. Why?"
"For a cab," they tell him, standing up and pushing the hair from their eyes. Elliott finds it almost unbelievable their hair is still braided after all this time.
"I can drive you."
Bloodhound pauses to purse their lips, inconvenienced. "I need to go back to my house but I cannot be seen with you, Elliott. You may have a scandal. I may be found."
He grabs his keys and approaches them anyway. "It'll be fine. I drove you here, right? We'll be fine."
"No." Bloodhound stops him from nearing the door, eyes narrowed with hint of anger and fear. "This is serious. As I've told you before, I cannot afford a scandal and neither can you."
"Is that a threat?" he asks without thought.
"Yes."
"O-oh." Elliott freezes. He frowns to himself and turns away, barely having the courage to do more than glance at Bloodhound. They really are serious. Their life is on the line and Elliott keeps forgetting that. If Bloodhound hadn't been so forgiving he might have actually suffered his consequences back at the bar.
"You promised," they tell him quietly. The underlying venom is gone from their voice, allowing Elliott to see the way they've turned to the wall pointedly. "You said you'd be careful." They huff and look at him. "I hope you continue to be a man of your word."
His skin crawls at the words. Despite his career basing off his ability to trick people, he's nothing if not true to the people he really cares for. It's important to him they know this. "I- I am, Hound. I am being careful. I really think it's best," he tries to explain, but they seem more concerned than untrusting. He sighs, almost dejectedly. "Look. I'm seen with a billion people every night. No one's gonna notice me drop off some girl early in the morning at some random res- resdid- residential area. You're perfectly not special. Right?"
He can see the wheels turning in their head. Each second that passes has his heart beating faster. He really hopes they don't make themself take a cab. Eventually, their frown fades. "Hooking up often is one of Mirage's traits…"
"Yep. That."
"Okay," Bloodhound says with a sharp nod. Elliott smiles. Easy. "I will allow you to take me near by my house. Then, I will see you next for the field test."
Elliott wants to ask why he can't just take them directly to the house, especially in this cold weather, but he knows it would be useless to. They would probably look at him with a blank, yet somehow deadly gaze for having to repeat their concern. Even as the two leave for Elliott's car, Bloodhound refuses to take the jacket he offers them. All he can do is convince himself they just run hot. Which doesn't turn out to be very difficult.
The ride to Bloodhound's house is quiet. Elliott doesn't mind, as he's gotten more comfortable knowing who this person is. Bloodhound has always been someone he could share a comfortable silence with. Often times he forgets they're there, or believes they're asleep. Whatever the occasion, Bloodhound always seems to be perfectly at ease, displaying a calm, silent air nearly all the time. That's what makes it so terrifying when they become angry or feral inside and out of the Apex Games. That's what made it so special when Elliott witnessed them give in to the pleasure and participate so enthusiastically the night before.
He's reminded even of the words they had said to him during a heated moment that evening. With a grin wide from chuckles and gasps, and eyes pinched closed from pleasure and satisfaction, they laughed a little at him before grunting 'I find myself enjoying this as well.' He had held them close and buried his face in their chocolate skin, only lifting away to moan and say, 'Fuck, you feel so good.' He remembers the feeling of pride that had filled him when they said they felt good too, the clear familiarity when he heard the sounds they made, the curls of arousal when he saw their face of bliss and heard their noises of pleasure.
Elliott shifts in his seat, suddenly too hot. He glances at the innocent way Bloodhound simply looks out the window in thin jeans and less than a tank top. It's almost as if they aren't about to put on pounds of gear until they're ready to hunt down people as easily as possible. Almost as if they hadn't just given Elliott the most amazing night of his life. As if the two of them aren't old friends who just hooked up out of the blue. Elliott shifts again. He tries not to get them both killed by being distracted.
The sun has yet to rise this morning, leaving the roads mostly bare and the night cold to linger everywhere. Elliott had taken the jacket Bloodhound refused and turned up the car heater as high as it could go so his friend doesn't freeze. Bloodhound made no comment but the faint trickle of sweat Elliott feels on his temple has him doubting his decisions.
"So, uh, why'd you even go out last night?" Elliott asks to break the silence and the tension inside himself. Bloodhound turns to him with attentive eyes, a bonus aspect to tell him they're paying him any attention aside from the silent stare their mask always shows. "It's the night before a field test, which we knew about for ages. Why now? Don't you only get laid like, maybe once a year?"
Calmly, Bloodhound turns back to the star littered sky. "I chose to celebrate," they tell him. "My night of birth."
"Wh-what?"
"Someone told me that I needed to know how to live a little," they continue. Elliott catches glances to them, seeing nothing but a faint smile. "To get myself out there. To treat myself. So I did."
Elliott faintly recognizes the words, but is mostly focused on something else. "Birthday sex?" He blurts. "You had birthday sex with me?"
"Yes. Why are you surprised?" Bloodhound asks expectantly.
A million thoughts run through his head. None of which seem especially important, so he just talks. "I- I'm just. Like, that's a thing, you know. It's special."
"I don't believe so. How?"
"I d-don't know." Bloodhound frowns, unimpressed. "I just think - maybe we should've done something more kinky or whatever. Maybe gone a few more rounds, I don't - I don't know. Birthday sex is like a - a wild, n-naughty birthday present…"
Bloodhound remains relaxed in their seat, watching the street pass through tinted windows. "Oh," they say flatly, clearly having no emotional connection to what he just said. "We had sex. That is enough for me. It's true I rarely do this sort of thing. It's been a while since I had, and the day was approaching, so I might as well put the two together. Take this next right."
"It wasn't special...?" Elliott wonders. He loves to try something new on his birthday. Whether it be sexual or not, he wants to make a memory he will remember. The thought that Bloodhound doesn't care for their birthday is… not surprising, but hard to hear as someone avid about birthday celebrations. Then also worrying for other reasons.
Bloodhound picks up on his tone, like they always do, and looks at him. "My birth day was not," they tell him, then tilt their head gently. "But the sex was. It still doesn't change my feelings on days of birth. Stop at the fire ‐ um water, ah yes, that."
Slowly, Elliott pulls to the curb at a short fire hydrant. Bloodhound doesn't often not know the English words for objects, so he doesn't need to do anything other than mumble the words they mean so they know for next time. He quietly parks and leans against his steering wheel in thought. Elliott's lip quirks up a bit and he turns to Bloodhound, who's remained seated noticing he wants to speak.
"The sex was special, huh?" he wonders aloud, entertaining the thought of doing well for someone.
"Yes," Bloodhound confirms with a sigh. "I've never had sex with you before, Elliott."
They open the car door and step out. The cold air rushes in like a small storm, tickling Elliott's cheeks and blowing Bloodhound's beautiful white hair across their face. He merely grunts at their comment, a little miffed but not at all surprised. How often can the two of them say the word 'sex' before it loses its… sexiness? He watches Bloodhound linger in the cold a moment, his eyebrow raising slightly as they stand unaffected. He can't see their face well from his angle and the wind blowing hair between them, but he recognizes they might say something, so he keeps silent.
"I've never had sex that… nice before either," they say at last, tone soft and genuine. Their accent almost drowns their low voice out with the wind but Elliott catches it and holds it tight. "I believe it is because I'm comfortable around you. You are a good man, Elliott. I have always been grateful to be your partner and friend… I will see you at the field test. Thank you."
Just like that, Bloodhound leaves Elliott alone with his head a mess of thoughts and his chest a bundle of emotions.
-
Elliott takes his time before heading to the field test. They're not even that entertaining. Whatever happens in King's Canyon, sadly stays in King's Canyon. Nothing's public, not even the fact that a bunch of long time legends are going to be gathered in one area. That part is mostly for the safety of the legends rather than possible information leaks. As a legend, Elliott doesn't care what goes public as long as it's all good drama. As an engineer, he understands how a few data leaks here and there can leave the Apex Games vulnerable. There are already towers blowing up and flyers screaming everywhere, there doesn't need to be anything worse.
After dropping Bloodhound off where they asked, Elliott decides to grab himself some breakfast. He swings by his favorite place for drive thru, and decides to grab a few groceries from whatever grocery store is open early enough. He's got time to eat at home, put some items away, and even stop for gas before heading out.
Elliott doesn't usually take his time like this, but he knows today is definitely not the day he and Bloodhound should walk in at about the same time. As he arrives at the Apex main building, he recognizes a few vehicles already in the lot.
There should only be the top legends here. Not because they play well, but because they've been exposed to the arena the longest. Recent hacks and disruptions in the King's Canyon have the engineers nervous about the overall quality of the arena. They've called in a few extra field tests lately rather than sticking to the usual annual ones. Elliott was asked, along with nine other legends, to act sort of like the canaries of the arena. As the makers tune up the ring damage, adjust simulated pain tolerance, and check up on overall housekeeping, these legends will be running around reporting if they feel like they're going to die.
It doesn't necessarily matter if Elliott arrives late, because they've already got eight other healthy bodies ready to poke and prod at at their leisure. He makes a scene anyway, sauntering down the halls and tossing open the doors to the room the others are in.
"Sorry I'm late, everyone," he announces, running a hand through his hair to make it bounce. "I was busy doing stuff."
The room turns to him mostly with expressions of annoyance. It only makes his grin grow wider. Not everyone is here, but Anita, Octavio, Wraith, and Caustic are gathered around the center of the room. The large television on the wall shows an establishing shot of King's Canyon. After Elliott makes his entrance, the four turn back to the screen unaffected.
"Morning, Witt," Anita grunts as Thunderdome is then displayed. "Glad you decided to show up."
Elliott keeps his smile and gathers around the television as well. "I knew you'd miss me. Where are the others then? Just five? Awesome. We're def the dream team."
"No," Wraith says. "Ajay, Makoa, Path, and Miss. Paquette are already out there. Volunteered to test the new dropship early." She steps away to go for the coffee cart, nodding her head to the side. "Hound's right there."
Elliott peeks over Caustic's shoulder to see Bloodhound laying against the couch. Their arms are spread across the back casually as one leg rests over the other, ankle on one knee. When Elliott catches the dirty, scratched lenses, he winks and says, "Nice. Let's do this."
Bloodhound makes no move to respond, but they had lifted their head up slightly when he looked at them first. Now, they just stare. Something crawls in Elliott's stomach, making him squirm and look away. It's as if those emotionless lenses are seeing right through his soul to read every thought. He wonders when they plan on speaking to him about what they did. Specifically, he's curious on how they plan to distance themself from what happened. Since Bloodhound had said their night was 'nice' and they were comfortable with him, Elliott has been basking in the compliment and is feeling a little risque. He might just push their buttons to see their reaction anyway.
"I am going to get scanned first," Caustic announces without prompt, huffing through his gas mask as if even the air here was unbearable. Elliott has to hop to the side to let the man brush through.
"He's right," Anita nods. "We're all here, let's get in."
Just as they begin after Caustic, Wraiths voice pipes up. "Ew." Mild disgust colors the word. They look back to her in confusion but she's scowling at Elliott's shirt. "Your neck. Gross."
Elliott blinks, then looks down at his low hanging collar. To bring more attention to himself, Elliott tugs off his jacket with his signature smirk he knows the cameras like, then runs a hand through his hair to make it flow and curl just right. "What?" He asks innocently, casually, confidently. "Be a little more specific."
Wraith's eyes narrow on his. Her face turns a gentle shade of pink but she keeps her genuine look of disapproval as she says, "Your dumb hickies, dummy. Put them away."
Elliott pretends to think on it, leaning on one leg and tapping his hip in contemplation. He takes his time to look about his audience and catch Octavio's excited wide eyes, Anita's confused gaze, and Bloodhound's stoic glass lenses. His heart skips a beat when he sees the glass glint in the light. "Nah, I like 'em," Elliott tells her, then pulls his eyes away from Bloodhound's. He feels a flash of something nearly terrifying, and he can't tell if it's mild panic or adrenaline. "And I prefer the term love bites."
Octavio snickers, Wraith grumbles with a red face, and Bloodhound's body tenses so subtly Elliott thinks he might have imagined it, but the way they jerk their head to the side and tighten their hold on their straps tell him he's got their attention.
"You're so awful. Yuck," Wraith mutters as she pushes past. She makes it through the door Anita had left without anyone trailing her.
Satisfied with himself, Elliott smirks. He flashes it mainly because he knows Bloodhound is watching, but also because Octavio is too. The young man is grinning as he jumps on his mechanical toes to eye Elliott's neck with interest.
"Heh heh, love bites," Octavio laughs to himself, "Means you got a girlfriend, huh?"
Elliott snorts and rolls his eyes, tilting his head back in the process as a not-so-accidental way to display his hickies more. "No, man, I don't have a girlfriend," he sighs.
"Then--!"
"No boyfriend either, before you ask," Elliott tells him. "Single as a pringle but definitely ready to mingle." Bloodhound shifts in the corner of his eye and he can't help but glance at them to see if it's because of him.
Octavio huffs and his nose scrunches briefly in his disappointment but it's soon replaced with bright, curious eyes. "Well, you never show off your stuff like this, amigo. Even when I see it, it's never this much," he says.
With a confident shrug, Elliott says, "It was special."
Octavio grins wildly but all Elliott is concerned with is the way Bloodhound's immaculate helmet is turned toward him. Their charms sway ever so slightly as they don't stand as still as they usually do. They're usually a statue, standing as confident and strong as any warrior. But now, Elliott notices the way they continue to shift their weight. Their hands rest by holding one of the many straps aligning their body but he can see the way they hold on to the equipment in what seems a lot like stability. For a moment, they reach a hand up to adjust their collar through some tubing. He can't tell if they're looking at his neck, his smile, or his eyes. They just watch.
Knowing he has Octavio and Bloodhound's attention, Elliott's grin remains as he basks in what little spotlight he can get. An odd warm tingle flows through his body in a similar way it did this morning. Elliott suddenly remembers the fantasy from the night before where he got Bloodhound embarrassed and flustered by showing off their own marks of pleasure to their friends. He wants to test them by seeing how far they'll let him talk about his late night partner but unfortunately, Bloodhound's mask hides any clear response to his button pressing. Faint disappointment almost overcomes him before he feels a few quick pokes to his skin.
"Ah, fuck!" Elliott flinches and swats Octavio's wandering hands away. He decided to prod at the tender skin without prompt and Elliott scowls. "Hands off the merch, dude. Items are for display only."
Octavio's eyes go droopy and he vibrates in his spot. He says, "But they look so weird! See it's all scratched and stuff at the edges. She musta got real bitey with you, and that's real fun because you said she's special. Makes me wanna bite you too. Can I bite you too? Ahhh--"
"Octavio--"
"Silva--!"
Bloodhound and Anita speak at the same time. The sharp tone in Anita's voice has even Bloodhound freezing in their spot. They had witnessed Octavio lean in playfully to mime biting Elliott and went to pull him back but is now just awkwardly holding him by the neck of his shirt as Anita stands in the doorway.
Elliott takes a step back from the situation, eyes wide, lips pursed, and hands where she can see them. Bloodhound remains still with Octavio hanging from their grasp on his shirt with a pout. Anita looks over this, confusion written all over her face, and turns to one person only.
"Hound, what's the fucking hold up."
Octavio springs to answer before Bloodhound can. "Elliott got laid and that's why he's late!" He points at Elliott with a big happy smile but Elliott scrunches his nose in distaste and silently tries to wave it off.
"And you were about to bite him, Octavio," Bloodhound says surprisingly calmly. It seems his daydreams of getting them hot and embarrassed in public where simply dreams. They set the man down so he can run off to Anita.
"Heheh, it was funny though!" he counters.
"No," Anita snaps. She glares daggers into Octavio's eyes, then turns them to Elliott, who's become red and wears a nervous smile. "Elliott Witt. I swear to god, if you really cost the whole team time just so you could get your fucking- to get- to play around with some- goddamn--"
"What! No!" he defends, a little too loud maybe. Her sudden derogatory remarks toward his unknown partner make his skin crawl with shame and a little fear. She's upset at the thought of him wasting her time like that, so Elliott can only huff, cross his arms, and glance to Bloodhound a moment as he stutters, "N-no, Anita, I didn't. These are from last night and- and they-- I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't. I'm n-not an idiot."
She glares at him a few seconds more, enough to make Elliott's face heat up all over again. It's like he can feel her eyes digging into his soul and Bloodhound's might be burning into the side of his head. She eventually decides she doesn't want to argue and waves it off. "Whatever," she says. "I really don't care who you're fucking on your off-time, as long as it doesn't affect any of us. Not me, not Octane, not Hound, got it?"
It takes all of Elliott's strength to not say or do something stupid at that last bit. Any of which include, but aren't limited to, raising his eyebrows, pursing his lips, looking at Bloodhound, or anything that could really indicate that he's provoking a longer argument. Instead, Elliott forces himself to keep the exact expression of mild panic he had a second ago even if it makes absolutely no sense.
Anita thankfully doesn't question him and turns around with nothing but an eye roll. She shoos Octavio out the door and repeats to them all about getting scanned with Bloodhound trailing behind her.
The scanning process is the most important part in the Apex Games but also is thankfully one of the fastest. Each legend takes their turn on a small circular platform as two pillar like sensors revolve around them. A narrow green light emits from each to gather information from every nook and cranny it can find, inside and out. Any change down to the very atom is catalogued inside one of the big ol databases right there for a perfectly 3D hologram. The closest thing they have to clones, right beside the Witt family's holotech.
Everyone has to have an initial scan that takes a few hours to get everything catalogued, but after that, every other one is a breeze. Contestants scan before they enter the arena so their clones will be up to date on even the smallest of changes. If they didn't get quite enough rest, if they built a little more muscle, if they got a recent paper cut, it was all written down in a language even the programmers couldn't understand and stored away. Scanning to be cloned in such a way was invasive by any and all means, but by letting the computers do all the work in ones and zeros and codes they made up on their own, everyone's personal information stays private.
A select few can be afforded more than one hologram to use in King's Canyon. These nine selected for this field test are pretty much all of those few. Having more than one hologram allows them to have a clone in their casual outfits instead of their normal battle gear so that the scanning process could go faster. People like Caustic don't need more than one because he seems to always take his equipment everywhere he goes, so the time it takes to update his hologram isn't long. People like Mirage definitely need more than one. His casual clothes are miles off from his hologear and if he were to rescan each time he changed clothes, it would take hours.
Sweatpants, a white tee, and some plain sneakers are Elliott's usual go-to wear for the field test, so when he steps up to the small circular plate and lets the lazers do their thing, it only takes about a minute for them to register any changes from the last time he went into a field test.
An automated ship touches down on King's Canyon so the legends don't have to fall hundreds of meters from the sky. There, an infinite array of every loot item imaginable is on the ground for the taking. Each legend is connected to an individual person back on base, as well as a collective line with every legend and official. Another com setting allows the legend to connect to a specific person or to someone within a close radius.
Elliott's "man upstairs," as they like to call them, directs him to the armory and lets him pick out whatever he'd like. As fun as it sounds, Elliott soon realizes he's been chosen to test out a new drone called a Cargo Bot. All he gets to do is sit at different places and find the most effective way to get their little cargo load to drop. He finds it oddly similar to the way a flyer would take off with a death box and everyone would try to shoot it down to get the loot. Just a lot less barbaric and animal abusive.
The rest of the field test is a little more exciting. A handful of them get to try to outrun the ring, some test out a new ping system on their arm bands, and others try the limits of certain loot items like backpacks and helmets. Everything goes smoothly, as far as Elliott can tell. It's not hard to tell if something's gone wrong, especially if towers aren't falling and gigantic screaming reptiles aren't flying at you. There's no panic in the voices of the men upstairs, just sounds of general interest and curiosity with the clacking of a keyboard in the background.
Things go so well, Elliott gets special permission to "go and have some fun," which means his duties are fulfilled and he can do whatever he wants until the rest are done. Elliott usually likes to take this time to run around and play pretend-Apex with someone, but he knows he could do with some casual shooting practice instead of quick one-on-ones. So Elliott swipes up a Kraber and a Longbow, then shoves a G7 in his backpack with a couple stacks of ammo and an array of sights. One of the perks of the field tests is there's almost no limit to what the officials will allow if he asks nice enough. When Elliott bats his pretty eyes and grins his beautiful smile at the camera, they have no choice but to rig his bag to fit an extra gun.
He climbs up a few rocks at the edge of Thunderdome and Skull Town, facing the sandy arena where a few legends are testing fall damage by jumping off the hanging cage. At this spot, Elliott notices Bloodhound, leaning into a boulder with their sniper, taking shots at the falling legends. This is a common sniping practice for the legends. Their pain sensors for bullets have been turned off on request and immortality is always switched on - except for specific tests. Elliott knew someone was already up here practicing shots, but hadn't thought it was Bloodhound.
Something a lot like joy bubbles in his stomach at the thought of being able to mess around with someone. Elliott slides himself beside the hunter, leaning against his own rock, flashing his grin to them, and getting comfortable. "Fancy seeing you here," he says.
Bloodhound's fingers tense for a moment, and he thinks he might have surprised them. The others are either jumping off cliffs or throwing grenades at each other, but Elliott was shooting at windows and climbing the satellite in Wetlands. Alone. He does get a gentle nod in greeting though. Unfazed, Elliott takes off his backpack and shakes it unceremoniously between the two of them. A vibrant array of ammo stacks and sights pile together like Christmas presents, a purple G7 Scout with a pack of wolves walking along the body topping the pile.
"Want anything?" Elliott asks. He rests his elbow on the rocks to support his smiling face. Even without visible eyes it's clear Bloodhound is analyzing the pile of colors with interest. They tilt their head innocently and nod just as softly. "Go on then," he says with a wave of his hand. "It's winter. Happy Holo- Hol- Holidays and all."
Elliott hadn't actually planned on sharing his ammunition - the legends are usually rather possessive over their inventory, a side effect from having such little loot so often in the ring. He expected to miss a lot of shots and decided to take more than he needed. It's better to be safe than sorry. But seeing Bloodhound's tentative hand reach for one of the few golden stacks of ammo, and the slight tip of their helmet as they silently ask for permission, Elliott can't help but want to share.
His grin widens as he nods in reply. Bloodhound takes the pack, sets down their Longbow, and grabs their Kraber to carefully reload just enough to have a full clip plus one on the side. "Thank you," they say as they put the pack back. Elliott snorts but doesn't want to argue them into keeping the rest.
"H-hey, look we're twins!" Elliott blurts suddenly. He scrambles for his own Kraber on his back, quickly abandoning his Bow to show off its deep blue skin that matches Bloodhound's. The hunter sees his then inspects their own. White lightning bolts travel the sides as the rest glimmers with a metallic shine in the desert sun.
"Hmm, I guess so," they agree. "Eye of the Storm… One of my favorites."
Elliott inspects the weapon, feeling the smooth metal and tapping the pulsing lights. "Yeah, me too. It really is epic. Too bad I suck with the Kraber. I mean - I don't suck. I'm - I'm good. I'm good with all the guns. All the weapons. Real good, you know. I just- don't use the Kraber a lot. Just don't see it too often. Spawn rate, am I right?"
They look at him, "Yes."
"Yeah."
Bloodhound turns away to rest the weapon against their perch. They shuffle a little, shifting their lean and adjusting their legs until they find a comfortable spot. "It is not often I get to use such a weapon," they comment. "So the required practice to be… good with it takes much longer to fulfill. Which is why it is best to use this time wisely." A sharp, deafening crack splits the air as Bloodhound pulls the trigger. They're pushed back with the kick just a bit but readjusts with a disapproving shake of their head. "For practice." Bloodhound catches his eyes and he smiles quickly. They're not as still as they usually are but watching them take shots with a weapon he can hardly use is always amazing. "Would you like to practice with me?"
"Y-yeah, yeah sure."
Elliott finally blinks himself away to prop the sniper up on the worn rock. He wiggles a second, then peers through the scope. He follows Wraith as she speeds up a zipline to the top of the cage, hoping to use her as a target. There's a slight hesitation in her step when Elliott gets his sights on her, then he sees her scowl and move in a zigzagging path, in and out of view between the steel frame. He sits there for a few seconds, trying his best to catch her next move or when she pauses, before releasing a shot and watching it fly right by her shoulder where he'd thought she would turn. Wraith faces directly toward him with a smirk on her face and it makes him grunt unpleasantly.
"Bummer she knows when we're looking," Elliott says as he cocks the gun. "She always makes it a billion times harder when she knows I'm trynna snipe. What a nu- nuten- new sen- a bug."
"Patience, Elliott," comes Bloodhound's gentle reply. He scrunches his nose when he looks through the sights to try to find her again anyway.
He pulls the trigger, the sound cracks through the air around them and buries itself right into a steel beam. Wraith laughs from the other side. Elliott breathes heavily, oddly on-edge this day. He pulls at the handle and readies himself for another try. She's winking at him through the scope, knowing exactly where he is and how to push his buttons, teasing his inability to touch her.
"Shh~ Careful…" Bloodhound hums. Their deep, low voice vibrates through their mask beside him. "Do not let your emotions rule your actions. She is a tough catch. Many go for the weaker prey."
"I- I can- I can get her, Hound, I've done it before--"
"I know," they assure softly. The acknowledgment is like a sip of clean water, refreshing him just enough to understand what they're doing. "Have patience. You are just as smart as her, Elliott. Follow her, breathe, and wait for your turn."
So he does. Pursing his lips, Elliott pauses and thinks and waits. Wraith will almost always know when someone's targeting her, that's how she knows to avoid his shots when he gets the sights on her. They all know it's the voices that are helping her out, so Elliott uses that to his advantage. He follows her much longer than he had the last few times. As Wraith goes through the training, jumping off the cage, zipping back up, chatting with the others, Elliott keeps his sights as steady on her head as he can.
After a few minutes, she gets annoyed, and he can see it plain as day in her face. Wraith scowls, squeezes her eyes shut, holds her head, tries to shake it all off until she stops in place fixes Elliott with the dirtiest look he's seen yet. He smirks, then takes the shot.
Elliott doesn't even have to ask if he got that hit because as he quickly cocks the weapon to double tap, he gets another easy shot to Wraith's figure as she stands, stunned, watching the blood pour from the wound on her chest. The next goes in her head. Elliott smiles proudly to himself before turning it to Bloodhound, who's still looking down their sight.
"Mmm…" they hum, satisfied. The sound hits him right in the chest and he can't figure out why. "Good shots. Was the first intentional?"
Elliott blinks, "Um, yeah?"
Bloodhound tilts their head and finally looks at him without any readable emotion, as always. "I meant, was it meant to go where it landed."
"Oh. Uh, yeah? Maybe." Elliott's smile slips off as he wonders if he had done something wrong. He looks back down at Wraith and finds her healthy as can be but with a dark patch above her heart. "Yep. Totally inten- intentional."
Bloodhound hums again and is watching Elliott when he pulls away. "I believed so. I noticed how quick you were to take a second shot. Such time is a luxury in the heat of battle but you knew she would be paralyzed for just a moment. The second was a clean finish for the kill."
Silently, Elliott stares back at them. A weird mix of surprise, awe, and pride fills his heart. What shows on his face is a mystery. He knew he would hit that first shot, but he didn't know exactly where. Of course, he hoped it would be a headshot but it was more likely to be to the chest if the bullet drop was more than anticipated. Either way, he knew the mere fact that Elliott got a hit in would surprise Wraith and he would be able to take another with slight adjustments. Bloodhound is right, Elliott just didn't expect them to read him through his shots.
Elliott doesn't answer but Bloodhound doesn't seem to mind. They casually turn away, shuffling a little again to readjust their legs before leaning into their weapon. He watches the way they sort of fall into the rock with a near silent breath. Their fingers stretch just slightly before re-wrapping around the trigger. If he blinked, Elliott might have missed the swift pull of the trigger. The ear-piercing gunshot doesn't faze Elliott. He sees the gun kick back against their shoulder, almost entirely absorbed by their firm grip. They still knock back and roll their shoulder as they lean away however, tilting their head in disappointment.
Quickly, Elliott blinks to. He squints out at Thunderdome in an effort to see if they made the shot. He can't tell. "Did - did you hit it?"
"Yes," they say.
Elliott frowns. Maybe he misread their usual headshake. "Oh. Nice. I don't think I can analyze your shot like you did for me."
"It's alright," Bloodhound nods to him. "The best way to learn is to teach. I may help you if you need it."
A grateful smile finds its way on Elliott's lips and he waits for Bloodhound to look at him when he says, "Thanks."
They nod, turning away. Elliott does the same and reloads his gun. He rolls his shoulders, stretches his fingers, tilts his head to both sides, and settles in.
The two practice together almost silently. They hadn't really been taking turns until Ajay had the pleasure of being shot at the same time on her fall down from the cage. One in the head by Elliott, and one in the stomach by Bloodhound before she hit the ground. Ajay had switched turned on her mic to line with all the legends just so she could yell and swear about her pain sensors being toggled on and for the legends to just 'not be meanies' by team-shotting her.
Elliott just laughed and laughed and let Bloodhound apologize. He did hear them chuckle lightly after muting themself, however. After that, they began to mumble out who they're targeting. Bloodhound often takes a minute after shots to watch and comment on Elliott's movements. He bristles at the constructive criticism and smiles at the praise but listens to them all the same. The best he can usually offer are his little bits of not-so-subtle admiration at their skill. Occasionally he asks a question about dealing with wind and knowing the enemy's behavior. Rarely he gets to point out a flaw in Bloodhound's actions and correct them at it. This is all mostly because Bloodhound has just been doing this longer than he has. They've been a hunter long before the Games and joined this sport before he had, so Elliott gets to admire their skill, listen to them talk about the importance of practice, and revel in the moments where he knows a little something they can use.
The two don't stop their sniping practice until they're called back to the ship. The rest of the legends have finished training and the men upstairs have had their fun, so they're all sent back to their real bodies and sent home for the day. By this time, the sun is still high and shining, but Elliott feels as if he could go for a sleep-long nap. He woke up early, ran a whole lot, hurt a whole lot, and didn't really eat much throughout the day.
When Elliott had first come back to his real body, he had always thought everything he experienced would be forgotten aside from memories. No broken bones, no dehydration, no awful aches. It turns out to be almost the opposite. The legends do remember everything that happens down in the simulation and that's because it's their minds that are the only true link. The brain has them keep the memories, feel the pain, and feel the pride, so when they come back, it all transfers. Their brain thinks their body is still in such situations and produces the same hormones and sensations of excitement, distress, and pain for their real body as well.
Elliott doesn't really know the specifics. He just knows it's science. One of the only sciences he didn't bother studying. All he really understands are the basics of why the hell he has to feel simulated pain outside of the simulation. When Elliott comes back to his body, he does so together with his sore legs, shoulders, headache, and hunger pangs, so the first thing he thinks of is food.
The second thing he thinks of is sleep, which leads him to wonder why he's so tired when it's still the afternoon, then has him stumble upon the memory of his activities the night before. So his second-third-maybe-fourth thought melds with his first and Elliott finds himself tracking down the hunter he spent the past couple hours with.
Another bonus about being such a valuable item to billionaires is Elliott and the other top tier legends are given their own flats in a separate building funded and operated by the Apex developers. Elliott usually prefers his own house but definitely loves to swing by the Legend Tower, as they've taken to calling it, for the extravagant lounges and exotic green room. Just by knowing their habits, Elliott finds Bloodhound there, in the large glass room stuffed with trees and plants of every color imaginable.
Elliott doesn't need to look hard to find Bloodhound. They're standing in the middle of a clearing, head tilted up and arm gently outstretched as if touching a butterfly only they can see. He stays back for a moment, leaning against the railing that protects visitors from poisonous flowers. With a raised eyebrow, Elliott watches as Bloodhound's head ticks sideways left, then right, then back straight forward. They nod jerkily, precisely, once up, then down swiftly. The movements are clearly intentional and practiced but Elliott can't keep himself from smiling. They look sort of like a chicken, bobbing their head like that, even with their stance powerful and their arm steady.
Elliott blinks and finds himself staring into their dirty lenses. His heart feels like it stops from mild fear of some unknown danger but Elliott manages to keep his face void of any of that and actually widen his already present smile. Bloodhound tilts their head at him curiously but turns back away to nod at the sky again. It takes a second for Elliott to notice the glossy black raven perched in the wide leaves of a nearby tree. It had probably been what Bloodhound was communicating with using those head movements because when they nod once more, the large bird hops down from the branch to glide right onto Bloodhound's outstretched arm.
Arthur hops a bit more on the new uneven perch until Bloodhound carefully bends their arm to themself. They nod upward at the bird, and it responds with a head tilt and a ruffling of feathers. Elliott isn't sure what this exchange means but he's starting to feel as if he's intruding on something more personal. He notices Bloodhound's shoulders droop in a sigh before they turn to Elliott at last.
"Hello," they say casually.
Bloodhound makes no indication to approach Elliott so he closes the distance himself. He keeps his friendly smile on and skips over quickly with his hands in his pockets. "Hey, what's up?"
They take a second to look at him silently before saying, "I've come to retrieve Arthur. Why do you ask?"
He falters a moment. "I guess I could've guessed that." Elliott clears his throat quickly to speak again. "Just wanted to know if you were up to eat? Like, it's after lunch time but I'm hungry and you might be hungry, so… food together?"
Bloodhound doesn't answer for a second again. He forgot how emotionless that mask can be so he tries to understand their body instead. They stand still, as still as usual but steadier than they have been today. He thinks their hands might have tensed but he wasn't paying much attention to anything but their eyes earlier. Thankfully, they pull him out of his confusion.
"Elliott," they begin calmly, curiously, "I have never eaten with you nor any of the others before. My answer is always the same, so why do you ask?"
"Oh." Elliott scrunches his nose and glances away as he brings a hand up to scratch his neck. "Yeah, but aren't things different…?"
They definitely tense at this. It's not dramatic, but now he's watching. Arthur ruffles his feathers when they move. Instead of answering, Bloodhound turns to the bird to pet him. They stroke the feathers on his chest and trail a finger along his beak, tilting their head as he does. Elliott sees their shoulders relax when Arthur leans in to their touch. The question made them uncomfortable, and it sort of made Elliott too. He's sure they'll answer, they always do, but he isn't sure he wants to hear it anymore.
"Hey, uh, didn't-" Bloodhound looks at him and the words die in his throat. He glances off shyly and sighs to himself. It takes Bloodhound retracting their hand from Arthur and taking a small step toward Elliott for him to continue. "Didn't you wanna talk to me?"
"Yes, I did," they say calmly. Their voice has gotten quieter with Elliott's. "But I decided against it after noticing how you acted this morning. You are just fine. You don't need it."
"Huh?"
"I meant to speak to you about what we… what we did." They prompt Arthur to change his perch and he does so easily, hopping over to their other arm before Bloodhound pets him again. Elliott watches them in confusion. "But this morning, you were… showing off - teasing. I don't know what to call your actions. You knew what we did and seemed to have taken it well. So I didn't believe we needed to speak about it again."
Elliott's face suddenly turns red and he can feel his skin crawling, burning with mixed feelings of embarrassment and offense. "I - I took it well?" he stumbles to ask. His eyes narrow on their glass ones. "What's that s-supposed to mean? As- as opposed to taking it badly?"
Bloodhound is still. Their fingers remain on the glossy feathers of Arthur, in the midst of petting him but stopped so they can look at Elliott. He takes the silence to take a step closer, stern eyes level with theirs. They say this as if he's supposed to suddenly feel regret or disappointment after seeing a hard truth. He isn't seeing this 'hard truth," and he's never been someone to leave a partner for some controversial reason anyway. What they did is a delicate action for him. It's one that Elliott's had a difficult time balancing over the past years because of his career, so he can't help but feel flashes of anxiety and do his best to defend himself.
"N-no, tell me. What was I s-supposed to do? I don't just s-sleep with someone and f- ignore them the next day because like their makeup is sm-sudge-- isn't good or whatever. I'm not that kind of - everyone - Don't say--"
"No, Elliott, do not - do not fret, please," they manage to say hurriedly. Concern is in their voice now but it doesn't reassure him. "I did not mean to upset you, I apologize. Truly."
"Then why'd you say it?" he stresses. He doesn't like what it insinuates. He didn't sleep with them for any objective reason and found himself disturbed later. "What was I supposed to do."
"I- I am unsure," Bloodhound stumbles. Elliott has never seen Bloodhound so uncomfortable, especially surrounded by the forest. They're one of those people that can seem at ease in any situation, when they're sitting in the woods or when their life is on the line. It's a trait he's always found admirable because they're always like a marble statue that can't be moved. But now, as he sees the way Bloodhound takes a step back and lowers their head, Elliott is suddenly aware of how out of place they truly are. Slowly, their weight shifts between feet while their head jerks to the side uncharacteristically. "I was unsure how you may react but I was only concerned that you understood what happened. You… you seemed comfortable. You knew. That is all that matters."
Elliott takes a few breaths. He's overreacting. Bloodhound wouldn't insult him. They know he's not like the rumors say. This entire situation is foreign to Elliott and it's making him on edge. Watching their body language and feeling it himself, Elliott knows the two of them are both confused. Elliott has never been in a situation where he both knew the person he slept with and knew he would see them consistently afterwards. He isn't exactly sure why Bloodhound is acting so odd, but he takes a wild guess that it's because he knows them to rarely be intimate with people, and much less reveal their identity to them. "Why?" he wonders at last. "Why is that all you care about? That I'm just aware we fucked?"
Bloodhound curls their arm in on themself so that Arthur is close to their chest. Their other hand wraps around to stroke his neck almost protectively. Elliott sees it more as their distraction. "I…" Their voice is quiet, an uncommon tone that only shows they're just as uncertain about everything as he is. Then, they look up at him. "This morning, I had to have you say my name. I had to remind you who I was. Who you were with. I did not know if I would have to again. But you knew it was me. You flaunted the… I forget their name now. If anything, you seemed proud. I found that as a good indication that you understood as opposed to being disconnected again. I didn't mean to upset you. Please, know this."
He takes another second to be quiet. There's pink in Elliott's cheeks when they talk about what did to his skin, the marks they left for him. For all the teasing he did earlier in the day, he would think to be more capable of hearing them talk about it too. The only thing that has changed is their clothes, and he realizes that's what's making him more embarrassed. After seeing Bloodhound stay so calm during tests that are meant to kill them and during Elliott's failed public flirting, he begins to understand that this person he slept with is also someone intriguing in other ways. He's more than aware that all of these people are Bloodhound.
"Okay," he nods. They're just concerned he doesn't know what he did. "Okay. I admit it. I wasn't sure who you were this morning. But- but only then! Really, Hound, I knew." He looks at them now and waits until they meet his eyes so he can show them how sincere he is. "I did. When you showed me who you were that first time, I knew and I ack-ac-cepted it. I still talked to you and made sure we were good and called you by your name, though, right? I uh, even said it so much, you threatened to kill me, remember?" Bloodhound nods gently. "Y-yeah? Yeah. See? And after you made me say your name, I said I haven't been thinking of you as a man or a woman. Because even when we were, you know, doing all that, I knew it was you. I said you weren't so different. I- I know you, Hound. That's why it's easy for me to connect the two."
Bloodhound doesn't move. They've stopped petting Arthur but he seems content leaning against their gear. "I understand…" Slowly nodding and turning their head sideways like they often do, Bloodhound then asks, "Why was it different this morning? I'm concerned now about that time. When you seemed unaware. You called me a name you never would have."
Elliott sighs and closes his eyes briefly in preparation to be humiliated. "I was tired," he admits. "I just woke up and I saw this- really fucking- pretty person, and I was tired and I remembered what we did and I didn't- didn't care about thinking because you were- are- like, really hot."
He shuffles uncomfortably when he says this. His skin crawls with vulnerability but he chances a glance to Bloodhound, who's tipped their helmet down silently to continue petting Arthur. The bird nudges their hand when it touches his beak to show he prefers being scratched on his chest. Bloodhound complies easily. If he didn't know any better, Elliott would think they weren't paying attention to him. They always are. He knows they're thinking. It doesn't help his nerves though.
"You say that quite often," they comment. Once they've found a pattern Arthur enjoys, Bloodhound looks back up at Elliott. He doesn't see anything so he listens instead. Their voice is back to that warm, calm tone they use so frequently when they're being humble and genuine. "Thank you. For explaining this to me. You do know how often I… interact with people. Sexual or otherwise. Thank you for…" They huff and tilt their head to the side. "I have said this enough, I think. I've thanked you for making me feel comfortable and attractive before."
Elliott just stands there and chuckles nervously. "What, should I just not tell you how pretty you are?" Then he winces. "I- I mean unless you don't like that. I understand because you're like- neither. And pretty is usually for women so- so if you think handsome is better? That's cool too. I think- not that my opinion might matter but- I think hot pretty much sums it up. But you're- you're also pretty. Handsome. And pretty handsome."
"I think you are pretty," Bloodhound mentions. There's a dip in their voice that's soft. They're quiet and gentle and hesitant and Elliott nearly misses it buried through their mouthpiece and their accent. But he knows them and he catches it quickly. "I apologize for not telling you as you do."
Elliott grins, suddenly self conscious. His face is hot and there's definitely a good kind of blush working its way up his neck and through his beard. Their compliment goes straight to his heart. "Th-thanks, ahaha. I um, might've known that." He might've ruined the moment. Bloodhound slows their petting and tilts their head curiously. "You… you touch- or touched- me a lot."
They jerk and take a step back. "O-oh. Elliott. I am sorry. I didn't realize. No, I did know. I did so because I could and I usually cannot. I thought it was right for the situation but I am sorry if I made you uncomfor--"
"No! No, no!" Elliott jumps to interrupt them. His grin falters when they apologize but he ends up laughing to himself. Bloodhound remains tense and Arthur ruffles his feathers. "I'm not, like, weird about it. I like- liked it. It was definitely okay for what was happening. Really! People, uh, a lot of people like to touch me in the same k-kinda way. Like, when I'm out at bars and stuff. So I um, assumed you thought I was handso-- pretty because you don't usually touch me like that. You don't usually… touch people, to be honest."
They nod carefully as they relax. "Yes."
Elliott keeps his smile on, still feeling warm from their compliment and the humid green room. The two of them have been standing here a while. His legs will ache soon if he doesn't properly rest after the field test. He can't imagine how Bloodhound may feel. They were moving a lot today and it didn't necessarily seem comfortable. His body is tired and heavy but he doesn't even know how heavy that raven must be. The green room is hot, especially with Elliott's jacket and sweats. Still, Bloodhound has many more layers and neither have commented on leaving. It feels like they've been talking for an hour and it's sort of agonizing sorting out feelings like this for Elliott. It isn't exactly what Bloodhound had meant when they wanted to talk but it's certainly helping.
Bloodhound must be thinking something along the same lines because as they prompt Arthur to change their perch again, they speak, "Since I have you now, and I understand more, I must say: I apologize for not telling you who I was sooner. Or perhaps I should have avoided interacting with you at all. It was wrong of me to use you that way." Elliott's smile slips and his mouth drifts open to respond but they shake their head. "No no, let me say this. I just admitted that I do believe you are attractive. When I saw you, I remembered you said you might be too. You said this at Anita's house party, if you recall."
Elliott nods, remembering that night even if it was months ago. They all got drunk and revealed a lot about themselves. He learned some unbelievable things he only yesterday found out were true. Bloodhound takes a near silent breath and continues. "You are pretty, Elliott. I have always thought so. The whole Frontier thinks so, I believe. When you spoke to me, I knew we thought the same of each other, if only in that circumstance. It was my only chance that I may show it. It was wrong. I was wrong to have done that. I convinced myself that I didn't allow you to do anything you were unaware of but it is not true. You didn't know. I--"
"Hey, Bloodhound, it's ok--" Elliott tries to interrupt.
"It is not," they state. There's stress in the words mixed with desperation and exhaustion. They're not angry with themself, or him, or anyone. They're not self-loathing. They're just… confessing. He knows them as an honest and humble person, so he lets them talk. "I do not have any sort of feelings for you. Not that I know of. I simply find you attractive. I enjoyed our time together before you knew who I was, but felt I was in the wrong, so I revealed myself and understood to accept everything that happened next. Our time afterward was just as pleasant, if not more because I was not hiding. You see now, my only concern is that you know what you are doing. I apologize for any--"
"Honestly, j-just shut up," he manages to say. Bloodhound pauses, then sighs heavily like a balloon deflating. Their head is turned away as they tap the end of their mouthpiece to the tip of Arthur's beak. He makes a deep, guttural noise that Elliott thinks is like a growl and a purr in one sound. Bloodhound nods to the raven gently in response.
Elliott releases a breath too. He didn't expect Bloodhound to be so caught up on such a short moment. He admits to feeling uneasy about the fact that he didn't know he was touching them, but it quickly left his mind when he realized they both wanted each other. That didn't make it okay. Their acknowledgment and apology does. He's glad they said this, however hard it is to hear the notoriously collected hunter beat themself up over a mistake. They've finished with their apology and he strongly believes they can stop talking.
"I accept, or whatever," Elliott tells them. He waits again for Bloodhound to look at him so they can see his emotions. His caring eyes and slow smile. His mouth quirks up when they can't seem to look at him long. "Whatever you want me to say say to know I know you're sorry - I mean. I accept the apology. You um, were wrong. To do that. I felt it- it was weird. But I know you. I know you're sin-cen- sincere. I didn't think much about it but… thank you for uh, saying that."
Bloodhound shuffles in place as their shoulders roll and relax. They nod swiftly. "You're welcome. You are… a very noble man. I…" Elliott is surprised to see the hand that's not occupied by Arthur stretch out hesitantly in a shy offer for a handshake. Bloodhound is the definition of a sturdy-handshake person, sometimes they're even shoulder-pat person, but this doesn't feel right for Elliott. They're too hesitant, so they must notice the difference between them too.
Elliott looks at their hand, curls his own from inside his pockets, and lets out a shaky laugh. He doesn't want to leave them hanging so he takes it. It isn't firm or professional or normal by any means. It's more of just an awkward, extended hand-hold. He smiles at them, saying, "You can touch me, you know. I think we're well past handshakes."
Carefully, Bloodhound removes their hand. "Yes, I… suppose we are."
There's a smile in their voice that only makes Elliott's wider. Then they take a few steps closer that startle the raven on their arm. He tilts his head as if to regard Elliott for the first time as they've moved closer. Elliott doesn't mind, he's too caught up in the way Bloodhound's hand reaches up to ghost over his cheek. The two of them are not very close, not as close as they have been, but much closer than usual. Enough for him to feel the wiggling tingle of something hot in his stomach. Not unlike other emotions he has, Elliott can't really figure it out. He might've been able to pinpoint it if he wasn't so warm in the green room wearing a heavy jacket but all he knows now is a little excitement, a little arousal, and a little surprise. There's not much he cares about aside from these few seconds that seem to work in slow motion.
Bloodhound's rough glove touches his cheek with all the confidence and patience in the world. They carefully cup Elliott's face much like they had the night before. Their thumb strokes his beard in the same slow way, but the only difference is he's looking in the eyes of someone's so plainly familiar rather than someone he's constantly learning something new about. They're both Bloodhound, he understands, but now, without all the distracting arousal, the moments meld like iron.
Suddenly, Bloodhound nods sternly and retracts their hand. Elliott stands still in a dumb, smiley haze. They step away with another nod before turning to leave completely. Arthur ruffles his feathers and hops closer to Bloodhound's shoulder. Before they can take a turn around a mossy tree, Elliott can't help but try to stop them.
"W-wait!" He blurts out. Bloodhound pauses in their tracks to look back at him a lot like they did… last night and the night of the house party. He must be predictable by now. Elliott flounders in the attention. "Um! Uh… food? Maybe?"
Bloodhound's head sways to the side. "Oh, yes. I am sorry, Elliott. But I did plan on going hunting with Arthur this evening. We must pack. Perhaps another time."
"O-oh. Yeah, cool. That's a whole different kind of food I was thinking of too." Bloodhound nods gently, almost like a bow. They don't leave so Elliott thinks he might look like he wants to say something. He should probably just say it. Clearing his throat, he asks, "Hey, uh, do you think…? Do you- uh. We could maybe. Do this again? Maybe?"
They turn toward Elliott fully now but don't say a word. He winces, thinking they don't know what he's asking. Elliott puts his hands up so he can gesture between the two of them in hopes that helps. "Could we… um? See each other, I guess? Again? Like, outside of work? Maybe without the mas--"
"Perhaps," they interrupt. Elliott blinks. He stares at them like they might continue but they don't. Instead, they leave quietly so that Elliott is alone with his thoughts. It feels a bit like he's suffocating in this green room and isn't sure if it's because he touched a weird leaf or is too excited about these new steps in his friendship with Bloodhound. He's pretty sure it's the good option.