shout out to noemi for listening to me suffer over this fic the other day.

content warnings: lawless being a shit fool, asphyxiation (brief, not overly descriptive), blood drinking (but not really because lawless fantasizes about it for like one line).

Lawless really shouldn't have provoked Licht tonight.

It's just. Ugh. Japan. They're going to Japan and that means a plane; it's been a while since he's flown, and while it's better than a boat, he's still going to be above open water.

So he's annoyed. And. And Licht is just so fun to tease, he couldn't help but take his frustration out on his Eve, and now they're stuck in a room together again.

And Crantz sucks, so he booked them a single room. Also again. Guildenstern, the traitor, abandoned him to his fate; some subclass he is.

"Shit rat," Licht is saying, pulling him out of his sulking. "I'm taking the shower first, since you got us into this."

"You kicked me first," Lawless insists, and it's true, Licht had done so; but Lawless had goaded him into it, spent almost a whole half hour this time riling him up.

Licht scoffs, too worn out to deal with him. His jaw is bruising, which is mostly why Crantz was angry—Licht has an interview tomorrow before their flight and Lawless's rings left a harsh cut in the skin that'll be difficult to explain.

Still, Lawless feels maybe the slightest bit guilty, so he doesn't whine further about the shower like he might have otherwise.

"Ughhh," he groans to himself when he can hear the water running. He flops face first onto the bed, scrunching his face at scratchy feeling of the hotel sheets.

Japan, he thinks again, and that's where—it's where Sleepy Ash vanished, he remembers, bitterness clogging his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, gripping the sheets tight. Don't think about it.

Lawless thinks about other things. All of Love had gone to Japan, he remembers, saying something about looking for Sleepy Ash, but he'd heard from World End that they had settled down with a human family during the war.

It would be nice to see All of Love again, he thinks, his grip on the sheets loosening; he's still upset with them, but considering their situation, he can't blame them too much for the choice they made. And The Mother is in Japan, too—she had mailed him a few years ago to let him know she had settled down with her Eve in Aomori, and he misses her more than he's comfortable admitting even to himself.

Lawless doesn't notice when the water stops. He only realizes when he hears the door open so abruptly that the knob hits the wall with a smack, startling him into pushing himself up onto his elbows.

He looks up at the wrong time. Steam follows Licht out of the bathroom, clinging to his bare skin as he steps out with his usual grace. Lawless can't help the way his eyes follow him, tracking the wet curl of his hair at the back of his neck and the towel hung low at his hips. Ethereal, he thinks, is a good way of describing Licht then.

It takes effort to look away, but Lawless drops his face back onto the sheets, trying not to groan. The frames of his glasses dig sharply into his skin, but he doesn't care; it's better than watching Licht, feeling the growing ache of something other than hunger simmering in his gut.

"Hey. Stupid Hyde, if you're finally gonna die, don't do it on the bed where I'm going to sleep."

Hyde. Licht doesn't call him by his name often, and it makes something pull in his chest, the back of his throat hot with a need he refuses to acknowledge.

"I'm not dead, you cruel angel-chan," he mutters into the bed. Lawless knows Licht wants him to move, but he remains where he is; Licht makes a disgruntled noise, cursing him under his breath in German. Lawless expects a kick or something, but just hears the rustling of fabric as his Eve dresses.

Thank god he hadn't looked back up.

But then, not even moments later, Licht is stepping around the frame of the bed and Lawless can feel damp fingers at his neck. He jerks, surprised, but Licht already has his fingers curling at the back of his shirt into a tight grip as he forces him to roll onto his side.

"If you're going to shower, hurry the fuck up, you shitty rat," Licht says, and Lawless almost chokes on a breath; Licht's chest is still bare, as are most of his legs—he's put on his boxers, but nothing else, and Lawless wildly glances anywhere but at the way Licht's dark hair is clinging to his flushed cheeks.

"I can't do that if you're holding onto me, Licht-tan," he snaps, and Licht stares down at him, narrow eyed before releasing his grip on Lawless's shirt.

Lawless practically rolls onto the floor as he hurries off the opposite side of the bed, almost forgetting to pull a change of clothes out of his open suitcase before dashing into the bathroom.

He's careful not to slam the door the way he wants to, turning the lock and sucking in shaky breaths. The air in the bathroom is still warm and heavier than usual with steam, and since it's one of those days, he carefully doesn't glance toward the damp mirror above the sink as he takes off his glasses and strips out of his clothes. He removes his rings and bracelet last, reluctant. He doesn't take off his dogtag.

The heat of the shower is nice. Lawless turns the tap of the shower until it's almost scalding, determined not to turn the water cold, because he's not going to think about Licht. He's not.

And he doesn't. Lawless doesn't think about much of anything, methodically scrubbing himself clean and washing his hair—he draws the process out, taking as long as he can until the water begins to come out lukewarm and he has no choice but to stop hiding in the shower.

At least the mirrors are nicely fogged, so he doesn't have to look at himself as he dries off and changes into a clean pair of sweats and an old uniform shirt from one of his part time jobs.

He carefully puts his rings and bracelet back on and then takes his glasses off the edge of the sink without putting them on as he leaves the bathroom. Licht is still wide awake, sitting cross legged on the bed in his boxers and sifting through sheet music. He's doing that thing again, where he twitches his fingers against his thigh as though dragging them across the keys of an invisible piano as he reads.

It's not endearing. Lawless crushes the warmth that wells up inside of him at the sight, hating Licht with every fiber of his being and himself even more.

"Better make room, Licht-tan," he says, keeping his voice light and sing-song as he drops his glasses on the night stand, "Because I'm not sleeping on the floor like last time."

"Fuck off, shit rat," Licht says distractedly; Lawless isn't entirely sure Licht even processed what he said, so he rolls his eyes and drops himself onto his half of the bed instead.

The mattress creaks and the papers in Licht's lap shift. He makes an annoyed sound, sliding his gaze from the sheet in his hand to give Lawless a narrow eyed glare. He smiles, pointedly keeping his own eyes on Licht's face and not the slope of his shoulders or the length of his bare legs.

"I thought I told you to fuck off," Licht snaps, his grip on the paper going tight enough that it starts to crumple. "Sleep in your cage or something."

"Hell no. It's not comfortable for sleeping—and anyway, Crantz will be mad at you if he comes in tomorrow morning and sees me in there again."

Licht mutters, but doesn't refute Lawless's justification because it's true; Crantz will get mad. Again. So he goes back to his sheet music, and Lawless worms his way under the covers. This time, Licht doesn't snap at him for the way the bed creaks and the papers slip.

Lawless intends to at least pretend to go to sleep, but the sight of Licht's fingers curving over imaginary keys is distracting. Pale flesh stretched over thin, elongated bone—Lawless wonders how they can be so pretty.

Beneath the covers, Lawless curls his own fingers inward, focusing on the weight of his rings. He uses his thumb to slide the one on his ring finger around, comforted by the slide of warm metal against his usually cool skin.

He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes. Wonders if he should sleep on the floor after all. When he opens his eyes again, the first thing he sees is the pale expanse of Licht's wrist, the blue of his veins starkly visible. Lawless wants to touch him—wants to take his hand, grip his forearm and press his mouth to the pulse of his wrist.

The taste of Licht's strength, his determination, his passion—it lingers in Lawless's mouth. His teeth ache, wanting, but he doesn't take.

His stomach hurts. He pretends his chest doesn't as he closes his eyes again, ignoring the echo of Licht's heartbeat in his own ribs. He focuses on the sound of Licht's breathing, the occasional shuffle of paper as Licht moves his sheet music as he slips gradually into sleep.

Lawless doesn't dream about Sleepy Ash and their parent that night, as he thought he might. He dreams about Licht instead—Licht, too bright and too beautiful as he fits his palms against Lawless's throat, his pretty fingers curling tight enough to dig his nails into the back of his neck as he repeats out a forgotten name in a dead womans voice.

(Wide awake, there is only Licht to witness the discontent twist to his Servamp's mouth, the frantic movement of his eyes beneath the thin flesh of his eyelids and the way he tugs the blankets further around himself—silently, never once crying out.

If Licht murmurs his name—Hyde, Hyde, Hyde—with a touch of his fingers to Lawless's hair until the other is soothed, until his expression eases and his breathing becomes steadier, well. Nobody else will ever know.)