Aeton decides he must've gotten soft fighting against laboratory simulations all these years. Why else would Cyril's reveal shock him so much? The man was raised and bred to be a brilliant mind for a weapons tech organization, so it was blatantly obvious how important the country viewed its military.

Still, an all-out war's kinda extreme...

He hasn't seen any mention of it in the news besides reports of unrest from the borders. Most countries are at peace in the year 2146 G.E. (Global Era), with the Earth divided into six distinct nations based on the continents.

Dammit, I don't got time ta worry about this!

His eyes swivel towards the large double oak doors leading to the private study in Cyril's house—no, mansion. Greeting the parents had been a stilted affair, but now Cyril is shut up inside with his guardians talking about who knows what. Just as Aeton's imagination slips into ridiculous scenes of Cyril being house-confined or his mother offering Aeton a handsome check to leave her son alone, the doors creak open and Cyril steps out.

Aeton immediately rises from the white plush leather couch to meet him, anxious. "How d'ya go?" he asks, palms suddenly sweaty.

Cyril looks up at him, then back at the doors. Aeton follows his gaze and sees the pristine and proper couple of upper society walk out side-by-side. They're supposed to be in their fifties, but look remarkably well preserved. The mother could easily pass for 35 as she steps forward and opens her arms.

"Dear," she smiles as brilliantly as sharpened glass. "Welcome to the family."

Aeton gapes at her.

"Don't be shy, son," her husband steps up, looking coolly refined. "After all, you're one of us now."

Aeton stares at him too. Whatever happened to the prejudice of the rich?

"You don't like it?" Cyril's voice pipes up, subdued.

"I, uh," Aeton looks between the expectant parents and Cyril's sharp gaze. "It ain't the usual..." For me to have family like this.

Something must show on his face, because the next second Cyril grabs him by the sleeve and hauls him towards the foyer. "Good, because I don't either."

"Oh darling, you can't mean that!" the woman's voice rises to a screech as they reach the entrance.

"Cyril, at least stay for dinner," the man tries, but Cyril's already walking out the door.

"Cyril, wait! Cyril!"

Cyril doesn't stop. He keeps Aeton with him as the lab processes weapon after weapon, test after test. Aeton tries them out with simulations, against other soldiers, in field tests and the occasional VR pods. He's rarely given a moment to rest, but he hardly cares when Cyril seems to be skipping sleep, period.

During a rare lunch break, Aeton works his way into the researcher's observation room. "Cyril—"

"Don't bother me, I'm busy."

"Did ya eat yet?" Aeton demands.

The silver-haired genius doesn't look up from his computer screen. "I'll eat later. You should rest up before the next trial."

"But—"

"Stop distracting me!" Cyril slams the table. It's the first time he's shown such heat, and it throws Aeton off.

"Ya don't hafta be prissy 'bout it," he snipes back, a little short. "I do it 'cause I care!"

"Well, I don't," Cyril snaps. "You're a nuisance, get out."

Aeton scowls as he bangs his tray of food on the table. "Suit yerself!"

"Take your lunch with you!" Cyril orders as Aeton heads for the exit.

"I already ate! That's yers!" Aeton retorts before slamming the door, startling a poor intern who skirts past him like a frightened deer.

Cyril takes deep breaths, pointedly ignoring the other staff in the room who try to stay invisible. In the end, he picks up a plastic fork and jabs it so hard into the chicken that it snaps the tines.

"I'm close...just a little more..."

—

"Congratulations, congratulations!" the head of Aesir Research is shaking Cyril's hand, his eyes flush with success. "As expected of you, Dr. Cyril. You managed to perfect the weapon before the end of spring!"

Cyril's gaze is about as lively as dead fish, but he still pastes a smile onto his wan features. "Thank you, director."

General Peyton looms behind, but even he has nothing but praise for Cyril on this day. After being paraded around the room of government V.I.P.s, Cyril finally finds a chance to break free and slip into the hall.

Outside, Aeton is waiting while leaning against a wall and flipping a coin.

"Heads, he won't come," the youth grumbles. "I'm gonna try one more time—"

"I'm already here," Cyril breaks in, and Aeton drops his coin in surprise.

"S-so ya are," he stammers, and somehow steps on his fingers while trying to pick it back up.

Cyril stares at him a moment, then starts walking. "Let's go."

"Where to?" Aeton perks up as he scrabbles up the money and trails after him.

"Out. Anywhere but here," Cyril says. Midway down the hall, he takes something out of his tablet and chucks it into a trash can—Aeton gets a glimpse of something that looks like an SD card.

"S'almost dinnertime," he says while catching up easily to the short scientist. "Ya wanna eat out?"

Cyril's eyes slide to him, then back to the front. "No."

"Oh," Aeton falls silent. The past three weeks have been hellish for them both, but he's only had to deal with physical fatigue while Cyril's been run through the mental wringer. The man had completely ignored him after their last spat over lunch and even banned him from the last week of testing trials, leaving him with nothing better to do than linger in the halls and avoid overly suspicious soldiers.

Aeton isn't sure if this is Cyril's way of getting back at him or what, but right now he's more worried about the other's health.

When they finally exit the research institute, Cyril suddenly says, "I want to go to your place."

"Hah?" Aeton blinks.

"Make me dinner," Cyril goes on. "It'll wash out the taste of the lunch you gave me. Then I'll stay the night."

"W-what's this all of a sudden—" Aeton stammers, half pleased with the admission that Cyril did eat his lunch that day and half-terrified that this is all just one elaborate joke from a sleep-starved scientist.

Except Cyril doesn't do jokes. Ever.

"Aren't we married?" Cyril shoots him a look. "Of course we should live together."

"Wait a sec," Aeton blustered, "Ya—ya haven't even moved in yet, I mean—"

"Living together doesn't mean staying in one apartment," Cyril adds, then does something he's never tried before.

He takes Aeton's hand and pulls him close.

Then what does living together mean?! The question echoes in Aeton's head, but he's too busy staring at their entwined fingers to voice it out loud.

Back in the dusty apartment he hasn't visited in three weeks, Aeton looks mournfully at the rotten food in his fridge. "Hey, Cyril," he pauses. "Maybe we should cook at yer place instead?"

Besides his family mansion, Cyril has quarters at the research institute as well as a loft to his name inside the most upscale part of the city. But he shakes his head at the request.

"I don't have any food there. Can you use canned ingredients?"

"Canned..." Aeton opens his cabinets to look at the selection of beans and vegetables. He has some frozen meat in the freezer too, so it's not impossible. "Ya sure ya wanna eat that?"

"Food is food," Cyril says stiffly, as if he isn't the one who ordered a fancy 5-star takeout steak dinner last time. There's a piece of hair that sticks out lopsidedly from his ear and his tie is crumpled as if he'd just woken up from a nap. Aeton hides a smile and indulges him.

"Aite, one tinned masterpiece comin' right up!"

This time he doesn't burn anything, but the meal is pretty bland: canned beets and ground beef with some barely-edible onions, stir-fried with frozen vegetables into a stew. Still, Aeton is surprised to see Cyril inhaling the meal as if it was the best thing he'd eaten in months.

"Whoa whoa, slow down there," Aeton fidgets as Cyril swallows a beet slice whole. "Don't go overstuffin' yerself."

Cyril only shoots him a look. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah?"

"Then stop talking and start eating," the scientist huffs before chowing  on another spoonful.

"Yer gonna regret eatin' so fast," Aeton shakes his head, but picks up his spoon and digs in.

Hours after washing the dishes and settling down on Aeton's beat-up couch in the living room, Cyril plops his head straight onto Aeton's lap, making his heart jolt.

"Ya wanna a pillow...or somethin'?" Aeton tries.

Cyril glares at him. "Aren't you good enough?"

"Uh sure, if yer comfy..."

"I'm sure," Cyril declares. After a moment of shifting around in Aeton's lap, he finally finds a good spot and closes his eyes, still frowning.

Aeton stares at him for a long time before asking, "Ya doin' all right?"

Silence.

"Oi, Cyril?"

Soft breathing answers him. Working up his resolve, Aeton leans down as far as he can to study the man's sleeping face. His dark circles are as deep as ever, but his eyelashes are exquisitely long and delicate. Aeton's breathing stirs them softly, and the sight tickles his heart.

"Why'd I fall in love wit' a troublesom' guy like you..." he murmurs, just in time to hear the other sigh.

The next second, a tear trickles out the corner of Cyril's eye.

Aeton is spooked. He freezes in place to see if Cyril opens his eyes, but the other remains asleep. Carefully he reaches out a hand and brushes the tear away, his calloused fingers exceptionally gentle. Contact with the liquid almost seems to burn his skin, making him realize that this isn't a hallucination.

If that's true, why is Cyril crying?

—

When Cyril wakes a few hours later, the room is dim and the only lights come from the city lights outside the window. He's sleeping on a pillow instead of a lap and hears Aeton in the background humming to himself as he clears the apartment of spoiled food and dust.

"Awake?" Aeton looks over with a grin and Cyril's vision goes hazy for an instant. "Ya want somethin' to drink? I've got, uh, hot cocoa and stuff."

"I thought you were being my pillow," Cyril points out moodily as he adjusts his glasses.

Aeton scratches his head. "Well I didn't want ya breathin' in all the dust, so I thought I'd clean up first."

"Hm," Cyril doesn't argue as he hugs the pillow to his chest. "Then hot cocoa will do."

"Sure!" Aeton agrees cheerfully. "Hey, uh—ya feelin' better after that nap?"

"It was better when you were with me." Cyril's lips thin. "You could have at least moved me to the bed."

Once again, Aeton's heart gives a jolt, this time accompanied with a flush in his cheeks. "I-it ain't bedtime yet, ya know."

"I sleep early."

"Well, ya—ya wanna sleep now?" Aeton's face turns even redder.

"No," Cyril narrows his eyes at him. "You were going to make me hot cocoa."

"R-right!" Aeton fumbles and almost drops a cup. Cyril notices and snorts.

—

When the cocoa is done, Aeton brings both cups to the sofa and sits gingerly next to Cyril. "Be careful, it's hot."

"Mm." When Cyril doesn't protest, Aeton seizes the chance to scoot a little closer and feels a thrill of joy to get no reaction. Most days, Cyril told him to mind his personal space!

They both take sips at the same time and settle into a companionable silence.

"What's gonna happen after this?" Aeton asks after a pause. "Yer done wit' the weapons, right?"

"What happens next with them is none of my business," Cyril says a little sharply, causing Aeton to frown.

"Hey, what's th' matter?" he prods. "Yer been actin' weird fo' a while." If he has to put a finger on it, the strangeness started after his two-week hiatus when Cyril had first been called to work on the latest weapons tech. After that they got married, met the parents, and Aeton had suffered through both a temper tantrum and cold shoulder from the normally impassive scientist. Compared to the Cyril from their first date, this one is moodier, more fickle, and even open to wasting time on spending the night without subtracting it from Aeton's bonuses. (Or maybe he forgot. In any case, Aeton wasn't gonna remind him.)

The Cyril he knows just doesn't do emotions.

Cyril scowls while sipping his drink. "I'm sleep-deprived and stressed, what do you think?"

"Yer always like tha' after a big project," Aeton reasons. "Is it worse this time 'cause...we're goin' to war?"

"Yes." Cyril looks up at the man next to him. "Let's fly out of here."

"Just like that?" Aeton blinks at him. "Where're we goin'?"

"Anywhere," Cyril grumbles. "No, somewhere secluded but civilized will be best. I'll need to keep up with the news..." He suddenly reaches for his tablet on the table. "Give me your Wi-Fi password."

And just like that, Aeton watches Cyril research airlines and tickets for the rest of the evening. When he's washed and changed to an oversized shirt for his pajamas, Cyril suddenly asks, "Do you have a passport?"

"No?" Aeton cocks a brow. It's not like he ever needed to leave the city, much less country, where Cyril lived.

"We're getting you one tomorrow."

"Eh? What for?"

"We're eloping."

"...we're already m-married, Cyril."

"Not with a ceremony. How do you feel about that and a honeymoon in Hawaii?"

Slowly, Aeton sets his cup down and gives Cyril a long, hard look. He even pinches himself for good measure, but the scientist's scowl doesn't fade. Aeton leans in close until they're touching foreheads, then asks in a wondering tone, "I'm not hallucinatin'?"

"No, you idiot," Cyril growls. "I mean what I say. Is that a yes or no?"

"Damn yes! I've always wanted—but why all o' a sudden—"

"Because we're running out of time," Cyril hisses before shoving Aeton back. The taller man flops against the couch, laughing out loud.

"What the hell, Cyril—?!"

"Don't swear," Cyril snaps, before leaning down to peck him on the forehead. The kiss is so soft and sudden that it might have been a fleeing butterfly; Aeton's mind is still catching up when his arms grab Cyril around the hips and hold him fast.

"What." Cyril is scowling with the heat of a hundred suns, his cheeks tinged a pleasant pink.

"Didya just kiss me?" Aeton blurts out.

Cyril gives him an Are You an Idiot look.

"Holy shit."

"Don't swear!"

It's barely an expletive, but Aeton gives in as he succumbs to mirth. "What the everlovin' fu—is that it? Yer finally in love wit' me, ain'tcha? After all these years!"

"So what if I am?" Cyril counters stiffly.

Aeton finishes laughing before he fixes Cyril with a stare. "Why?"

Cyril tries to break free, but the other isn't letting him go anytime soon. "Why what?" he finally asks.

"Why th' change o' heart?" Aeton asks. "It ain't like ya want'd this before."

"Maybe you wore me down," Cyril's reply is evasive. He seems to be looking for an answer too. "Or I came to my senses. Apparently."

When Aeton only looks at him, Cyril shifts awkwardly on the other man's chest and fails to get up—again. "You—"

"Ya didn't ask for perm'ssion to kiss me," Aeton says suddenly.

Cyril freezes.

"But s'alright...s'long as I dun needya ask ya either," Aeton finishes with a smug smirk. He waits for Cyril's inevitable rejection, but the other only hooks his fingers into Aeton's shirt.

"Okay."

"Eh?" Aeton's mind blanks. Wait, what?

The next second his heart stops as Cyril's lips crash against his.