Playing the Long Game

Episode 3A: SMG4 Witnesses the Horrors of War

SMG4 opens his eyes to the golden glow of the morning sun. It beams down on his face, bathing it in a comforting warmth. SMG4 realizes that he can't remember the last time he'd woken up during the sunrise. It feels nice. Maybe he should apply to shady game shows more often.

He rolls his shoulders and stretches, letting out an involuntary yawn. SMG4 is further surprised to notice that despite getting what most call "a normal amount of sleep", he feels the most well-rested he's been in ages. He's got to figure out where Swag got these blankets, because they're comfortable as hell. Especially the really heavy one on top of him. He wishes it wasn't so damp, though.

Wait. Damp?

SMG4 blinks. He sits himself up a bit to get a better angle on his stomach. He locates the source of the dampness pretty quickly. SMG3, still asleep, rests his head peacefully on SMG4's belly. A small trail of drool dribbles from the corner of his mouth.

Egh. SMG4 grimaces, hesitantly wiping a spot of it off his shirt and onto one of the heart-shaped pillows next to him. At least he's not leaking any other fluids.

SMG4 considers waking SMG3 up, but something gives him pause. It must be the first time he's seen him like this: jaw unclenched, muscles relaxed... SMG4 wonders if he's ever seen SMG3 so at peace. The man's always getting intense about something. He'd probably look more attractive to people if he loosened up once in a while. It's no wonder he barely has any friends.

SMG4 tilts his head. The dark circles under SMG3's eyes look especially bad this morning. It could be his makeup– did 3 always wear makeup? SMG4 thinks he'd remember if he did. It sounds like something he would have made fun of him for a few years ago. Then again, SMG3 would never let him get this close unless he was strangling him–

SMG3's eyes flutter open.

The two's gazes meet, and for the few seconds that this silence lasts, neither man can bring himself to say anything. SMG4 swears he can see SMG3's pupils dilate.

Then the bedside alarm clock starts screaming in Swag's voice. "WAKE THE FUCK UP SCRUBS!"

"JESUS FUCK–" SMG3 yells, jolting upright and slamming his forehead into SMG4's. SMG3 recoils instantly, tipping back too far and tumbling off the bed with a thud.

SMG4 rubs his head. So much for a peaceful morning. He crawls out from under the covers towards the edge of the bed, peering over at SMG3.

"...Hey man, are you alright?"

SMG3 is sprawled out on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. "Mmrph... yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He groans, wincing as he pulls himself into a sitting position. "If I get a bruise from this, I'm kicking your ass."

"I dunno man, I'm not the reason you broke your ass." SMG4 shrugs. "That was all you."

"Whatever." SMG3 scoffs, grappling around for his suitcase. "I'm gonna go get ready for that stupid challenge."

Ball of clothes in hand, SMG3 stumbles to his feet and marches to the bathroom. He sleepily swings his hand around to shut a door that isn't there.

Instead, it whiffs against the bead curtain– "OW!" –and smacks into the doorframe.

SMG4 snickers to himself, reaching towards the nightstand for his phone–

He grabs nothing but air.

The fuck?

He whips his head around the room. Where is his phone? It's not under the sheets, is it? SMG4 rolls out of bed, tearing the layers of blankets off the bed one by one. Any moment now, he'll hear the distinct thunk of his phone falling to the ground, right? He JUST had it, didn't he? It was– god, when did he last have it? Where the hell did he put–