Fang walked past the closed bathroom door on his way to bed just as a loud crash sounded from the other side of it, making him cringe slightly. He rapped a knuckle against the wood with a hint of urgency. He knew who was in there; everyone else was asleep.
"Yeah?" he heard Iggy call from inside and then the door opened to reveal the other bird kid standing there, wearing only grey sweats that rode low on his hips, holding a pair of scissors.
Looking past him into the bathroom, Fang saw the small trash can that had been in a cupboard under the sink toppled over in the middle of the floor. He gave Iggy a questioning look, which of course he was oblivious to.
"What're you doing?" he asked.
Iggy averted his sightless eyes and shrugged, lifting the hand holding the scissors and using the other to gesture to his mess of straight pale ginger hair, muttering, "It felt a bit long."
Understanding dawned on Fang and he felt a pang in his chest. He stepped closer to Iggy and gently took the scissors from his hand.
"Sit," he said, and Iggy obeyed without protest, going to the toilet and sitting down on it.
Fang picked up the garbage can and brought it over to the toilet then stood in front of Iggy with the scissors. He ran a hand gently through the other boy's hair, which was pretty long. He liked how it looked, falling over Iggy's eyes in the front and nearly to the collar in the back, but if Iggy wanted it cut, Fang wanted to help, knowing he must have been frustrated by how difficult it would be to do it himself.
Cupping the back of Iggy's head, Fang tipped it a bit forward and started at his bangs. As he worked, he noticed how strangely intimate the task seemed, how he was probably touching Iggy a bit more than necessary, how he couldn't seem to stop, how much he didn't want this moment of quiet closeness to end.
Iggy remained extremely still and silent as Fang cut his hair, having to clench his jaw against pleasured noises that built in his chest and crawled up his throat. He shouldn't have let Fang do this. He knew he could have done it himself, albeit with difficulty. But he hadn't stopped Fang and he didn't now. He liked the other boy's touch too much.
Finally, and all too soon, Fang put the scissors down (Iggy heard the soft clink of the metal on the counter) and stepped back. Iggy felt a soft, warm touch on his hand and "looked" up toward the boy he could sense right before him. Fang pulled him up gently and he followed the counter to where he knew the mirror was and started into the darkness of his world, trying to imagine it. He couldn't.
He brought his hands up to his head and felt his hair, following a strand out to the end in a few places to test the length. It was slightly longer in the front than back and seemed even.
"How's it look?" he asked Fang.
"Good. It looks good, Iggs," Fang said quietly.
He nodded, dropping his hands to the counter, and just stared. He knew the mirror was there, knew it would be flat and hard and cool and reflective (glass was weird to touch for colors, especially mirrors) to the touch. But he didn't know what it looked like, what he looked like reflected in it, what Fang looked like beside him. He usually just tried not to think about it but now he couldn't help it. It weighed on him heavily, threatening to pull him under into the sea of depression and self-pity he'd been fighting for so long. Sometimes it seemed like it would be so much easier just to let go, give in to the current.
"Iggy."
He realized a few tears had dripped out and hastily wiped the away but a hand closing over his arm stopped him. Fang turned him around gently and then he was being pulled against the other's chest.
Fang felt him sigh and lean into him, wrapping his arms around his waist. His skin was a little cool but he felt warm against Fang. Iggy was a little taller than him but he fit perfectly, as if he'd been designed just for Fang to hold him. If Fang was designed only to do so, he was perfectly content with his purpose. Max would save the world. Fang would hold Iggy.
Words didn't seem necessary, which was good because Fang had never been good at using them. He felt tight, full to bursting with regrets and desires, but had no idea how to voice them, how to even get it straight in his own head what he wanted.
Iggy. He wanted Iggy.
Wanted to protect him, wanted to make him happy, wanted him. That had been clear to Fang for years. The part he'd struggled with was the part of him that wanted things with Iggy beyond friendship, things that had confused and shamed him and made him run in the opposite direction, to Max. But Max really was only like a sister to him and now she had Dylan and they'd cleared everything up, broken off whatever might have been between them. He'd only ever wanted Iggy.
It was wrong... Wasn't it? Why was it? It didn't feel wrong, not really. Holding him now, like this, after he'd bared a vulnerability to Fang that he usually kept concealed so well, this couldn't be wrong. But this was still firmly in line with the boundaries Fang had set himself, only to be crossed if Iggy took the first step. Fang would not take advantage of him, would do nothing to hurt him, ever. But feeling like this, wanting that, loving him... How could that be wrong?
After what seemed like an eternity in their own little sanctuary of peace but was probably only a few minutes, Iggy pulled back just slightly and Fang loosened his arms reluctantly.
"Thanks," Iggy whispered.
He wanted to just stay there forever. Fang was warm and hard and strong, holding him steady, grounding him. Nothing could hurt him there, nothing could touch him, not even his own insecurities and fears. But they had to get back to reality at some point and Fang was probably tired. Iggy was tired.
"Don't mention it."
Fang was a bit closer than Iggy had thought, their faces just a few inches apart. He could feel Fang there, sense his presence, as clearly as he knew where his own arm was without looking at it. His heart skipped and he had to turn his face away so Fang wouldn't be able to tell how fast his breathing was.
He didn't know what it was, the surreality of the moment, how long he'd waited, how close they'd been. Fang's lines were blurring and he couldn't seem to care, couldn't think about anything other than now, couldn't think about the consequences.
He touched Iggy's cheek, leaning in, breathing softly to let him know where he was, and Iggy didn't move, just stared aimlessly at his face, completely relaxed.
"Fang."
His voice was soft and his lips were softer. Fang kissed him for just a moment, just barely touched those lips with his own before pulling back, lingering just long enough to breathe in his shaky exhale. Then he dropped his hand and turned, walking out of the bathroom and to his room.
