Twenty years. Twenty years since the war ended and Mattias Kohler still couldn't lose the ghosts that haunted his trembling fingers. The cigarette held limply between his digits damn near missed his lips as he leaned precariously against the railing. Fucking jitters. It made men of all sorts look at him like he was some kind of invalid—to him, that would be the furthest thing from the truth. He'd have clicked his teeth at the infuriating thought, but he wasn't in the mood to eat a tobacco filter.
"—to the east, there's been reports of some kind of explosion—" the news, once forgotten, barely registered itself in his head as it droned on in the distance. Another attack? Probably. Who was it this time, Callisto? Chaotiq? Or another two-bit villain looking to make a quick name for themselves; consequences be damned? Either way, it was a waste of time. Matt finished his cigarette, the man's mood effectively soured by all the ruckus his television was making. He eased off the already suspiciously leaning balcony railing and the massive, toned alpha silently returned to his shitty apartment.
Ksssht.
His sliding door shut with a bit of a struggle behind him—veterans' services and his 'lifetime compensation' barely afforded him a run-down apartment in a seedy neighbourhood, but he wasn't complaining. The occasional fight with his neighbors gave him an excuse to blow off some steam. Not that he was a violent or disruptive person; despite being raised as a child soldier in the First Apocalyptic War, Matt kept his head down like any other model citizen should. So as soon as he stepped into his tiny living area, Matt reached for the old remote on the side table next to his couch.
"—which agency has won the bid, but we expect someone to arrive on the scene in the next—"
Click.
Silence filled the space once again, leaving the man with an overwhelmingly bitter taste in his mouth. One he had no desire to keep, so he tossed the remote haphazardly onto the busted leather couch and shrugged off his emotions before he'd take the hall to his left and head into the kitchen. If he went in there looking like a kicked puppy, he'd never hear the end of it. As if on cue, the sudden, unexpected halt of background prattle drew a new sound from the direction Matt was walking in.
"Couldn't stand it anymore, huh?" a soothing, familiar voice fluttered to his ears before he even reached the old, barely functioning kitchen.
Matt could feel the tension melting from his shoulders as he got to the threshold and leaned idly against the ugly beige wall. That very shade made up the one singular color his drab apartment was.
"Drives me nuts. Everyone knows it's gonna be Apex who takes the job."
"Ugh. Can we not talk about work right now? Please? Pretty please?"
That was stupidly close to an omega whine, but Guise Williams never needed to resort to that sort of thing. Not with Matt. The other man had him wrapped around his pretty, delicate omega fingers. His stomach curled in on itself at the scent, but Matt kept that part to himself. "Sure, what's for dinner?"
"Chicken lasagna!" Guise said, turning away from the counter he'd been hovering over to look up at Matt instead. "I'm just working on the last layer. Wanna help?"
"Yeah. I do."
Matt lazily shoved himself off the wall and his bare feet padded along the old, yellowed tiles as he went. However, he got thwarted from reaching his destination just as he neared the finish line.
"Wait, hold up a second."
His body instinctively both bristled with defiance and froze obediently as the boy wandered up to him—no. He was a man, now. They weren't kids anymore. Guise's faint, freshly fallen snow and mint ice cream scent briefly caught the larger man's nose just as he got in close. Those slender fingers found their way to Matt's obsessively groomed, clean bearded stubble before they tickled upward in a fashion that had his eyes lidded over.
Deep lines formed on Guise's face as he frowned up at him. "... Your veins are showing. When was the last time you went to the hospital?"
"I don't remember."
"Matt!"
"I refuse."
"But—"
"No buts," he said. His eyes hardened briefly until they morphed and Matt shot the shorter man a gentle, charismatic smile. "I'll be fine for a while longer. Promise. C'mon, you said you were starving, right? I can't believe they brought you all the way out to the studio and they didn't even feed you."
"... If you say so."
That was likely as good an out as Matt was going to get. He watched the blond-haired, fantastically blue-eyed man slump away before he turned back on his heels and returned to his task. It gave Matt the opportunity to relax somewhat—enough to let his stupidly shaky hand thread through shorter, but not terribly so, black locks. His hair was a mess. He'd have to shower after Guise went home. There was no way in hell Matt was going to be vulnerable and compromised with him in the house. The caution was certainly justified; as an omega, the other man was an anomaly.
A mesmerizing one, but an anomaly nonetheless. And Guise, the ethereal, six foot one beauty that was lean, muscled and had the masculine smile of a supermodel, most certainly didn't live in his backwater apartment. He was too good for that. Not because the mischievous, bubbly man ever held such an arrogant thought, but most certainly because Mattias believed it to be the case. No one could tell him otherwise. Not even the man of the hour himself.
"... Earth to Matty."
Mattias flinched, immediately shifting back into work mode. "Sorry. Got distracted." Heavy limbs lumbered into his cramped kitchen that was definitely not made for his six foot four stature. Not that he was all that impressive, mind you. Most alphas were massive these days—natural babies were a thing of the past. A relic of better times. Times before humanity played god and flew too close to the sun. Perfection had a terrible price and the blood of billions almost wasn't enough to sate it. And if everyone was beautiful, nobody was.
At some point, during his wandering thoughts, Mattias had forced the water on at his slightly rusty metal sink. He washed his hands properly, dried them and then started helping with the finishing touches. Guise hummed as they went, though his usually melodic tone held something of a false air to it; the alpha knew he was worried, but he didn't want to talk about how he was feeling. He changed the subject properly this time—"how was the photoshoot?"
"Dull. Long. Family friendly, at least. I kept having to do retakes because my idea of being 'heroic' doesn't exactly include standing around with a bottle of ice cream drizzle."
Okay, shit. That made him laugh. Smirking like an idiot jock, Matt winked playfully. "It doesn't? Huh. Sounds unreasonable. You shoulda thought of that before you joined an agency and became a hero."
Apparently, Matt's teasing earned the currently shirtless man a blast of cold air. He might have yelped were he not so damn used to it. All Guise got out of him was a tense hiss and a slight jump, followed by another small laugh.
The smaller man pouted for a moment. "Shut up! I didn't think it would be like this!"
That made Matt's eyes crinkle. "Yeah. I know. Not exactly the 'new American dream' we were promised."
"Better than the war," Guise said. Mattias caught sight of the smaller man's shoulders crumpling as he leaned over his masterpiece and sprinkled some oregano.
"... If you say so."
"How are you holding up?"
Fuck. The elephant in the room. Matt had to think of something, and quickly—"I'm good. I already told you. Are you on call tonight, or are they finally giving you some space to eat, sleep, and breathe?" he could feel the tension in the air. It subconsciously stiffened his exposed upper body and likely would have spiked his scent with something unpleasant. You know, if he wasn't hopped up on scent blockers to all hell. The omega wouldn't be able to smell Matt as he is, and that was perfect by design. It was also why he could hardly smell Guise. It got to where he only caught a hint of something sharp wafting up when the other man shifted with obvious displeasure.
"I have the night off. Who knew flying down to the next city over and back again would earn me some extra time?"
"Pigs have flown too, I guess."
"Don't jinx it!" Guise's almost shrill panic made Matt's stomach clench with immature delight as he worked.
A piece of stray cheese that had absconded onto the counter got plucked up and tossed his way. Unable to react in time, it bounced off his cheek and Mattias' deep, baritone voice held a more relaxed lilt to it as he laughed for the millionth time. Guise always put him in a good mood; his innocence was infectious. Probably why he was so popular with the masses. You know, aside from the whole being Apex's darling hero thing. "I'm done with the cheese. Here," the bowl slid Guise's way as he spoke, and once he'd made sure it wouldn't fall off the counter, Mattias backed off.
His kitchen was L-shaped with barely enough space for one of them, let alone two, and most certainly not the two of them. He'd already slunk back to the entryway, crossing his arms over his now chilled, naked chest.
"Thanks!"
"No problem. I just appreciate you stopping by and helping me out. You know you don't have to waste your off time coming out here and cooking for me, right?"
"I know. But I like it, so…"
Matt could feel the sad smile before he saw it on the boy's face. "Too bad Apex won't let you make your own food."
"Not even a midnight snack! What am I, a member of Marble and Flower?"
"Last I checked, you aren't posting lewd videos for the agency to make extra money, so. No?"
Guise's tongue clicked, and the grated cheese he'd been sprinkling over the top layer of his masterpiece began freezing before it even landed. "It's like they're nothing but sex objects. Aren't they supposed to be a hero agency? You know, where heroes go to work together to crack down on supe crime."
"Nah. They're that first thing you said. Definitely."
That earned him a bewildered look that made Matt's eyes narrow with amusement.
"Can you not!?"
"Yeah, sorry. I don't mean you. Apex is the top agency in Illinois for a reason. They don't sell sex. They just sell ice cream advertisements."
"We help people, Matt. Save them. Without us, the alternative would be death and suffering."
"... I know. My bad."
"You're still lucky you're not a supe, or you'd be in the same boat I am."
They'd already had this exact conversation a million times before, and every time they spoke, it never changed a single thing. Matt decided now was a good time to drop the subject, so he pushed himself off the wall and made his way over to the smaller man, uncrossing his arms as he did. Guise had just finished the last of the work, and the omega had only just anxiously moved to place it into his ancient gas oven in the process when Mattias approached. He waited until the last second to snatch the deep dish lasagna pan from Guise's hands, motioning further away with his head.
"I'll do it."
"Thanks. It hurts more when I'm this tired."
"Probably why they don't let you near the kitchen?" Matt's body shuffled so he could bend over sideways to open the pre-heated oven and slip the tray onto the rack. Heat radiated over his chilled flesh, and as uncomfortable as the temperature contrast was, he'd rather do it himself than watch Guise stomach the pain.
"Maybe? I mean, sounds like a good PR excuse for 'we don't want our popular heroes getting fat, it's bad for business.'"
Matt couldn't stop the bitter snort that left him and erased any lingering mirth he once held. "Helping people really does come after they get their bag, I suppose."
"We make a metric tonne of cash off winning job bids, you know!"
"Right. That's the only reason they aren't an ad agency to begin with."
Matt felt a swift hand collide with his left biceps. With a quiet grunt, he tipped his head toward the hall that led back to the living room. It also sported his bedroom and the bathroom, but he needed neither of those right now. "Wanna check and see if Flicks has anything good to watch?"
"Yes," Guise practically groaned, "they never let me do anything aside from work out, train, or—"
"Film commercials?"
"Shut up."
At that, Mattias' dumb, jock-look he'd often sported plastered itself onto his face as the pair of them wandered back out toward the living room.
… § …
Darkness had long since fallen and Mattias hadn't bothered getting up to turn on a light. He didn't need to, not with the city lights filtering in through the glass door of his balcony. Now that Guise's easy, calming presence had fled the building, it was warmer in here. And yet, Mattias was far colder without the man than he cared to admit. Alone with his own thoughts, he stared bitterly at the dirty ceiling above him. It was difficult to see, even with his designer baby vision making it far clearer than any nate baby's eyes—naturally conceived and born babies, that was.
A rare breed in a world where everyone can pick their kids' eye color and nose types from a catalogue. Matt wasn't sure they even existed anymore. Not since the war brought them to the brink. Brute forcing the ugly thought from his mind, he clawed painfully at his features, frustration and nausea building inside him to the unfortunate point of bursting. Abruptly stiff, the large man writhed on his back and wrenched himself up, stumbling just before he caught his footing and lightly vaulted over the coffee table to make a break for the bathroom.
Fuck, he knew eating was a garbage idea. Matt hardly made it to his destination before his guts expelled their contents into the sink; it had been long enough since he ate that his enhanced bodily functions had broken it down into a lesser evil experience, but it was one that left him gasping for air all the same. His once porcelain, yellow-stained sink dyed itself grey from the amount of times this had happened to him by now—he stood there like a broken record with a deep, black substance coating the sink. It colored his mouth equally ebony, staining his teeth, tongue, and lips.
That trembling in his hands spread to the rest of him as he reached for the light switch and flipped it on. Dull hazel eyes stared back at him in the mirror; listless and devoid of anything other than a dazed numbness. His fingers clutched the edge of the countertop to keep himself steady, dizzy as he was, so he could check himself over properly—shit. Guise was right. The thin veins leading to and from his eyes had tinted with a visible blackness that resembled something out of a horror movie. You know, or a zombie series. That thought pulled a faint, breathy laugh from him, and it was almost enough to bring him down from the physical strain he'd just gone through.
Even now, the vestiges of the war were tearing him apart from the inside out. It's why he qualified for the rare compensation package to begin with, but he didn't feel like thinking about that right now. The bitter man spat a glob of black into the already tainted sink moments before he turned the tap on full blast and absently attempted to clean up the sordid mess. Hide the evidence. Always hide the evidence. It took him another good forty minutes just to get the sink back to its usual ugly grey color, but he somehow managed it. It had to be, what, two in the morning? Whatever. He felt gross. Time for a bath.
His bathroom was just as old, dilapidated and cramped as the rest of the place; but the only good thing in his entire setup was in this room. The tub. It was large and deep enough to fit Matt's body. So when nights like these came around and he was too exhausted, too ill to remain standing in the shower, he could run himself a bath and still end up somewhat clean before he attempted to sleep. Not that he did much sleeping these days, but those fitful, feverish nightmares were still a blessing in their own right.
After spending some time rinsing out his mouth with the medicated wash Niklas, his 'family doctor,' had prescribed for him, Matt gave up trying to remove the black stains from his lips and dragged himself into the tub instead.
"What a fucking joke," he said to himself. It was like both his own stubbornness and the rot circulating through his veins had weakened him. Handles turned and the taps in the tub sputtered lamely to life, but at least the water here got hot enough to turn his tanned skin red. Sporting a slightly darker complexion than most men in this neighbourhood had earned him a little ire from those who still remembered what it was like to have foreign army boots on their home soil, but Matt didn't mind. He knew where his heart was. That's all that mattered.
Idle fingers sifted through the spray almost elegantly as he attempted to divert his thoughts from himself. All the same, he failed miserably as he noticed some black lines beginning to form up his arms—had Guise seen that, or was this because of his episode just now? No, the other man would have noticed, and he definitely would have said something if that was the case. Whatever. There was nothing for it now, he supposed. Tremor-sodden hands plugged the old tub up before he started working himself out of his baggy black sweats. And what were damn near knee-length shorts as his form of undergarments. It's not like he was a small man—in any respects—and boxers just weren't enough to secure himself down his left leg without encountering issues.
But of course he wasn't small. Most dads wanted their alpha kids to be stallions, and despite Matt never having met the people who technically birthed him, he knew the type well enough. After the tub finished filling itself, Mattias ended up sliding into the water and remaining like that for a long time. Distant staring accompanied mind wandering to and from dark places, though it wasn't all bad thoughts. Besides, the heat was grounding, comfortable, and it soothed the symptoms of his illness enough to settle his stomach. Once he finished getting himself cleaned up as best he could, Mattias got out, dried himself off, and dragged his barely functioning limbs to his shitty bedroom.
Guise said it had no personality. Maybe he was right. A queen sized bed with black sheets, black pillows, and a black comforter didn't exactly scream anything in particular. But it needed to be like that; bright colors just got stained with grey and patches of black from his night sweats, so there wasn't any point. He supposed the bare walls, plain dresser and empty desk with not but a laptop on it didn't help the room feel any livelier, but he hardly cared. Too exhausted and out of it to get dressed, Mattias threw his nude frame carefully down onto his already unmade bed and squirmed under the blankets.
Now came the hard part. Matt prayed his demons would leave him for at least long enough to get some meaningful sleep, but deep down, the man knew better than that.
… § …
His pleas went unanswered. Hardly surprising, considering he'd lived his life in a way that was surely undeserving of such kindness. Eyes shifted furiously under their lids despite their obvious inability to keep up; it was one rapid hell after another. Impossible scenes melded with established memories to create flashes of deeply unpleasant horrors. Beasts that rooted themselves as his new reality inside Mattias' head entirely against his will. He wasn't sure which was worse—being dragged into the dead Siberian treeline by a supe who could control metal hooks and had embedded them into his shoulders, or the sheer, maddening, deceptive silence of those long Siberian winter nights.
Massive fists clenched into tangled sheets as he barely moved in his sleep, yet Matt somehow felt as though he were thrashing about all the same. It was a strange, tentative slumber that fell somewhere between the waking world and the land of the dead. One that, in his mental delirium, he thought himself safe from all but himself. As such, it was the opposite of odd when hot, foreign fingers clamped themselves around his throat like a deadly vice. It was a grip so powerful that it easily denied him the solace of oxygen, so Mattias responded automatically. As per usual.
His dreams always felt real, but for some curious reason, this one startled him enough to have his world shift from the frost covered heights to the bland confines of his room. The trembling vanished from his hands as his fully grown body stiffened up, instinctively going for a throat chop to deter whoever held him down against the mattress of his own bed. It happened so quickly and was so disorienting that the man hardly registered a massive, hulking form hovering over him in the dark. Instantaneously, the second that flat edge of his palm made contact with the offender's windpipe, there was a garbled choke that otherwise filled the buzzing air.
The vice faltered, granting Mattias an opportunity to suck in a pitiful breath and strike. Unsteadily, Matt aimed a hard kick between the dark figure's legs and he somehow struck true, despite his dimming awareness from the lack of air. The figure grunted and doubled over slightly moments later in what Matt counted as a minor victory. Having hit what definitely felt like his mark, the disadvantaged war veteran successfully pried the fingers away from his windpipe with no small amount of effort, but he succeeded all the same. Once again, Matt's palm rose with a vengeance, but this time it shoved the stunned alpha above him back and away enough for Matt to roll out from under him.
Ragged, greedy gulps of air interrupted what otherwise would have been a smooth transition into a standing position, but Mattias would take what he could get. Bare feet tumbled awkwardly over one another as he swayed with a curiously powerful inebriation that weighed down his limbs; then, in that moment, he realized there was a sharp, uncomfortable throb in the side of his arm. It felt like something had bitten him, but he couldn't be certain, nor did he have time to speculate. No, his body tilted sideways until he ended up crashing against the wall. A hand instantly threw itself out to catch himself upon impact.
What the hell? Sure, he'd had many handicaps in his dreams before, but this one made his heart hammer in his chest as though it were legitimately trying to navigate both the sludge that had gathered inside his blood and whatever the hell was dragging him down. Weight or no, it didn't stop the adrenaline kicking in and activating his alpha instincts, muted as they were with all the prescriptions he'd been taking. A stark, inhuman snarl exited from the part of his throat that was anatomically animalistic and physically built to produce that kind of sound to begin with.
That seemed to snap the figure out of whatever stun-lock he'd been in; rightfully so, as every deep, reverberating rumble Mattias loosed into the air between them dripped with raw, masculine superiority. It was a challenge, plain and simple, yet unhinged in a way that only a beast on the ropes might make. Snarling bought him only a fraction of a moment to recover his footing, seeing as any alpha worth their salt would be physically compelled to respond in kind, and respond he did.
That sound. That fucking sound. It was deeper, richer, far more powerful and surrounding than Mattias ever imagined. Every ounce vibrated through Matt's core, shooting his hair on end and rattling his brain hard enough that his precious few seconds unravelled before they even began. Somehow, it annihilated Mattias' chemically induced, dulled senses and ruined his sense of security all at once. Frozen in place and facing his bed as his body naturally snapped to an attention he'd never once experienced before in his life, Matt saw the faint flash of a dark shape moving through the night towards him.
Before he had the chance to brace himself for impact, a fist brutalized the side of his face with such violence that he felt his lip split open, splattering tainted blood across his ugly beige carpet. Oxygen fled his lungs just as quickly as he'd nearly caught his breath, prompted by the thick, stupidly massive fist that thrust itself against Matt's abs. The uppercut sent his diaphragm into a spasm; if the blow hadn't done it, then the wall cracking from the sheer force of Matt's body being mercilessly driven against it definitely would have.
Dazed and faltering, Mattias did the only thing he could think of as the monster approached to pin him in—he dropped into a squat and tackled the man's leg. It forced the bastard back onto his bed with a grunt, and from that moment on, it was a struggle full of primal alpha savagery that spilled more unnecessary blood than it established any dominance. Screw this dream, Mattias absolutely refused to let another alpha take his territory out from under him; logic be damned.
Difficult or nearly impossible as it was to fight properly whilst in the nude, Matt refused to back down so easily. A flurry of cracking bones, splitting flesh and blood splattering about just barely cut through the red tunnel that had become his vision. For a moment, it seemed like Matt was on the verge of winning.
Until it didn't, and in a few fluttering blinks, Mattias' world shattered beyond what he could conceivably fix.
Despite his rage creating a cocktail of savagery with his alpha instincts and the survival reflexes he developed during the war, whatever the fuck was wrong with him had his heart working too hard and too fast in his chest. It felt as though it would explode any moment now; and when his rapidly heaving chest could no longer suck in ragged, choked breaths quickly enough, his legs gave out from under him. Falling to his knees, the kick to the side of his head was all it took to send Matt crumpling to the side.
Ringing was the only thing he could hear as a clothed fist gripped his hair and threw him onto his back properly. Splaying out in a fashion he'd never have wanted anyone to see him in—it bruised his pride more than it rightly should—his inner alpha gnawed at every inch of him to just. Fucking. Move! Desperation subconsciously filled his features, but it was a rare look that turned rancid the moment he got yanked up again and forced to look his attacker in the eyes. Defiance bled from him in waves as his chin darted up, steeled to the agony that was being wrenched around by his hair.
But that all melted away the second he caught sight of two irises that burned with a hidden flame behind them. They were as mesmerizing, as gorgeous, and altogether terrifying, as they were unspeakably familiar. For the first time in two decades, Mattias came face to face with his single, largest solitary failure in his life. It was difficult to say what kind of expression he might have been making, considering the myriads of emotions that coursed through his failing brain—
"... No," he said. The sound of his foreign, weak, garbled hiss refused to register in his mind as being his own; "you're dead."
A car passed by on the streets below, temporarily bathing the room with a slow, travelling light. It briefly illuminated the beast of a man that was wearing all black stealth gear. Gloved fingers lifted themselves to tug at the scarf that covered the lower half of his face, revealing the unmistakable visage of a ghost long buried beneath the endless snows of Siberia. Those glowing, dead eyes stared directly through Matt in a way that made him feel like an insignificant child all over again—but the feeling didn't last long, because that man's signature smirk plastered itself wickedly onto his face seconds prior to his head coming down with ludicrous strength against Matt's.
His world went black almost immediately, and he faintly realized the ghost of his dead best friend had been holding back the entire time.