Your Fic about Crypto taking care of Mirage is so cute!! I really like the idea of an embarrassed Crypto doing his best to take care of Mirage. But please allow me to show you another situation, Crypto looking for Mirage to pass the time and finds him in his room crying, Mirage says nothing and Crypto just stays there to comfort him.
Mmmm yes I love me some angsty boys. Thank you for the request!!!!
Tired eyes were glued to the inner workings of the surveillance drone, the hacker replacing busted components and making any necessary repairs to its chassis. He had been working for hours, but he was almost finished, almost done. He just needed to fix the drone's optic and he should be done.
The optic was smashed earlier, Pathfinder accidentally hooking his grappling hook directly into the poor drone's glass optic, shattering it and giving Park a heart attack at suddenly being blinded. Safe to say his drone was useless the rest of the match, only used to EMP whenever the situation called for it. Park kept getting hit with it as well, so he was just about finished with anything that was capable of electrocuting and startling him.
After finishing, though, he decided he didn't want to sleep. His body may be exhausted, but his mind continued to race with thoughts. None were unpleasant; he just wanted to expand on them more, explore what they meant and how they could be more.
However, he didn't want to be left alone with them all night. His mind tended to drift off into different subjects entirely, and they'll likely be ones that make his heart ache and ruin any chance of enjoying his night. There was a guaranteed way of keeping the negative thoughts at bay, though.
Wrapping up his work, placing his drone's chassis back where it belongs, the hacker rose from his chair, stretching out to ease the stiffness in his joints, before he left his room.
Elliott was sometimes wandering the drop ship at night. One could find him staring off into the distance outside, leaned against a rail and enjoying a drink—never anything too alcoholic, nothing that would make him incoherent. Sometimes, he would be watching TV in the lounge, eating a bag of chips, sipping on a can of soda. Other times, he was in his room, working on a project or messing with his suit. There was rarely any other place he was found, Park discovered.
That being said, he tried outside first. There wasn't any sign of him there, however. Afterwards, he checked the lounge. No TV showing the newest episode of that drama Elliott was so fond of, so he wasn't here either. Lastly, Park went to Elliott's room, knocking gently on the door. Surprisingly, he was met with silence.
That's weird, Park thought, knocking again. He's not asleep, is he…?
He recalls Elliott always mentioning that he didn't mind it if Park came inside his room without the other knowing. Park never really went in without permission; he values privacy, and he wouldn't want to invade Elliott's for no reason other than concern.
He'd gently knock again, waiting, before he was yet again met with uninterrupted silence. Quietly, he'd turn the doorknob and push it open, peeking inside.
Elliott's room was always neat and tidy. All of his merchandise and gear was always set in their designated spots and cleaned to perfection. The bed was always made, the floor was never cluttered, and the small workbench he had in his room never appeared messy, components and tools never splayed about haphazardly. It was a contrast from Park's own room—always messy, too busy to get around to cleaning up—so he was surprised to find it in a disarray.
Paper was spread across the floor, his bedspread was unmade, and, sat at his desk, head in his hands with shoulders shaking, was Elliott, quiet sobs muffled by those gentle hands. He was in his pajamas, likely having just woken up, but Park never knew; he was relatively oblivious to what went on in Elliott's room after everyone went to bed, only to the fact that, much like himself, the trickster was an insomniac with a habit of keeping himself awake with work or phone calls.
With his phone thrown on the floor, Park was assuming it was the latter.
Elliott rarely, if ever, talked about his issues, which is something Park himself related to—almost too much. He was always donning that sunny disposition, all glamour and smiles. He never liked people seeing his sadness, knowing that he was suffering. He was a people pleaser, and people weren't pleased when he wasn't charming.
And, as always, Park lacked the knowledge to console him. He knew little about his mother's condition, the fluctuating memory loss, but he didn't know just how severely it affected Elliott sometimes. He was strong, probably stronger than Park ever could be, but he could break, just like everyone else, as much as he wouldn't admit it. But he was never good at comfort, even before the Apex Games. He was never one his foster sister went to for support. He was never the one to ask for support. He was always alone, so he never developed those skills everyone seemed to have, able to hug someone and make everything go away.
So, that's what he did. He treaded through the papers without stepping on them, avoided startling the other, and, gently, his arms slid over the other's shoulders, head coming just beside Elliott's. The trickster froze for a moment, face moving away from his hands for a second to see just who the intruder was, but he immediately relaxed upon seeing familiar hands hanging delicately against his chest. Park's hugs were never warm and inviting, always a little awkward and stiff, but this one—it was tight and caring.
It was enough to cause more tears to pour out, for Elliott's hand to gently grip the other's wrists and let all of the weight that pulled him under release its hold. Park merely stood behind him, pressing his forehead against the side of his head, never speaking nor uttering a sound. There was nothing he could say that would make it all better—couldn't say "it'll all be okay," because it won't, and he wasn't one for false hope. He just let the other cry, let the pent up sorrow flow, simply being there for him in the only way he knew how.
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