The first time Wooley finds him there, he almost trips over his boots. He yelps a little, slamming a hand against the bulkhead to steady himself, and ARC trooper Rex does look satisfyingly apologetic; he of all people should know the dangers of blocking corridors.
But of course, this one was rarely frequented, except for Wooley, and Waxer and Boil who had first brought him and Longshot here, and apparently now their ARC. Their ARC, who leans up against the corner of Wooley’s favourite niche with a smokeless cig between his lips, knees drawn up to his chest now Wooley’s kicked his feet for him.
“Sorry,” Wooley says. He hopes Rex doesn’t notice how breathless he is and clears his throat. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Wooley,” Rex smiles. “Nothing to worry about. Want to join me?”
Wooley can’t quite tear his gaze away from where it’s drawn to the movement of Rex’s mouth as he settles in beside him. The little white stick that he takes between his fingers to readjust—the way his lips curl around it in a small, private smile.
Candy sticks, Boil calls them. Candy sticks filled with whatever the galaxy can get away with legally hooking their market on. Wooley’s just glad they don’t do the damage Waxer says they used to.
“You want to share?” Rex asks, flicking the cig between his two fingers again and holding it out. Wooley flushes with heat, caught, and takes it from him. Their fingers brush when he hands it back. Wooley swallows, and watching him place it back between his teeth, thinks it suits Rex rather more than it does him.
(He tries not to think about how it felt when it passed between his own lips. How he could cut out the middleman and lean across this tiny gap between them. How Rex might not even object.)
“You down here for any reason, or just to get away?”
“Boil’s arguing with Sepia Company’s Sergeant again,” Wooley sighs. “Just wanted some quiet.”
Rex nods. “I can leave, if you’d like the place to yourself?”
Smiling, Rex lets his head tip back against the wall. He looks over at Wooley, lets his eyes trail down and back up again.
“Always good, spending time with a friend.”
Rex drifts on the wind, or wherever the river flows. As an ARC, with his fancy pauldrons and kama and stunning frame, he’s often pulled to and fro wherever needed. But he wears his 212th gold like a badge of honour, and Ghost was where he made his name, found a home. And Wooley may be one of the shiniest of shinies, but Rex has always come back home, and always with a smile and a story and time for each and every one of them.
So Wooley catches his lip between his teeth and reaches out to touch the hand resting on the floor between them. Rex’s fingers twitch and part subtly to let Wooley’s slip between them, body warmth mingling with durasteel cold. There’s a smile on both of their faces as he squeezes Wooley’s hand. A secret, for the two of them alone.
