From the fluff prompts, "Are you sure you’ll be alright?” for coldwave or atomwave
//Coldwave or Atomwave? I choose option C. this is Fluff, Soph-style. Thank you for your request, this was very fun to write!!
Mick didn‘t even look up when he heard his door slide open, knowing that the only one who would come see him was Ray. No one else would dare to come into his room in the middle of the night. No one else was allowed to, anyway. Gideon knew to keep his door locked for anyone but Ray.
The boots that entered his line of vision, however, were very much not Ray‘s.
He looked up at that, away from the heat gun he was cleaning, into Snart‘s face.
„What do you want?“ he asked with a grunt, and watched as Snart perched himself on his work desk, legs crossed over one another in a show of casualty.
„Raymond said you were moping again“, Snart replied after a few moments, idly picking through the tools on Mick‘s desk. Mick pushed down the urge to punch him in the face for it.
„I ain‘t moping, and Haircut can come talk to me himself.“
„Clearly you‘re not moping, you‘re just cleaning your spotless gun for the fun of it. Raymond is all out of it because you shouted at him, so clearly you‘re just peachy.“
Mick sighed and very deliberately took his time to put the gun aside on the bench press next to him.
„What‘s your point, Snart?“
„Quit moping, Mick. Either get over it or talk about it, whatever. But don‘t yell at Raymond for nothing. He cried on me for an hour because he thought you hated him now. And you don‘t get to hurt him, Mick. Don‘t you dare hurt him.“
With that, he rose again, giving Mick one last glare. Mick wondered when he‘d taken to wearing his parka and his gloves again, wrapping himself up in more and more layers as if to shield himself against the cruel world.
Snart was almost at the door when Mick did find his words.
„Are you going to be alright?“ Mick sounded desparate even to his own ears as he said that.
Snart turned around, and Mick‘s glance at his hand – the hand that shouldn‘t be there anymore – seemed to be enough of a clue.
„Am I going to be alright or are we going to be alright?“
Mick shrugged and leaned backwards, looking at Snart almost provocatively.
„I dunno. You tell me.“
They stared at each other like that, Mick sat on his workbench in just an undershirt, scars on display, thighs spread and heatedly glaring at Snart, and Snart in the doorway, posture ramrod straight, wrapped up in his stupid parka, one gloved hand resting on the cold gun that was holstered to his thigh.
In the end it was Snart that deflated first, slumping the tiniest bit and stepping back inside the room, coming to sit beside Mick.
„You‘re my partner“, he murmured, and placed one hand on Mick‘s thigh.
And somehow, that was answer enough.
Mick wrapped one arm around Len‘s shoulders and pulled him against himself, revelling in the feeling of that familiar weight against his side.
„You got skinny. I‘ll cook you dinner later, get some food into you“, he murmured. Len‘s reply, that it wasn‘t his fault that Chronos hadn‘t fed him enough, was left unspoken. They both knew that anyway. Instead, Mick just pulled Len a bit tighter to himself, holding him and grounding both of them that way, getting them reaccustomed to the feeling of being them again.
Haircut found them like that, a while later, and Mick knew that the smile on his face matched Len‘s as they both held out an arm, easily inviting him into their embrace.