Work Text:
Editor stumbles one foot after the other out the door, a rough hand shoving him forwards.
"Sorry bud. You've had too much." some gruff voice says behind him. He slurs something out about only having a few pints, but the door is already slamming closed behind him. He blinks lazily at the shut door in front of him before taking a swig of the bottle in his hand. Stumbling backwards, he finds himself leaning against a street sign. People walk by him, just taking the antagonist for another drunkard who can't hold their liquor, which is only half true. If they really knew who he was, they wouldn't be so quick to judge. But they don't know, and continue judging.
He shifts against the thin bar, pondering over what to do next. Normally, Editor doesn't go out and about for fun. He is a cold and calculated thing, and normally doesn't have time for such outings. But that night was an exception. He was a few cities over on some business and having finished it yesterday, he should've been home by now. The only problem was his driver got caught in a shootout somewhere and wasn't able to make it, so he just bit the bullet and stayed the extra night. It took his mind off the one thing it had been on for the past few weeks.
That spy. That stupid, reckless, attractive spy. He'd come into his life in a dress, wig, and questionable lipstick and since then would not leave. It wasn't like Editor wanted him to leave, per se, but he sure wasn't making anything easier. Swoop in, nearly get killed in the name of his job, and leave without a trace. He'd had his goons do an extensive history check on Polyblank, but they came up mostly empty. There were a few pictures of the spy and his boss, Director, being seen together outside some train station. There was one of him in a restaurant, carrying a jar of what appeared to be.. spiders? But those few were the extent. It all lined up with what the spy had told him that one morning. Nothing of him before. Like he was born in his late twenties directly into his job.
A hand on his shoulder brings him back into reality. Editor rolls his head upwards, letting it rest on the bar behind him. The stranger looks down at him from under a beanie. They're wearing a black facemask and dark sunglasses, and paired with the hat that was hidden under a dark hood, they were entirely void of any sort of recognition.
"Whatcha' wearing alla' that for?" he mumbled out, squinting a little as he tried to peer through the sunglasses. Whoever this was obviously didn't want anyone to see their face, as it was nearly half past midnight. "Ar'ya ugly or somethin'?"
The stranger gave no reply, only pulling him up off the sign post and starting to walk. Their hand remained on his shoulder, pushing him along as they walked the streets. If Editor were any less hammered, he would've filled this stranger with lead. But he was not, and so allowed the stranger to pull him along. At some point he'd started leaning into their arm, as the post-alcohol black out was coming on.
"Y' smell nice." he muttered into the stranger's shoulder, inhaling deeply.
A minute or so later, a door was opening and Editor was pushed forward through it. He tripped over his own feet, but the stranger caught him and pulled him up before he could hit the floor. He mumbled out an apology and continued to follow the stranger's guidance. An arm snaked around his waist and they struggled to hold him upright as he misplaced himself several times on a flight of stairs.
He closed his eyes and just tried to put one foot after the other. When he opened them again the jangle of keys echoed in the stairwell. He watched as the stranger dropped a few grocery bags- all of which he'd only just noticed now- and fumble with the lock on the door. He looked up and down, taking in the whole area. Yellow light from fluorescents washed out the entirely concrete stairwell. The floor was littered with stains and cracks, and in a few places small plants weaved their way through the crevices. It was a little endearing.
Editor was being pulled along once again, this time through the now open front door of the stranger's flat. The sudden change from the cold night air into the stranger's warm home only served to make his eyes droop even further. Luckily for him, the stranger sat him down on a couch, which he instantly melted into. Just as a blanket was drawn up over his legs, the raisin inside his head had a Thought™.
"My jacket. I hafta.. it'll wrinkle." he said, so earnestly, looking at the stranger right in their sunglass covered eyes. They paused for a moment, before reaching to slide the jacket off his shoulders. They laid it out on the opposite arm of the couch and just. Stood there after. They looked a little unsure of what to do now. Editor was placated and already asleep.
Polyblank sat, and watched. Sat on his coffee table and watched the slow rise and fall of Editor's chest as he slept soundly. On his couch. In his flat. In his city. The city where he lived. Polyblank's city. How the universe must hate him so to drop the antagonist right in his path home from the corner store. The man was a mess. Tie undone, empty bottle grasped in one hand and leaning hopelessly on a stop sign outside a bar. It would be cruel to leave him there. It would be so, so helpful to just leave him there. But he didn't. Polyblank looked him in his eyes, held him by the shoulder and practically dragged him up the few flights of stairs.
In the recalling of events, he skipped the part where the antagonist leaned into him on the way there and the way he felt his face heat up under the mask. He dragged himself back to the current situation. For once in their history together, Polyblank had the upper hand here. Editor was pretty incapacitated and at his disposal. Yet, he couldn't think of anything to do with him. Arresting was a no go. He couldn't find an exact reason, but there had to be one. No. Turning him in to Director and letting his boss do the dirty work also wasn't good. Not that either.
Polyblank sat there stewing for god knows how long. Just thinking about this was stressing him to no end. Prying off his mask, glasses, and cap, he stood up and snagged the grocery bags from where he dropped them. Routine. Finally.
Polyblank got to his usual Friday night business. Get groceries. Check. Bring groceries home. Check. In the end, the groceries did technically end up home. He just had someone extra this time around. Put groceries away. Make dinner. Eat dinner. Tv. Bed.
He was now at the 'Make dinner' stage of his routine. Water bubbled quietly in the pot as he absentmindedly stirred the noodles. He was still staring at the couch, at Editor. How could he even get like that? Editor wasn't the type to run about and get himself thrown out of bars. Especially not right down the street from where Polyblank lived. He could only hope it was a coincidence. The last time someone bad found out where he lived, it had been a.. rough night to say the least. He was relatively certain he'd get Editor out and somewhere where the man could at least call a taxi or something. Looking away, he dumped the noodles in a bowl and stood against the counter while he ate. When he finished, he dumped the dishes in the sink, leaving them for a later Polyblank to deal with.
Casting one final look at the still sleeping antagonist, he let his hand drift down to just barely hover over the man's hair. Was it soft? He didn't want to risk waking the antagonist and facing the consequences just for the sake of a little contact. Reluctantly, he pulled back, and headed off to bed.
When he finally comes to, it isn't on a silk pillow between large comforters. Editor wakes up on a dingy couch with a blanket that's nearly falling apart on top of him. Ok. great start to a day. He surveys his surrounding with almost zero clarity. Oh. His glasses. Shit.
Luckily they weren't too far off, and vision was restored to Editor once again. Glancing back and forth, his eyes landed on a couple small pills and a glass of water on the coffee table next tot him. A sticky note was stuck to the glass, and upon closer inspection it read, "Painkillers. Promise." He was still a little wary, until a headache sprung up out of nowhere. He quickly swallowed the pills and downed the glass, replacing in its original spot empty.
He's quick to toss the blanket aside and stand from the couch, electing to stretch and get a better look at what he's dealing with. Drug dealers den? Nope, no piles of cash and suspicious white powder. And it's rather clean from what he can see. One night stand? Yikes, that one might be hard to deal with. But based off the fact that his shirt was still tucked into his slacks, that crossed off that option. Turning around, Editor is a little startled by a large cage next to the door to a balcony. It was covered at the moment, and he really didn't want to know what was under there. There were a few small shelves, most of which were lined with small knickknacks from different locations and a few books. Whoever's house this was, they sure traveled a lot.
Finally, he caught a glimpse of a door. It was nestled between the very edge of the kitchen counter and the front door. He knew it wasn't the bathroom, because that door was already open and he could see white porcelain inside. Walking over, he grew more and more nervous. Why? It would probably just be some girl. Maybe one of his goons had picked him up. You never know. Peering in, he could very clearly see that whoever it was, wasn't a lady and definitely wasn't asleep. And in fact, he was staring right at him.
"Oh. Hello Polyblank."
The spy looked at him with.. genuine concern? Polyblank dropped his phone and hopped up from where he was sitting.
"Are you okay?" he signed out quickly, almost too fast for Editor to register. He's startlingly close now, giving Editor a once over.
"What? Yes I'm- I'm fine? I'm just a tad confused-"
"Did you drink the water I left? It will kill your hangover-" he signed before opening the door more so he could get out. Editor turned and followed him.
"I'm still confused? Where are we? Is this your house? Polyblank, why am I in your house?" the questions poured rapid fire out of his mouth, each one building up a but more tension than the last.
"Drunk." Polyblank signed after handing him his jacket. Editor draped it over his arm and looked back at the spy, hoping for an answer. "Very drunk. Not good. My turn. Why are you here?"
"Wha- Why do you want to know?"
"You're in my house." he signed, rummaging around in a cabinet.
"So this is your house? I still don't know how I got here!" Editor said, using his arms for emphasis.
"Yes! This is my house! I live here! And I practically dragged you here!" he turned as he signed, now facing Editor and looking exasperated. At this point, the faint memories started to trickle back to Editor. Heading to the bar, having a few too many and -ohgoddidhetellPolyblankthehesmelledniceohfuckohno-
Editor stood still as he silently recalled last night's events. He blinked and Polyblank was standing in front of him, shaking a box of cereal in a 'you want some?' gesture. He slowly shook his head no, which the spy replied by shoving his hand into the box and tossing a handful into his mouth.
Polyblank soon dipped into his bedroom. Editor didn't know what else to do, and scrambled for the post it that had been on the water before. Luck gave him a little mercy and a pen was right next to the paper that he discarded earlier. He scribbled out something quick- Thanks. Owe you one. -Editor- and rushed out the door. Now it's his turn to run off when no one is looking. Unfortunately, his little luck had been used on the pen and just as he was opening the front door, Polyblank reappeared. He froze for a moment, making eye contact for just a split second before rushing out the door. Nearly sprinting down a few flights of stairs, he half stumbled at the bottom and nearly slammed into the metal frame door. Making no attempt at appearing normal, he flung the door open and sprinted out that too.
Only problem now was figuring out just exactly where he was. Shit.