I figured that MacCoy, Dare and Oblio didn't just vanish without a reason, at least in the DC universe. I wanted to kinda fag around with that idea, plus write some angsty MoCoyGlitch love triangle thingy. This is practice, Im trying to exercise this angst blob in my core, its surrounded by fluff. Im contemplating how fucked in the head I should write these guysss.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dance Central characters. They belong to Harmonix, lucky bastards.
It had only been a couple months following the passing of MacCoy and his death afflicted everyone he'd known, even sorrow weaved its infinite net onto Dr. Tan's seemingly cold heart. Attacks on Dance Central had ceased, at least for the moment or until everyone caught their bearings to the point that they could chug along again. The man was a tycoon but not an entirely heartless bastard—a point most people overlooked.
Beauty withered for a moment—the redhead's heart melting into a weaker, more malleable substance, and Angel planned to take advantage of this. Aubrey was still Aubrey, however, but she became more bearable for the other crews. She wasn't particularly close to MacCoy but Mo was her confidant in a way. The B-boy accepted her as she was even before the tragedy and besides, he was the one that was suffering the worst. Her crewmate, the poor thing that she teased nearly every day, had lost immense weight. A grieving Latino failed to consume his meals, finding nearly anything set in front of him unappetizing, until Aubrey quite literally shook some sense into him. No longer ignoring their innate chemistry, mostly on Aubrey's part, the couple turned to each other for comfort.
Emilia, the thick-skinned and not-quite-tomboy athlete, had lost an extraordinary running partner. The blond was excessively flirtatious with her, never quitting even after she knocked him in the back of his head a few times. MacCoy was always persistent and it soon became a routine where both parties accepted the events as the norm in their lives. It was all in good fun. An unbreakable bond grew between the athletes and the two fireballs told each other everything. She was always there, welcoming him with open arms, when MacCoy was confused about his emotions—his worry leading him to believe his feelings for Mo were unacceptable. Now she was here for Mo, soothing him with hugs and the bold truths of MacCoy's passing.
As expected Oblio, the lone wolf of the group, appeared unaffected. Looks were proved to be deceiving when marigolds were occasionally found sprouting or potted around the tombstone that nobody could account for. A reoccurring poem popped up from time to time, held fast to the cold marble by a smooth stone that informed MacCoy that although he annoyed Oblio on a daily basis he still appreciated his effort. The blunette didn't care to see the others and, the way he figured, MacCoy would understand; MacCoy would forgive him for being so socially distanced. He knew the Russian felt the same way, somewhere hidden in the recesses of his heart, on occasion.
Taye had seen the last of Dare, deeply troubled because she lost two friends she cared for. The raver showed for the funeral, shocking pink wig gone for the moment and surprising everyone with how black her hair was, how the neutral color reflected their emotions and attire. Dance Central knew she'd return one day and held their breath until she did, especially Taye. Everyone suspected that Taye missed Dare more than MacCoy and they hadn't exactly missed their mark.
Mo had been hit even harder, grief transforming into a ton of bricks weighing his chest down and threatening to crush his ribs, perhaps even harder than Grams. The grandma's boy had an immeasurably deep bond with his grandmother but a different, far more powerful love for Mo. They had shared and seen more of each other than family ever would. Tumbling into a dark depression, the powerhouse's foundation crumbled while he turned to alcohol and the occasional hit.
Life grew increasingly hopeless, leaving Mo swimming in the dark, until he found a small toprocker that possessed the same glimmer in his eyes that MacCoy did. Never entirely sure why, he approached the boy and offered his friendship to him. The youngster, who informed him that he preferred to be called Glitch, had quite obviously heard of him and accepted Mo's offer with the same enthusiasm the blond Russian showed often.
"Ohman, ohman. Yer Mo, the Mo! 'Course ya can be my mentor but I got nothin' but skills now so I ain't too sure 'bout not bein' able ta keep up. Not that I wouldn't appreciate yer opinion, its jus' tha—"
For the first time in an agonizingly long year, Mo laughed, but it wasn't a simple chuckle. A full-blown guffaw full of snorts and happy crying lightened the load on his miraculously still beating heart. Watching the other puff his pink-tinged cheeks out in embarrassment and mutter unintelligible words of sarcasm Mo stifled his obnoxious bursts of laughter and pulled the teen into a friendly embrace, unaware of Glitch's dreamy expression and wobbly knees.
"I got my own lil' fan boy."
~~~~~MOGLITCHPLZ~~~~~
Several more months passed, totaling five months racked up on the time scale, and Mo wasn't completely over his toprocker. He'd managed to live now; Mo could breathe willingly without an invisible vice grip on his half-throbbing heart but something was missing—something he couldn't see but only feel. Luckily, Angel prompted a visit and the two were having, yet another, heart-to-heart conversation.
The Latino was such a sap.
Glitch pouted, feeling like the third wheel that broke from the carriage and rolled downhill. It was another one of those nights, the ones that felt dreadfully long and boring. It was one of those nights where somebody else was enjoying Mo's company and he wasn't. A childish scowl made a home on his features as he huffed, arms crossing over his chest as he glared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars the African American B-boy helped decorate his ceiling with.
Angel and Mo sounded like they were having fucking oodles of fun, the bastards. Well, mostly Mo, who was laughing as loud as he could while Angel, chuckled quietly beside him. He briefly wondered why they were enjoying themselves so much and jealousy soon sprouted, growing until its ugly vines squeezed Glitch's heart.
'Why can't I be out there wit' 'em?'
Stubbornness driving him forward, he decided that he'd show Mo that he was old enough to do as he pleased. A swelling of pride propelled him to turn the knob that his hand somehow latched on to and he barreled into the living room. Mo hadn't bothered looking up, face buried in the crook of Angel's neck, but Angel had. Dark browns stared the Latino down, Glitch relinquished his contacts before being sentenced to his bedroom, and the salsa dancer shot him a bewildered look. Honey orbs flickered over the tabletop, littered with amber bottles, and towards the young B-boy in worry. Glitch stood his ground, hand triumphantly resting on a slim hip, with a smug smirk that quickly dissipated.
This didn't look fun at all.
"S'all this, Ange?"
Angel muttered a curse in his native tongue before answering with a soft, "Go back to sleep, Glitch."
"I wanted to see what was goin' on…" he started, tone a bit dejected.
"You wouldn't understand," Angel didn't want to make an attempt at explaining a situation he wasn't exactly comfortable with revealing.
"Like hell I wouldn't!"
Mo lifted his head at the outburst, eyes and nose rimmed red and puffy, "Watch yo' mouth, young'in."
"But Mo…" he whined, pleading with the grieving dancer, "I jus' wanna know if yer okay."
Glitch was lying and the other two dancers were too exhausted to see that. He wanted more than that, he wanted to know why Mo cried so much and some part of him wanted the older male to cling to him desperately while Glitch whispered words of comfort that steadied his heart.
A shrill ringing interrupted the room, shattering the tense atmosphere, and Angel flicked his phone off. He already knew who was calling and labeled answering as unnecessary. He glanced at Mo, eyes filling with regret, "I gotta go."
Mo nodded in appreciation, "Nah, it's cool, man. Ya deal wit' my whiny ass enough."
Angel rewarded him with a pitiful smile, "Heartbreak doesn't include whining, conejito."
Laughing bitterly, they bid each other farewell. Once the door closed behind the Latino, Glitch felt awkward around Mo again—maybe it was because he was acting harshly a few minutes ago or it could've been the way Mo watched him.
Glitch's heart thud noisily in his chest, sounding as if it were running a marathon, then it suddenly tripped over itself when Mo opened his mouth to speak.
"C'mere," he ordered softly, his voice was hoarse and it was then that the Asian locker noticed exactly how tired he was.
Red slippers dragged across the wooden floor as he made his way to sit next to Mo. The captain of Hi-Def turned to Glitch after he plopped down, grasping his right cheek in his hand while a bittersweet smile adorned his face, "Ya got alotta potential, kid. I know I don't tell ya too often, but I appreciate ya. Stay in school, don't fuck it up. Ya dig?"
His younger counterpart nodded dumbly, entranced by Mo's warm eyes. His stomach did flips when a rough thumb trailed his lower lip, "Ya remind me of him."
Glitch had a faint idea as to who Mo was blabbing about, but his mind was hazing over, every fantasy he'd ever had that included his friend was flooding what little thought process he had left. His mouth dried, leaving his throat scratchy, "Who?"
"MacCoy," Mo purred, hot breath washing over Glitch, causing his lips to twitch in response.
Glitch shuddered, wishing Mo would say his name that tenderly, slick tongue caressing his name. Determined to press on he asked another meaningless question, "That was your best bud, right?"
A strange glint flashed through amber orbs as an odd smile was tossed Glitch's way, "We went beyond that. Way past bein' friends."
Glitch's heart suddenly ceased, "Oh."
What was he supposed to say to that?
Warm lips met his briefly and, ohfuck, he realized Mo just kissed him. The fleeting, three-second peck felt like an eternity but Glitch still hungered for more, despite Mo's slightly bitter taste from what he consumed earlier. Mo gathered the small body into his lap, one hand lazily gripped his crewmate's hip while the other entertained feathery locks. Light pants left the younger locker's mouth as he leaned into the touch, exposing a pale neck for Mo to nip at.
Pretty teeth experimented with the soft flesh, teasing the other until he whispered for Mo to stop. He complied; pearly whites attacked an earlobe this time before thick lips glided across flushed cheeks and a strong hand guided their mouths together again. Glitch moaned loudly, whirling senses spiraling faster once Mo slipped his tongue inside, and tightened his hold on Mo's faded shirt. The kiss was far from perfect, desperate lips mashing with inexperienced ones, but it was enough to send spikes of heat shooting down both their limbs.
As quickly as it had happened it stopped, more specifically Mo stopped—leaving a disappointed Glitch wheezing in his ear.
'This is wrong. This is wrong' haunted Mo's thoughts after he savored the other dancer. Glitch tasted sweet, something akin to the innocence the darker male didn't want to steal away. The heat pooling below his navel was wearing his patience and morals thin as he tried to push off the clingy other.
"We can't do this, I can't do this," Mo admitted.
Glitch nearly choked, "Is it me? Cuz I dunno how ta kiss?" His words grew more frantic, "Ya could teach me. I can learn."
Mo began shaking his head until Glitch mumbled a crestfallen, "I can be MacCoy."