With All of My Faults
Summary: Phog can't sleep. Neither can Lao.
*cracks knuckles* someone's gotta write fic for Lao.
They're in Noctilum, sleeping in a base camp for the night. Phog's not used to sleeping with other people, much less people that he barely knows. Cross? Okay, he can cope with them, they know how and when to give him space and time.
Alexa and Lao?
No way, bro. No. Way.
Alexa's too loud and bubbly and just – too overwhelming. Even thinking about her is enough to make Phog's head ache. She's lovely, he's sure, and she's been a real help in fighting, but... she enjoys it almost too much.
As for Lao...
Well, Phog's heard all about him. Who hasn't? He's gruff and rude and leaves his team to hang out to dry nearly every mission, but he's the best Pathfinder – heck, one of the best BLADEs – out of them all. You didn't earn a reputation like that from messing about.
But anyway.
Phog's lying on his back, countless anxieties drilling through his head like evello. The four of them are stuffed into a tiny room – the other BLADEs all had an urgent mission to take care of, but had insisted that Cross had nothing to do with it, for... whatever reason.
Back to the room. It's way too small, and cramped. Phog doesn't see why they can't all sleep in a separate room, but Cross had insisted that they all remain in the one. There's a trickle of moonlight pouring in from a crack in the steel wall, which does nothing to alleviate the worry in Phog's heart. What if an indigen tries to attack them through there? Hell, it will happen – the monsters here are smaller than his fingernail and more aggressive than Hayreddin the Territorial.
He lets out a small sigh and tries to roll onto his side, but ends up with his face awkwardly planted into the stiff pillow.
He moans.
What would Frye do, if he couldn't sleep?
...Yeah, maybe downing twenty pints isn't the best answer.
Okay, then. What would Cross do?
He glances over to them, and... they're sprawled out on their back, sniper rifle curled under their arm. Honestly? Phog has heard simius snore more quietly than what Cross is right now. Not that Alexa's any better; there's slobber drooling out of her mouth onto her jacket top, and he's pretty sure that she's muttering about Skells.
And lemons.
...However they go together.
Phog gives a shiver that has nothing to do with the chill of night, and tries to sleep. He really does. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries counting sheep, knocking his head against the pillow, thinking of Earth - everything. But after what feels like eternity, he groans and cracks open his eyes again.
Yep. He's doomed to another night of no sleep. He thinks of maybe getting up and doing something, but that requires more effort than what he wants to give. Besides, it is kind of comfortable-
The door creaks open and light pours in. The bitter scent of coffee wafts into the room. Phog sits up with a gasp, eyes catching onto the silhouette at the door frame.
They seem just as surprised as he is, which is a little comforting.
Seconds pass.
The figure shifts against the frame. "You want some tea?" comes Lao's low rumble of a voice.
Not so comforting.
"No thank you," he murmurs, blinking rapidly to try and adjust to the sudden brightness. "I, ah... shouldn't you be asleep?"
He can sense Lao raising his eyebrows.
"Right, bad question," he mutters. "Sorry. You can, uh... go and do whatever you're doing."
"Which is making you tea, so get up."
Phog flops his fringe out of his eye and squints. Lao Huang, the grumpiest of all Pathfinders, offering to make him tea?
"If you're sure?"
Lao makes a grunting noise that could mean anything. Phog chooses to take it as a positive.
"...Okay," he says, but Lao has already gone back to the kitchen. He can hear the wail of a kettle starting up; with a yawn, Phog tugs on a yellow hoodie and makes his way to the kitchen.
All of the base camps have an identical layout – four tiny bedrooms that hold four people each, a kitchen, bathroom, and a small sitting area for maintenance and to unwind. There's a Nopon calendar hanging on the wall next to the dishwasher, which is ten different types of adorable. Phog takes a good look at it (the September one is posing in a swimsuit, which is just… no), jumping in surprise when something warm is held out to him.
A cup of tea, drenched yellow inside. It must be chamomile. He remembers that Frye used to always give it to him whenever he was feeling under the weather. He said that it helped people to sleep.
Well, it had always worked...
The cup gives an impatient shake.
"Sorry," Phog murmurs. He takes the cup from Lao; it's odd to think that he's nearly a full head taller than him, but he is, and it's impossible to see Lao's eyes from this high up. There's a frown tugging his face, but when he is not frowning?
Phog honestly can't remember seeing him smile. Okay, so he doesn't know the guy well – at all – but he's seen Chausson smile, and he's as sullen as people get.
It's a gross combination, the soothing scent of his tea, and the bitterness of Lao's coffee. "I, uh."
Lao's in the doorway, but stops and turns. He takes a slip of his drink. "What?"
"Should you, um, really be drinking coffee? At this time of night?"
Lao just stands there, quiet, and the dim lighting overhead makes it impossible to read his face – not that Phog's even looking there. God, why does he have to go and ask such stupid questions? He's always like that-
"Come on," Lao says, and walks away before Phog can speak.
It's not like he'll be getting back to sleep, though, so after a mouthful of the tangy tea, Phog follows.
The window's open, a small peek that allows a chilly night breeze to coat the room. The sitting room isn't much; a collection of old bean bags stuffed together in a corner, a table shoved into another, surrounded by fallen chairs. There's a pile of cards on it, as well as scattered empty bottles that ooze of booze.
Phog glances away from them to the view outside. Maybe an explorer would call it gorgeous, with its dizzying colours and lights, but all that Phog can see is the many many potential causes of his death. That giant sleeping tyrant... a sentient vine... a leaf...
Really, it could be anything.
He gives a little shiver and catches Lao in the corner, next to the table; if it wasn't for the gleam of his suit, it'd be easy to miss him. There are a few chairs around him, but Phog doesn't know which one to take. Would the one immediately next to him be too personal, given that they've barely spoken to each other? But if he goes for the one next to that one, he might be too rude, but he doesn't want to upset him-
"Pick any chair," Lao grumbles, "I don't care."
Phog gulps and plops himself on the chair closest, trying to calm his thumping heart. He takes another mouthful of the warm tea and swallows it down his dry throat. No need to get worked up over a chair, he reminds himself, and hearing it in Frye's voice makes him feel better. Frye wouldn't get annoyed. He'd just smack the chair and trip over it.
Phog smiles.
It's quiet, save for the wildlife and Cross's muffled snores. It's the nice quiet, though, a tranquil one. It's not the kind in which Phog has to start rambling nonsense in order to keep anything going. He does that a lot, especially when he's out on a mission with someone else, so it's nice that he doesn't have to. He can just... drink his tea and relax.
So he does.
It doesn't take long for him to finish it; he sets down the cup with a quiet sigh, absently running his fingers over the handle.
"You feel any better?"
Phog startles and nearly knocks over the cup. When he calms, he ducks his head, hoping that his hair might somehow hide his blush. It probably doesn't, though. "Y-yeah." And it's weird, but he does feel a lot better. Apart from that little scare, he's got an odd, cosy feeling inside him, like he could sleep for the night uninterrupted.
It's a nice feeling.
"Thanks, by the way," he murmurs. "I feel a lot better." He chances a glance up at Lao-
Who's smiling.
It's a tiny one, almost lost in the shadows of his hair, but it's there, and Lao's voice is warm when he next speaks. "Glad to hear it," he says, and sounds like he honestly means it. He tilts his head in the direction of their beds. "You wanna get some sleep?"
Phog nods. "Yeah." He gives a nervous chuckle. "I actually feel like I could get some."
"Yeah, you mentioned that you didn't sleep much."
"Did I?" Oh – that was several days ago, when he was with Cross, Lao, and Irina on a collecting mission. It was - how on earth did he remember that? Phog has no idea of what he'd eaten for dinner last night. "I did, didn't I? Uh, I... thanks."
Lao gives a small laugh. "Head on. I'll put the cup away."
"Thank you." He stands up and tries to give a bow, but Lao is quick to wave him away.
"Don't worry about it. Get some sleep."
"I will." Phog is at the doorway when he turns. Lao's staring out of the window, that everlasting frown dragging down his face again. Something in his chest twists at it, fiercely, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "Um, shouldn't you get to bed?"
Lao startles – his cup clinks against the table. Phog is about to apologise when Lao shuts his eyes and gives a quiet sigh. "Yeah, maybe."
"Are you coming now?"
A pause, then: "In a bit."
Phog knows when not to push things further – he's an expert at it with Frye. He gives a small nod. "…All right."
He shuts the door behind him with a click.
It's a short walk to the bedroom. Phog peels off his hoodie and climbs in under the covers, shutting his eyes – when he next opens them, it's morning. Cross is shaking his shoulder, a grin splitting their cheeks, while Alexa is tinkering at her javelin while lying on her bed. Lao is standing at the doorway, arms crossed, an empty cup in his hand.
Phog catches Lao's eye, smiling, and feels it widen when Lao smiles back.