A/N: wow this chapter was bad. i'm sorry. i tried.
His hands are shaking, trying to keep the cardboard sign steady, with the name 'Pewds' scrawled hurriedly on it. He receives odd looks, but hey- he's not one to change habit. 'Felix' sounds too formal, not like a friend visiting another.
Still, a corner of Cry's mind nags at him; surely if it's just 'a casual visit', why are you nervous? Shut up, Cry silences it. He doesn't need this right now. His chestnut-coloured hair sticks to his forehead from a sheen of sweat glistening, and he has to push it back, fingers trembling. Even his hands are clammy. His nose scrunches in disgust, trying to wipe away any signs of anxiety on his trouser legs, or swallow away fears that bubble up in his throat, beg to be released.
Overhead a female voice informs the plane flying from Gothenburg, Sweden, will be landing in under five minutes. So he has no choice but to stand there, amongst the long line of many waiting for relatives or loved ones, friends and family, he guesses. They've all got beaming smiles on his faces, chattering in excitement- he feels like the odd one out.
Cry thanks that they're all too preoccupied in their own business to stare at him, make him feel worse than he already does. It's only the thought that this will all be worth it that keeps him there, glued to his patch of airport floor, eyes on the screen niggled with green writing and readings above.
First thing Cry realises is how tall Pewds turns out to be. He sees his face on an almost daily basis, hears his thick Swedish accent and laugh echo through his speakers- but seeing him outside of a screen and into his life seems surreal.
He spots him, dragging along a cumbersome suitcase, veins appearing in his arm due to the strain, one of the first off the plane. He observes Felix's interaction with the air hostess, his unfaltering grin and hear her high-pitched giggle. It sparks off irritation inside of him, he's not sure why.
Cry doesn't really know what to do, so he awkwardly stands at the sideline, waiting for Pewds to come to him, hands clasped to the sign so the edges crumple from his tight grip.
It's hard to pretend like he's only just noticed Felix when he hears his questioning call of, "Cry?", but he does, snaps his head in Pewds' direction and forces a smile onto his unwilling face. "Hey buddy," the laugh is strained, but it certainly eases some of the tension. Pewdie's shoulders slump, Cry lets his body relax a little. His voice sounds husky, too husky and sleepy, so he tries to clear it.
"That's you? You better not be fucking with me, man." He offers out a hand and Cry shakes it, the warmth of his friend's palm spreading through his body, little tingles.
"I swear I'm not a serial killer or a potential psychopath," he jokes, and already things are beginning to feel like normal conversations he has with Pewds. The discomfort that tightened his body until the point where it was painful, leaves his body in a whoosh.
"That's good, 'cause the last thing I would want was to be brutally murdered with a pitchfork- not that I have one...or anything..." Felix's eyes dart around, voice purposely suspicious, but his smile remains undeterred, a big giveaway.
"Good to know." He's got a smile on his face that could melt butter; Cry certainly feels like he's melting, won over already. "Want to go? My apartment's a few miles away, and I foresee jetlag in the future."
"Spiffing, old chum," Felix loops his arm around Cry's, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear blood rushes to his cheeks.
"Your suitcase," Cry reminds him, after they've walked a few feet, and Pewdie slips his arm away with a cry of, "No! Not my suitcase!" Bolting after his prized possession, he certainly gets a few stares. But comes bounding back, able to ignore the judging looks he receives- a quality of Felix's Cry will admit he envies. Being able to not care about other people's opinions, and focusing on what's important.
Maybe one day he can do that.
Conversation in the car is polite, quiet. Cry drums his fingers against his steering wheel, to match the rhythm of his heartbeat in his head. He stares at the flickering red traffic light, wills it to flick to green, so he can drive the car forward, slam his foot down against the accelerator and watch the scenery outside whiz past him in a blur. But a pretty blur.
He even accepts Felix's request to record a few co-op videos together, he realises it's been a while since they've done one. But with all the attention he and Pewds get from the fans, and how much of a frenzy they can get into, if there's even a mention of a Pewdiecry collab, Cry is careful. With all the tiptoeing around, he misses it. Misses collaborations with Pewds, misses his incoherent gabble and strong Swedish accent. It's probably why he agrees to it.
Near the end of the journey they fall into comfortable silence, Cry keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him, listening to the soothing sound of Pewds' humming and the buzzing radio they'd turned down a long time ago.
Cry doesn't realise how much of a clutter his apartment is until it's too late. He has to fight his way past the door firmly wedged into the thick carpet, scrunched pieces of paper scattered, ideas he's written down in a hurry, sloppy handwriting that he can barely read himself; crumpled dirty clothes that he catches from the corner of his eye; clusters of dirt gathering in the edges that he's never really noticed before.
Cry has become so accustomed to darkness, so comfortable and in ease with it, that it takes Pewds to ask him politely to switch the light on. He does, flicking it on with a wince, the harsh light causing him to blink rapidly.
"Kind of a night animal, huh?" Pewds jokes.
Cry has to snap himself out of a trance he's somehow fallen into, let Felix's words filter through and process them. Slowly. "Yeah, kind of nocturnal," he admits, a little sheepish. "And a recluse," he mutters, but quiet enough to not be picked up by the oblivious Swede beside him.
Pewds is already wandering, exploring every nook and cranny of his apartment. It's kind of cute, Felix reminding him of an inquisitive puppy bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes bright with exuberance. His nose is scrunched up too, poking his head into rooms even Cry doesn't go into anymore.
"This my room?" He asks, signalling at the door to the left of the corridor leading to his bedroom. Cry nods, with a small smile on his face. He can't force it off his face; he's not going to try. Because since the little bit of awkwardness and tentativeness that's always been there has edged away just the slightest for him to be able to smile. His mouth aches from the effort, he hasn't really grinned like a madman in the way he is now.
Pewds just has that effect on him. Already, the weeks ahead of Cry are looking brighter, he's feeling more optimistic than before.
"I like it," comes a call from behind the door, then a loud-particularly painful- crash. What follows is a curseword in Swedish, Cry repressing a snicker and Pewds popping his head around the door, looking bruised and flustered.
"Problem, Pewds?"
"None at all." His friend huffs a strand of blonde hair out of his face, grinning. There's a sparkle in his eye that makes Cry fidget, shift from foot to foot nervously. It can't be good.
"O-okay, good," he stutters, and he's not sure why. Colour floods his cheeks, and he lets his hair fall into his eyes as he diverts his gaze to the ground. "It's getting late, so...I'm gonna go to my room. Edit some stuff."
"Okay, sure," he hears Pewds say, although it's only six in the evening. "See you later?" And it sounds hopeful, so he replies with a 'sure' before rushing to his room, still trying to piece together the puzzle to what just happened.
