A shared shower washed the blood from Toki and Skwisgaar's bodies, but they skipped the fresh clothes set out by klokateers in lieu of the bathtub. Although sick of water and a prune to boot, Skwisgaar sat patiently as Toki washed his hair over and over again in attempt to rid it of a red tinge.

"At least we learns one thing from all this." Toki lathered his head again, seated on the edge with his feet in. "You shouldn'ts ever dye you hair. It don'ts look right."

"Pff. Maybes not red."

"I wouldn'ts even recognize you if you wasn'ts blond, I don'ts think."

"No, I nevers going to dyes it again. I dids once, and I learns my lesson."

"What colour?"

"Black."

Toki's fingers slowed. "Why?"

"I was a little stupids, when I young. Dere was dis black metals band I really wanteds to play in when I forst gots to Göteburg. Well, I didn'ts really wants to play wit' dem, but I neededs exposure and money, so dat was de fastest way to do both. T'oughts it would piss my mom off, too—"

The muffled treble of a Dethphone echoed through the bathroom. They'd buried their respective devices beneath their clothes after the last drunk call from their bandmates. When the phone cut off, headed for voicemail, Skwisgaar received a nudge to the shoulder. "Goes on."

"I dyeds my hair to gets more credibilities wit' dis band, which was a stupids t'ing to do. I wasn't wit' dem more dan two week, and it took overs two year before I coulds cut de frieds part off where I'd bleached de fuck out of it."

Toki chuckled. "Sucks, but I woulds kill to see you with black hair."

"Why? It just mades me look pale and sick."

"Ja, woulds be funny."

"Pff." One of their phones went off again, silencing the conversation. When the other joined in, Skwisgaar leaned back between Toki's legs and tilted his head up with an inviting smile. Nearly-dry hair tickled his shoulders, the rougher fu manchu doing the same to his cheekbones. Laughter tripped them up as the first phone rang again. Further ignoring it, Skwisgaar took Toki's bottom lip between his, eliciting a groan as the younger man rested a hand on earlier's bruises. Hopefully the older man's throat didn't darken too much, from the Norwegian's powerful grasp.

"Okays, that startings to get stupid," Toki said when the phone went off again. "Maybes is important?"

"Ja, if de consistencies of vampire jizz ams riding on anot'er bet," Skwisgaar referred to Murderface's last call with a roll of his eyes. "Just leaves it."

"Well. . ." Toki immediately turned solemn upon checking his phone. "Uh oh."

"Whats?" Skwisgaar sought a decent temperature from the tap in order to rinse his hair for the final time.

"They's all from Charles."

"He ams probably just lookings for us. Ot'erwise, he woulds has come find us, if he got anyt'ing important to say."

Skwisgaar's phone rang then. Since he bowed his head and shampoo ran over his face, Toki sought it out to answer for him. "Uhh. . .is your mom."

What the hell did she want? "Just hits de Ignore button."

The treble cut off. Skwisgaar reached blindly for a towel, and after wiping all the water from his eyes saw that Toki thumbed through his phone with a furrowed brow. "She's half your missed calls."

"She can go sucks it. Probably is alreadies and just butt dials me, pff." The very idea that his mother thought about him long enough to call even once instantly soured Skwisgaar's stomach. He enjoyed the latest silence between them far too much.

Toki's phone didn't have the chance to complete one ring before he answered it. "Hallo? Ja, we's both here. On the Dethkopter. Don'ts—? Why?"

"Whats is dat about?"

"We gots to go see Charles." Toki pulled on his jeans after ending the call. "It don't sounds good. He wouldn'ts tell me nothing, but said not to turns on the TV."

Dread froze the Swede. "He didn'ts tell you not'ing at all?"

"I's a little scared, not gonna lie. I thinks I know what it is, but I hopes I just being paranoid."

Skwisgaar too, now. When did Charles ever advise they spare themselves of the media? Not wanting to wait, the blond checked his phone after hurriedly dressing. He'd received no text messages, nor any calls beside those from Charles, his mother, and a small number from the other guys earlier in the night. Any website he tried to visit returned an error message. Were they out of data range, or did their unspoken suspicion deserve some traction?

". . .I'm going to meet them now. Yes. We'll be back in about fifteen, sixteen hours, once I round up the other boys. Do me a favour and hold all my calls until then, Grace. There's nothing I can do in the air, anyway." The manager crossed their paths in the recreation room. "I've got to go, now. I'll see you States-side."

Nervous, Skwisgaar ran his fingers through unbrushed hair. Usually his guitar preoccupied him well enough, but he'd rather not delay this in order to go find it; Charles' hesitation already did him in.

"There's no delicate way to put this, so I'm just going to tell you: you're out." Having already braced himself to hear that, Skwisgaar experienced no reaction beyond another wash of anxiety through his chest and stomach. "Take a seat."

Whenever he and Toki discussed their—relationship, or whatever it was—they pointedly avoided discussing the possibility of it breaching public knowledge. Coming out like that simply wasn't on their agenda. As result, they agreed not to take risks or interact outside Mordhaus any differently than they used to. . .so what went wrong? Did they go wrong, earlier? The knots in Skwisgaar's stomach tightened, compelling him to press his tongue against the top of his mouth. Sudden nausea never ended well, even if denial kept this from truly sinking in.

"6219, play back the original footage," Charles requested of his personal assistant. He stood before the Scandinavians, arms crossed. "You owe thanks primarily to Murderface, although Nathan and Pickles had helping hands. They were too drunk to properly handle the situation, but. . .that's no excuse."

Dim lights and club music forced Skwisgaar to squint at the television. Whoever recorded this did one hell of a shitty job. The camera panned about, stopping and focusing on Dethklok's American members. Nathan and Pickles both had women in their laps wielding shot glasses, while Murderface refilled his own. They'd already declined into their usual disinterest at the extended microphone. "—but where are your guitarists tonight? Didn't they come out with you?"

The women giggled, then Nathan cleared his throat. "I dunno, they must've wound up somewhere else—"

"Yeah, schomewhere elsche, like fucking each other." Murderface slammed his shot glass down against the table. "Ow! Why'd you kick me, Picklesch?"

"Dood, shuddup."

"What do you mean by that?" The reporter's breathlessness narrowed Skwisgaar's eyes in annoyance. "Are they really?"

"No—"

"Yesch," Murderface stated over Nathan. "What'sch the big deal? It'sch metal. If it waschn't metal, they wouldn't do it."

"Murderface, please contain yourself."

"What're you gonna do, tell Charlesch on me?"

"Yeah, actually." Nathan dug his phone out.

"Peoples are really takings this seriously?" Toki spoke up.

"I don't think anyone did at first, then. . ." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose as Pickles' uneasiness manifested in darting eyes and stilted speech: "I'onno, I mean. . .if they wanted people to know, they'd tell'm themselves, reet?"

"How this mean anyt'ing? I don'ts get it. We always calling each ot'er gay in publics. What make dis different?"

"The boys' discomfort comes off as them hiding something. Then of course, Skwisgaar, the nature of your stable entered the conversation—not this conversation, but the one held by the media at large. I've racked my brain for a way to circumvent this fallout, but it's not possible. The media was already searching frantically for whomever it is that compelled you to shut your stable down, and they ran with this.

"We don't have to discuss this now, if you two don't want. I understand this all comes as a shock, whether or not you'd entertained the possibility. It's a long flight back—take the time to let it sink in, and then we'll tackle it at home."

He left them then, to expedite locating the other half of their band. For all the scandals Skwisgaar found himself a part of, he still had no idea how to handle them. Booze, for one, although he shook his head when a klokateer offered him some. It might be best that his stomach remain empty.

At least this time, he needn't face it alone. "What's you t'ink?"

"I's gonna kill Moidaface, for one. Others than that, I gots no idea."

Skwisgaar slouched down on the couch, gently rubbing his stomach in hopes that might calm it. After everything he and Toki did together, after all the negotiations and unarticulated regard, the entire situation summoned nostalgia of sitting in a bathtub with bite marks all over his neck, hugging his legs to exhibit some semblance of modesty. The Norwegian seemed just as far away now, just as untouchable. Should they have ever done this? If they discussed then the possibility of the entire world learning about their evolved friendship, would they have bothered? Did the risks outweigh the reward? Skwisgaar wanted to say no, but this fucked up everything. The fantasy of a private life shattered, just like that. Even though no one realized the extent of their activities, that quelled no sense of being stripped down and bared for the dogs. Rather than sit next to Toki in silent thrill of what they'd accomplished together, Skwisgaar felt like half a pair of dumb kids.

The characteristic slump of stress bent Toki's posture. Limp hands dangled between his knees. For everything they shared, so much remained unspoken. If they chose to address the questions of such a demanding public, what would they tell them? How could they tell them, when they hadn't even figured it out themselves?

Skwisgaar ran his fingers gently back and forth over the ridges of muscle in Toki's back. Even with a shirt blocking view, Skwisgaar mentally mapped out the location of every scar Toki suffered. How could he sacrifice such intimate knowledge of another person? How would he, if need arose? Fuck it—something like this couldn't force him to give up what made him happy. He attempted to convey that to the younger man when their eyes met, although a reassuring smile fought him the whole way.

Toki mirrored Skwisgaar's slouch with a sigh, ending the contact. "I'm sorries about this."

"Why? You didn'ts do anyt'ing."

"I just ams. This sucks."

"I don'ts want to deals wit' dis eithers. And I don'ts want to sees de ot'er guys right now. Evens if dey am drunk and don'ts know what dey dids yet. Let's get outs of here."

Humid air and a strong waft of shampoo hit Skwisgaar as they headed toward the front of the Dethkopter. What he wouldn't give to regain how trouble-free this night started. His nerves jolted when his phone rang again. One glance at his mother's number was all he needed to hit Ignore. Was this why she tried to get into contact with him? What the hell did she have to say? Probably just wanted to know the truth, and figured her standing as one of Dethklok's estranged mothers earned her that privilege. Too bad. If Skwisgaar and Toki opted to share anything about their personal lives with the world, she wouldn't know anymore than anyone else, and not a second sooner.

Skwisgaar rarely visited his room on here, since he never slept on board and the loud whirring of rotors broke his concentration when attempting to practice his guitar. The Norwegian strolled past him inside, arms tightly crossed. Where did they even start, in figuring this out?

"Well?"

"I honestlies don't even wants to t'ink about it, right now."

"Me neither," Toki replied. "The way I sees it, we gots fifteen hours to pretend like it never happened. We can stays away from the TV and turns the internet off on our phones, if you want."

"De internet don'ts matter. I t'ink dis broke it."

A scoff disrupted the sombre air enough to allow laughter. However short-lived, however quiet, even the smallest bit eased Skwisgaar's writhing insides. Outside attention on their private life forced the Swede to see it from that perspective too; in that regard, he couldn't believe the things he'd let Toki do to him, or the things he'd done in kind. That too was funny because, for all anyone could assume, some things would always remain a secret.

As if to reinforce that, Toki offered Skwisgaar little warning before hoisting him off the floor and entwining his fingers beneath his backside. The churning sea inside the Swede's stomach flipped for an entirely different reason—a welcome distraction. "For how tall you ares, you aren'ts very heavy."

"Not to you, maybes." Arms wrapping around Toki's neck had little if anything to do with a fear of falling.

"Skwis. . ." One flicker of the younger man's smile indicated the anxiety hiding behind it. Whatever he struggled to say, Skwisgaar cut him short. If it bore importance, or simply couldn't wait, Toki would angle his face away to discourage the Swede. Instead, Toki carefully moved them, feeling for the bed with his foot as he went. Skwisgaar trusted to let go of the Norwegian when released; while this resembled the rarest form they came together in, it also presented the most necessary.

Sharing the top of the cultural food chain slanted their perspective and prevented a marriage of their private and public personas. Did Toki believe he untucked the shirt of someone he regularly touched, or did he see an impermeable man that would skitter away for pride's sake? Skwisgaar steered him toward the former best he could, arching his back into the lips and tentative tongue that made their way up from his bellybutton. Toki needed to keep in mind that while both those versions of him existed, the two of them only came together in a solitary setting this way.

Toki nuzzled his face into Skwisgaar's sternum. "Maybes this isn'ts what we shoulds be doing right now."

"Whats you mean?"

"We gots a lot to figures out, all the sudden. I don'ts want it to be weirds."

Skwisgaar drummed his fingers on Toki's shoulder. However disappointed, the other man had a point. "Ja."

"This sucks." Toki's grip tightened on the Swede's middle. "I just wants thing to be's the way they were. Why dids this have to happen? What does you think? Do we stops?"

"Does you want to?"

Toki shook his head. "I needs this. I needs you. I don'ts know what I dids before, and like hells I wants to go back to that. Does you really cares, what people might say? They nots going to know anything real importants. They probablies all think we gay for each other, cryings about how much we in loves, or something."

"We gots to put dis in perskektive: de only t'ing what have change is dat people know dere am somet'ing going on between us. Dey don'ts really gots a clue, though. I t'ink what make it weird right now is dat it ams new and we's not really shore what going to happen. Ot'er dan dis gettings out, not'ing has really changed. Is all in our heads. I still wants you to Dom for me."

Toki lifted his head. "I'll admits: I figureds you would throw it away if peoples know we do anything at all."

"Why?"

"Well, you knows. . ." Toki shrugged. "No ones really think I in your league. Is kind of true."

Frowning, Skwisgaar hit him on the shoulder. "Dat ams de stupidest t'ing I ever heard. You gets dat out of you head. Is dat kind of t'inking what am goings to wreck dis. What we do amn'ts about leagues or looks or how we plays de guitar or dat we am famous. So you quits it right now."

"It isn'ts that easy. I don'ts has to look on the TV or on the internets to know what people are goings to say."

"It amn'ts dem you fucking. You t'ink I cares what dey say?"

"You always been confident, though."

"You jokings? I hates dis kinds of crap. What you needs to keep in mind am dat dey knows whoevers I wit' has mades me stop fucking a million ladies. Dey beens talking abouts it non-stop."

"Is true. . ." Toki eyed Skwisgaar carefully before crawling out from between his legs. "Ugh, this just sucks. I wouldn'ts think like this befores. It wouldn'ts even cross my mind."

"I t'ink dat am why Charles tell us not to turn on de TV. I don'ts want to know what people say either. Ja, maybes dey know about us, but dat am de extent to whats dey can knows, if we keeps us mouth shut."

"Is true." Toki laid on his stomach, feet in the air. "I don'ts want to says anything to them. They don'ts deserve an explanation, and we aren'ts obligated to gives one."

"Oogh, I hates talking in front of peoples, anyway." That job was always left for Nathan, Pickles, or Murderface. Even if Skwisgaar could address a crowd in his native language, he'd still more than likely freeze. "I agrees: no press conference. Let's dem talk all dey want. Evens if dey guessed what we does in Mordhaus, how woulds dey ever know dey right?"