METAL GEAR SOLID and all characters/ideas/concepts/places therein are not mine, although the writing certainly is.



Title: Home Is. Run. No. More.
Characters/Pairing(s): Snake and Otacon
Rating: PG
Summary: With every day, you're both a little older.
Warnings? Set post-fourth game, so spoilers do apply.
Notes: For mushroom18. The title is taken from the 31 Days theme for May 21, 2009.



Home Is. Run. No. More.


The first thing Otacon became aware of upon waking up was the fact that he wasn’t alone in bed. Perhaps that should not have been so surprising – his apartment is not just his apartment now, hasn’t been for years – but he had kept his own company for the entirety of the other night, right down to when he had put Sunny to sleep and gone to bed himself.

He could not tell where Snake had been, not by looking at him, at least: he looked and smelled like your typical old man in pajamas, curled up under the sheets and snoring a light smoker’s snore into the nearest pillow. He could have done anything from wandering off and knocking back a few at the pub a few blocks from their apartment to stumbling home from a freelance job infiltrating this and that building or killing this and that person (Otacon did not approve but Snake insisted on the occasional assignment to “keep his blood going”, or so he said). The only way to be certain would be to check their closet and the state of the living room, and that was not entirely reliable. Snake wasn’t a super soldier for nothing: he knew how to cover his tracks too damned well.

“Stop staring at me,” Snake suddenly said, in a low voice and without opening his eyes. “It’s getting creepy.” Otacon chuckled.

“Stop pretending to be asleep, then.”

The only response he got was a frown and a grunt. Otacon turned away, rolling back to his side of the bed and reaching for his glasses. He pushed himself up on one arm, set his glasses on his nose. The world became remarkably clearer after that, of course. He stretched, stood up, headed for the bathroom. Snake was curled up in the exact same position that he had been earlier by the time he was done.

“It’ll be time for breakfast soon, you know.”

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“If you don’t get up, I’m only going to cook for Sunny and myself.”

Another grunt from the mound of blankets on the bed. Otacon swapped his pajama top for a shirt, stepped into his slippers and shuffled out of their room. Bacon, eggs and waffles: three things on an extremely short list of things he knew how to cook. Not the healthiest meal on Earth, but certainly enjoyable. He called out a little before he finished up; when Sunny came out before Snake, he didn’t think anything of it, at first. When Sunny finished eating and Snake still wasn’t turning up, however, Otacon stood up to check what was happening for himself. He wasn’t worried, not really: perhaps it was because he already knew what he would find.

The bed was empty; the bathroom light was on. Snake was standing in front of the sink, hands gripping the edges, head bowed. He did not have his shirt on, making it next to impossible to ignore the withered, sickly thing his body was becoming. It was quiet, quiet enough to hear the older man breathing. In, out; in out. An attempt at calming down.

Otacon closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Snake’s waist, pulling him close. He set his cheek against that ruined back, felt the other man relax just a fraction. He could hear the other man’s heartbeat, and listened to go calm.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything else.