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Yannick had only just gotten back from a particularly long and arduous strike when Cayde rolled up to the docking bay. Rather than say hello on the approach, Cayde went to lean against Yannick’s ship, arms crossed and looking somehow more insufferably smug than usual, before finally speaking. “Heeeeey, sparklepants. Wanna go for a drink?”
“You truly make each invitation more compelling than the last,” the warlock responds in a flat, deadpan tone, not even glancing over as he brushes off his coat and runs a hand through his tousled hair. “Do you really think today will be the day?”
Cayde takes a moment to look Yannick up and down. “…Kind of? No offense, but you look like you got run over by the Dreadnaught.”
Yannick would very much take offense if it weren’t true. He’s been worked to the bone over the past few weeks, and his exhaustion was finally starting to catch up with him, evident by the bags forming under his eyes. With a small sigh, Yannick finally turns to face Cayde. “Does it have to be drinks? Can’t we just go out for ramen?”
“I knew that noodle stand would grow on you.”
“Not the point.”
“Come on, let loose a little! It’s important to shake things up, go outside your comfort zone and all that jazz.” While the warlock looks rather unconvinced, Cayde takes a step forward, the sound of him wiggling his eyebrows more clear in his voice than his unmoving facial features. “I’ll buy the first round of dri—inks~?”
There’s a long, uncomfortable pause as Yannick stares blankly at Cayde, until eventually, he heaves out an overly dramatic sigh. “At least let me change clothes.”
“Oh, yes!” Cayde does a little hop as he pumps his fist in the air. “Holliday owes me a thousand glimmer!”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
They make plans to meet up at the bar later, so that Yannick can go home and shower and get ‘appropriately gussied up,’ as he’d said—though Cayde isn’t really sure what that’s supposed to mean. Cayde’s actually on top of his paperwork for once just for the occasion, and he’s filing the last of his reports when Zavala swings by. Before the commander can even open his mouth, Cayde holds up a finger to shush him. “I have been a good boy and done all my homework, so whatever you’re ready to lecture me about, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve earned some rest and relaxation tonight!”
Zavala blinks, then raises a curious brow. “I’m impressed. What, pray tell, is so enticing that you’ve managed to do your job for once?”
“If you must know, Yannick and I are going to hit the clubs.”
It’s impossible for Zavala to hide the surprise in his voice, despite his best efforts. “Yannick is going clubbing with you?”
“Er—it’s going to be more of a singular club than multiple clubs, truthfully, so I don’t know if that still qualifies as clubbing, but yes. The guy’s been even more tightly wound than usual, and I think he might explode into a pile of void confetti if he doesn’t relax a little.”
Cayde expects some kind of quip, even just a small remark of disbelief, but Zavala goes surprisingly quiet, his expression pinched until it goes carefully blank. He stares at Zavala and tilts his head, ever so slightly, and Zavala seems to remember he should say something. “I…see. Well, since you’ve both been working hard, I…wish you both a pleasant time tonight.”
Zavala quickly turns on his heel to stiffly walk away. Something is off about the titan’s response, but Cayde decides to let it be, more concerned with celebrating his personal victory tonight than prying into Zavala’s private life.
Unfortunately, Ikora can read Zavala like an open book, and when she approaches his usual late-afternoon haunt—a rather secluded balcony with a small sitting area and a patch of soil that only barely constitutes a garden—she immediately knows what’s going on. “You’re sulking.”
“I am not,” Zavala bites back, far too defensively for Ikora to not be right on the money. He realizes he’s given himself away when she smirks in victory, and he sighs, slumping back on the cushioned seat that’s just a tad too small for his large figure. “Yannick and Cayde are going out together tonight.”
“Ah, yes, I thought I heard Cayde’s boisterous peacocking from the other side of the Tower.” Ikora has her hands neatly clasped behind her back as she studies Zavala’s sullen expression. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. You know Yannick hates that sort of scene, the only reason he’s going is to humor Cayde.”
“Since when does he humor Cayde,” Zavala grumbles under his breath, ignoring the way Ikora rolls her eyes. “They’ve been having dinner together, too. What does Yannick see in him?”
Ikora sighs, taking a step closer to Zavala and setting a hand on his shoulder. “What Yannick sees is someone who was also good friends with Ajax, and who feels the same loss he’s going through.” That realization seems to melt through Zavala’s bitterness. “Besides. I’m sure if someone else bothered to ask, Yannick would rather spend his time elsewhere…”
Zavala awkwardly clears his throat, ignoring the heat rushing to his cheeks. “It would be highly inappropriate of me to—“
“That hasn’t stopped Cayde.”
“…No. I suppose it hasn’t.” And while Zavala would rather not use Cayde as an example of model behavior, he can, at the very least, use Cayde as an excuse if it comes up later.
The wheels are clearly turning in Zavala’s head, and Ikora chuckles to herself as she turns to leave. “If you’re going to make your move, try to stay on your toes—Yannick will eat you alive if you don’t.”
True to his word, Cayde buys the first round of drinks, and even sticks around long enough to finish his before wandering away to the dance floor.
Yannick loses track of him entirely after that.
Not that Yannick minds, since he hadn’t really planned on hanging out with Cayde all night anyway. Instead, he lingers at the bar, nursing his second drink and idly watching the throngs of people enjoying themselves and buzzing with alcohol. Yannick finds himself unwinding simply because everyone else is so relaxed, and by the time he’s ordering his third drink, he’s actually taken off his jacket, his rarely seen sweater underneath rolled up to his elbows as the bodies in the room drive up the heat.
A few people make passes at him—the brave ones that see the elegant, brooding Awoken with the slicked back hair and long lashes, a lovely shade of purple blossoming on his cheeks as his face flushes with blood from the heat and alcohol, and think they might honestly have a shot with him.
Anyone who actually knows Yannick doesn’t bother, since the warlock’s been infatuated with one person alone for the past several decades.
He ends up leaving while the night is still young. Yannick manages to catch the attention of Cayde on the dance floor, raising his hand in a half-hearted goodbye and Cayde giving him a small nod of acknowledgment. Yannick drapes his coat over his shoulders as he steps out into the night, but opts to keep it off, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through the Tower.
There are a few places in the Tower he likes to lurk when he’s seeking some much-needed alone time. Tonight, he goes for the quiet sitting area with the cushioned seats and the large, open window overlooking the lights of the city. When he arrives, however, Yannick pauses in the archway, surprised that there’s already someone there.
Zavala glances up from the book he’d been only mildly invested in. “Why, Yannick. I didn’t expect to see you here.” The titan doesn’t sound the slightest bit surprised, but his tone is reserved, and Yannick isn’t immediately sure what the man is getting at.
“I could say the same of you,” the warlock coolly replies, taking a few tentative steps closer. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all. Truthfully, I could use some company.” There are three couches arranged in a semicircle, Zavala sitting at one of the far ends, and Yannick proceeds to take the seat at the other end, furthest away from Zavala but directly facing him as a result. Zavala watches Yannick cross his arms over his chest, leaning back and resting his head against the cushion. “I thought Cayde said something about taking you to a bar tonight?”
Yannick snorts where he sits, making no indication that he intends to move from his comfortable position. “I went. I mingled. I left. Somewhere in that sequence of events, a moderate amount of alcohol was consumed.”
Zavala’s chuckle is subdued, a low rumble that sends pleasant tingles down Yannick’s spine. “You don’t sound terribly impressed.”
“I rarely am these days.” Yannick sits up just enough so Zavala can watch him shake his head disapprovingly. “A warlock at the bar tried to explain Vex time travel to me, like I haven’t spent centuries studying particle physics and quantum mechanics. Unbelievable! He didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the intricacies of the Pyramidion, but he had the nerve…”
The indignity in Yannick’s voice tips Zavala off to how inebriated Yannick really is. The man generally maintains a softer volume, but right now, he’s the most animated that Zavala’s ever seen him, throwing his hands out and gesticulating his outrage while his voice rises in a steady crescendo. Zavala can’t help but smile warmly at Yannick’s ranting. “Let me guess: he was crushed when he found out you know more than him.”
“Went to the bathroom and never came back.” Yannick lets out a soft huff, and even through the frustration, Zavala can see the spark of amusement in Yannick’s eyes. “This is why warlocks shouldn’t date other warlocks.”
There’s a pregnant pause, Yannick enjoying the amicable silence while Zavala mulls over what Yannick’s just said. By the time Zavala works up the courage to make his move, too much time has passed for it to seem like an offhanded comment, but he accepts revealing his hand in exchange for finally making a play.
“Who should warlocks date?”
Yannick opens one eye to peer curiously at Zavala, one carefully arched brow rising in intrigue. He’s clearly surprised by the move, but without hesitation, Yannick closes his eyes and replies.
“Titans.”
It takes everything in Zavala not to choke and sputter.
“A titan and a warlock balance each other out perfectly,” Yannick continues, as casually as if he were talking about the weather. “Not even just physically, though that aspect is appealing too—titans are often better at seeing the broad picture, while warlocks get wrapped up in the details. When you put a bunch of warlocks together, you get a group of fussy people nitpicking over every little thing and not getting much done.”
Zavala stares at Yannick, his mind struggling to catch up. Belatedly, he blurts out, “Physical aspect?” before he can think better of it.
“Well, yes. What warlock doesn’t want to get picked up and manhandled by a titan?” Immediately after he says it, Yannick furrows his brows. “…I probably shouldn’t be having this discussion with my commanding officer. That’s got to be a breach of protocol.” When Zavala fails to respond, Yannick breathes out an exasperated laugh and shakes his head. “Sorry to make you uncomfortable. I’m sure you don’t want to hear this.”
“I’m the one who asked,” Zavala says, only after clearing his throat. “Besides, you already went to a bar with another member of the Vanguard. A casual conversation isn’t much of a leap.”
Yannick stares at Zavala for a long moment, those bright, golden eyes of his clearly calculating as he intently studies the commander. Zavala isn’t sure he likes where this is going, especially when Yannick grins coyly at him. “Are you okay with me going to the bar with Cayde?”
“It’s…not my place to have an opinion about it.” Yannick only smiles wider, foxlike mischief painted clearly on his face, and Zavala thinks back to Ikora’s warning as he swallows hard and tries to steady himself. “You’re both adults, and you hardly work together as it is. I trust your sense of judgment, even if Cayde’s is questionable.”
“Of course, of course. Much appreciated, Commander.” Something about the way Yannick purrs out Zavala’s rank sends shivers down Zavala’s spine, and he finds himself pinned in place by the warlock’s piercing gaze. “Cayde isn’t exactly my first choice in company, though.”
“Is that so…?” Zavala doesn’t need a mirror to know blood is rushing to his face. Honestly, he feels like he might pass out at this rate. “Who would be, then?”
Yannick bats his eyelashes, biting his bottom lip for just long enough to catch Zavala’s gaze, before delivering the killing blow. “Ikora.”
Zavala stares at him, confusion and disbelief clear as day. “…Ikora?”
“Yup,” he says, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. The warlock folds his arms across his chest again, looking far too satisfied with himself. “I’m sure she’d be plenty fun to hit the bar with, don’t you think?”
There’s a long, long silence, far tenser than before, the gears in Zavala’s head grinding away as he tries to figure out how to move forward from here, Yannick delighting in the way Zavala squirms. It drags on for long enough that Yannick eventually closes his eyes, relaxing into the cushions and allowing himself to relax. It’s rare for him to let his guard down around people, but there’s hardly anyone Yannick trusts more than Zavala.
That peace is broken when he hears Zavala’s voice, low and dangerous. “If I didn’t know any better, guardian, I might think you’re toying with me.”
Yannick opens one eye to peek at Zavala, who’s now leaning back in his own seat, one arm draped over the back of the couch, legs open and stance wide and Yannick has to fight back a blush when he mentally notes how big and confident the titan looks. Swallowing any embarrassment he might have, Yannick puts on an innocent smile. “I’m not sure what you mean, Commander.”
Zavala rises to his feet, slowly and with the grace of a predator, like a tiger going on the prowl and stalking its prey, and as he crosses the distance between them, Yannick can’t help but feel small. “I think you do,” Zavala accuses, stopping only once he’s directly in front of Yannick, standing between the other man’s knees. “Ikora warned me about you.”
“Oh?” Yannick’s pinned in place, frozen under Zavala’s heated gaze, but he talks as if he were still in control of the situation, a bluff to cover up how flustered he’s starting to feel. “And what did she say, exactly?”
“That you’d eat me alive. But I don’t think that’s true.” Zavala inches closer, bringing one knee up to rest alongside Yannick, leaning in and placing his hands on either side of Yannick on the back cushion of the couch. Yannick’s breath hitches as he stares up at Zavala, heart nearly pounding out of his chest when Zavala leans in to murmur in his ear. “I think you’re the one looking to be devoured.”
Zavala pulls back just enough to meet Yannick’s gaze, and the tension between them is nearly palpable. With a surprising amount of hesitance, Yannick shyly reaches up to put a hand on Zavala’s shoulder, as if trying to convince himself that this is really happening. Sure enough, Zavala is tangible and firm and Yannick is about five seconds away from climbing him like a tree.
Unfortunately, in those five seconds, they’re interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Seriously Yannick, you can’t say you’re going to hang with me tonight and then run off to…oh.” Cayde stands in the archway, stunned silent as Zavala and Yannick both turn to stare at him, the latter with a look of horror and embarrassment, the former with pure irritation. Cayde balks, speechless for once in his life. “I, uh…hey?”
“Do you need something, Cayde?” Zavala’s been annoyed with Cayde before, but Yannick has never heard this level of absolute vitriol from the commander. Zavala doesn’t even move from where he is, practically on top of Yannick. “Some of us are preoccupied at the moment.”
Cayde looks at Zavala, then at Yannick, then at Zavala again. “Right. I can, uh, see that.” Yannick, to his credit, looks like he’s about to die. “I’ll just…leave you guys to that, then!” The hunter shoots them the most awkward finger guns he’s ever fired as he tentatively walks backwards, out of the archway and back outside.
After a long, silent moment, Zavala and Yannick both let out the breath they’d been holding, breathing out a relieved sigh in unison. Though when Zavala looks to Yannick, the warlock’s face is bright purple, biting his lip and pointing his gaze anywhere but Zavala. Despite everything, this is the most embarrassed Yannick has looked all evening, and Zavala can only offer a sheepish smile. “My apologies. I should have considered our location before putting you in this position—”
“It’s alright,” Yannick gently interrupts. “Really, I—I’ve…wanted this for a long time.” Ikora and Ajax and Hawthorne and, hell, even Asher Mir have all teased Yannick about it. Ikora has been aware of his pining for over a century now, before even Yannick realized he had a crush. Tentatively reaching up, when Zavala doesn’t move away, Yannick pulls Zavala down and buries his face in the titan’s neck. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “Traveler’s light, I’m never going to hear the end of this from Cayde.”
Zavala can’t help but laugh. “If Cayde knows what’s good for him, he’ll keep his mouth shut. I can think of plenty of ways to discourage him.” Yannick smiles in response, and Zavala can feel it against his skin, making his heart skip a beat. “Would you like to come back to my quarters? Or, I can walk you home, if you’d like.”
“If you think I’ve waited this long just to let you walk me home for the evening, you’re out of your mind.”
Cayde notices the rather conspicuous markings adorning Yannick’s neck the following morning, but he also sees Zavala shooting him a death glare in warning from the other side of the hangar, and Cayde quickly decides that this particular line teasing might not be worth it.