The base feels quieter without Siete around. There is no shortage of noise with the other Eternals still here, but he feels the distinct lack of something beside him.
While he met Siete bombarding with a sudden hug or a whisper in his ear with annoyance, it was only surface level, and when Siete isn't around to tease him about it, he finds himself craving it. Of course he doesn't expect them to be together all the time, as is the nature of being an Eternal in an ever-changing world of chaos—but he doesn't anticipate how much he'd miss that presence by his side.
This is far from their first time apart. They've already lent their assistance to the Grandcypher during Guild Wars already at least once during their time together, and while those weeks were long, the knowledge of each other's strict schedules made the wait bearable. No, he finds that he can admit to missing Siete the most during calmer times.
He wakes that morning with the sun bright in the sky, the other Eternals already starting on their laundry, not a single cloud in the sky to dampen their spirits. He wants Siete by his side the most during a time like this: when the Eternals are almost a crew in the way Siete always wanted.
That vision for a cohesive crew must have always included Six. Siete was so persistent about recruiting Six for the Eternals—a whisper of doubt, that ever-persistent darkness, stirs beneath the comfort that Siete brought to him.
He rolls over into the pillow and takes a deep breath, imagining for a moment that he didn't wake up to an empty bed. The least he could do for them is their laundry, although he doesn't know for how much longer Siete will be gone on his mission.
As he picks up Siete's clothes scattered around the room and strips the bed of the sheets, his eye catches one of Siete's capes thrown over the back of a chair. He stares at it for a moment, and before he can think better of it, he drapes it around his own shoulders.
It's slightly too large for him, dragging on the ground behind his feet as he picks up their laundry basket and brings it downstairs, but Siete's lingering scent, cedarwood and balsam and respite, is enough to calm his beating heart. The fabric caresses the sliver of exposed skin between his mask and the high collar of his uniform, right where Siete would kiss.
No sooner does he settle in a chair outside after hanging the laundry on the lines does someone come to join him. His eyes are closed to let the breeze fan across his face, and he wonders whether he can allow himself a peace just like this, a single beautiful day without incident.
When he cracks an eye open, he sees Song standing in front of him, holding two glasses of iced tea, and he extends a hand from Siete's cape to take it from her. It's a nice day outside, but still, Siete's presence is a warmth he wants to keep.
She sits in the chair beside him, and she dusts off the flakes of rust that scrape against the shoulder of her cape. The chair creaks under her weight, but everything in this base is built to last; for a crew that didn't know how to be together in the first place, all of their amenities here were meant to last, to return to after all is said and done.
He pokes the straw through the opening of his mask and takes a sip.
"You miss Siete, don't you?" Song's voice floats across the comfortable silence between them, underneath the single lazy cloud that drifts across the otherwise bright blue sky, the same colour as Siete's eyes.
He tilts his head away from her. "Nothing of the sort."
You've been moping around, but I get it," Song says with a smile, nudging him in the side when he grumbles a protest. "I was like that whenever I was away from Silva for too long, too. You never realize how lonely you are until you stop being lonely for a bit."
"I know of loneliness." Six's sigh is heavy, reverberating through his mask, and he stirs the ice cubes in his drink. The lingering scent of Siete fills his nose from the cape wrapped around him when he breathes in again to speak. "I know of loneliness, and yet, never has it been so great as this."
"Six." Song snorts. "Siete's barely been gone a week."
He hesitates as he considers not responding. "Irrelevant."
"Again, not that I don't understand, but I'm absolutely telling Siete that you were like this all week—"
"You will do nothing of the sort," he rushes to say, spilling his iced tea when he jolts forward to send her a glare under his mask with panic.
Unfortunately, the change in position exposes the hood of Siete's cape, and Song's understanding eyes dart over to it, glittering with mischief. "Wait, where are the ears—Is that Siete's cape?"
"No." He glances at her and decides it's a mistake. "The ownership of the cape is unimportant."
"Cute." She giggles, reaching out to pull it over his head before he can smack her hand away. Without pockets for his ears, he shakes his head from side to side to remove the hood from over his ears, and they pop out just in time to hear Song continue with, "Now I have no choice but to tell Siete." She takes a sip of her drink and looks at him again. "Or you could tell him yourself. I'm sure he'd appreciate knowing how much you missed him, and then he'd never shut up about how cute he thought it was."
The cape brought him a different kind of warmth than the one he anticipated. The gentle wave of embarrassment floods him, from his chest to his face. "He wouldn't know how to be quiet regardless."
She smiles at him and says nothing more. They find a natural lull in conversation here, both of them content to rest in silence and accept the day as it is, thinking of the ones they love, and he wonders whether Siete's mission is going well, when he'll be back.
The wind picks up, and it blows the hood of Siete's cape to hug his neck. He tugs it over his head, even though his ears protest, and settles into the chair like that, hoping Siete will be home soon.