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Syx hadn’t slept the entire time he’d been behind bars, he just couldn’t. The dreams always haunted him. The solitary made him feel half mad. More than half mad really. He’d pulled a stupid stunt to get out.  More foolish than he should, but it worked. Anna and Minion would be eager to see him. So would Wayne. Yet he found himself outside of the towering building that Harrison lived in. The bags under his eyes were deep, a five-o-clock shadow on his jaw, his clothing too big and stolen. He’d used a brain bot to fly up to the roof of a nearby building. He didn’t even know what his plan was. He was just tired and wanted the thoughts to go away.

Syx raised his arms and helped slip into the silky top. Running his fingers over the fabric he conceded, “It is very nice, feels a lot like my cape material only much less durable,” though he supposed durability wasn’t something often considered when making pajamas. 

He stepped into Harrison’s arms, wrapping his own around the other blue man. Harrison smelled good in a way he felt he’d never find words for. He could get lost in it. It was better than thinking. He was sick of his own head.

Harrison was just about to reach for those top two buttons to button them again, when Syx wraps him into another fierce hug.  It takes him by surprise, but after a beat, he responds by wrapping his own arms around the other blue man.  This is starting to become worrisome.  They all have a tendency towards the isolated, maudlin, and melodramatic at times, but this seems like more than just a needy mood swing.  

“Syx, what is wrong?” Harrison asked, nudging the side of the other man’s head gently with his own.  He’s genuinely baffled.  

Right… he cursed himself, it would go both ways, wouldn’t it? If he could sense Harrison then Harrison could sense him. He wasn’t used to that idea. He pulled away, embarrassed by his actions, he tried to shrug it off. He found himself talking instead. 

“Have you ever been in solitary before? It’s considered cruel and unusual torture when used for extended periods of time. But no one cares when you’re a super villain. Besides it fine, I have a tv. That makes it ok,” he laughed bitterly, “I don’t get yard time. I don’t eat with my uncles. I don’t get to be in the same room as real people unless I’m being strapped down to a chair to get carted around,”  he rubbed his arms and looked away, “Normally I psyche myself up for it before Wayne takes me in… but I wasn’t prepared for this visit.”