He was, to put it bluntly, exhausted. It had been a long, successful day and now the exhausted mountain of a man had made his way to the corner of the warehouse he and his boss/partner in crime were holding out in. Roadhog pulled out a thin, patchy sleeping bag and rolled it out on the floor before slowly laying himself atop it. There wasn't a sleeping bag alive that he could squeeze himself into, so he didn't even attempt to do so. Rolling onto his side, the man used his left arm as a pillow for his head as that was the most comfortable thing to use when there weren't any pillows around.

This was as comfortable as it could get for Roadhog without a proper bed beneath him. But he'd slept with less. He had slept long, cold nights in the dust and dirt of the Australian outback countless times. Cold hard cement was not the comfiest place to sleep either but he managed because beggars can't be choosers. You take what the world gives you, and you either work with it, or throw it back in the worlds face.

He was just beginning to doze when he heard the approach of Junkrat. It was impossible to miss, that hobbling sound he made wherever he went thanks to the peg leg he sported. Roadhog opened his eyes just a faction, face as normal hidden behind his mask, as he watched the young man with the bald patches stand there observing him in silence. That much was a surprise, because since when was Junkrat quiet? Almost never. He grumbled and hissed at him enough about being quiet, shutting his mouth, and the guy never listened.

Here, he was silent.

Junkrat approached the same way a timid animal would approach a larger, far more dangerous creature. His face was pale, but it was equally red at the same time. Was that sweat trickling down his forehead? Roadhog couldn't tell and he was, thus far, still pretending to be asleep otherwise Junkrat wouldn't be moving so close to him in such a fashion. Suddenly the younger man was sitting right beside him on the floor, flesh hand reaching out shakily but stopping itself before it touched any part of Roadhog. It pressed itself, instead, right against Junkrat's chest as if it were keeping his heart from bursting free of his rib cage.

But suddenly it was back, waving itself quickly in front of Roadhog's face. Testing to see if he was asleep? Most likely. But sure, Roadhog was curious where this was going. Was Junkrat going to try and remove his mask? That was the biggest, and first, rule that Roadhog had laid down when they'd paired up. Don't ask about the mask, don't take off the mask, just accept the mask. Junkrat had rapidly accepted. But now here he was, waving in front of it like an anxiously over-excited child.

When his waving earned him a zero on the reaction scale, Junkrat promptly laid himself down across from Roadhog. Just lying there, staring with intensity that normally only showed when he was about ready to pull the trigger on his detonator. But before Roadhog could finally end the charade and give the guy a scare with a well-placed snort and demand of what the Hell was going on here, Junkrat closed the space between them.

He was kissing him. Well, not him but his mask. His lips pressed desperately against the black leather masks stitched lips, his hand trembling as it held against one of the breathing filters on the mask. And still, Roadhog did not move. His eyes were staring at him through the thick, protective lenses of his mask and remained unmoving. Before it would have been hilarious, scaring the kid, but now the idea felt too cruel. So he remained still, even once Junkrat had pulled away, giggling nervously under his breath as he scrambled to his foot and peg leg and left the room shivering with adrenaline normally only earned after a good bombing.

Junkrat looked like the cat who stole the cream.

Little did he know the cream had been fully aware the whole time.

And he called himself a criminal mastermind.