Return to Sender (Promise Refused) - saintarchangel (2024)

Chapter 1: Beginning & Ending (Yet Again)

Chapter Text

Ryan was bored.

He didn’t care about this city and the research he was supposed to do.

The first superhero—the first real celebrity of a hero—owed everything to the city he had traveled to: Sternbild, they called it, the birthplace of the modern hero system, a sprawling, layered city built on an island.

He’d been forced to take this vacation against his will while all his friends back home were having fun and spending time together during the summer vacation. Any other time he might’ve enjoyed the novelty of the trip because at least he would’ve gotten to skip school. Now he only felt like he was all alone, a feeling he’d never fancied, but then again, who did?

He fiddled with the corner of his short jacket, brown leather lined with satin and cut into a sharp, modern shape. It was designer but plainer than what he usually wore: he wasn’t in Sternbild to be scouted for extra modeling gigs since he already had plenty of those.

“Eeeh, this is gonna take ages,” he whined, words drowned out in the overbearing murmur of voices whispering amongst each other. The audience impatiently waited for Mr. Legend to step out onto the stage in his near-mythical glory like a living demigod instead of a mere mortal.

To Ryan, Mr. Legend was a legend in name only because all he saw was an old man with a tacky suit. It looked like he was wearing underwear on top of a leotard while sporting one of the ugliest colour schemes he’d ever seen. For all of these reasons and more, Ryan couldn’t figure out what he had to do with Mr. Legend or what there was for him to learn from him.

His future as a hero was already laid out in front of him and written in the stars themselves… That’s what he chose to believe.

It might have been a flippant suggestion at first, but he’d thought about it for so long that it only felt natural he’d become a hero: everyone adored heroes. The stars that foretold his greatness might’ve been the golden stickers he’d glued all over his notebook when he was younger and not as cool, but now he was much more mature and the stars were very real.

In a few more years he’d never sit alone waiting for someone to appear. He’d be the person other people waited for, no question about it. Ryan was going to be famous and his name would be on everyone’s lips.

He didn’t need Mr. Legend’s advice to get his foretold future of grandeur. It was enough for him to see the excited crowd to know that if someone like Mr. Legend could draw in so many people, he’d be at least thrice as popular.

Ryan nodded to himself and ran his fingers through his blonde locks. Being here was a chore but at least his parents cared about his future and him, fostering independence by sending him on a long flight to a different city. A sound business strategy he could make the most of in his own way, helpful like the elastic headband barely holding back his thick hair he'd gotten from his mother when he refused to get his hair cut shorter.

Most of the crowd in the hall was packed in the front, all vying for a chance to see Mr. Legend at an arm’s reach. Not a single soul cared about the blonde boy sitting in the very back of the hall, picking at his strands of hair, the backlight only showing his silhouette against the open entrance behind him.

Ryan glanced back to the doors that would fall close and trap him in this stuffy hall once the lecturing started. He would’ve skipped this entire thing if only he had anything to do, but he’d found Sternbild troublesome to navigate and couldn’t figure out where everyone awesome (like him) were spending their free time. By showing up to the lecture he could at least try to pick up a conversation with someone his age and have a more bearable time.

It wasn’t like his parents would ask too many questions about the event or listen to him speak for long enough to figure he’d used the time better on something he knew to be more meaningful than lectures from old men he didn’t care about.

His friends would think skipping the entire thing was cool when he’d get the chance to tell them, he reasoned. He could further embellish the truth (just a little bit) as he told the story to make sure they thought he was extraordinary.

A boy about his age entered the hall while Ryan teetered dangerously far back on his chair, busy lamenting his predicament, but not so busy he couldn’t notice the newcomer.

He had an unflattering haircut that revealed far too much of his forehead and made him look like a nerd, similar to one of the boys at school Ryan would ask to copy his homework from in exchange for pocket change. This nerdy boy wore jeans, the same sneakers every childish teen their age wore because they didn’t know fashion as well as Ryan did, and an olive polo shirt that hung on his skinny frame like an ill-fitting curtain partially faded in the sunlight.

He was the total opposite of Ryan, who was mature for his age, which you could tell by his clothes, which an adult would wear—he was basically an adult already. Yes, his mother had gotten these clothes for him (or maybe it had been his stylist, he couldn’t remember), but he could’ve bought something as good by himself (or rather, something better and in his own style).

Ryan continued thinking about the differences between the two of them while staring at the newcomer and couldn’t help but bear witness to how he jumped when the chair he sat on creaked, audible to Ryan across the hallway. The boy glanced around, hoping to make sure nobody had noticed the sound, only to end up looking into Ryan’s eyes.

He was shocked to be seen and averted his gaze, which he meanderingly brought back to Ryan while his worried eyebrows twisted into a shape that portrayed a profound tragedy instead of the prior quiet melancholy. Ryan waved at him with an easy-going grin, but the greeting was not returned in any way, his pale hands now gripping onto his knees and his head turned away from Ryan altogether.

Ryan sniffed and scratched his nose.

Sternbild was kind of an uncool place when compared to Ryan’s hometown, so this boy definitely was from Sternbild too. He had that sort of energy to him, not that he could help where he’d been born and raised, the inherent uncoolness of this island city seeping into him.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder to catch a glimpse at the big clock hanging over the entrance, squinting against the sunlight to see the chromed hands slowly ticking forwards.

It was exactly five minutes until Mr. Legend would begin his lecture on the principles of justice, heroism, and his life’s work… And probably more topics that Ryan had already forgotten about because he didn’t care to hear about things like that. Especially when he’d found someone to run away from it with.

He leant his head to the side and tried to catch the other boy’s eye to no avail in a moment that stretched on and on. The second hand of the clock marched on relentlessly till the minute hand jumped a notch forward, and Ryan imagined he could hear the sound it made like a cong.

It was now precisely four minutes until the doors would slam shut, and the small window he had left to act would be forever closed.

Time crawled forward at the same pace it always did, even if it felt both faster and slower.

Ryan checked his phone while he teetered backwards on his chair, disheartened to find out the hero briefing was going to last longer than the approximately five more minutes he was willing to stay in the room and try to concentrate in silence. Focusing on things without anything else to do had never been one of his strong suits.

He loved making public appearances on his own terms, winging them instead of memorizing timetables and rules. But Sternbild didn't work that way, not with the amount of coworkers he now had.

The producer of Hero TV, Agnes Joubert, had only cursory details to share because most of the parts she was actively involved in were irrelevant to the heroes’ behind-the-scenes conduct during the upcoming commemorative gala, things that Ryan didn’t need any reminders about: he never forgot to smile for the cameras.

Agnes had already whisked herself away by the time Ryan looked up from his phone so that he was met with the visage of the director of the Justice Bureau standing in front of the heroes instead.

Yuri Petrov, he knew, but always called him Judge.

Yuri was about to give some sort of speech on extra security details, and while Ryan hadn’t become a fan of listening to lectures in the time Agnes had fallen quiet and Yuri had appeared in her place, he was more alert. The director usually kept his lectures concise, the necessary information delivered like an orderly list of bullet points. At least, that was how Ryan absorbed any of the information he ever presented.

Where Agnes was the ice queen to Karina’s ice princess, Yuri might’ve as well been the winter itself. Karina wasn’t hard to read, no matter how she tried to be—Agnes was someone she unconsciously aspired to be, though Karina lacked the necessary ruthlessness (Blue Rose’s persona was wholly an act, that much was clear to Ryan).

Agnes liked money and ratings; she was a shrewd businesswoman, but she had a nicer side, something Ryan could only guess she had picked up from years of working alongside the idealistic heroes of Sternbild.

Yuri, however… He was a mystery. The corners of his full lips often curled upwards so it looked like he smiled, but Ryan could never make up his mind whether it was a trick of the eye or not. He had always considered himself good at reading people but it was hard to get a hold on Yuri's inner workings.

Ryan focused on catching the gist and spent most of his attention span studying the waves and curls of Yuri’s neatly-kept long hair, his eyes that were both sharp and withdrawn, and his worse than an out-of-style tie. The tie changed, but it was always so garish that Ryan had come to regard it as a charming character trait: he always looked forward to seeing Yuri’s latest fashion disaster.

A stranger to Ryan’s thoughts, Yuri continued explaining the security logistics of the gala to be held in honour of the renovation of a building built well over a decade ago. It was an important moment in the history of Sternbild and its heroes, an unfaltering monument frozen in time. Once, it had played an important, necessary role in boosting the popularity of heroes and bringing them closer to the common folk in no small part due to the speeches delivered in its lecture halls.

The photo on the wall-sized screen behind Yuri made him look like he was standing in front of the entrance to the building on a vivid summer day, overdressed for the warm weather in his gray suit. Maybe the heat would get him to loosen his tie.

There was something familiar about Yuri, Ryan realized, a memory of a memory stirring from the tie's washed-out green fabric.

He looked up from Yuri’s tie that he’d stared at while leaning backwards on his chair, only to be met with Yuri’s gaze that pierced him like a needle pressed through the skin to draw blood would, sharp despite his polite demeanour.

“And if Golden Ryan could repeat what I said?…”

“Oi oi, no problem whatsoever, Judge!” Ryan pointed at him with two fingers and winked. “You were talking about the history of the building for those of us not from Sternbild, before that you said that the VIPs are gonna want to have one of us on standby at all times, so on and so forth, earlier you were talking about all the police coordination and how we’re gonna do the publicity events in tandem with working for the event security. You want me to explain it again? I can, I’m sure someone here missed half of it. Not me, though.”

A heavy pause hung in the air, Yuri’s voice cutting through it when Ryan drew a breath to continue speaking: “No, that’s enough.”

Yuri looked back to his papers and moved on.

Karina rubbed her forehead next to Ryan, trying to decide what she had done wrong in life to deserve a buddy hero partner like him (and why she had ever chosen him from the suggestions given). Ryan gave cause to give scoldings like to a schoolboy and deservedly so, given that Ryan had been teetering backwards on his chair with his phone held in his hand, a vacant stare on his face. She sighed when the scent of Ryan’s body spray wafted closer to her.

“Hey, Princess,” he whispered.

“…Yes?”

“I was wondering… Y’think the Judge has visited the Continental area before or something like that? I got the feeling just now that I’ve met him before.”

“Why would I know that?” Karina paused because she had to focus on lowering her tone instead of snapping at Ryan. “Ask him, not me, and not now.”

Ryan prepared to give an extremely long explanation as to why he had to ask Karina first, but Barnaby elbowing him in the ribs cut him off and made him wheeze. Barnaby glanced at Ryan and then back in Yuri’s direction over the rim of his glasses before pushing them back up his nose. He leant back in his chair, but not before giving the same look to Kotetsu snickering about Ryan’s fate.

Both Ryan and Kotetsu submitted to the torturous ordeal of sitting still and quiet while Yuri observed the unrest from the corner of his eye. They’d sorted it out amongst themselves like a herd of cats, some of which had more problems behaving than others. Grown men, no less…

Yuri skimmed through the papers on the lectern in front of him and turned to a new page. The screen behind him changed appropriately so that the building's floor plan was displayed. Not much was left to go through, and he was allowed to finish talking without further incident.

“This concludes the briefing. Thank you for your time.”

“You’re very welcome, and again, welcome!”

Yuri didn’t react to the always-enthusiastic Sky High (Keith Goodman) and his gestures. His buddy hero Fire Emblem (Nathan Seymour) beside him was leaning over to Blue Rose (Karina Lyle) to hear her complain about her buddy hero Golden Ryan (Ryan Goldsmith, whose identity was not a secret), while the man in question was talking loudly to Barnaby Brooks Junior (whose identity was not a secret either) and his buddy hero Wild Tiger (Kotetsu T. Kaburagi, whose identity had once been a secret).

All of them sat in the first row, and behind them, more heroes. Ryan leant backwards to call out to Rock Bison (Antonio Lopez) and got into a not-so-serious argument with Kotetsu about something that didn’t matter. The three of them were insufferably loud, and even louder once the young hero Mr. Black (Subaru Sengoku) joined in on the conversation without being invited to do so.

He took the argument very seriously, and the older men didn’t hesitate to poke fun at him for doing so, which frustrated him further. His partner He Is Thomas (Thomas Taurus) ignored the commotion right next to him, typing something into his phone. The remaining heroes Origami Cyclone (Ivan Karelin), Dragon Kid (Pao-lin Huang) and Magical Cat (Lara Tchaikoskaya) wondered what they'd eat for dinner.

Quiet and alone, Yuri Petrov (the vigilante Lunatic, even if nobody knew it) stacked papers into the folder they belonged in. He and the documents both had a distinct purpose, words in black on white to deliver judgement on what roles others must play.

This was the position that had befallen him, carrying the secrets of the heroes to be able to see their justice for himself, and his own secrets he’d hide like paper scraps, torn and burnt around the edges.

The folder snapped shut, and he stood down from the podium.

He was not one of the heroes and part of their little group. He was a vengeful ghost, and as half-real and half-transparent as he was, nobody noticed him leaving.

The thought that brought him peace, even if it was a lonely sort of peace: there had been a time in his life when he’d wished to be known and understood, but as he’d grown older, he had understood it to be a vulnerability.

It was a weakness to be exploited, one he sought to purge from himself. His emotions were best repurposed as fuel for something greater, something useful, and his public image he’d drenched in crystal-clear water that washed away all of his shortcomings and smothered a wicked flame.

The absence of warmth had crystallized the water into a thick sheet of ice over the defects that burned in his heart, cold and see-through but not in a way that gave away what he thought. He had hypothermia from where he was trapped under the ice, always sinking into dreams of blue-green fire, but it was a comfortable equilibrium.

His solace and his punishment: infinite, but only for as long as he were to exist, with a finite start and a finish.

Despite his conviction, someone occasionally tried to befriend him, including some of the heroes present: they didn’t understand that he was comfortable as he was, knowing more about others than they knew of him.

He had nothing to give.

These budding friendships sputtered out as soon as they started and became starving plants that received too little sun and too much water. It was merciful to not entertain them.

Even before he’d become trapped like this, he had never been particularly outgoing. He’d once been happy in a way only a child with no knowledge of the world could be, but that had been taken from him. He’d become afraid of others and the world, and the occasional positive interaction had since then been like sunlight melting away frost.

Passing years had thickened that shielding layer of ice. It now protected him more than it had protected him in his youth to ensure the eventual end never came to pass. It was human to crave warmth, but it was too much too quickly, wholly overwhelming, and it always ended in tears when he couldn’t hide who he was anymore.

He was barely human, after all, and the warmth of others wasn’t meant for him.

Chapter 2: Invitation & Refusal (Take My Hand)

Chapter Text

Yuri tried to make himself appear smaller, hoping the blonde boy across the hallway had already forgotten about his existence. Causing a scene here would torment him for a long time, and it would be something he could never forget.

Three minutes and the doors are gonna close, thought Ryan. He only took his eyes off the new friend he had decided to make to check the time, to be sure he still had a while left to somehow attract his attention.

Ryan tapped the side of his chair, the sound of his fingers against the metal arch drowned out in the murmur of voices. He could definitely convince the other boy to skip the lecture with him since nobody in their right mind wanted to be here to listen to some old man rambling about topics that weren’t interesting in the slightest.

He was sure of this, no matter that his opinion was contradicted by the sheer number of people packed in the front of the hall and the fact that the event had been sold out well in advance. Those were minor details: they probably didn’t realize how boring Mr. Legend indeed was, unlike Ryan, who knew better. The hero was about as old as his father, who wasn’t an interesting man either.

Ryan stood up so quickly that he almost bumped into the row in front of him. Besides the person he’d nearly fallen over against glancing over their shoulder in momentary annoyance, nobody paid him any mind. Skipping this lecture would be easier than skipping school with no teachers to keep track of his attendance, and he was good at that too.

He turned on his heel, leather boots skidding against the floor, and walked across the hallway as fast but as casually as he could muster, weaving between the few new attendees rushing in. Ryan fixed his hair because he’d played with his hair band before and probably made it look messy in a way it wasn’t supposed to be.

First impressions were everything, so he leaned against the back of the empty chair in front of the boy and leaned lower to see his face, making sure he could see how fun and confident he was. The closer Ryan got, the more the boy turned away and almost collapsed into himself. That was what you did when your bullies got too close, but Ryan had never seen him before, so it was a little unusual.

Unusual was fine by him since it wasn’t like people didn’t sometimes think he was weird—they simply weren’t mature or intelligent enough to figure out that Ryan was something special in a unique, positive way.

“Hey!” Ryan tilted his head to the side. “I’m here to listen to that old guy speak, and you’re here for that too, right?”

The sitting boy eased most of the tension in his shoulders after he heard Ryan call Mr. Legend an old guy. He was so surprised he forgot to be frightened, but Ryan couldn’t read him well enough to tell why he reacted like that. It didn’t matter since he’d managed to break the ice: this was progress!

“Seriously, did someone force you? My parents super did! Er, force me to come here, I mean.”

“Uhm… Not really,” the boy replied, his voice quiet.

His eyes were a pale green, and his gaze darted around like he was afraid someone was eavesdropping on him. Ryan tried to see if anyone was paying the two of them any attention, but he didn’t notice anything that stood out.

The boy spoke up again: “This lecture is valuable and important to hear, not only for each and every person here but also for the future of heroes… A-After all, this is an event hosted by Mr. Legend himself.”

“Oi oi, c’mon!” Ryan grinned and intended to continue speaking, falling silent mid-word while trying to get his following sentence out of his mouth so that only a weird little noise escaped, acutely remembering that he could say swears without anyone being able to stop him. “Who the hell cares about some old hero like him!”

The other boy was left speechless, and Ryan couldn’t help but notice how long his eyelashes were during the pause in the conversation. That’s what stylists wanted to see, so he was the tiniest bit jealous that his own eyelashes didn’t look like that. Ryan refocused his gaze on the boy’s eyes when he moved to reply.

“Many people care… He’s the very best of the heroes; none of them even come close to his records. He’s dedicated to serving the people, to doing the right thing… Dedicated to justice. No, he’s more than a hero, he’s a symbol of what heroes are supposed to be—”

Ryan interrupted his monologue with an exaggerated shrug and a lopsided smile on his face.

“I know that, but like, meh, records were made to be broken. He’s just some old guy to me. Who is he, anyway? His persona isn’t that cool, and he could have really embarrassing hobbies and stuff when he’s not working. My dad’s got some,” Ryan said. “Doesn’t your dad have that sorta hobbies?”

All nervous tension had disappeared from his scrawny frame to give way to barely-contained confusion, emboldening Ryan to go even further: “That’s why, when I become a hero, I’ll use my real name! I’ll always be just as cool, in and out of the hero suit. Everyone’s gonna know my name and me and think I’m super awesome. My name’s Ryan, by the way!”

Two people in the row in front of them turned and shushed Ryan, whose volume had risen with excitement to announce something like that about himself. Yuri lifted his hand to silence Ryan as well, but all Ryan thought of was how it was the perfect moment to grab his hand to pull him up to his feet.

His hand was warm in his, and even if Ryan threw his weight backwards to ensure he could get Yuri up in one fluid motion, his touch was never rough. It happened too fast for Yuri to even consider that he could’ve not followed Ryan’s lead to stand up, powerless to resist him like he was an asteroid trapped in the gravity of the Sun.

“It’ll be awesome to hang out together ‘cause then you can show me all the cool places around Sternbild! I can tell that you don’t wanna be here, riiight?”

Ryan was a little taller than he was, his messily styled hair outlined by the light pouring in from the open doors to the side where they were now standing. On the other side, the unlit speaker’s podium was empty and dark, where Mr. Legend would appear in just a few moments.

He hadn’t been forced to come here like Ryan, Yuri thought (with some amount of desperation) because he’d readily agreed to come here when his father had suggested it to him. It was for him to learn more about the great man he was and why all of this meant so much to him—why he still was Mr. Legend.

A confusing sort of guilt seeped into the cracks of the image he had had of his father, the very same that had once been flawless and carefully polished, and would’ve once made him refute all of Ryan’s claims with naive, undeserved vigour.

Ryan’s words outlined the cracks in the mirror until Yuri wasn’t sure who the coward in the reflection was and whether it was himself he saw, or the bent and twisted ghost of the man he had thought his father had been.

He had grown more and more confused as to who his father truthfully was, a harmless spark of a thought threatening to consume his thoughts like wildfire. Something in his father’s image had shattered and taken the concept of pure justice with it without Yuri being able to reforge that justice in this shameful doubt of his.

It was more than embarrassing hobbies, something so much worse, but Ryan’s flippant words made him crave more: a confirmation or a rebuttal to the childish hope that this strange boy he’d met by chance could understand even half of what he couldn’t tell a single soul in this entire city.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Yuri moved his gaze away from the stage and the looks of the nearby people to Ryan, who didn’t notice or care about the onlookers, waving away a fussy employee at the door. All Yuri could see was the sunlight spilling into the room from beyond the opened entrance doors that lit Ryan up and got caught in his hair and golden jewellery like he was something more than another teen his age.

“Sorry… S-Sorry for causing trouble; I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled to all of the pairs of eyes closing in on him and perhaps to Ryan as well, even if his voice was far too quiet to reach the entryway. It was too late for him to follow him. The hands of the clock overlaid each other to show it was noon, and the employees started to pull the heavy doors closed.

“Wait, wait, that guy’s gonna come with me too—hey, don’t push me, I’m not gonna go back in! It’s super urgent that we get to leave, there’s a… Uh, an emergency, I’m super serious! I’m not some kid, okay? But I’m still gonna get lost on my way home if he doesn’t get to come with me! I need his help soooo bad!”

Somehow, Yuri’s legs took him to the entrance as if moving on their own, where he caught Ryan by the hand he was busy gesturing with and pulled him away from the doors before he could cause more of a scene.

The doors closed with a thunk after he’d stepped through them, leaving a murmur of enthusiastic voices behind him which all quieted down into a whisper in the blink of an eye. All Ryan could see in front of him was Yuri’s back before his eyes got adequately accustomed to the bright light of the hallway.

Ryan smiled because—for a brief moment—he had worried he’d have to wander the hallway all by himself and pretend like he had missed his chance to talk to Yuri on purpose, not because he’d been too slow to catch up with him.

“Oi, Judge! Hang on! What’s the hurry, eh?”

Yuri stopped in his tracks and turned around halfway to see the owner of the distinct voice lazily jogging after him with one hand raised in a gesture that begged for him to stop and listen.

“Hm?.. What is it?”

“I thought of something and wanted to ask about it.” Ryan huffed with a hand pressed against his chest to pretend he had to catch his breath as if he’d run a marathon despite the door not being far away. Yuri wondered if the man had listened to him speak at all and if he had, whether he had retained any of the information or if he required him to explain it all over again.

“Man, you walk way too fast, we’re about the same height, but it feels like your legs are two times longer. But hey, it’s my amazing physique getting in the way of that, you’ve got the fashion show bod, eh, I’m more of the—”

“What is the question?” Yuri had no particular expression, not knowing what to make of Ryan’s commentary and eager to move on from topics he didn’t know how to react to or answer.

“I was wondering if you’ve ever been to the Continental area, especially to—”

“No, I have not.”

“What about—”

“I have never left the confines of this city.”

“Eeeh… Really.”

Near involuntarily, Yuri’s face adopted the same expression he had when prosecutors tried their luck extending the time they had been granted to speak. “Yes, and I fail to see any connection between this line of questioning and the subject matter of the briefing. If you had nothing else?…”

“Well, not really, I guess. Nothing related to that, anyways,” Ryan reached forward. Yuri tensed, sinew stretching into taut chords, fingers squeezing the folder in his hands to bring it closer to his chest, but the line of his mouth was unflinching.

His eyes grew cold and challenging.

Touch me if you dare—prove that you’re a good-for-nothing hero like the rest. Ryan pursed his lips and vaguely gestured in Yuri’s general direction instead of pulling at the wavy strand of hair falling over the judge’s hollow cheek as had been his first instinct.

“Uh-huh, just feels like I’ve seen this hair before. Y’know, the colour’s pretty distinct. You dye it or something?”

It was as if Ryan was purposefully proving himself to have a modicum of manners despite the way he usually acted. Yuri already harboured a certain distaste for the hero, but he couldn’t name a single thing he had actually done to wrong him.

The question itself was inoffensive enough and nothing he wouldn’t have asked from his fellow heroes (going as far as to use their officially issued communicators for these unimportant lines of questioning); perhaps that was what made Yuri uneasy around him.

He was self-aware enough to know he had no particularly interesting or redeeming qualities for Ryan to uncover, and he knew that Ryan would never be able to understand even half of what had made him who he was. They were too different; one made for a life under the spotlight of the brightly shining sun and the other for the cold shroud of night, misdeeds lit only by the pale moon.

A simple answer would suffice and give Ryan nothing to elaborate on. “No, I do not.”

“Huh.” Ryan put his hands behind his head and leaned his body from side to side as if stretching while fostering an exaggerated expression of thoughtfulness. “Damn, honestly, I just got this weird feeling that we’ve met before—way before—so I was wondering…”

“That is not possible,” Yuri said, even as he got the sinking feeling that he might’ve met someone very much like Ryan somewhere sometime, a distant echo of a day he had once lived. The memory sat on the edge of his consciousness but slipped away when he tried to grasp it, something complicated he’d rather not remember entwined to it.

“But hey, either way, we should go for drinks sometime.”

Ryan’s interjection pulled Yuri’s attention back to the conversation, confusion flashing across his face before he managed to catch and smother it like an unruly flame. “Hnh? What?”

“Yeah, dude. We should go out for drinks, you and me.” Ryan gestured between himself and Yuri, who momentarily felt like a wild animal trying to comprehend the meaning of words and gestures commonly used by humans. “Hero’s Bar isn’t half bad. You don’t really strike me as the type of guy to go for a bump and grind at the club, but that place can just be chilled at. Throw darts, if you want, I can teach you too: it’s all in the hand movement. Y’know how I’ve got DARTSLIVE sponsoring me?”

Had Yuri not known better, he’d almost thought that Ryan was asking him out for a date to make a cruel mockery of him, but he’d come to understand this was Ryan’s standard way of communication. He was as overfamiliar with everyone and always managed to sound far more coquettish than necessary.

“That would not be appropriate.”

“Aw, c’mon, is that ‘cause you’re my superior, like with those snacks I got you and you were all, you know I can’t accept this. It constitutes bribery.” Ryan was trying to mimic the cadence Yuri spoke with and didn’t get it even remotely correct, so any intention to ridicule Yuri was only turned against himself in a very absurd manner. “Relax, man! I wouldn’t do that. I’ve gone out to hang one-on-one with almost everyone now, so it’s nothing like bribery.”

“The old Tiger’s as average as they get, but he’s a real animal once we get the party started with Junior. Queenie can really handle her drinks, but those evenings have more of a classy vibe, you know what I mean? Wouldn’t that be kinda your style? And Rocky’s the one you gotta hold back, go all: oi, oi, man, that’s enough! Eeeh… Worries me sometimes, actually. Origami’s real good at darts, not as good as me, though.”

Ryan gestured while talking, his jewellery clinking to the tune of his laidback movements. It left little leeway for Yuri to properly decline, especially as he was trying to decide what exactly evenings with a more classy vibe entailed, and why Ryan thought they would have been kinda his style.

“And hey, it doesn’t have to be Hero’s Bar. Sky can handle about one drink before he falls asleep, but he’s got some great dogs. Love going out to the dog park with the guy. I’ve got a pet as well, so I really connect with him, y’know?”

Due to a chance meeting when Keith had only had one dog, Yuri knew that Keith’s dog was named John. Occasionally, Keith informed him that John sent his regards, and the last time Yuri had heard about the dog, he’d been excited about his new little brother, Johnjohn.

The most shocking part was the admission that Ryan owned a pet himself, which made Yuri question whether the other man was fit to take care of a pet of any kind, given his near-irresponsible nature.

“The kids too. I mean, Spark only reaches me here—That short and she can eat as much food as I can, that’s real talent, eh… There’s this one great Chinese place on the north side of town, eh… Packed them all into my car with Princess in the passenger’s seat and drove there a while ago, turns out that Mr. Cranky feels like a real piece of work but it’s his partner you gotta watch out for.”

Yuri thought that Ryan must’ve been at ease surrounded by children, given his equally obtuse nature, though the young heroes were actually quite clever and accomplished on their fronts (even the teen boys who had their respective attitude issues), so the comparison felt too harsh, and not towards Ryan.

At this moment, Yuri felt almost sorry for Karina having Ryan as her buddy hero partner. She was not a teenager any longer but was not yet of age, and she’d been rewarded with a partner like Ryan after having been a hard worker since her childhood debut. He was not a lacking hero, but he was not a hard worker.

“Eh… I guess not all of that is one-on-one, but y’know. I’ve got more examples, you wanna hear? I’ve taken Princess to a bunch of places… Rose, I mean.”

“Not to mention that they are your coworkers, not your superiors. A more sensible comparison would be if you had asked your manager, or—”

“No way. You seen the ads he’s made Princess film?” Ryan gave the thought a genuine look of distaste.

Yuri couldn’t argue with him, so he decided to go ahead: “Or had you asked the Hero TV producer to go out for some drinks, as you put it.”

“She’s scary…” Ryan’s eyes were almost glossy in distress and surprise, but he wasn’t being particularly sincere. Yuri opened his mouth and then closed it, narrowing his eyes at Ryan’s expression and the unsaid suggestion that Ryan wanted to specifically invite him.

“…Nonetheless, I have things to attend to. I have an increasingly hectic schedule.”

“Hey, me too, being a hero and all.” Ryan stretched out like a lazy cat and put his hands on his hips while Yuri thought about him usually clocking into work well after ten in the morning if he had nothing scheduled for the day. By that point, some heroes had already shown up to work hours ago, which only served to display his rather lax work ethic. “I’m busy, busy, busy—mmhm, but I can make time for things that aren’t work when it’s something I’m looking forward to, huh…”

“Hmm,” went Yuri. The corners of Ryan’s mouth curled upwards so that even when he had no particular expression, he looked particularly smug and pleased with himself like the same lazy cat licking its lips after stealing a sip from a cup of milk. “As long as you perform well and break no laws in the pursuit of your justice, your schedule is of little concern to me. Now, I must take my leave, as time isn’t a resource found in unlimited abundance and best used wisely.”

He turned away from Ryan to resume walking down the hallway, but he could tell Ryan followed after him by the sound his heeled leather boots made against the floor.

“Eh… Am I bothering you?” Ryan easily kept pace with him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are. This is a waste of my time.” Yuri let some annoyance seep into his voice, glancing at the man walking by his side. The comment had only made Ryan smile like he’d gotten told he was to be crowned the new King of Heroes, which wasn’t the expected nor desired outcome.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” Ryan said, twisting so that he was walking backwards down the hallway directly in front of Yuri, matching his stride step for step. “Here, if you ever change your mind, okay?”

Yuri looked down at the slightly crumpled paper slip between Ryan’s index and middle finger, and took it cautiously.

Ryan accentuated his light-hearted goodbye with a lazy wink and stepped aside to let Yuri pass him by. He didn’t waste much time in walking back down the hallway now that the other heroes were emerging from the briefing hall, and by the sounds of it, immediately inserted himself into an ongoing conversation.

The paper scrap in Yuri’s hand looked like it was torn out of someone’s private notebook and had a string of numbers messily written across it with a glittery navy blue gel pen: it was Ryan’s phone number written with a loaned pen from his hero partner, no doubt about it.

A faint note of Ryan’s body spray stuck to the paper.

It was inappropriate, Yuri thought, to give your phone number to your superior like this. He put the scrap into a trash bin as he passed one by, but when he looked down, he was still holding it in his hand by some thoughtless mistake.

All it would need to disappear was one little spark, that alone enough to make it burn away in blue-green flames until nothing was left.

Chapter 3: Remember & Forget (Biased Viewpoint)

Chapter Text

I made an enormous mistake, Yuri thought, the sort of mistake that he could never take back or forget—a monumental failure that would forever haunt him and lurk at the corners of his mind like how the scent of smoke stuck to a cloth.

“The air in that place was seriously so musty,” Ryan said, casually fixing his hair as he walked along the hallway. He belonged in the sunlight with his nice clothes, elaborate gestures, and expressive voice; wholly unlike Yuri, who was out of place and accustomed to the dark instead.

Yuri stood rooted in the spot like an unlucky moth that had landed on sticky fresh sap and gotten stuck, trapped by its circ*mstances and its insignificant life in the face of something so permeating. The snare had looked so inviting like it had been honey instead, but it only served to kill him where he stood.

“What am I doing?” His voice was barely audible.

“More like, what are we doing?” Ryan laughed, and Yuri thought it torturous that the other boy had heard him speaking to himself—he couldn’t know that Ryan mainly had read the words from his lips. “You really do look like someone who hasn’t ever skipped school either, haha…”

Yuri squeezed his arms and turned his face further away from Ryan.

“But uh, not everyone has. You’re awesome too, really! That’s why I talked to you, duh. So it’s fine.” Ryan frowned at the way the boy’s fingers sank into his pale flesh, deep enough to leave red welts on his arms if he didn’t let go soon. He’d gotten somewhere, but now it felt like all his progress would evaporate in an instant.

Ryan was the best at everything he did—or at least almost the very best—but there had to be something only the other boy was good at. Everyone wanted to be good at something: it made people happy. He knew this because he was the best at making friends.

“Uuhm… I randomly remembered how I was gonna fail chemistry at school and there’s this one guy in my class who you kinda remind me of, super smart and all that. It was really cool of him to uh, help me with my homework and stuff, and pair up with me in class so that he could do the experiment with the Bunsen burner and… Testing all that stuff that makes the flame change colours…” His voice got less enthusiastic as his monologue stretched on because it made him sound like he did poorly at school (which he did, but he didn’t have to let everyone know about it).

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck while the words sank into Yuri’s consciousness.

“…The flame test to identify different metals or metalloid ions in the given substances?” It was a simple experiment—almost juvenile. Yuri wasn’t fond of it because other students could be so careless with something as dangerous as the Bunsen burner, but he remembered the test well. His teacher had complimented him that day, and it had made him smile.

“Yep, that one,” said Ryan with instinctive confidence, co*cking his head to the side like he knew what he was talking about. “I also paid that guy since I’m great like that! And just letting you know that I’ve had to miss school a lot because of all the work I have, I would’ve totally aced chemistry otherwise. I’m way too busy, y’know?”

Yuri forgot to reprimand himself for walking out of the hall because he got too confused from trying to understand what Ryan meant by being busy with work, confident that neither of them was of age and that summer jobs didn’t interfere with schooling.

“Not busy today, though! So, we’ll make this a day to remember! See, I want to go to that place they have here. It has like, a lot of fast food and hero stuff inside. I thought there’d be a lot of them around but this city is built in a really weird way with multiple different layers?... I’ve been taking the wrong monorail all the time, and I’ve just been ending up where I started.”

“…The monorail runs on a circular track, so you’ve been going in a circle because you haven’t gotten off on any of the stops,” Yuri said, very slowly. His eyebrows rose. Ryan’s face flushed enough to change his classification from a regular star to a red giant.

“U-Uh, right, it’s just because it’s so confusing! I’m from—from the Continental area! We don’t even have monorails. I mean, at least in my city! It’s totally different. Plus the way everything’s written down here is so long-winded, I don’t have time to read all of that!"

“Okay.” Yuri wrung his hands together (he hadn’t noticed when he'd stopped squeezing his arms) and couldn’t help but imagine Ryan going around in circles. It was called circular monorail for a reason… It always took the same path and returned to where it started if you didn’t get off. He tried not to laugh.

“Eh, whatever! You’d be super lost if you ever visited my hometown, I’ll—but hey, wait, wait, what’s your name?”

“Ah, sorry… My name is Yuri Petrov,” he said, untangling his hands from each other and extending his hand for an introductory handshake, prim and polite like he’d been taught.

“Alright! I won’t forget it, so don’t go forgetting my name either: it’s Ryan Goldsmith! You can tell everyone you hung out with me today. Okay, the operation to make this day a once-in-a-lifetime event is a go!” The blonde boy pointed towards the sky like he was announcing his departure to the moon instead of grabbing Yuri’s hand to shake it. “Let’s go!”

“I… I don’t know if…”

“Nuh-uh!” Ryan wagged his finger in front of Yuri. “You’re already out of that hall! And hear that? That’s muffled cheering. I bet Mr. Legend just walked in, so it’s too late to go back! C’mon!”

Yuri shivered like he was cold, not turning around but thinking about the large closed doors behind the two of them, two obsidian slabs sealing the entrance to a long-forgotten tomb with something terrible lurking inside. He didn’t hear cheering; it was the sound of screaming and loud arguments.

He flinched when Ryan caught his wrist and turned his palm upwards to place bills in his hand.

“Huh? Relax, I was just thinking, of course you wanna hang out with me, but if you’re worried about the ticket price, I can pay you. Reimburse, right. I mean, what was it, a hundred stern dollars or hundred and twenty?”

“I didn’t pay for my ticket,” Yuri replied curtly while watching Ryan play with a twenty stern dollar bill, hoping he wouldn’t ask anything more about it or how he had jumped. He’d gone too far already, so he couldn’t possibly say more.

“Really? I thought that’s why you didn’t wanna leave with me, like, that you were regretting pulling me out of the lecture hall when you remembered how much it cost. You can have the money anyways, if you want?”

Yuri wished he had been less curt so that Ryan would’ve asked why he was hesitant to leave and given him a reason to say far too much, even as he wanted him not to acknowledge him at all. (His thoughts had become helplessly tangled.)

“No thank you…”

“Okay,” said Ryan, dejected, stuffing the bills into the leather wallet he stuck into his back pocket. He didn’t know many other ways to make people want to hang out with him if you crossed out gifts. "But nobody’s gonna notice we’re gone, y’know?”

Yuri rubbed the tip of his sneaker against the hallway floor, and thought of a cruel beast lurking in the dark where you couldn’t see, flimsily sealed behind the entrance to the lecture hall.

“And yeah, maybe the employees at the door could remember me, but they don’t know who I am, so it doesn’t matter. Like, even if that Legend guy himself had bought that ticket for me, they didn’t have marked seats, and the hall’s way too big, so he’d forget I existed anyway.”

“I don’t know about that…”

Ryan laughed and shook his head. “He definitely would! It’s like, eh… When papà, my dad I mean, forgot to pick me up from a shoot one time and I got to spend the night at a hotel—they were booked but didn’t know where to put me, so I got the suite; it was fun! I wish I could’ve brought my friends along, though… Actually, why aren’t you having fun with your friends? It’s summer break.”

“Your father forgot?…” Yuri hadn’t known how to react to what Ryan had said before his latest trailing explanation, and somehow he had even less of an idea how to reply to what he now had said (the question about friends was minuscule in comparison to the other confusing things).

“Whoa, I just realized, we’re friends now, and we’re hanging out together. So we kinda are hanging out with friends.” Ryan started walking down the hallway backwards with his hands tucked behind his head, only one of his eyes held open to study Yuri’s face. As friends, Ryan thought, Yuri would definitely want to show him around Sternbild.

Yuri had difficulties processing the words because Ryan rapidly guided the discussion from one strange topic to the next, always a stranger one. “Friends?”

“Mm-hm, sure! I, the awesome Ryan, promise to be a great friend! Also, you’re a bit younger than me, right? So I’ll keep you safe. Or something. I’m a good guy, is what I mean. Like a hero!” He twirled while walking with a skip in his step to accentuate his greatness.

Yuri followed Ryan after glancing at the doors behind him, the pooling guilt in his mind evaporating due to the other boys’ carefree confidence and eccentric mannerisms. He didn’t need to be kept safe when Ryan was the one traveling in circles on the Sternbild monorail. The thought brought a smile to his face, one that he tried to suppress out of fear of appearing rude.

“…Okay. But I don’t know if you’re older than me.” Yuri kept close to the wall not wholly composed of glass, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder to ensure the doors behind them stayed closed. Unbothered and enjoying the warm sunlight, Ryan walked in the middle of the hallway, his shadow creeping up the wall ahead of Yuri.

“Of course I am! I think! No, wait, no way I’m not older than you! Take a look at this!” Ryan stopped to fish something from his jacket's breast pocket, documents awkwardly stuffed into it for safekeeping. Yuri walked forwards enough to catch up to him, unsure how to react when Ryan crossed the remaining space between them.

He pulled out his passport, tapped it with his fingers and displayed it very close to Yuri’s face, who had to push it backwards to see it. Ryan’s passport was brand new, and he was one of those people whose passport picture wasn't cartoonishly bad: he looked rather handsome. He appeared more mature with his hair pulled back, presumably into a ponytail, and with his expression being far more serious in the picture than Yuri had seen his face be this far.

Based on this picture only, Yuri would’ve thought him to be far older than he was instead of the same age, so he faltered. Yuri didn’t have a passport, but if he did, he assumed he would look hideous in the photograph unlike Ryan, the stark light in the black-and-white photo accentuating the angles of his face.

“See, Yuri?”

“Um…” Yuri blinked a few times, embarrassed about having only looked at the photo. He caught the corner of the passport and craned his neck to see it properly, following the line of text with his fingertip. “You’re actually younger than me.”

“N-No way!” Ryan pulled his passport back and looked at it himself as if he thought his birthday was written wrong. “Seriously?!”

Yuri winced, Ryan so loud next to his face. Loud things weren’t his favourite.

“I’m not much…” He forgot about all of that when Ryan leaned close to his face. Yuri stumbled backwards and found he couldn’t, pressing his palms flat against the wall. “Much older… U-Uh?…”

He didn’t feel frightened, but still wished Ryan wouldn’t stand so close—his chest felt tight, ribs curving around his lungs and pressing into them in the same decisive manner Ryan held his chin with his fingertips. It wasn’t something he felt he could get away from, no matter how gentle the touch was. He couldn’t draw in a breath while Ryan evaluated his face from all angles, delicately guiding him to turn his face from side to side.

Ryan gave it a thoughtful hmm, walked backwards, and tried to visualize Yuri with different hair, which was what he imagined all those stylists did when they applied his makeup while turning his face and then said they wanted him to cut his hair shorter for some reason.

“Okay, I guess you just need a different haircut. I think you’d look great with long hair because your hair is silky and wavy-looking and like, eh… I think my issue is that my hair’s really thick so it gets super messy when it’s long. But I think long hair would look good on me too,” Ryan concluded and pursed his lips. “…Are you okay? You kinda really look like you’re gonna faint.”

Yuri remembered how to breathe in and out, an uneven red tinge appearing across his face. “I-I’m okay,” he lied, unsure who the lie was directed towards, and removed his palms from the wall behind him so that he could rub the palm of his hand with his thumb.

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s super duper easy to change your hairstyle!” Ryan played with his passport and threw it in the air like it was just a worthless piece of paper instead of a legal document he should keep safe. “Maybe all you need is a new stylist? Or if you don’t have one, your hairdresser? Hum… They sometimes yank your face around so much it’s bothersome, but I didn’t do that, right? I was careful!”

“No… Um, you didn’t hurt me,” Yuri said, and it wasn’t a lie. He rubbed his arms. This was his fault, the same weird feeling he got in P.E. class, and he always hid in the bathroom till all the other boys had changed their clothes. There was something wrong with him, and he always felt like he was doing something inappropriate.

“Phew! I thought you pulled a muscle or something. I’m really strong, you know, so I thought I was super rough without noticing,” said Ryan. Yuri tried to not look at Ryan’s arms, but he wasn't much more muscular than most boys their age. In turn, Ryan tried to not notice Yuri’s darting eyes, knowing that he didn’t seem all that athletic.

“And, I may not look like it, even if I train super hard, uhm… B-But it’s because of the modeling I do. This is more marketable right now."

“I wasn’t looking,” Yuri said, averting his gaze from Ryan altogether. Ryan tilted his head to the side, a wrinkle appearing between his brows from how he frowned at the defensive tone of the short statement. The defensiveness subsided when Yuri continued speaking: “Is modeling the work you mentioned earlier?...”

“Oh yeah! I do a bunch of different things, but yeah. And I have like a pretty boy angle right now… Well, I’ll change it later when I can pick. Oi oi, you know, I’ve been on TV too!”

“Um, acting on a television show, or?…” Yuri’s voice harbored none of the earlier defensiveness, so Ryan decided not to dwell on it. The actual question registered in his mind, making him scratch the back of his head and his ears burn up to a surprisingly deep shade of crimson.

“I-It was more of a toothpaste ad, I guess…” Without another word, he skipped ahead in a sprint and stopped at the rotating entrance doors into the building. “Hey, Yuri, you’re so slow! C’mon, since we’re supposed to make this a day to remember forever and ever!”

Yuri was the moth stuck on sap to be turned into a ghastly relic trapped in amber, and Ryan didn’t seem to notice any of it. His gaze strayed from Ryan to look outside through the glass-paned wall.

It was a sunny day, with deep blue skies and hardly a single cloud, and the dark double doors behind him felt even further away than they were. The hallway of this newly-built building stretched forever, the modern glass wall design on the other side letting in sunlight that felt warm on his face.

All the people going about their day outside didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Either they didn’t know or care that Mr. Legend was not far from them, giving a speech on heroics and justice to congratulate the completion of this architectural marvel of a building that echoed the design of Justice Tower itself.

One of the clouds blotted out the sun, and it was immediately much cooler in the air-conditioned hallway.

It was almost chilly.

During summer like this, the temperature had to be kept low in their shared living space so that his mother wouldn’t get heat stroke. She wouldn’t remember it was summer, always preferring to be dressed in the same jacket over a long dress.

Her memory had deteriorated far too soon, and she looked old beyond her years. It was cruel to lose a parent to this and even crueler to know you were not free of blame. It was a tragedy, a mind shattered like a discarded bottle, blue-green flames reflected on the sharp pieces of glass.

Those shards lie forgotten on the floor, a kindness found in the dissipating memories. Forgetting was a mercy Yuri wasn’t entitled to; he remembered everything, no matter how cruel or bittersweet the memories were.

Yuri moved around boxes filled with various relics of a life once lived, hastily packed up an eternity ago when they’d had to move to smaller housing. Some of them he had labeled with a thick pen and some were marked by his mother. He didn’t often see her handwriting, not anymore.

There was a layer of dust on the boxes, thick enough at parts you’d think it was a layer of ash—he made a mental note to clean all of this when he found some free time. He’d misjudged how often he had to clean the storage.

Despite his best efforts, his search proved to be a fruitless endeavour.

Yuri washed his hands in the bathroom sink and watched the specks of dust disappear down the drain, his pale hands matching the white porcelain. Any stains on them were imagined, ghost images of ash and dried up blood.

Beads of water ran down his fingers and dripped into the sink. His skin had thickened from how many times he'd scrubbed his hands raw, but he knew it was useless. The towel stayed white when he dried his hands.

His mother wouldn't return from the nursing home for a few hours: he decided to clean the storage now that he had the time for it and spent the better part of his evening occupied by his self-assigned work.

He welcomed his mother home, cooked a late dinner for himself (his mother had already eaten) when she was occupied by the television, and while the food simmered, he went to properly put away the cleaning supplies. Satisfied with his work, he walked back down the stairs to the first floor.

“What were you doing up there?” asked his mother, continuing watching television absent-mindedly as she spoke. Yuri spent a while studying the kind smile on her features, the sort that indicated she’d be in a good mood.

“I was cleaning my room.” He twisted the truth enough to make it palatable for her, speaking carefully, not sure if it was a good evening just yet.

“Oh, I didn’t even have to ask for you to clean your room!... You’re always such a good boy, Yurochka.”

It was a good evening, and she’d be lost in times when her mind was whole and when his father hadn’t been such a terrible man. She even used that cuter diminutive of his name. Yuri smiled.

“Thank you, mama…”

“How was school today? Come here, let’s sit and talk, I want to hear all about it.” She gestured for him to come closer and pet the couch next to her wheelchair.

“Of course—I’ll have to take the food off the stove first,” Yuri said.

“…I can’t remember what I was cooking,” she said, confused. “Shouldn’t I handle it?”

“No, it’s alright,” said Yuri over the loudly playing Hero TV advertisem*nt while he hurried to the kitchen. He set the food aside to cool and decided to eat later because it would only confuse her. She’d easily slip out of her good mood if he didn’t get the conversation back on track, bending the reality into something more manageable for her to understand.

“Mama, I… I gave a presentation today. It went well,” he said when he returned to the living room, words carefully measured beforehand.

“That’s good! You’re so smart.”

He sat on the couch next to her and tucked an unruly strand of long hair behind his ear to keep it away from his face while searching for the television remote. It was on the coffee table before him where he could reach without standing back up. Yuri turned the television's volume down.

“But, Yurochka… Are you making friends at school?”

Yuri met her gaze when he set the remote back down. His mother put her hands on the arm of the couch, palms facing upwards to prompt Yuri to place his hands in hers. Her hands were so cold.

Yuri blinked and didn’t know what to say, systematically going through his day to figure out something not entirely false to twist into a story. Little white lies were what she needed, but he didn’t want to outright lie to her. It felt wrong.

“The day was exceedingly hectic… It didn't leave me much time to socialize with others, but… I didn’t give the presentation alone, and I talked with an acquaintance after that.”

“Is it that Ryan boy again?”

“Ah?…”

He glanced at the television, the faint sounds of the advertisem*nt registering in his mind after he read the words on the screen. Blue Rose’s newest single was advertised, one that Golden Ryan joined her in, and both members of the buddy hero duo Blue Golden were displayed in their signature pose.

“Yes,” Yuri decided to say.

“You know that papa and I would be very happy to meet him and your other friends too? Sometimes we worry because you’re so quiet… But you’re still so happy in those photos you have, I’ve been waiting for you to tell me more for so long, to know more about your friends—who put your hair up like that?“

“Hmh, the photos?…”

“Aww, I’m sorry for looking… Once I was cleaning your room and found them under your bed in that small cardboard box, but I promise I only took a little peek. What about Rose, is she the one who styled your hair like that and the one you gave the presentation with? Oh, Yurochka, I’d love to bake a cake for you all if you brought your friends over.”

Yuri nodded wordlessly, for lack of anything to say. His mother carried on the conversation by rambling about a cake she’d baked for Yuri that had ended up being so awful he’d gotten sick.

He’d kept eating it and said it was fine, but when she’d tasted it herself she figured she must’ve substituted sugar for salt. They shared a few laughs and heartfelt smiles over it—Yuri remembered it well. He had said it tasted good because he had wanted his mother to be happy.

Yuri wasn’t sure if she was, but he hoped his mother was happy right now during this short moment when she talked about cake and told him she loved him. She squeezed his hands far too tightly, but he didn’t complain.

Eventually, he helped her to bed before returning to the kitchen to eat the cooled-down dinner by himself. He cleaned everything up once he had eaten and put the leftovers away before slowly walking up the stairs.

His mother had mentioned a box underneath his bed, which he had tried to find earlier without results. Could it be that he had hidden his secrets under his bed even at this house and forgotten all about it, only to be reminded by his mother, who couldn’t remember what year it was?

Yuri felt like a fool when he knelt on the floor of his compact room and looked under the bed in the dark, lighting the space with a blue-green flame on his palm that harmlessly lapped at his fingers and sputtered out before touching anything else.

The bed underneath was clean enough even if he always ran out of energy by the time he got around to cleaning his room in this house he shared with his mother. Perhaps that lack of energy was why he couldn’t remember when he had last cleaned under the bed by hand instead of vacuuming it as efficiently as he could.

It bothered him now, and he’d have to find more time to clean later.

He couldn’t see anything besides a few dust bunnies in the sickly green glow of the carefully controlled flame. When he let the flame sputter out, the play of the wavering embers made something twinkle, half-hidden behind the leg of the bed.

Yuri hesitated before reaching under the bed in the dark and fumbling around the space between his nightstand and the corner of the bed. His loosely tied-back hair came undone when he reached further underneath till his fingers caught hold of something small. He pulled it out after a short struggle.

The cardboard box in his hands had once housed an egg timer. He’d scratched out the parts that branded it as a Mr. Legend cooking product and hastily glued a shiny sticker of a happy moon with a cartoonish grin in the middle. Its smile mocked him, but the sticker was why he’d noticed it tucked behind the bed leg, flush against the wall.

He must’ve accidentally pushed it there while cleaning and eventually forgotten it as he went through the motions of his life, day after day, everything repeating in a dull monotony he’d come to enjoy as the source of his stability.

Yuri settled at his desk in the dim light of his room and opened the box of memories he’d once treasured. He took a melancholic sort of pride in his memory as someone who could never forget anything, but looking through the assortment of small trinkets, he realized he couldn’t remember why he’d kept most of them in the first place.

The shell he had found during a trip to the beach and meticulously cleaned till it didn’t smell like the sea anymore, that he could remember with exceptional clarity, but only because of how thoroughly he had cleaned it. Another item he picked was a pencil with splotches of dried paint on it. Upon close inspection, he found the stains contained partial fingerprints, but even as a child, he hadn’t been a person to make such a mess himself.

Some other items felt more self-explanatory even if their specific circ*mstances had been forgotten, like a few foreign coins on the bottom saved for their novelty or the assortment of faded candy wrappers he’d kept to remember which ones he liked best.

What interested him the most coiled against the sides of the box, encircling the other items. A strip of pictures a photo booth had once spat out, most likely the same his mother had once spied on without him knowing.

He laid the strip flat against his desk and revealed the assortment of photos taken one after another, the rare smile on his own face, his uncharacteristically styled hair, and the stranger next to him feeling much more at ease in front of the camera than he was.

Yuri had genuinely forgotten all about these photos and the other boy in them, but now he could remember laughing during a summer day that had felt like a strange dream. The other boy had said Yuri needed his autograph to commemorate the occasion…

He turned the photos around but there was no autograph, and if there ever had been one, only faded remnants of ink remained as faint intermittent scratches, forever to keep the secrets of what name had been once written there.

Another ghost from his past, and he already had enough of those.

Yuri tucked the photo slip away and started packing all the items back into their coffin. His mother’s antique clock elsewhere in the house ticked forward, a reminder of time’s relentless march, never to turn back. He closed the box.

He sat quietly by his desk in the dark and stared at the sticker in its faded but glittery glory. The smile kept its secrets.

“Does it matter?…” Yuri asked nobody in particular and got no response. Even the ghosts kept quiet. He picked the photo strip from the box to lay it flat on his desk. The desk lamp lit the photos once he flicked the switch, boyish features on their faces now clear to see.

Yuri Petrov was no longer the child in the pictures: he’d even lost the face, a burn scar marking half of his visage. Despite his better judgement, he’d behaved in a particularly peculiar fashion on that sunny summer day. Even more bizarre, he’d kept the photos.

The corners of the photo strip had torn, that’s how much he’d looked at them in secret. They’d been a promise of a better day ahead, with plenty of sunlight and no worry weighing heavy on his mind.

Now, years later, the nostalgic feeling brought forth an aching sense of humiliation.

If it was him, Ryan had perplexed him then, a weird boy from somewhere beyond Sternbild he had felt a type of kinship with, and he still puzzled him now, having matured into a strange man.

He was loud, egotistical and selfish by design. The great Golden Ryan, he’d say, but he’d always contradict his words with his actions. He’d repeatedly complain that his hero partner was hogging his spotlight, but then he’d let her steal it on purpose and say it was his gift to the younger hero.

Even in the light, only the faintest suggestion of writing remained on the backside where an autograph had once been, a long-forgotten whisper in bluish ink. The writer's touch had been light enough and the photo strip thick enough to not leave any indent to guess the letters from.

He rubbed his temple on the side where a scar did not tear into his flesh.

Useless, that was what this was, something that didn’t matter at all. Yuri’s life wasn't a light-hearted mystery novel about confirming the boy's identity in the pictures and deliberating whether the black-and-white photograph’s shade of gray for the boy’s hair meant he was blonde.

The features of his face weren’t unlike Ryan, but they weren’t much like him either, softer and rounder and lacking the characteristic angles of Ryan’s face. It wasn’t too far out to think he’d grown out of the baby fat still clinging to his cheeks, and the hair wasn’t too different.

Ryan would never remember it had happened; it was impossible. Yuri had forgotten about the box and most of the mementos in it, even the photos.

The boy hadn’t stayed in contact with Yuri as he had promised, a letter he’d desperately waited to receive never arriving. He could now remember a crumpled slip of paper he had given with his home address neatly written on it.

It bore a similarity to the recently-acquired torn paper scrap set half under the stand of his desk lamp that ridiculed him with its existence and the way he had never thrown it away like he'd intended to. Could it be that Ryan knew something about him he didn’t remember saying? Had he said too much back then?

It bothered him to think about, the idea that Ryan might be able to recall something about their chance meeting he didn’t, and maybe the uncertainty of a broken promise—now remembered—stung him as it had stung all those years ago.

Yuri ignored that dull feeling, thinking back to the briefing he had given today and the speech Mr. Legend had hosted in a bygone age in the building that he'd focused on. The speech he had no recollection of—yes, he had skipped it and forgotten that too, even if he could now vaguely remember a deep regret and unease.

If he had forgotten something like that, what else could he have forgotten?…

I am going to regret this either way, he thought, and it gave him some peace. There was no sensible way to deal with this.

Yuri would have to live with his decision as he had lived with all of the other choices he had purposefully or accidentally made before this, and in the light of those choices, this felt less insurmountable, even if it had the possibility of making him appear foolish.

He had once lost his chance to ask for an explanation forever, and he couldn't let it happen again, not even for something as insignificant as this.

Chapter 4: Promise & Denial (Fleeting Moments)

Chapter Text

“Oi, Yuri! I’m going without you if you’re not coming!”

Ryan waved and then threw a peace sign while stepping inside the rotating entrance doors in front of him. It was enough to catch Yuri's attention and disperse the thoughts that muddied his mind, sun breaking through the clouds and making the lecture hall behind him like it was already much further behind him.

“W-Wait!” Yuri yelped when he hurried after Ryan like they were friends instead of having met a fleeting moment ago. It felt natural because Ryan treated him like they had known each other forever: the friend Yuri had never had for various reasons, from how withdrawn he could be to how his peers could be cruel, and they’d always seen something different within him, something he couldn’t name himself.

The entrance rotated before he could enter the same section Ryan had walked into, forcing Yuri to stop in front of the slowly turning doors. He nervously glanced at the security guard sitting by the entrance, but the person didn’t seem to care, flipping through a magazine in their booth.

Yuri stepped inside the next section after Ryan’s when the door turned enough for him to slip in. He flicked his meandering gaze from the security guard to ahead of him only to see the other boy walking backwards with short awkward steps and gesturing to the hand he held on the glass separating them.

It was impossible to talk through the pane, the difficulty exacerbated by air conditioning blowing in cold air overhead to keep the warm summer breeze out of the building.

Ryan pointed to Yuri, then to the glass and the hand he had pressed against it. Yuri didn’t understand, but he felt as if the rotating doors were turning slower than they should’ve moved, a day that dragged on and a clock that stuttered. He couldn't get away from Ryan like this, enclosed in glass for observation under his chartreuse-green eyes that lit up like gold under the sun.

Carefully and with much hesitation, he pressed his hand against Ryan’s, palms separated by the cool pane of glass. Earlier Ryan’s hand had been comfortably warm against his own, but now all he could feel was the smooth cold glass between them like a thin sheet of ice.

This is stupid, Yuri thought, after seeing the look of confusion on Ryan’s face disappearing and turning into a fit of laughter, a rush of tears brimming under the lid that carefully sealed his excessive emotions away.

He could hear Ryan’s laughter through the glass and over the air conditioning as clearly as the following yelp Ryan made when he tripped over his feet because he was still walking backwards. He almost crashed into the door's glass pane while trying to regain his balance, narrowly avoiding the collision and ending up outside.

Ryan had almost kept going around the door instead of managing to exit the building like it was another situation of him traveling in circles on the Sternbild monorail, not realizing to leave during the short stops it made without much fanfare. It worked out this way because stumbling was nothing compared to traveling in circles.

Yuri thought time was racing to catch up with how it had slowed earlier. He had acted peculiar and gotten laughed at, something that had happened to him many times before, and while amusem*nt was preferential to anger, the two emotions didn’t cross each other out.

He rubbed his palm with his thumb, staring at the pavement and thinking about how Ryan was probably faster at running than he was. He should follow the door back in and stand trapped in the hallway, safe but alone, with nowhere to go between the obsidian lecture hall entrance behind him and the tar of the pavement in front of him, two dark starless nights.

The warm summer air hit his face when the door turned further.

“Aah, did you think we were playing mimes or what? Why’d you look so serious?” Ryan pulled at his elastic hair strap and then shook his head from side to side with a grin. “Haven’t you ever done that before? Left your handprint on a new building?”

Yuri didn’t entirely stop considering how fast he could run but stepped outside, and the oily, fresh bitumen under his feet didn't swallow him up like a tar pit. Ryan walked backwards from the shadow of the building into a patch of sunlight, his various jewellery catching the light and twinkling like stars.

“Um, left a handprint?…” Yuri’s wavering sentence trailed into silence, gaze following Ryan’s finger that he had brought up to point at something behind Yuri.

On the glass pane of the door, right next to the sticker that told you not to touch the doors with a simple graphic, a greasy handprint stained the otherwise crystal-clear glass in the same spot on both sides. Yuri felt a cold dread like he’d accidentally dropped a plate and gotten the shards everywhere, hurriedly gathering the sharp fragments with his bare hands.

He flinched when someone put a hand on his shoulder.

Ryan lifted his brows in an unsaid question and gave Yuri’s shoulder a second pat. Once, he’d gotten stage fright, and the photographer had patted him on the shoulder just like that, so he knew (he hoped) it worked for any sort of fright—maybe the first one got it out, and the second one was the reassuring one. His parents weren’t the type to pat his shoulder either, so he’d jumped when it had happened to him for the first time.

Still… This was the second time Yuri shrank away from being touched.

“Hey, it was just me, not some random person off the street.” He smiled but let his hand fall. Yuri didn't know how to say that Ryan was only one step removed from being a random stranger picked off the street but that it wasn't strangers touching his shoulder he was afraid of.

“R-Right…”

“The guard was reading a mag anyways, and the door didn’t get jammed or anything—that's why they don't want you touching it—so it’s not like they care! They’re not gonna like, take your fingerprints off the glass and chase you down like in a movie, haha…”

“You’re not supposed to touch the door at all,” Yuri said, suddenly feeling like his father would somehow find out he hadn’t only skipped his speech but also disregarded common sense on his way out. His Hundred Power might let him see fingerprints—Yuri didn't fathom the full extent of it, and he felt all-powerful: he saw everything, knew everything, and was everywhere.

“Well, yeah, there’s the sticker and stuff… But it’s not like we did anything bad and nobody was hurt! No harm done, right? It’s like how sometimes you have to go against your parents and uh, some other rules too because they don't always make sense and all that. And it’s just a little sticker, not the law or something.”

“That's not—” Yuri bit his tongue because he was using a disrespectful tone, but Ryan’s logic was far from sound. “…Laws are set to protect you, and less severe rules are an extension of them. A-And I wouldn’t go against my parents’ wishes either, because they act according to the law.”

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck and laughed.

“Parents and the law?! Huh, is that really the same?… I mean… Either way, it's not like my parents or yours are ever gonna know about this or anything, I dunno. We'd have to tell them, and at least I’m not gonna do that. It’s nothing serious, anyway…”

It was an odd jump from leaving a handprint on a freshly washed window to discussing the law. Still, he minded the subject change less than how his impulsive (and perhaps somewhat childish) act threatened his fun day in Sternbild with his new friend, who was (again) drifting further away from him with every passing sentence.

“Would you lie to your parents?” Yuri's mouth was a serious line, and his face was devoid of anything Ryan could use to determine his feelings.

“Eeeh… It’s not like I’m gonna super lie, just like, uh, not tell them everything?…”

Yuri started speaking but then said nothing, uncertain of what he had wanted to say, just as guilty of lies by omission. He always bit his tongue, even when he should’ve said something. Ryan started meandering along the street, face lighting up when Yuri trailed after him instead of walking away.

“Is it really that big of a deal? I guess I’ve never thought about this stuff so much!”

“Your parents work hard to make this world a good place to live, and to raise you into a good person with a heart of justice, same as your parents did when they sent you here to hear Mr. Legend speak, a-and… Because of that, you have to work hard too, to make them happy,” Yuri said carefully, his line of thought out of place compared to anything Ryan had prepared himself to hear over some handprints.

“…H-Huh, I guess,” said Ryan, supposedly carefree and flippant, but even Yuri could tell the words didn’t come to him without significant effort. He swallowed back troublesome thoughts that wanted to crawl out of his throat and shrugged with a chuckle. “My parents are already like, super proud of me, so it’s not like I’ve got anything to prove. Haha, anyone would love to have a son like me!”

“Do they say that to you?”

“Um…” Ryan laughed, his voice faltering into nothingness.

A silence grew in the space between them like it was a tangible thing instead of something immaterial, unaffected by the city's ambient sounds. This wasn’t something Ryan usually spoke about with his friends because they rarely had any questions for him: most of his time was spent trying to make them laugh or notice how awesome he could be.

“I guess they don’t really say that to me, but we’re all totally busy with our careers or something. Do your parents say that to you? Eh, that they’re proud of you and stuff?”

“…Sometimes.” There was a time his father had ruffled his hair and told him how proud he was that he wanted to follow in his footsteps: it was years ago now, but it was a dear memory. Had been, at least. These days, his mother said it sometimes and smiled at him, even if tersely, blue-black bruises hidden under makeup.

“You’re probably bringing home like… Report cards with full marks. You’re gonna become like, a doctor or something, right? Or maybe you’ll be super good at investing or stuff.” Ryan scratched the bridge of his nose, continuing to pretend he knew where he was walking to, just as he pretended not to know he wasn’t clever or agreeable enough to be a child genius, so a child star had to do.

Yuri agreed with Ryan’s guess without a word and with a habitual nod because all his parents wanted was for him to be like his father. It wasn’t enough to be intelligent and well-behaved, you had to become larger than life itself. Once, he’d wanted that future with all of his heart.

“Uh, but I’m awesome too, just in a different way! I have a career already… And I’m gonna become a hero!”

Yuri fixed the collar of his shirt, even if there was nothing to fix.

“R-Right… Ah, do you have a NEXT power already?…”

“Duh, of course!” Ryan perked up before lowering his voice. “It’s a secret for when I make my big debut, though, but I can totally tell you! I’ll have to learn how to control it and stuff. Nothing big, I’ll just have to get the activation figured out, that’s all… It’s really strong, too! Uh, papà was kinda mad once when I used it and our garage got kinda mes—f*cked up. It crumpled!”

“…That sounds powerful,” Yuri said politely, but frustrated tears pricked his eyes at the thought. If he had a NEXT power, he could’ve done more to…

“Mm-hm! I know, right?” Ryan glanced to the side at Yuri, but he didn’t look as excited as he had hoped. “Aaaanyways, we’re on our way to the… Uuh, what are those places called again? Fast food, all the hero stuff, and the huge list of hero points on the wall! What’s that place called again?… Hero Café?”

The nearest Hero’s Bar wasn’t in this direction, thought Yuri and stopped walking, shading his teary eyes with his hand and pretending that he was fixing his short hair and only making it look like more of a mess. “It’s called Hero’s Bar and—”

“Hero’s Bar?! Are you that old? No way! Is the drinking age lower in Sternbild?! I know it’s in some places, but seriously! How old are you?! Do you just look my age? I mean, I get that I look mature too and why’d you still wanna hang out with me, but…”

“Huh? N-No! No, it’s not… It’s not like that at all!”

“You have a fake ID?! But you were just talking about the law and stuff!” Some passersby threw looks in Ryan’s direction, whose voice rose to a loud cacophony. Yuri’s face reddened out of mortification.

“Ryan, please…” Yuri hushed him, eyes wide and gaze darting.

"Oookay, okay. I’m listening. Quietly. Super duper quiet.” Ryan flashed a wide smile at someone staring at him until the stranger was the first to avert their gaze, and out of the corner of his eye, he could catch that the tears in Yuri’s eyes had dried up in confusion. “Mm!… I’m pretty awesome.”

Yuri sorted out his thoughts in silence. Waiting for him to speak up was hard, so Ryan skipped forward and circled back to have something to do.

“It’s usually called Hero’s Bar for short, but it really is Hero’s Bar and Café. They’re both in the same building—originally it was only a bar, but when HeroTV became more of a family program due to the popularity of the heroes, Hero's Cafés started to appear… Since then, many locations have added the café part. Um, it’s nothing like what you’re thinking… Everyone here calls them Hero's Bar.”

"Ooh, I get it. Phew, I was like, I’m cool, but I don’t have a fake ID… The Legend guy is the main reason heroes got so popular here, right? I heard some of those places have statues of him there or something.”

“Mr. Legend,” Yuri corrected. He realized he hadn’t visited any Hero’s Bar in recent memory. “B-But, yes, that’s right… Um, I don’t know about the statues, however…”

“Yeah yeah, it’s Mr. Legend, whatever. Close enough.” Ryan waved his hand around in the air. “Well, I’m gonna be more famous than he is, for sure! Maybe they’ll start opening these places in my city in a few years!”

They stared at each other while Yuri chewed on his bottom lip until he turned around awkwardly without saying anything. He gestured to the direction they had walked from to prompt Ryan to walk back with him, tracing their steps backwards to reach a side street.

“S-Sorry, but… We should go in this direction to get to the nearest Hero’s Bar.”

The silence from earlier returned as they walked, Ryan gawking at the impressive building projects lining the area. Only he didn’t notice the one-sided stillness, too busy talking. He pointed at the various construction sites, cranes lifting up steel beams, and hard-hatted workers scurrying along. The original apartment complexes would be overshadowed by these latest development projects.

“Um… W-What do you think about him?…”

Ryan paused, tearing his gaze off drying cement that was more fascinating than it had any right to be. “Huh, think about who? Mr. Legend?”

“Mm…”

Ryan tilted his head to the side, thinking they'd already gone over this topic, but maybe he hadn’t explained it clearly enough, so he listed his thoughts while counting them on his fingers: "First, his name is kinda generic. Second, his hero suit is totally ugly, and third, I hate the colours. Fourth, it’s all too good to be real… Fifth… Eeeeh, super can’t think of anything else now. Is there anything left, anyway?"

“Too good to be real?…”

“Yeah, I mean, he's the best at everything and super nice. Allegedly.” Ryan shrugged. Allegedly was a word they always used in magazines when they didn’t want to be rude about their claims. “It’s a big selling point in Sternbild but that kinda thing is all about, uh, public relations and stuff like that. It’s topical to me, since I’m gonna be a mega huge celebrity.”

“It’s the truth,” Yuri said, however weakly. “It’s not a selling point.”

“You really believe that?”

“I…” Yuri’s lips moved but no sound came out. “Y-Yes, I do.”

Ryan raised his brows and laughed.

Yuri was so adamant that the heroes of Sternbild were good, even if Ryan could see how he faltered: a little nudging and Yuri could see what he had seen. He hadn’t disputed Ryan yet. It was like he wanted Ryan to prove him wrong.

“Aaah, no way! I’ve met celebs who super sucked even if I was supposed to kinda work with them! It’s all about what everyone thinks, not about what sort of people they actually are. I mean, you know, I’m not really super famous yet or anything but still, I’ve uh… Definitely met a bunch of them. And I already mentioned my pa—I mean, uh, my dad. He’s like, super boring…”

The rest of his drawn-out explanation about fame drowned underneath Yuri’s thoughts, but he didn’t seem to notice, going on about why he knew all of this with certainty.

“Mr. Legend is worse than that,” Yuri said with easy confidence, or so he wanted to say. His lips couldn’t form a single syllable, and Ryan continued to be the only one who spoke. He would believe him about Mr. Legend, Yuri dared to hope, but when he tried to tell him any of it… He couldn't.

He wanted to say it, a casual off-handed admission with the same relaxed cadence Ryan had. Yuri would have to gather his courage and ensure nobody could hear him: perhaps a whisper would suffice.

Hero’s Bar appeared in his peripheral vision, Mr. Legend standing in front of it with his hand raised.

Yuri stopped in his tracks, causing Ryan to almost walk into him.

“Oi oi!…” Ryan stumbled and saw the cardboard cutout of Mr. Legend as he straightened, offering the passersby his signature thumbs-up. “See! I said they have pics of him here!”

Yuri had no particular expression when he gestured to the storefront and the bright colours of it, the life-size cardboard cutout mocking him. The sunlight felt pale and cold compared to the neon lights and the vivid decor of Hero’s Bar and its mascot.

“Yes, I suppose they do,” Yuri said, his voice muffled like he was speaking to Ryan from behind a pane of glass, having arrived at the end of the road.

Ryan must’ve crossed something—a secret boundary Yuri had strung around himself. He always took everything too far; that’s what they said. He spoke too much, he said the wrong things, and he was always far too loud.

“Um, Yuri, about…” The sentence went nowhere. “A-Awesome! We’re here! Hey, what do you wanna eat? It’s my treat!”

Yuri shook his head. “I shouldn’t…”

“Whaaa?! No way! I’ll totally get you something!”

“I don’t need anything,” Yuri mumbled.

“I have lots of money! Should I just pick something for you?”

Yuri felt tears welling at the corners of his eyes, so he averted his gaze. Ryan shifted his weight from one foot to the other while the other boy held his arms around himself. Yuri bit his lip. This was about the food, he thought, desperately. He had already eaten, so it’d be a waste for Ryan to buy him anything.

“Uhm, I’m just…” Ryan scratched the back of his neck, a traffic jam of words building up in his throat until he couldn’t keep them unsaid anymore. “Hey, I don’t actually hang out with my school friends that much because I’m… Uh, kinda busy with doing stuff, so I usually treat everyone when I’m hanging out with them. Just a habit, right? No need to eat anything, though…”

But it wasn’t about the food or his insistence for Yuri to have something, was it?…

“I-I’m really sorry I laughed at you again. I didn’t mean it in a you’re stupid-way, I’m just…” Annoying, Ryan thought. “Ehm, I dunno. I just do that sorta stuff. I know it was mega rude.”

Yuri blinked and spoke quietly: “Hnh?… It’s fine, I didn’t think so…”

“Uh, and I could be super wrong about the heroes here. I just wanted someone to believe me about that other stuff, I guess. Everyone’s always so starstruck and whatever but like, they’re just some people. And I’m kinda cool too… But y-you can teach me about the heroes if you want, or not!” Ryan didn’t stop talking for long enough to let Yuri say anything, and reached out to put his hand on Yuri’s arm in a slow motion that happened in his field of vision, fingers lightly brushing against his pale skin.

His words passed over Yuri like a cold wave breaking on his face, washing his tears away and making them nestle into an odd calm in his heart. He couldn’t force the words he wanted to say past his lips, but maybe Ryan already understood enough.

“…Truthfully, I don’t care that much about the heroes, so I’d rather not talk about them,” Yuri said, and Ryan thought he sounded much more mature than he ever could. He flashed Yuri an uncertain grin, squeezing Yuri’s arm in acknowledgment. His touch was firm but gentle. Yuri looked away from him to Hero’s Bar. “U-Um, you should get going.”

“Yeah, I guess… Well, okay, see you in a bit?”

“…See you in a bit?”

“I mean… We’re still gonna hang out, right? So you’re not totally leaving, just waiting out for a bit until… Until you’ve enjoyed the sun enough and whatever. It’s our awesome day, not our awesome walk to the nearest Hero Place: that’s why I was asking about the food, right?”

“Um… Right,” Yuri said, confused that Ryan continued to want to spend time with him despite him having nearly burst into tears for no reason. Not once, but twice. He must’ve noticed even if he hadn’t remarked on it.

“Promise?”

Yuri looked slowly at Ryan, meeting the gaze of his eyes that sunlight dyed a bright golden tone, almost a liquid gold, and they were glossy like Yuri wasn’t alone in nearly bursting into tears.

“…I promise?”

Ryan broke into a smile and nodded with an exhale: “Right! Okay! See you soon!”

He turned and skipped ahead, away from Yuri, then waved at him at the door before walking into the café, looking back at Yuri through the glass-paned storefront when he thought the other boy couldn’t see him. It wasn’t subtle at all.

Yuri rubbed his hand with his fingers and thought about how Ryan had pulled him to his feet, his touch warm and gentle despite his boisterous demeanor. He thought about holding his hand up against his inside the rotating door, the cold glass between them, and the way Ryan had laughed but not to mock him for any of the reasons Yuri could think of, only for things that hardly mattered.

Ryan hadn’t left his handprint on the door of Hero’s Bar, Yuri realized, standing still outside the establishment. He had used the metal handle with great care and set out to find a place to sit. Wasn’t that the sort of door he should’ve left his handprint on to continue his weird game?…

Yuri drew circles against the palm of his hand with his thumb and couldn’t help but smile slightly. The sun’s rays fell on him like arrows, and he jumped into motion: he was going to get sunburnt at this rate, his cheeks already flushed and warm.

He turned his head away from the cardboard cutout while he walked past (just in case, like an ancient superstition). Once at the door, he pushed it open and slipped into the building, hoping people wouldn’t pay him too much mind.

Hero’s Bar wasn’t all that busy at this time, but it was filling up.

Yuri scanned the seating areas, trying to locate Ryan. He didn't see the man anywhere, so he checked his phone, trawling through the string of texts Ryan had sent him, most of which he had yet to reply.

It was not unexpected at all; he was that sort of person. Yuri had bought a prepaid SIM card to arrange this meeting, and with its limited service, he would be completely locked out of messaging him in a month. Yuri only received messages with the alternate SIM card inserted into his phone, so he kept receiving Ryan’s messages in batches.

This time, there was only one new message.

what do u wanna eat

Yuri stared at it like it could clue him into whether Ryan had stood him up or not. His slender fingers tapped in a steady rhythm to write a questioning message to the other man concerning his current whereabouts. He erased it when he’d nearly finished writing the simple sentence.

It was tonally wrong, perhaps: too official and dry, too much like a judge and not like Yuri, but again, did it have to be anything else? Was there anything else?… He scrolled upwards, skimming over the messages Ryan had intermittently sent him.

They mostly consisted of him speaking with himself, answering his questions to Yuri by himself when he hadn’t received a reply quickly enough. It was troublesome but nothing overly inappropriate.

What's your favourite colour, read one question among others, which Ryan had replied with bright pretty ones, right? and then went on to elaborately explain why Golden Honey was the superior honey brand, using words that led Yuri to believe he had been bored and read the back of the packaging. (Yuri already knew what it said, having perused the same text many times over.)

He scrolled past all of the messages to get to the beginning.

Good evening. After careful consideration, I accept your offer to meet in person during our free time as civilians. I would prefer to organize the meeting within the following week. Please let me know your available schedule as soon as possible. Thank you in advance. -Yuri Petrov

This professional text was what he had eventually sent at eight in the evening after deliberating his message for a whole day. Text messaging was an activity that came with its own set of rules he wasn’t proficient in; he preferred emails that resembled traditional letters with distinct and clear constraints. As far as he could remember, this was the first casual text message conversation he had initiated in his life.

The reply had been almost instantaneous and split into multiple shorter messages written and sent one after another.

whoa official court summons got????
am i gonna get reprimanded:’(
dont b too rough with me……im sensitive

Yuri hadn't known what to reply, and while trying to decide what tone Ryan had meant to impart, the man had continued messaging him after half an hour.

dont leave me hanging like this i was joking pls
ur making me look cringe dude……
dont u already know my schedule anyway…its the same every day except when its not and theres an emergency or smth lol
evening talkshow with blue golden on OBC coming up on thurs tho…u shuld watch it im the FUNNIEST guest ever. princess is there too (to announce smth BIG)

He didn’t watch talk shows, but because his mother did and spent most of her time watching television, he had ended up seeing half of it. Ryan was funny enough (according to the audience) but Yuri’s mother had clicked her tongue in disapproval and changed the channel once the hero had unbuttoned his shirt mid-sentence to show off his well-refined abdominal muscles to make a point about his training schedule.

do u like blue roses music btw?
if yea then lean close….ive got a secret
a new album dropping soon dont tell anyone tho……that new single with me is on it

Yuri quirked his brow and typed a quick response because this was something he knew exactly how to answer.

You are currently acting in violation of the terms of your non-disclosure agreement with Titan Industry. Cease sharing further information immediately.

The reply was immediate and unconcerned.

but just between us tho
howd u know that anyway wtf

Ryan wasn’t helpless with legal documents (as far as Yuri could tell, the hero having negotiated a decent contract for himself despite his sudden reacquisition onto Sternbild's roster of heroes), which left Yuri considering whether Ryan was violating the terms knowingly. Still, for what purpose, he couldn’t tell.

There are no exceptions of any kind to your non-disclosure agreement: I know this because all heroes are equally bound to multiple legalities and universal obligations attached to Sternbild’s hero legislature. Your contract is stricter due to the idol career of your hero partner and the need for additional stipulations for increased privacy and security to ensure her spotless reputation.

Despite the longer reply, Ryan replied as fast as before, and as unconcerned.

damn im going to court for real:'(
ull b there tho so its ok:)
gonna b like hi….u come here often?

Considering that Yuri worked at the court as Ryan put it, of course he was there often. Almost daily.

Non-disclosure agreements are civil contracts that outline mild-to-severe financial penalties for breaking them depending on the severity of the confidentiality breach. However, in this case, for a breach of contract to occur and the resulting penalties, a third party would have to report you for it, as no monetary damage has ensued as a result. Therefore, a court date is as unnecessary as the potential fine.

not getting a court date after all:( sad again
but ty for this 3rd party for keeping it just between us<3going against the law for me?…i promise ill be a good boy from now on

Yuri doubted the sincerity of the promise to be a good boy given the sheer number of parking tickets the hero had racked up during his stay in Sternbild. He had never caused a dangerous situation but frequently parked his large car to places where it had no business being parked at, like the specifically reserved parking spots of other well-off Gold Stage residents.

I am not going against the law: I am acting as a civilian and subjectively assess that your breach of NDA is inconsequential, especially when I presume the information will be made public on Thursday.

ok:*
so when are u free anyway

Yuri squinted at the emoji and decided to ignore it.

I am available only on Friday during the current week, earliest at 19:00. You may suggest the location.

i MAY suggest…better think of a good one huh
i culd just pick u up and drive us somewhere if u want
do u like cars?
or motorcycles? a helmet might mess up your hair tho
what abt eating? do u wanna eat a bunch or nah?like buffet or ristorant or smth
or wanna meet up at my place….ill let u meet my babygirl
fan of takeaway?

No.

One simple word was all Yuri managed to send while Ryan kept sending new messages. He was much faster at typing so it was unclear which question Yuri had replied to: everything all at once suited him fine.

okeydokey<3
how abt i send u the address for my suggestion and u show up when u can
its perfect i prommy. hang on

Yuri had to double-check Ryan had sent him okeydokey and prommy instead of him having severely misread. He did use those words. Like so many times before, Yuri wasn’t sure what to reply: the only thing that stuck out to him were the words, including Ryan misspelling of restaurant.

By the way, it is spelled “restaurant”.

Despite supposedly being busy looking up an address, Ryan replied quickly.

i have italian autocorrect on

Yuri didn’t speak Italian, but there were many Italian-style restaurants in Sternbild of which multiple had the word emblazoned in their name.

In Italian, it would be “ristorante”.

:/
ANYWAY check this place out

He navigated away from the messages to check the place Ryan had suggested. It was a Hero's Bar, an old one in what was now known as the Bronze Stage, somewhat dilapidated but well-loved.

Its location on the Bronze Stage made it somewhat hidden, unlike the more expensive and newer Hero’s Bars on the higher stages of Sternbild. This one had barely been renovated… It wasn’t remote enough to be strange because it was in a central area, only on a lower stage. It would be acceptable if he was seen entering it, given how ubiquitous the chain was in Sternbild. Ryan’s message popped up on the upper half of his screen.

u like?

It is suitable.

yaaaaayyy see u then:)

Yuri's phone buzzed in his hand, silently alerting him to a new notification. He let go of the screen, and the conversation automatically scrolled down to a new text message, burying the ones sent days ago.

hi
u didnt reply

Hello?

whats up dude

Why are you not already at the place you suggested?

i fell down the stairs and broke my arm:(

No, I saw you at work today.

why were u looking at me

Yuri hesitated, not knowing how to answer: it was a persistent effect the other man had on him. He hadn’t been looking at Ryan, it was impossible to not notice him, clad in reflective gold and speaking in a loud voice that rang through the building. Fortunately, Ryan didn't stop messaging him.

dont b shy u can ask for an autograph if u want
and yea my bone break accident was so sudden…will u autograph my cast tho

If it did occur, you failed to submit your sick leave request and wasted my time in both a professional and a private setting.

judge……
u just dont recognise me sitting here. prolly bc im cuter than usual<3
im literally looking at u looking at ur phone rn

Yuri glanced around himself, but Ryan wasn't around. He wondered if the man was lying to him.

take like three steps forward
then look left

He hesitated again, but he did take three steps forward, lifting his eyes from the phone to scour the area to his right (doubting Ryan had given him accurate directional advice) and then to his left. A man who could be Ryan sat in the plush seat of one of the booths lining the wall, lazily waving at Yuri with the hand not holding his phone.

Ryan was near-unrecognizable at first glance, but cuter wasn't the first thing that sprung to Yuri's mind. If anything, he looked more mature than usual. The uncharacteristic outfit suited him well enough, most likely because being conventionally attractive was integral to his public hero persona: a simple observation, not something Yuri actively deliberated.

Ryan was clad in deep blue and natural brown instead of the loud black and gold he favoured or the sleek navy and gold of Golden Ryan. His straight pants had a simple plaid pattern replicated on the vest worn over an off-white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Despite the casual rolled sleeves, the shirt was buttoned up in an uncharacteristic display of modesty compared to things he could be seen wearing.

The brown tortoiseshell glasses on his face that softened his angular features made him most unlike himself, and as far as Yuri knew, he didn't need glasses because his hero suit listed nothing about sight correction so they were only for decoration. Together they made him look like a different person, the blue plaid paired with deep mahogany leather of his belt and dress shoes.

Ryan used his fingers to brush aside some of the hair he'd styled over his forehead, more than the usual single flick. When Yuri approached, he straightened enough to not be hunched over with his elbows against the table.

“Why—”

“Oi oi, not even a hello? Why am I wearing this, you mean?… Can't a guy wear normal civilian wear?” Ryan co*cked his head to the side with a grin and turned the tall glass of beer in front of him with his fingertips. “Plus, you're not wearing the same old either.”

“I was not about to question your manner of dress—I was going to ask why you didn’t simply say something instead of ineffectively messaging me,” Yuri said, pausing for a moment. “This is how I dress in my free time. It is not something I specifically picked out.”

“Eeeeh,” went Ryan, looking Yuri up and down. His flared and high-waisted black pants suited his long legs well, complimenting his lean figure and giving him the makings of an interesting silhouette. It was an unprecedentedly stylish choice Ryan wouldn't have expected of Yuri, straight out of those runways many of his past model girlfriends frequented on.

“I mean, Judge, I didn’t call out to you ‘cause I didn’t wanna attract everyone’s attention by shouting at you across the place. You wouldn’t have liked that, right? I’ve got a distinct voice, eh?”

The statement pants Yuri had paired with a white dress shirt tucked into them without a single wrinkle to be seen. Some modest ruffles decorated the fabric around the neck and the chest as far as Ryan could see, the rest hidden by a simple coat that reached his mid-thigh.

It would've looked better if Yuri hadn't tucked the shirt in because it wasn't a good fit on his frame, so tucking it into the waistband of his pants in a more casual way would've looked less awkward and showcased his narrow waist instead.

Yuri took a seat opposite Ryan, not taking off the light coat that served to obscure his figure. A shame.

“Ain't it too warm with that coat on and everything?”

“I only have one question to ask, after which the meeting can conclude,” said Yuri and fell quiet in displeasure when Ryan tutted him.

“One question? After I got dressed up too? Just one question? C'mon, dude.”

“Yes,” Yuri said, not impressed with Ryan.

“Nah, that won't work on me. A promise is a promise, eh…”

“I cannot recall making any promises.”

“Ha, bet you can't.” Ryan hummed and continued. “Usually I’m the one who forgets a thing here or there, but… Anyway, this is a meeting between two civilians, besides. I'm off the clock right now.”

“The question is not about work, I assure you.”

“Whoa, really? Sweet, let's save it then, best for last. Y'know, honest, I was not expecting you to dress like that. I thought you were more into colours, that's just black and white.”

Yuri stared at Ryan, knowing from experience from unwittingly listening in on the conversations of the heroes that this was a game he couldn't win. Ryan was an expert at leading discussions on a whim, something Yuri wasn't. Perhaps it was more accurate that the type of conversations Ryan initiated were what Yuri was not an expert in.

He preferred to plan his lines of thinking in advance like they took place in court, and he had extensively thought of many such scenarios in advance. The current question was something other than what he had thought to plan in advance, meaningless questions so inconsequential nobody had thought to ask them of him before.

He didn't frequent casual meetups at bars and felt like a flame in strong winds, uncertain and wavering. Yuri interrogated the uneasy feeling within his chest and arrived at no better conclusion, locking it under layers of professionalism till nothing remained but a chill.

Yuri could ignore him and insist on asking his question but knew well enough that Ryan reacted to such things like a child would. Entertaining him was the path of least resistance, and he would, eventually, arrive where he had started. He exhaled, surrendering to Ryan’s inane questions for the time being.

“…More into colours.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d be more of a colours guy, is all…”

“And you thought this because of?…”

“Your ties, mostly. You're not even wearing a tie right now, eh…”

“I see,” said Yuri without any further elaboration.

“I actually kinda thought you were just gonna wear your suit.”

“It would have been out of place in a casual setting during this time. It is far too late to have stopped by this establishment on one's way home from work, meaning it would appear as a deliberate choice and attract unwanted attention. A business suit is not the expected attire of an establishment like this.”

“Hey, that's why I'm dressed like this too. To attract less attention, right? Just for you, man,” said Ryan, gesturing to his suit-adjacent ensemble that was casual and stylish enough to not look out of place. Yuri couldn’t help but notice Ryan had undone his collar already, fingers playing with the lapels.

“…Thank you for your consideration,” he said in a dry tone, not sounding particularly thankful.

“You're so welcome,” replied Ryan with a cheeky grin and finger guns. A smile played on his lips despite Yuri not offering anything to discuss in return. “And hey, why don’t you lead the convo for a change? I’m like, overpoweringly charming, so… I can keep on talking if you’d like, but if not, the stage’s all yours.”

Yuri should’ve asked the question he wanted to ask, stuck to the charade he’d acted out in his mind, no matter how Ryan didn’t follow any of the steps. A different question surfaced in his mind, a sickly curiosity bubbling forth.

It was a casual setting in a specific environment, so it was a question that would not seem strange or put him in any possible danger of any subsequent uncomfortable line of inquiry he didn’t want to have on record. Yuri turned his head to look at the Mr. Legend memorabilia on the wall, and Ryan followed his gaze.

“…What do you think about Mr. Legend? He is the reason Hero’s Bar is an ubiquitous chain in Sternbild.”

Ryan lifted his brows and took a swig from his drink. It wasn’t a question he’d expected in the slightest, but it didn’t bother him. “Mr. Legend, like the hero? Those are his records, right?”

“Yes. Mr. Legend… The forefather of all heroes, the progenitor of the modern hero industry: a man and a myth all the same till no distinction remains to be found… The very personification of justice itself with records that have still yet to be broken.”

“Did you accept to meet up 'cause you wanted to pop quiz me on the history of Sternbild? Man, that’s so not fair. But hey, when I inevitably get everything right, are you gonna recommend me for a pay raise for being so damn smart?”

“No, this is merely…” said Yuri without any humour and paused, settling on how to word it. “A personal curiousity.”

“Eeeh…” Ryan leaned back in his seat and pressed his thumbs against his chest, looking at Yuri over his glasses. “You’ve got the great Golden Ryan right at your fingertips and you wanna talk about some musty old guy?”

“Yes.”

Not a single facial muscle on Yuri’s face moved in any way, his stare on Ryan unerring and somewhat judgemental when a patron sitting nearby glanced in their direction and turned to whisper to the person next to them, probably about Golden Ryan. The man in front of him was oblivious to his effects on the surrounding world, uncaring and facetious.

“Way to bash a guy's dreams in, eh? Am I losing my touch, the one that makes everyone wanna talk to me so bad?…” Ryan pushed his decorative glasses back on his nose as Barnaby would, pretending he was thinking hard and scientifically about this question. “Well, there’s so much to say… But first off, asking me what I think about Mr. Legend is the wrong question. Here, let me help you: the right question is do you think about Mr. Legend? And the answer to that? Nope, I don’t think about him, not really.”

To Ryan, Mr. Legend was only another name. He didn’t think he was a savior and an inspiration, nor did he resent him. He was a person who had once lived, a man amongst others, and to whom Ryan didn’t even place a professional interest.

The legacy that had held Yuri in its grip since the day he’d been born was entirely irrelevant to Ryan. A fairytale, the sun breaking through the dark clouds after a never-ending night. Ryan saw no god, nor did he see a terrible monster; he had no reason to.

Yuri laughed, a somber note so fleeting that it might not have happened at all.

“…Do you not consider that overly egotistical to say? One should learn from their predecessors, their triumphs and mistakes, yet you have no consideration for such matters.” Yuri's voice was cold, but to Ryan it had the strange quality of a man gasping for air after finally making it to the surface from the frigid depths of the ocean, coughing up the freezing salt water that filled his lungs.

Why Yuri had been drowning, Ryan couldn't tell, the moon summarily pushing and pulling the tide to raise the water over his head.

“Eh… Sure, I’ve looked up some of his stuff online, but I’ve never been the learning type of guy, more of the f*ck around and find out sort. It's worked out fine for me. I got this far—I'm here, aren't I?” Ryan pointed over his shoulder with a thumb to where Hero's Bar displayed the current King of Heroes scoreboard. Both his individual score and buddy hero score reflected well on his performance. “You call it ego but I call it confidence.”

The vague expression of disapproval, distaste, or both on Yuri's face and the following scoff accompanied by a condescending smile meant to disparage Ryan’s lacking sense of justice amused him.

Yuri wasn't a person to pretend he enjoyed anyone's company. While he tolerated people if he had to (blessed with a natural penchant for professionalism), he didn't go out of his way to curry favour with anyone. Ryan liked his unintended honesty, a ruthless sort of sincerity. He would never betray Ryan, not in any way that mattered.

“It’s rather inconsequential whether you call it ego or confidence. Both are ultimately meaningless, for neither pushes one to break records like the pursuit for a true heart of justice, one all should covet. Is this not true?”

“HeroTV doesn't give me points for winning hearts, but I wish it would…” Ryan trailed off, saw Yuri opening his mouth, and continued speaking. “Yeah yeah, I know, I heard the heart of justice thing last Justice Day I was here. Ha, Junior thought I was gonna be the one to open up a hole in the city centre, can you believe?”

“I am aware. He included it in his report,” said Yuri. Ryan cast in the role of the judge was a laughable thought.

“Wow, Junior really thinks of everything, eh… He's a good little hero, isn't he?”

“…As opposed to you?” Yuri thought of Ryan's reports, which were barebones in comparison, and restaurant wasn't the only word he misspelled. Ryan chuckled and shook his head.

“Meh, just that I've never been into the heroism shtick in the way everyone in Sternbild is,” Ryan said, an easy-going smile on his lips. “Never knew this was gonna be my career path and all that, anyway…”

The photo slip in Yuri's breast pocket burned against his chest. Had that boy in his memories not been adamant about becoming a hero?…

“You were a hero from a young age, leaving no time to consider the natural procession of your life,” Yuri guessed.

Ryan smiled wryly.

“Kinda? But nah, I had all the time in the world to think: dropped out of high school to figure that stuff out, too. Bet you didn't know that, huh?”

Yuri had not known. While he had looked into Ryan's past as was standard (and beyond, as was Lunatic’s standard), he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

“Mm, I had two parents, a nice house, a picket fence for good measure… No dog, but hey, I've always been fond of pets so it's the thought that counts. I did promos and stuff, sure. I got on TV, that's how you know you've made it, actually… Just gets stale at some point, though.”

Two parents, a nice house, a picket fence, no dog. Yuri’s thoughts strayed to his old room at the home he had lived with his parents, the yard, and the stray tomcat he’d fed in secret behind the porch because animals weren’t allowed inside the house.

“…Why are you telling me this?” asked Yuri, wary, uncertain of what Ryan wanted out of him. This felt like a trap for a wolf that strayed too close to a village, a steep fall ending in stakes disguised as something harmless.

Ryan shrugged. “Eh, makes me wonder, honest. Dunno, figured you'd get it.”

“Ah?…” Ryan thought he’d understand? Yuri realized he’d unwillingly let out a strange noise, straightening his posture and fixing the wavy platinum hair that fell over half his face. “You thought I would understand. Why is that?”

“Just the same as other things, like maybe you should try traveling sometime… It's awesome, you get to see places and people, get scouted for careers, etcetera.”

“This does not answer my question.”

“I’m just making conversation, Judge…” One of Ryan’s neatly plucked eyebrows rose in question.

Perhaps it was stranger for Yuri to focus on Ryan’s choice of words than him having said them in the first place. They had no significant meaning to Ryan, being nothing but empty platitudes. Yuri decided to keep the conversation going to better steer it away from this social blunder due to his peculiar lines of thought, which he worried would be all too easy to discern for someone like Ryan.

“…Of course. Either way, traveling does not suit me. The freedom to leave everything behind and choose one’s own path is not a luxury granted to all.”

“Never too late to indulge in a few luxuries, eh… You've been racking up those vacay days like crazy based on how long you stay at the office.”

“Hm… I have never left Sternbild, and I presume I never will.” Yuri’s tone was final, but Ryan only gave an amused huff.

“Says who?”

“…Myself.”

“Aaah, right, the good judge Yuri Petrov. Got it. He sentenced you to life in Sternbild.” Ryan’s voice carried his lopsided smile, but Yuri kept his gaze low. His long eyelashes shadowed his washed-out green eyes that turned distant.

“In a way, perhaps.”

Ryan opened his mouth for a comical interjection but never spoke. There was an odd silence between them, a silence once familiar: now it did not go unnoticed.

“…Eh, guess you’ll just have to get yourself pardoned. Y’know, I hear the guy in charge is fond of sweets; says he’s not, but I—the great Golden Ryan—know better.”

There it was again, the loudly-spoken hero name in a cadence that had the power to make people look in his direction despite his other words being drowned out by the general chatter of Hero's Bar.

“It would do you well to speak in a tone that attracts less attention.”

Ryan shook his head with a huff and leant over the table: “Okay, okay. I'll be quiet, super quiet. Here: I hear the guy in charge is fond of sweets. Says he’s not, but I, Ryan Goldsmith, know better. Golden Ryan Apple Pies are his favourite. I saw it on TV, so it's gotta be true.”

“As I said back then, gifting me the sweets would be seen to constitute an act of bribery,” Yuri affirmed to dissuade Ryan from trying to give them to him again.

“Yeah, exactly. Hey, I don’t see anything wrong with a little bribery after finding out the trial was rigged in the first place. I thought that judges had to be impartial and sh*t, so it kinda discounts you from sentencing yourself in the first place, doesn’t it?”

Yuri’s old scar pulled at his face, trying to force it into a grimace, a memory of a hand pressing his head under the surface into a sea of flames.

“Well, I get it, though,” Ryan continued. He took a sip of his almost untouched beer. “All I need is my own opinion, so… I’d be damn mad too if someone else tried to judge me for something. What do they know about me, huh? Psh. I’ll judge myself, thank you very much! You people weren't there, so what gives you the right?…"

To be misunderstood was part of the cruel irony of existence, but to be understood in any manner was a feeling like glass, fragile and then sharp when it inevitably shattered.

“Hmh,” went Yuri. Some sins, in the end, were too severe to be understood.

“Anyway, it’s kinda like the stuff trash mags make up. Golden Ryan this or that, whatever. Who cares what they print…”

Ryan trailed off, leaning against his hand, following along the big screen cycling through the best bits of the current season of the League of Heroes. The clips cut off to a soon-to-be live feed, the standby jingle of HeroTV sounding through the room as all speakers tuned into the latest transmission.

“No damn way.” Ryan straightened and looked down at his communicator, the discreet piece of technology around his wrist a sleek white with golden decals. “Haven’t alerted me yet, but it’s gonna be a not-so-serious situation if it’s happening live instead of full playback.”

“In the case it was anything serious, I would have been alerted before you,” added Yuri with a slight frown. He should’ve been at the office instead of wasting his time chasing some folly of his, and Ryan should’ve been free to work. He would use this as an opportunity to not go—after all, he wasn’t a hard worker like some other heroes were and had admitted he had no particular sense of heroism.

“Ah, f*ck, I’ll have to drive, though…” Ryan set the tall glass down and gave it a forlorn glance while clicking his tongue. “I hate wasting food, y'know? You drink it. A shame we’re gonna have to cut this official private meeting short, eh.”

He tapped his communicator almost at the very moment it rang, quickly muting the request for non-urgent deployment of available heroes without attracting much attention.

“Is that so,” asked Yuri. His question was so flat it could've been a statement. He thought Ryan was joking.

“Hey, the points aren’t gonna earn themselves. The people are longing to see Blue Golden in action."

Points, those were his motivation? Yuri was taken aback enough that all he did was sit quietly when Ryan stood up to leave.

“…Wait, just a moment. Before you leave, I want to clarify one thing, the question—”

“Aht-aht, no questions!” announced Ryan like he was accosted by a flock of paparazzi, and his loud voice attracted the attention of multiple people while he grabbed the glasses from his face, hanging them from his collar as he often did with his signature pair of sunglasses. Yuri didn’t shush him, but his cold stare gave Ryan the approximate feeling of being silenced.

Despite Ryan's words, Yuri decided to ask his question; failing to do so would've rendered this entire meeting more of a waste of his time than it already was. He reached inside his jacket to pull out the strip of photos he had stored inside an envelope. All Ryan had to do was answer a yes-or-no-question.

Ryan put his hand on the table and leant down close to Yuri, head next to his to speak close to his ear, making him pause in motion like a snapshot of his own. His blonde hair tickled his cheek, light as a feather.

“Same place next week? I’ll give you any answer you want, eh…” Ryan spoke in a low voice, proving he was capable of being discreet but not capable of acting in a normal, widely accepted manner. “I’m in a hurry right now, though.”

Yuri didn’t dare move because it would’ve been an admittance of him finding something inappropriate in their close proximity, which didn’t bother the other man. He had observed Ryan's natural behaviour being like this despite not trying to pay attention to him, his loud persona making him stand out.

This was the sort of person he was and it meant nothing to him, in the same way his empty words were nothing but inane ramblings. “…Fine, then.”

“You promise?” Ryan drew back and grinned with a cheeky wink.

“My schedule can be tumultuous, so I can hardly make such a promise,” said Yuri, looking up at Ryan’s face without craning his neck.

“Aha, I’ll send you a text later, yeah? See ya.” Ryan gave a two-finger salute for a goodbye and turned on his heel, confidently weaving through the tables without looking back. Yuri didn’t move his head but followed Ryan with his eyes.

His pants fit on him far too tightly.

Another HeroTV jingle played when Ryan pushed Hero’s Bar’s exit open as if purposefully in sync. Yuri could see Ryan speak into his communicator outside the glass door and walk off like he’d never been there.

The only proof that he had ever met Yuri was the more than half-full glass of beer still on the table. Lip gloss had left shiny marks on the edge where Ryan had drank from.

Yuri focused on the large screen that cycled through a few short studio clips to a live feed of an apartment building on fire, smoke thickly billowing overhead, seeping into the booth Yuri sat in and pooling around his ankles like water. It stuck to him, plain for all to see—he knew it wasn’t true, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen and the flames, thinking he saw splashes of blue-green amidst the sea of sparks.

The location was close, so Yuri traced Ryan’s likely steps in his mind with methodical finesse. First, he’d spoken into his communicator to get Titan Industry's truck to pick him up.

It had most likely picked him up off the main street. Titan Industry's headquarters weren't far off: Ryan had been in the perfect location for an impromptu hero situation. Once inside the truck, he would’ve changed into his hero suit and acquired his vehicle, getting ready before the incident site.

Driving off the ramp for a dramatic entrance was what he would do, and for that purpose, the truck would stop before it came into the view of the fire, giving the illusion he had driven the entire way himself.

As if on cue, the Hero's Bar crowd cheered when the first hero appeared on the scene, the golden-and-navy motorcycle making an unnecessarily dramatic entrance by Ryan having lifted the front tire off the ground and revving the engine.

“Golden Ryan earns twenty-five points for Blue Golden by being the first to appear on the scene of the abandoned building on fire!”

His NEXT power was impressive, but it was not versatile in the way only Hundred Power could be. This building was an old apartment complex that now rested in the shade of the other stages of Sternbild, a decaying log under the shadow of fresh growth.

It could never handle the force of Ryan's increased gravity, nor could the surrounding buildings. They'd been built in haste, only meant to handle Sternbild's population growth at the time, not last for generations to come.

Ryan drove in circles in front of the building, smaller each time till he was spinning around his front wheel, the fire behind him reflecting off of the useless wings on the back of his hero suit.

Multiple people inside the Hero's Bar booed while an older woman stood up and swore loudly, raving about how she'd once gotten her first apartment in that building which Ryan was letting burn only to show off. Ryan was a polarizing figure because he was a hero, but his conduct was unlike the other heroes of Sternbild, his purposeful flair for the camera surpassing that of Barnaby's.

Barnaby had a polite demeanor, and his past hardships were public and tied to Sternbild. In contrast, Ryan was known as the opinionated foreigner who had once forced Wild Tiger into retirement against his will by accepting a deal from a villainous Apollon Media CEO without a second thought. He’d made the choice seen as just by the citizens of Sternbild in the end, earning the approval of most of the people, but…

Amidst the commotion caused by Ryan, his partner appeared without much fanfare, her motorcycle going unnoticed till she was already in front of the building.

It was on purpose, Yuri thought, because Ryan immediately stopped revving the engine and drew back to park next to Karina. Agnes had participated, given the cameras had made a pointed effort to not give away Blue Rose's arrival.

Karina had an ongoing issue with her overzealous fans, the sort where they tried to be memorialized as part of the show. The wider area was impossible to fully secure by non-hero supporting personnel due to the labyrinthine streets, so Agnes must've agreed to divert attention to Ryan out of compelling safety concerns.

One of Karina's more overenthusiastic fans was still screaming in excitement when the wider crowd in Hero's Bar quieted down, a bright blue lightstick in his hand.

In the wake of buddy heroes, it had become commonplace amongst the more fervent hero fanatics to support their favourite hero's partner by at least cheering them on… This man had booed Ryan's appearance.

Yuri had reviewed many passionate letters demanding the dissolution of buddy heroes for one reason or another, some more dubious than others, but the most elaborate attempts to sway Sternbild's newfound hero system had come from fans of the idol Blue Rose.

Ryan's most dedicated fans (the so-called Golddiggers, a fact Yuri had learnt against his will) were by far most supportive of his partner due to Ryan's concentrated effort on social media to force them to be, whereas the inverse was true for Karina.

Her most dedicated fans near-unanimously hated Ryan to the point Titan Industry had taken legal action against a select few who had threatened to take revenge on Ryan for tarnishing Karina's innocence. It was one thing to be a hero, and another entirely to be an idol.

Ryan had laughed when Yuri had given his ruling. He was unconcerned for a man far from universally beloved and who had already come closer to dying than not.

In the process of Titan Industry acquiring Ryan to their roster, his prior medical records had been transferred over. Maintain anonymity for patient safety, Yuri had read off the thick stack of papers he wasn't supposed to be reading, the afterthought of a note underlined multiple times.

Patient trapped for multiple hours under rubble in a prone position. Unconscious during discovery. Presents with severe hemorrhage, tachycardia, pallor…

Multiple symptoms were written down in no particular order.

Medical tape used to enclose right hand into fist unrelated to patient condition (the rest of the sentence was scribbled over with a thick black pen, the prior strokes of roller point pen readable to Yuri under bright light) and applied as precaution for NEXT power activation, efficacy unknown.

IV fluid resuscitation with NS at 2000ml/h for hypovolemic shock. Gained consciousness, disoriented but able to answer questions, cooperative. Severe stellate laceration of upper back observed during extrication, complicates patient care and transport. IV sodium bicarbonate administered during…

The specifics were complicated.

Patient still in unusually high spirits upon arrival at the hospital, raising concern of traumatic rhabdomyolysis. Referred for emergency surgery for wound debridement and hemorrhage control. ICU bed requested, please notify ICU head nurse of “Mr. Smith”.

Yuri rubbed his fingertips against the side of his face without noticing, slow, loping circles with enough force to let him feel the uneven skin under his makeup. Ryan wouldn't let the old buildings around him crumple due to his power, contrary to the concerns of a few loud proponents amongst the crowd in Hero's Bar.

The hero on the screen knelt down, creating a field of gravity that elongated itself to fit between the small space between two apartment complexes where the fire was threatening to leap from building to building.

Ryan's act was chalked down as style points by the HeroTV commentator while Karina's better match of NEXT power for the situation smothered flames where she aimed, but he overlooked the effects of gravity on fire: this did not go unnoticed by Yuri.

It was not obvious in the camera angle chosen but due to the principle of buoyancy, the flames grew taller when hotter gasses rose more rapidly. The resulting elongated shape revealed the exact points where the flames had to be smothered, minimizing any possible structural damage from Karina's ice and the naturally-following waterlogging.

Yuri picked at his skin while Blue Golden was joined by other heroes and eventually welcomed the fire department, their large trucks initially held back by the poor infrastructure of the area.

The interview spotlight afterwards was given to Blue Golden, the reward for making the first appearance on the scene.

Blue Rose excused herself after thanking the other heroes and the fire department (she probably had something better to do with her time, Yuri reasoned, as a full-time hero, idol, and student), and left Golden Ryan fending for himself.

“Do you want to order something, sir?”

“Hnh?” Yuri's gaze focused on the waitress cleaning the glass of beer off the table he'd shared with Ryan, who had been the only one to order anything. Hero's Bar was almost full, rendering every seating spot precious. “…No, my apologies. I was about to take my leave.”

“Alright, sir, thank you for your patronage! Come again!”

Yuri nodded, the motion stiff and inhuman, but the waitress didn't seem to notice. He stood up and smoothed his coat to avoid making more of a fool of himself.

“Do you think the fire could've been started by Lunatic?” asked one reporter on the screen, allowed to take the spotlight after HeroTV's own crew, eager to manufacture the day's scoop.

The question suspended Yuri in motion, but Ryan laughed.

“Huh? Nah, not unless the building killed someone, right? Ain't that something? Anyway—”

“You're not scared at all? He's been mysteriously absent! What about the green-blue fire that was briefly observed?!”

“No need to be scared, I'll keep you safe if he wants to turn to arson; never doubt the infallible promise of the great Golden Ryan!… And besides, you sure the fire wasn't blue because of trace metals? Never went to high school and learned about that?”

The reporter stammered at the reply that went beyond friendly teasing but didn't give up: “A-Anything to say to Lunatic, in case he's listening? You're the only veteran hero who hasn't come face-to-face with him or even shared the city with him while he's been most active!…”

“Sure. Camera!” Ryan flicked his hand upwards, tiny claws at the ends of his fingers glinting in light, the camera zooming in on him till the reporter was completely cut out of the shot. “Oi, Luna, ever think of a career change? I could get you scouted by a few agencies off-Sternbild. Become a hero, it's good money, eh?”

Yuri stared at the TV screen, trying to decide if Ryan knew something he shouldn't or if this was a ploy by heroes to get him to turn himself in or track any unusual behaviour. Had his identity been compromised at some point?

Ryan winked and made a call me-gesture, but an advertisem*nt began to play before he could say anything else.

The waitress from before stared at Yuri with a customer service smile, holding a menu with a family of three trailing behind her. The toddler was tired from the late time of day, protectively held in his mother’s arms, brown eyes large and fixated on the strangely acting man standing in front of the booth.

“…My apologies,” Yuri said, voice coming out weaker than was acceptable. He left, and on his way, he thought he saw a handprint on the door where Ryan had pushed it open instead of using the handle like one was supposed to.

It reminded him of nothing else than the revolting scarring on his face, the mark of his curse.

Chapter 5: Absolution & Condemnation (Life’s Worth)

Chapter Text

Ryan’s face lit up. “Whoo! You’re here.”

Yuri hesitated despite it being far too late for that and walked to Ryan’s table nonetheless, carefully settling his hands on the back of the seat across from him. He’d gotten this far already, he thought, so it would’ve been stupid to turn away now.

“Um, I promised that I’d join you…”

“Yeah, I know, so obviously you’re here since you promised! And it would’ve sucked if you left, 'cause…” Ryan fiddled with the packets of mayonnaise in front of him that he was in the process of combining by emptying them into an unappetizing mountain of mayonnaise. “Well, you would’ve missed out on so many super fun times with me.”

Yuri pulled the chair out for himself and sat about the opposite of the other boy. He hadn’t been invited to places like this with friends, so he could only hope this was an acceptable place to sit.

“Uh, and I got this but by the time I get to the dessert part it might’ve melted already...” Ryan pushed a cup of soft serve ice cream across the table with his fingertips. “So you can totally have it if you want?”

Yuri fidgeted with his fingers before reaching out for the cup. Ryan pretended to stare at his french fries instead of watching what happened to the ice cream from the corner of his eye, and he grinned after Yuri picked it up and met his gaze. It felt impossible for Yuri to not return his smile, even if the expression felt unnatural on his features: he could only hope he didn’t look awful whenever he smiled.

“Thank you,” Yuri said, turning the cup in his hands before focusing on Ryan’s multi-coloured and -flavoured mayonnaise mountain surrounded by more food than was reasonable for one person to eat. “Um, you ordered a lot of food?...”

The table had more food than Yuri had seen ordered at once in a place like this in his entire life, and he didn't know for sure but it seemed like there was one of everything offered on the menu, only short of every different variety of burger. In the case Ryan had ordered some of this food for him despite what he'd said earlier, he had wasted a lot of money.

“Yep! I’m soooo hungry, and I’m so excited to eat all of this food too!” Ryan said, his enthusiasm more childlike than anything, sharply contrasting with how he dressed and presented himself. He realized this himself and tapped his chin. “Eh, y’know, mostly ‘cause I can eat it all since nobody’s here to tell me not to, so…”

“Telling you not to?”

“Yeah, I’m like, on a diet. It’s pretty normal, isn’t it?” Ryan said, ripping the wrapper off a hamburger with renewed enthusiasm. “But nobody’s gonna know what the hell I ate while I was in Sternbild.”

Yuri didn’t agree with the normalcy of diets but wasn’t sure what to say about it, his thoughts occupied with the concern Ryan was expecting him to eat at least something strewn on the table, because he couldn’t possibly mean he intended to eat everything.

“Um, I shouldn't eat,” Yuri said with a faltering tone while turning the plastic dessert spoon in his hands. “A-Anything else than this, at least. I already had lunch, and I'll have dinner with my family later.”

“Wow!” Ryan whooped in a muffled tone in the middle of biting down on his burger and had to put the back of his hand in front of his mouth because he started choking from inhaling wrong while trying to speak with his mouth full.

“Are you okay?...”

Ryan drank from his soda, tears in his eyes from coughing, and waved his hand in Yuri's direction.

“Ugh, yeah, I'm totally fine! Anyway, I was trying to say congrats and ask what’s it for.”

“What’s it for?” Yuri twirled the spoon in his ice cream cup, pushing the soft serve around while trying to decide what Ryan meant. “You mean what the family dinner is for, like if it was a celebration?...”

“Yeah?”

“Um… Nothing like that, it’s not for anything: we usually have a family dinner every day,” he said, voice cautious like he had to mind his step. They used to have a family dinner every day, but lately… Not so much, but some things stayed the same despite it. “My mother cooks something every day.”

“Huh, really? I mean, my parents cook sometimes, but we don't usually eat together, haha… So when we do, it's for like, a thing, and we go out for something nice. Super not for anything like burgers and ice cream, right?”

“R-Right,” Yuri said, trying to imagine Ryan’s family, poking the tip of his sneaker against the floor under his chair. “We usually celebrate everything at our house and I don’t have any reason to eat fast food or ice cream when my mother cooks to begin with since she's always home, and my father… Uhm, he always recommends that I eat real food.”

“Mm!” Ryan nodded with his mouth full, unable to reply straight away. The pace at which he was eating made Yuri worry he’d make himself sick, but Ryan showed no signs of any gastrointestinal distress. “My dad's like the exact same! He's always super complaining about what real food is and isn't, like, eh… Alfredo sauce isn't even real. Or you didn’t prepare this right, did you know. Stuff like that, he's just gonna explain it to the waiter, like in a restaurant? It's soooo stupid. Ugh, I'd never do something mega dumb like that.”

Yuri thought that Ryan might do something similar based on how he had interacted with the employees trying to close the doors on him while he was leaving the hall Mr. Legend's speech took place in. It made him smile to himself, but his smile died the more he thought about the rest of the words.

“Maybe it’s a bit different. I don’t think he knows much about cooking—he just means I should eat more meat and other… Healthy foods,” Yuri trailed off, trying to gauge Ryan's reaction to no avail because the other boy was focusing on improving his burger by stacking onion rings inside of it. He didn’t know if Ryan was even listening to him. “My father says that eating too many desserts is too girly, so I shouldn't.”

Ryan paused in the middle of pressing the top bun back onto the burger and glanced up at Yuri with a near-bewildered expression.

“Eh… Really? Papà would super complain—uh, I mean my dad would complain if we went somewhere and the dinner didn't have any dessert afterwards, it's like a must.”

“I-I guess my father more so means that eating too many sweets is feminine, not that he has anything against desserts in particular.”

“Feminine,” Ryan repeated, holding a soda cup in his hand that he’d been in the process of lifting for a swig and instead stayed still, staring at the different food items on the table. None of them looked feminine or masculine to him, not even the sweetest thing on the table, the soft serve ice cream in Yuri’s hands. Vanilla-flavored with caramel sauce, served in a mostly blue cup that had the Hero’s Bar logo on the side. “Huh? Honest, I kinda don’t get what that means. Like specific things that look cute or something like that?”

“No, just s-sweets in general...” Yuri wished he hadn’t said anything, because he didn’t know how to explain to him that it had nothing to do with how the food looked. He shouldn’t have expected Ryan to understand anything beyond what he’d already understood (or what he imagined Ryan had understood).

“Any?” Ryan asked again, brows knitting together when Yuri nodded without adding anything that clarified it for him. “Well… Every time I actually see my dad at home during the weekends, he’s putting this huge chunk of ice cream in his coffee liquor or something... He’s the only person in the house not on a diet, so all the sweet stuff in our house is his, right? So that thing's just your dad’s opinion.”

After the impromptu break he’d taken to evaluate the femininity of the various food items in front of him, he continued to indiscriminately stuff food into his mouth. He didn’t have time to enjoy every taste separately because it’d been so long since he’d last had a hamburger or french fries, onion rings, or anything else. He wanted to eat all of it as quickly as possible.

Across the table, Yuri picked at the dessert cup in front of him and did the exact opposite like he was actively trying not to be too excited about eating a cup of ice cream. He also kept looking away from Ryan every time their eyes met, but if he was uncomfortable, he could’ve left at any time.

Ryan crushed an empty wrapper into a ball, stuffed it in his likewise empty soda cup, and began to unwrap his second hamburger.

“...Is your father famous?” asked Yuri.

Ryan almost dropped the burger he was holding when Yuri’s words started to make sense in his mind, causing him to have a short fit of laughter. “My dad? Famous?”

“Um, I thought… Earlier you said, celebrities aren’t s-so special, and you also said that your father is not impressive, and just now, you said you only see him during weekends.”

“Oh, that. Nah, he’s just mega busy! That other thing, I guess I kinda combined two thoughts I had just ‘cause my dad’s like the same age as Mr. Legend, I think,” Ryan made a vague gesture with his hand and shrugged. “He works in finance or something? He's a big deal somehow but not like, in a way that matters to anybody. And my mom's like, uh… She also has some sorta office job. I kinda just imagine they go to their jobs and spend all day filing papers and going to meetings or something, all sorta boring stuff… What about your parents? You said your mom stays home, so what’s up with that?”

“My mother stays at home because she doesn't need to work since my father has a well-paying career, and… She likes to stay home.” Yuri’s mother was like him and didn’t have many friends.

“Does your dad work in an office too or something, but he's like, the boss of the bosses?”

“S-Something like that…”

“Hmm! Super cool.”

Ryan continued eating. Yuri was lying to him and he didn't know why, but he didn't mind. It was only about his parents instead of something that mattered. He didn't care to speak about his parents either because there wasn't much to talk about.

“Hum… You know what the whole girl food thing reminded me of?”

Yuri frowned. “Mm?...”

“My girlfriend always saying she’s not hungry and then wanting to taste something anyways so she ends up sharing my food. I guess it’s kinda cute. Is that part of the feminine food thing or what?”

“Oh,” went Yuri, poking at the melting ice cream in the cup he was holding. This was something else entirely than anything related to how his father disapproved of his sweet tooth. This… It was the polar opposite of what Yuri had mentioned. “I don’t know.”

“Or I guess she’s not my girlfriend anymore, I broke up with her before coming here...” Ryan shrugged and stuffed an empty french fry package into the same empty soda cup he’d already half filled with other wrappers.

“Oh,” Yuri repeated without any definite emotion. “Why is that?”

Ryan’s brow creased while he thought about the question, adjusting his elastic headband and pushing unruly locks of hair away from his cheeks where they threatened to get into his food.

“Meh, I dunno! It’s just that I couldn’t have hung out with her anyways because I had to come here. Plus my parents want me to do a bunch of stuff after this so I can’t hang out as much afterwards either, and I have to like, take some mega boring summer classes to make up for the classes I didn’t pass… Uh, you know, with the best marks. So I just went, hey, I’m gonna be super duper busy, but have a fun summer. And she was like, okay.”

“...Okay,” Yuri also said.

“Why break up? I mean, why date girls to begin with?...” Ryan spoke like he was a great philosopher formulating a groundbreaking theory, but that was about everything he had. He didn’t think about things like this too hard. “So we can hang out and kiss and y’know… I dunno, I guess I'd actually have taken her to a place like this for fun or something. What do you do with your girlfriends?”

“What?”

“What what,” asked Ryan, tilting his head with a smile. “Like… Where do you hang out and stuff, that's what I mean?”

Yuri had barely registered the question, a terrible sinking feeling inside his ribcage, colder than the soft serve he was staring down at.

“Uhm… I haven’t had a girlfriend.” It sounded lacking, so Yuri added a quietly spoken yet that got drowned out by Ryan.

“Whaa?! Seriously? It’s not super hard to get a girlfriend and you’re so nice, so I don’t get it! If I was a girl, I'd go on a date with you for sure ‘cause you’d like, listen to me and stuff, or something like that, eh...”

The words made Yuri poke himself in the face with the plastic spoon he was trying to eat the soft serve with. He scrambled for a napkin and dropped one on the floor, staring at it motionlessly until he saw Ryan handing him a new one over the table from the corner of his eye; he took it and smiled weakly in the approximate direction of Ryan without looking at him at all.

“And you're super smart too, right? We talked about that already. You'd totally help me with my homework! Maybe since you’re kinda mega shy nobody has noticed? Dressing differently could help, uh, not like it's bad now, but like, it could be more… Flashy, or something.”

Yuri only felt a terrible pang of jealousy, but he didn’t know whether it was because he wished he was more like Ryan; well-dressed and outgoing, or if he wished that he’d gotten to meet Ryan’s girlfriend instead, who he imagined being like one of the pretty popular girls at school.

“Yuri?”

He didn’t have many friends to begin with (if any), so hanging out with someone like this would’ve been nice, exactly the way Ryan described it. It was hard to imagine himself going anywhere with the popular girls, so he tried to think about the ones who sometimes talked with him during lunch and didn't mind him sharing their table.

(He wasn’t being entirely honest with himself, so it was hard to think about this.)

“Yuri!” When Yuri still didn't respond, Ryan bounced his boot against the other boy's sneakers under the table.

“What?...” Yuri sounded more snappy than he had intended, the tangled knot of thorns strangling his heart in his chest seeping into his tone. It frightened him to have spoken in such a way, but Ryan only laughed. “S-Sorry.”

“Haah, sorry for what?”

“I don't know,” said Yuri, but he knew what he was sorry about. He didn't want to think about it.

“Me neither! So it's totally okay,” Ryan said, stuffing more wrappers into the empty cup he’d assigned for trash. “Anyway, maybe you just gotta find some girl who likes the same stuff you do. There definitely are some mega nerdy girls at my school. Hmm… What's your fave school subject?”

“Um… I like most of them, I suppose.”

“Duh, you’re probably super good at all of them so they’re fun for you. But what’s like, your fave? You gotta pick one!”

“Maybe English?..”

“Whoa, English… Mine’s P.E. for sure!” Ryan spent some time carefully lathering a chicken nugget with mayonnaise before continuing. “English is prolly my least fave, if I’m honest… I kinda hate reading and writing essays and whatever, it all takes so long. I would totally ace them otherwise ‘cause I’m really smart, just super busy. Anyway, there's a ton of girls who like books, one of my ex-girlfriends was like that! You could talk about that. Uh, you know, I'm actually reading a book right now and stuff. Like I brought a book with me in case I’m bored on the flight, ahah...”

“...What's it about?” asked Yuri, eager to have Ryan talk instead and have them both focus on something harmless like school subjects. As Ryan had suggested, this, if anything, was a topic he could (probably) talk about in the same way anyone else could without giving a strange impression of himself.

“Honestly… I have no idea,” Ryan said with a sigh. “Or I kinda do, but I figured out on my flight here that it's actually a poetry book so I guess it's not really about anything.”

“...You didn't know it was a poetry book when you started reading it?”

“Eeeeh, not really. I just grabbed a book from my parents' bookshelf when I was packing—I was kinda late to finish it—‘cause my mom's always telling me I should read more and I was like, hey, maybe books are actually super fun instead of mega boring, but, like...”

Yuri waited for Ryan to tell him more, but the other boy was far more interested in scraping up any remaining mayonnaise onto his last chicken nugget.

“Um, who's the author?”

“Just some old guy, I guess,” said Ryan with his mouth full of chicken and fries that muffled his voice.

“...Okay,” Yuri said after a pause without being able to think of anything else to add. He tried his best not to sound too disappointed in himself for not being able to carry a conversation while Ryan loudly sucked up what must've been mere droplets of soda through a straw.

Ryan glanced up at him and lifted his brows in question. He bit on the plastic straw in his mouth and straightened, pulling it out of the cup with the following motion, and grabbing the straw to roll it between his fingers while he spoke: “Aweh, you’re so disappointed? You actually super wanna know, huh? Hmmm, I'll trade you everything I know about the book for a taste of the soft serve. I know I said I don’t want it but I do kinda wanna know if it's any different than back home!”

Yuri fidgeted with the plastic spoon in his hand, peering into the cup to try to see how much was left, if anything. “You bought it in the first place, so you can have it back?...”

“Naaaah, I just wanna taste it a little.”

“What's left is mostly melted by now…”

“Awesome, that’s perfect!” Ryan leaned over the table and put the straw back in his mouth during the movement, perfectly planting it into the cup Yuri was holding. The melted remnants of the soft serve were like a milkshake, which didn’t bother Ryan one bit. It did not taste any different than average vanilla soft serve back home, Ryan found; maybe it was silly to have thought it might.

Yuri was preoccupied with how Ryan said that his girlfriend would say she didn't want to eat something and then ask for a taste anyway. In this situation, Ryan would've been the girlfriend, if only he was a girl. But had he been a girl, he would've been one of the popular girls Yuri had nothing in common with, not really.

Then again, if Yuri had been a girl instead, he would’ve been one of the nerdy girls Ryan probably never spoke with, if his school overseas was anything like Yuri’s own school and the cliques that formed were similar…

Ryan looked up while chewing on the straw to meet Yuri’s gaze, and because his face was closer, he could see that the other boy hadn’t managed to wipe all of the ice cream off his cheek that he’d smeared there earlier.

“Y’still got ice cream on your cheek,” said Ryan, but since he was holding the straw between his teeth as he spoke, it wasn't clear to anyone else but him what he said. When Yuri didn't move, he tapped the side of his face, looking between Yuri's eyes and cheek.

Yuri found his face contorting into an awkward smile without his explicit permission, his heart jumping so easily despite him trying to convince himself otherwise, rotten thorns prickling in his lungs. Ryan, not oblivious to Yuri’s plight but unsure what it meant, grabbed his straw from the ice cream cup and sat back down.

“I was saying that you still have ice cream on your cheek. Right next to here.” He tapped his cheek, mirroring where the smear was on Yuri’s face, gaze drifting across Yuri's features when the other boy jumped to action to rub dried ice cream off his cheek.

“Also, it didn’t really taste any different, I dunno, I was kinda disappointed… So, anyways, the book I have,” Ryan said, putting his hands behind his head and teetering backwards on his chair. “It’s kinda mega depressing, I guess. I can't remember the name of the guy who wrote it, reminded me of a cat or something somehow? He's like, Italian, probably, because it’s half in Italian and half in English. I guess it’s the original and the translation since the text is like, the exact same as far as I can tell, by which I mean, obviously I can tell, it's uh, super easy for me…”

Yuri was still rubbing his cheek when Ryan trailed off and didn't seem to acknowledge him or the very interesting book facts that should’ve amazed him because he liked books.

Teetering on his chair, Ryan watched without saying anything, the paper napkin in Yuri's hold starting to disintegrate into snowflake-sized particles like a cheap B-list horror movie effect for peeling skin.

It was the same as earlier: he'd tried to talk to Yuri and gotten ignored, but not by pointed gazes elsewhere, exaggerated rolling of eyes, and exasperated sighs. No, he'd stared into some unseen eternity in a trance until he'd nudged his shoe with his own, his melancholic eyes focused on nothing in particular.

Outside Hero’s Bar, Yuri had dug his fingers into his skin till his clipped nails had been enough to leave red marks on his arms, none of it hidden by the short sleeves of his shirt. His other arm had bruised by now, that's from how tightly he'd held onto himself, red crescent blossoming into a black moon, an ill-defined purple and black smear on his pale, cool-toned skin.

“Hey,” Ryan said, leaning forward over the table and reaching out his hand. “Yuri?”

“Hnh?” Yuri didn’t look at him, but he looked at the outstretched hand, which Ryan brought closer to him till he could catch his hand in his, pulling it to the side. His cheek was red where he’d rubbed it.

“Uh, I think you super got it off already,” Ryan said, smiling and squeezing Yuri’s hand. “I’d totally tell you if there was anything left.”

“Right,” Yuri mumbled, gaze wandering in the same way Ryan’s gaze had once wandered when he’d been younger and his parents had confronted him about embellishing certain details in a more favorable light, in the occasional situation he’d been telling them about his school performance—he didn’t let his gaze wander like that anymore.

Guilty, it meant, but there was nothing for the other boy to feel guilty about… He was nervous about something, or maybe he didn’t like something and was too shy to say so.

“Hmm…” Ryan looked at their hands, Yuri’s fingers limp and clammy in his touch. “Do you like, super hate this?”

“This?” asked Yuri, so Ryan nudged their hands. “...H-Holding hands?”

“Yeah.” He loosened his hold and let Yuri’s hand slide from his. Instead of sitting down, he stood up next to their table. “I mean, kinda, but I also mean more the part that I do it. I’m like, what’s it again, uh, super duper touchy-feely… I know some people are more like, back off, or I’m gonna—”

Ryan made a punching motion in the air, and Yuri flinched, so he caught himself before he could continue and moved on to stretching his arms.

“Um, of course, I like, won every time and everything, but still! I figure you’re too nice… Y’know, in the way that you wouldn’t start a fight with me like that if you didn’t want me to do that.”

“Start a fight?”

“Everyone gets into fights sometimes, duh,” Ryan said, contradicting himself. He scratched the bridge of his nose. “Well, I mean, except people who are super nice and stuff, like you.”

“Your friends don’t like the way you are?” Yuri’s question sounded completely genuine and harmless, making Ryan furiously wave it away with his hands.

“Uh, nah, it’s not like that! They just kinda don’t get how mega awesome I am all the time, but I don’t mind, plus they don’t always like talking about the stuff I like, because they don’t care, but like, I can also talk about sports, so…” The only person he had to convince was Yuri, but he sounded like he was trying to convince an entire crowd, his loud voice clear enough to make the few nearby table groups glance in his direction. “Besides, everyone definitely has some arguments and fights sometimes and whatever! It’s really not a super big deal.”

Yuri sat very still and quiet, and Ryan became the one to have to avert his gaze under his quiet study (but he was very cool about it) and ran a hand through his hair (very nonchalantly). A slight flush rose to his cheeks, probably because he’d been stretching out his arms so hard it was like a workout, and he’d been sitting still for too long.

“Basically everyone agrees I’m super cool, so! Plus, girls really love me, haha…” he added, looking back to Yuri. There was that red spot on his cheek, the bruise on his arm, and his lips were agape like he’d paused mid-word in surprise (because, Ryan reasoned, he was so amazed to be hanging out with such a cool guy).

“I don’t hate it,” Yuri said, and Ryan’s stomach dropped out of his body when he registered the word hate, at least until his bodily integrity was restored by him realizing that there was no hate directed towards anything about him and it was the opposite: he was replying to Ryan’s earlier question about whether he minded holding hands and similar things.

“Okey-dokey! Awesome, just checking, you know, because I’m nice and… Uh, heroic like that!” Ryan decided to say, playing with the golden bangles around his wrist. The jewellery clinked together, swallowed up by the general sounds of the establishment when Ryan started to pile all the trash on his tray, including the ice cream cup Yuri had set down.

“Y-Yeah.” Yuri’s voice was almost inaudible like he was afraid to speak up to agree with him, fearing Ryan would take it all back if he was too enthusiastic, but why would he? He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal to know that it wasn’t him who’d caused Yuri to feel so bad, but looking at the slight smile on Yuri’s face, he felt a relieved fluttering in his chest.

Maybe Yuri really was a bit strange sometimes, but even if Ryan couldn’t understand it, it made Ryan feel all the more happy to spend time with him. They were like best friends already; he’d never really had a best friend because he was everyone’s friend, and people did sometimes call him weird because of it (due to not being able to understand his greatness), so maybe they both were a bit weird (which meant they both were secretly awesome).

“Hum, I’m gonna drop the tray off, I’ll be back super quick!”

Yuri glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure he didn’t run away but Ryan came back like he’d promised, a childish spring to his step. He grabbed the remaining half-filled soda cup with a chewed straw from the table and then extended his other hand to the boy still sitting down.

“C’mon, let’s go! I was thinking that next we could go to like, to a mall or something and take fun photos.”

“What do you mean?”

“Huuuh, you know, commemorative photos of the best day ever?... Duh, don't tell me it's not, you’re getting to hang out with me, right?”

“Um… We don’t have a camera?...”

“Uh-huh, next time I take something with me when I go anywhere I super gotta grab my dad’s old camera or something… But like, I was thinking that there are photo booths here somewhere, right? At least back home there’s a bunch of those in malls and stuff! They’re mega fun.”

“I think there are, but I haven’t ever used them...”

“They’re really not that complicated! Let’s go look.” Ryan wiggled his fingers until Yuri caught his hand, and when he did, Yuri knew to expect him to pull him up to his feet like he weighed nothing. It was the same when they’d met, but better because he knew to expect it. He let himself hold Ryan’s hand back, even if it made him feel a little guilty. “It’s still kinda early so it’s not like we’re in a hurry to find them.”

“Early,” said Yuri, and he followed Ryan’s gaze to the large analog clock on the wall next to a HeroTV schedule. His blood ran cold, freezing his breath in his throat and making his limbs into slabs of ice. He squeezed Ryan’s hand far too tightly, realized he was doing it and tried to let go, but Ryan held onto his hand with even pressure.

“What’s up?”

“I need to go home. Mama’s expecting me to go back—my father, too, he must’ve…” Yuri trailed off, and he felt like every single person in Hero’s Bar was staring at him and listening to him speak, and they were especially looking at how Ryan held his hand. They were too old to hold hands, because boys didn’t do that once they were this age. “He m-might’ve gotten back from work, so he might be expecting me.”

“So… You can swing by your place and say hi to them or whatever, and then come back?”

“Y-You still want to hang out with me?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Ryan laughed and swung their intertwined hands back and forth like an unconcerned little kid, which Yuri thought without any disdain, because everything Ryan did freely he avoided on purpose to make sure he appeared mature enough. Entirely his opposite, Ryan looked older than Yuri did, no question about it, but sometimes he acted more naive than anyone their age should’ve been.

“I don’t know if I can…”

“Well, how about, I’ve got my flight back home tomorrow. So if you wanna, let’s meet up before it! I can find back here, so I’ll wait for you in front of the Hero’s Bar.”

“Why?” Yuri felt like Ryan’s warm hand in his was keeping him from freezing up and he couldn’t begin to understand why the other boy was willing to waste his day like that, not being able to know if Yuri would come back to meet him or not.

“I mean… Why not?”

“Oh,” went Yuri. He didn’t have an explanation as to why Ryan would’ve wanted to spend time with him, but at this moment with Ryan looking at him, he couldn’t come up with any reasons why Ryan wouldn’t want to hang out with him either.

He wanted to meet Ryan again, so he was going to try to come back.

“Oh? That’s all? Dude, you’re such a weirdo!” laughed Ryan, letting go of his hand and wrapping his arm around his shoulders like the other boys would do after they’d played a good match during P.E. and were having fun together, something Yuri had never been part of because he wasn’t good at any sports and was always picked last.

Somehow, even if Ryan had called him a weirdo, he didn’t feel bad at all. He felt like he was getting picked first for a dodgeball team and he was going to do as bad as he always did but Ryan didn’t mind, and he continued picking him first every time because he was weird too.

Ryan was planning out the day they’d have tomorrow, and Yuri didn’t mind he was so loud everyone could hear everything he was saying. He couldn’t hear anything Ryan said beyond the point where he’d said it was all stuff he’d usually do with his girlfriends but Yuri would like to do this stuff with him since he was way cooler than his friends back home, because he was too busy thinking that maybe, just a little bit…

It was going to be a tiny bit like going on a date with Ryan even if it wasn’t one at all. It was enough for Yuri.

They made their way through the eatery and Yuri laughed at something stupid Ryan said, which made him gesture so enthusiastically that it sent the cup of cola in his hand flying across the air with unprecedented force, so much that it shattered upon contact with the first thing it collided with.

Unfortunately for Ryan, the surface was a businesswoman in a pantsuit walking away from the counter with a cup of coffee in her hand. The soda splashed across the sleeve of her jacket and she turned slowly to see the offender, painted lips in a terse line.

He was so going to get lectured.

Ryan sighed, the feeling of exhaustion already deep in his bones. Listening to lecturing fatigued him, especially when the lecturing was done by women with professional looks. No other reason save for how it reminded him of his mother, who was one of the last people he cared to remember in general.

“You're taking this way too seriously, no offense…”

Agnes' face flashed anew with fury where she was perched leaning against the table that Titan Industry CEO and his manager Robert sat at.

“What were you thinking?! It's been a nightmare all week, and you have the nerve to say not to take it too seriously?”

Ryan lifted his brows and stared up at Agnes. She huffed, unaffected despite knowing well the meaning of his look: she hadn't cared about Ryan's interview answer relating to Lunatic till someone had sent in a silly letter promising to boycott all of HeroTV's activities in case Ryan was allowed to say something similar in the future.

The ban from interviews was endorsed wholeheartedly by Ryan's primary employer, Titan Industry, mainly because of their overt concern it would have long-term implications for Blue Rose's career. Ryan was more disposable than she was, a thought that stung.

“You do realize the severity of what you said, correct?”

“Nah,” Ryan said, but seeing the look on Robert's face was enough to make him go back to half-hearted placating. “I’m just being difficult, eh? This awakens all sorta primal instincts in me, you know, like when you were a kid and got called to the principal's office ‘cause you got in a fight or something. I’m sensitive, okay? Yeah, sure, I do.”

“So you can promise it won't happen again?”

“Yeah, yeah. Can I go now? I have a date planned,” said Ryan. Agnes squinted at him, tapping her chin with her long nails. He thought of her as a little too studious and perceptive, so he backpedaled. “I've been dreaming of meeting this girl I've known for a long time, and finally, my dreams are all coming true, whoa... She's known to us by the name of Fettuccine Alfredo. Eh, my dad used to have such strong opinions about her: no Alfredo sauce in our family—but hey, how's a man supposed to resist a forbidden dish so gorgeous and creamy?”

All three of his superiors groaned in near-unison.

Ryan gave them all a placid smile throughout the rest of the disciplinary meeting. The whole debacle was something that’d blow over before long and didn’t worry him at all. More annoying was that he also knew this wasn't an official disciplinary meeting but a feeble slap on the wrist because Yuri wasn't involved.

He'd promised to meet up with the man, and here he was, stuck.

Fortunately, Yuri hadn't asked anything about his apparent mess of an interview nor cancelled on him. Well, he hadn’t actually said anything, but Ryan counted on him to show up: he had read the text message.

By the time Ryan was free to leave, it was tragically too late to stop by his apartment for a change of clothes.

Ryan ran his fingers through his hair and pushed open the men's locker room door. It wasn’t empty despite the late hour, and he chatted with Barnaby and Keith to complain about how he was going to have dinner in public but the only things he had in his locker room were tank tops, shorts and his leather motorcycle suit.

He ended up begging Barnaby to relinquish his pair of newly-bought sports leggings for him to wear underneath the leather suit to have it not chafe, the elastic fabric stretchy enough to fit either of them. No need to return them, he had said, and Ryan joked about doing it anyways but made a mental note to buy him a new pair (nicer, if possible). Keith waved him an enthusiastic goodbye despite being sorry for not being able to help with his outfit struggles, the man probably on his way for his voluntary patrol like the real King of Heroes.

Ryan was the Wandering Gravity Prince, however, so he had to bounce. The elevator was on its way so he opted for stairs instead, typing a quick text message.

ill b kinda late my bad:(

He tucked his phone into his chest pocket, strayed from the stairs to the next floor and caught the elevator just in time to hitch a ride the rest of the way. Ryan fixed up his hair in the elevator mirror before remembering wearing a helmet was going to mess it up again.

He turned around to make sure he looked as good as he remembered looking.

Leather motorcycle suits weren’t everyone’s thing but he wore it well: the ensemble had the right type of bad boy allure to compliment his muscular frame, and he could undo the upper part so as to not get too hot inside. The tight white tank top was nothing to write home about but at least he had the physique to have something else to focus on than the lack of style.

Ryan looked down at himself and pulled the tank top lower to reveal more of his chest, slow and careful because the fabric sat flush against his skin and he didn’t want to get his nipple piercings stuck against the cotton. Satisfied with his reflection, he zipped up the suit the rest of the way and made sure the collar was laid just right.

It didn’t take too long for him to drive to the Hero’s Bar. Luck was on his side because he immediately found a vacant parking spot where taxis usually stopped to wait but had not lined up today.

There was no response to his text, and once he got into Hero's Bar, Yuri hadn't shown up either.

Ryan rubbed his chin and checked his phone where no explanation awaited him no matter how he willed it to happen. He set his phone on the table he’d chosen and flagged down a waiter while he was at it.

Time marched on, tick by tick, and Yuri sent him no message like he hadn’t sent all week. He'd seen Yuri at work a few times, but every time he'd tried to catch up to him, he'd managed to elude him like he wasn't real at all and only an incorporeal mirage. Ryan zipped the upper part of his suit open and took his arms out of the sleeves while thinking.

A woman swung by his booth to ask if the seat opposite him was free, and Ryan told her that he was waiting for someone without dwelling on it for longer: getting hit on wasn’t all that uncommon of an occurrence for him.

Ryan chose to believe Yuri'd show up since he hadn't explicitly cancelled on him, and Ryan didn't take him for a man who bailed on someone without an explanation. To him, Yuri was the type to tell you exactly why you'd disappointed him. He must've been busy…

At least the food he’d ordered was good enough.

“What is all of this?...” asked Yuri, his familiar, somber voice sounding right next to him, no longer a figment of his imagination. Ryan jumped enough for his grasp on the burger he was holding to slip.

“Man, you scared the sh*t out of me, creeping up on a guy like that while he's at his weakest, enjoying a meal all by himself and thinking he's been stood up… That doesn't happen to me ever, y'know?”

Yuri took a seat opposite Ryan, narrowing his eyes while Ryan pushed an elaborate parfait closer to him and raised his glass of soda.

“I ordered a little something to be ready for you. See, it didn’t melt one bit yet. For your sweet tooth, right?...”

The American-style parfait was thickly drizzled in caramel, a piece of chocolate shaped like the lion logo of Golden Ryan sitting on the very top and paired with two orange slices like the wings of his hero suit, this distinct decoration over layers of millionaire shortcake crumbs, more caramel, and what was either parfait or ice cream or both.

“No thank you,” said Yuri, exceedingly polite like reciting an appropriate response from a script, to which Ryan shrugged.

“It'll be a waste if you don't eat it, though…” He tilted his head to the side and lifted his glass of soda, half-melted ice cubes clinking against the sides.

“Why did you speak about Lunatic in that way in your latest interview?”

The question froze Ryan's smile on his lips, unchanging when he set down the soda cup and clicked his tongue: “You too? C'mon.”

Yuri sat still. “Hmh?...”

“I've been listening to this all damn week. Why'd you say that, Ryan? Hell if I know, can't a guy speak his mind anymore?” Ryan leant back and put his hands on top of his head, looking up and to the side before meeting Yuri's gaze. “Let me guess, I just don't get it 'cause I'm not from Sternbild? Heard that from all of my bosses already, and can't even enjoy a nice night out with my coworkers, eh?”

“I am also your superior, not a colleague,” corrected Yuri, his face remaining unreadable. “...And I'm only making conversation.”

“Nice night out with my boss, then,” Ryan let his hands down and made a gesture of dismissal before Yuri repeated what he himself had said last week near-verbatim. “It's not that big of a deal, okay? That reporter's been accosting my partner before; asked her what she wears at home once. Man, I don't forget a bastard like that, I just wanted the damn interview to be over.”

“Thus, you said something only for the outrage it would cause, not because it's what you truly believed in.”

“I mean…” Ryan studied Yuri's demeanor, the cool and collected way he sat in perfect posture across him. He was as calm as he ever was, but he was on guard, maybe more so than usual. It was Ryan's own error to think he too wanted to reprimand him, some juvenile line of thinking acquired from reactions to mistakes he'd made as a child. “...Nah. I think I really could get a job for Luna. You know how I've been all over the globe?”

“Lunatic,” Yuri corrected. “And, yes. I am aware of your various prior places of employment.”

“Luna means moon, you know that too?”

“...Yes, I do,” said Yuri, speaking as if he was calling out to Ryan from a different realm altogether, an uncanny echo so distant he might've been standing on the surface of the moon itself. “The word luna has its roots in Latin, from which it has proliferated various languages as a way to refer to the satellites of any planet, as is the case of most Romance languages. Beyond its universal usage, in some other languages it has persisted merely as a poetic way to refer to the Moon orbiting the Earth, such as Russian.”

“Uh-huh, exactly what I was thinking,” said Ryan, even as he hadn't had a clue about anything of the sort. He only had a strenuous understanding of things like the origins of words and did not spend much time thinking about such matters.

“...You are avoiding the question.” Yuri's tone was soft, fragile around the edges. Ryan sat watching him. There was no real question left for Ryan to answer, and in saying this, Yuri had betrayed more about himself than he had meant to.

Ryan thought of asking for clarification but the delicate frost around Yuri's words would melt all at once when he reached out to grasp them. He only had one chance.

“Eh, I wonder,” said Ryan, meandering, trying to find the question and thinking back to the very first thing Yuri had asked him. “Why'd I speak about Luna that way? I wanted the interview to be over, sure, but Iike I said, I wasn't lying. Vigilantes aren't that rare, really, because the definition’s different everywhere you go, and besides, he could leave everything he did in Sternbild here, could even change his persona if he wanted or whatever. A new sun rises somewhere every day… There's a little poetry for you, huh.”

“He is a murderer, and there is no sun in the dark of the night.”

“Eh… A new moon, then,” said Ryan, stretching his head to the side. “And sure… He's only killed sh*tty people, though, and there's worse things. Ask random people off the street in Sternbild and it’s like fifty-fifty on whether they’ll agree with me or not, whatever...”

“You are not taking this seriously.” The frost over Yuri's words had turned sharp, jagged edges getting under Ryan's skin.

“I've been taking this seriously all damn week.” Ryan sighed, exasperated. “I've read the old scoops, sure. Lunatic kills again; then it was just some old creep who targets women… I'm not gonna lose sleep over that. What're you doing about it, eh? Luna got the job done, though! I can think of a few guys who'd hire him just for the hell of it, even without him changing a damn thing about his persona.”

Ryan stared at Yuri, who met his gaze evenly and in complete silence.

Had that silence been given form, it would've been creeping over the table and spilling down onto the floor when it had nowhere else to spread, swirling around their feet like the seas ancient astronomers had thought they saw on the Moon in the place of shadowed empty expanses where its surface had been scarred by impacts happened long ago.

“You would get him hired as a novelty; the main attraction of a circus freak show.”

“You're really saying that to me while we're in Hero's Bar, with all sorta weird records plastered on the walls and a big scoreboard for figuring out which TV-approved NEXT freak is the best? C'mon, man.”

“Heroes are different—”

“It’s called better PR, since the only thing making someone into a hero is that little official certificate. Doesn't apply cross-country, by the way, you gotta get a different slip every time… Trust me on that, yeah?”

“A true hero has a heart of justice.”

“Damn, that must be an anatomical marvel that only happens in this damn town, 'cause I've been all over and met plenty of heroes who sure didn't give a f*ck about anything else other than themselves.”

“Do heroes kill, Ryan? Would you kill for what you think is right, see yourself worthy of handing out capital punishment? The Justice Bureau does not approve of that, for that is what no law in Sternbild will commend.”

Despite everything, Ryan couldn’t help but savor that brief moment when Yuri had said his name with such fervent urgency. “...This a normal Friday eve discussion for you?”

Yuri's face was unreadable, and Ryan waved his hand before running his fingers through his hair.

“Y'know, plenty of people have asked me something like that before. It's based on NEXT powers, but I guess you wouldn't know, huh. It’s the whole, someone can stretch their nose out and nobody's gonna ask them if they're gonna strangle their neighbour with that thing, but the moment you can crush houses with your mind, everyone and their grandma wants to know if you're gonna be hurting people.” Ryan spread his arms. “I get it, I do, yeah? But anyone could hurt someone. Get yourself a gun or a sharp kitchen knife. Hell, get yourself a big rock and you can do some serious damage with it.”

A gun, a knife, a makeshift weapon, a man who could increase gravity till nothing withstood it.

Gregory Sunshine had used him like a tool, a weapon of mass destruction, made him into the villain Barnaby had once imagined collapsing Sternbild unto itself. He had laughed back then: I'm used to people thinking I'm a villain. It's fine, Junior.

In a different city altogether, his gravity had rendered multiple buildings into little more than piles of rubble and bent metal while coagulating blood ran down his face, and it ran down the faces of civilians who could do nothing when the sheer force of gravity brought them down to their knees and rained debris on them.

“Ryan.”

His dreams smelled of iron, and when he opened his eyes, he could taste it in his mouth. There was no escape from gravity yet Gregory had walked away, and he was still somewhere out there.

He would have done anything to know Gregory couldn't cross paths with him or anyone else ever again, so, maybe… Sometimes in his dreams instead of him, it was Gregory who got trapped under rubble.

“Ryan,” Yuri repeated.

“Hm?...” Ryan blinked and focused his gaze where it had fallen on the table, his fingers tapping the surface in an anxious rhythm. Yuri's hand was next to his, barely without touching as if he'd meant to take his hand into his before thinking better of it. He looked at Yuri's cleanly filed nails, his slender fingers, the pale skin of the back of his hand and the blue veins running across it, the white sleeve of his shirt because he’d taken off his coat, and followed the fabric across his shoulder and met his eyes.

“Whoa,” Ryan said and grinned, tapping the side of his head. “I totally zoned out mid-thought. Crazy.”

“Hmh.” Yuri withdrew his hand to take the long metallic dessert spoon from where it rested on the platter underneath the parfait glass.

“Eeeh, what were we talking about again?” Ryan asked, despite being able to clearly remember every word and syllable. His tone was too high-pitched and happy, so he cleared his throat.

“I suppose it was nothing particularly worthwhile to pursue further,” said Yuri, holding the spoon like a rapier, investigating the parfait in front of him. His gaze was calculating and piercing, the sort that could see ghosts beyond the veil; Yuri had noticed something Ryan would've wanted to be left unseen. “It would be a waste of time and effort.”

“Really,” went Ryan, staring at the parfait. “You sure you don't wanna tell me more about where the word luna comes from, eh?”

“Etymology is not my area of expertise…” Yuri's spoon sank into the parfait and carved out a piece that he lifted to his lips. His teeth clicked against the metal, careful not to smear his lipstick while eating.

The parfait tasted sweet, but it wasn’t as good as soft serve ice cream had been years ago, gratuitously painted by a sense of nostalgia and a child’s misplaced optimism.

Ryan went on to talk about various things as if that had been the tone of the discussion this far; he spoke at length about his day, his opinion on how Agnes should've worn different shoes with the skirt she'd had on today, and the way his hero partner had frozen over his bottle of water for no reason.

He waved a french fry to the tune of his words, those meaningless ramblings of his where he expected no reply beyond acknowledgment, carrying the conversation by himself.

The hero gave away no further indication that anything bothered him, but maybe it was indication enough: he tried too hard to act nonchalant. No matter how naturally chattering away came to him, some part of him had been left under that rubble, and it was a festering open wound.

Yuri saw the ghastly red that bloomed against the back of his white tank top and spread on the absorbent cotton, the memory of something terrible.

The blood fascinated him in the same way a curious child might pull out the wings of insects, grotesque and cruel. Perhaps it was expected of him, this morbid fascination.

He was a murderer, after all.

A hypocrite, the justice and the injustice, the voice of Thanatos where the heroes bound by their failing morals could not be, and that was what separated them.

It didn't matter what Ryan thought when Yuri knew better. He could put his hand against Ryan's but they were different altogether, forever separated by a thick pane of glass cold under his palm.

Yuri remembered (or imagined, like a shameful dream) that Ryan's hand had felt warm once, unbearably so, but plucked-out insect wings and candle wax did not make something that withstood the rays of the sun; nonetheless, even if it was to burn his retinas, he couldn't look away.

Ryan was nonsensical, his flippant thinking not fit for any hero. Lunatic's a killer, but there's worse things. He didn't understand that heroes and Lunatic were at odds with each other, their paths woven by fate even beyond the point Lunatic had decided to step aside to see the heroes' justice for himself.

It's wrong for a hero to agree with Lunatic, Yuri wanted to tell him, but he couldn't compromise the cracks in his mask further, not now and not today, and not ever. Siding with a lowly criminal makes your justice feeble and protecting a murderer makes you as rotten as one.

It was unforgivable, a cardinal sin in the eyes of any god to give misplaced hope to a wretched man, to suggest he run and leave it all behind, starting anew like purified of evil by rising from the ashes of a past life.

For this reason, I won't ever forgive you, Yuri thought.

I can't forgive you, because I've come too far to turn back.

“Y'know, sometimes I get the feeling you're not even listening,” said Ryan in the exact cadence he'd been speaking the entire time, crumpling a wrapper in his hand. “Eh… How's it go? Mm… Che fai tu, luna, in ciel? Dimmi, che fai, silenziosa luna?”

Luna caught Yuri's attention, but it didn't take him long to assess Ryan wasn't talking about Lunatic at all. He could surmise that Ryan had spoken in Italian due to his interest in opera (many of his favourites were performed in Italian) but a meaningless hobby wasn't enough to clue him into what he had said.

He quirked his brow at the words and the meandering accent they were spoken in, adjusting his hold on the spoon in his hand.

“You like the classics, huh?” Ryan piled the crumpled wrapper onto the others.

“It is rather challenging to have an opinion on an alleged classic when one is unaware of the meaning.”

“You tell me.”

“Implying you can recite something from memory with a near-poetic yet failing cadence without any further knowledge of the author nor its meaning?”

“Failing… Ouch, dude. I mean, I can make a guess that the author's some musty old dude. You're the one correcting me on how to spell ristorante, though. f*ck if I know.”

“I see.”

“I used to have this book that I tried reading from the start but thought it'd be more interesting in the middle so I bookmarked that part, eh… Then I just kept reading the first lines on that page and going like yeah actually that's enough, time to do something else! But I got real good at remembering those lines.”

“Not an intellectual then, I take it, despite your self-described boundless greatness.”

Ryan paused because the words sounded suspiciously like a joke delivered in total deadpan (he wouldn't have expected anything else). He laughed. Before he could answer to defend his honour by asserting his endless wisdom, the clack of heels next to the table turned into a melodious voice: “Ah, excuse me?...”

The unknown woman leaned over to the sitting men with her hands against the skirt over her thick thighs, the pose making the deeply cut neckline of her shirt hide even less than it otherwise would, long black braids slipping over her shoulder.

Yuri glanced at her and remarked that she was one of the patrons who he had passed by on his way in. She answered his look curiously, looking him up and down, but ultimately found nothing of note next to Ryan who obviously was the man she wanted to talk to.

The next misfortune Yuri didn’t need in his life was to be caught with a hero during his leisure time when he was meant to be impartial. Gossip magazines were ravenous, and while he knew that his judgement was in no way affected by this outing, it was objectively something in poor conduct.

“Hum,” went Ryan, still looking at Yuri and caught in the moment of having heard him speak in such a casual manner, but whatever contradictory ease had trickled into his composure was fully gone. All it had taken was one moment, and Yuri was as far away as he had been: Ryan might've as well propped up a telescope to try to see whatever he was up to in the empty expanse of space he was floating in.

He didn't drop his lopsided smile when he turned his head to see their new conversational partner and his gaze was met with a generous helping of cleavage. Ryan may not have been an intellectual, but he was a connoisseur of certain finer arts like women; right now, however, the specific circ*mstances made him feel forlorn.

His eyes trailed up from the cleavage to her face while Yuri watched him and set down the spoon he was holding. She didn't spare him a further glance, eyes on Ryan.

“You still didn't find yourself an empty table, beautiful?” Ryan’s words weren’t empty compliments: she was gorgeous in her v-neck and skirt, and unlike the way he thought Agnes had worn a rather unfashionable pair of shoes today, she had a lovely pair of purple heels, nothing too much but still sexy, perfect for a classy night out.

“Oh, I did, but the other tables didn't have you…”

“Bit of an issue there, yeah,” said Ryan, earnest humour in his voice. Purple was Yuri’s colour (if his chosen lipstick was anything to go by), and similar heels would’ve given his ensemble the bit of flair it was now lacking, standard men's dress shoes not quite cutting it with how extravagant his choice of pants was.

“Earlier, I thought you were waiting for a date…” She inclined her head towards Yuri, never looking at him directly. “Mm, but I don't think you were, after all.”

“What, you think I'm not his type or something?” Ryan looked at Yuri with an easy-going smile, brows raised. Yuri was in the middle of looking at his phone but visibly halted without any expression at first as if processing the words; that solemn mask turned so cold Ryan felt it as a stab inside his chest. “Aw, guess not... But seriously, just dinner with a friend, ahah.”

A confused expression flickered on the woman's face, and she turned to look at Yuri.

Ryan, meanwhile, thought about how he wished she'd been an avatar of Sternbild's Justice Goddess to smite him with righteous fury where he sat because he had no idea why he had said such a thing. Since childhood, he'd had the penchant for occasionally saying the most annoying things at any given moment, his price to pay for otherwise embodying superhuman perfection.

“Someone I should know, Golden Ryan? A colleague? I wouldn't mind, I've always wanted, hmm, to get an autograph from a hero… Or two.”

“Golden Ryan!?” Ryan's voice was casual enough despite the stage whisper. “Whoa, lady, I think there's a huge misunderstanding here. Massive, really.”

“You do look exactly like him… Very easy on the eyes.” She didn’t believe Ryan in the slightest, and ran her long manicured nails down the edge of the fabric over his shoulder and followed it lower. “I heard the hero had piercings like this… Suits you.”

Yuri had already mentally clocked out of the conversation, trying to parse what the missed call and the text message from the nursing home meant. Sparing a thought to Ryan's nipple piercings was not only low on his list of priorities but fully crossed out, because they were impossible to not notice but had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Ryan would soon have nothing to do with him either.

“Hey, thanks, babe,” said Ryan, catching her hand in his where it now rested against his chest. He caught Yuri focusing on his phone from the corner of his eye before diverting his attention back to the woman, but at least he hadn't left yet. “But sorry, you’ve really got the wrong guy.”

“Unfortunately, I will have to excuse myself. My sincere apologies,” said Yuri (he did not sound like he was sorry in the slightest), picking up his coat from the seat next to him and standing up. Ryan opened his mouth to say something, but maybe the impromptu exit was out of compelling privacy concerns.

It was not good that he'd been recognized, this Ryan understood. As careless as he could be, he knew that fraternizing with your boss after getting caught on live feed saying something polarizing was stupid at best and self-sabotage at worst.

He should've worn something more discreet, even at the cost of having been more late.

“Not only that, but I also heard Golden Ryan's a generous lover, if you can catch him… But I wouldn't have expected to find him in this Hero's Bar of all places.” She had filled the seat Yuri had vacated despite him still standing right next to the booth, calmly buttoning up his coat.

“Sure sounds like a great guy,” said Ryan, and berated himself for barely sounding charming. He rummaged through his wallet and pulled out a card, blocking out most of it with his fingers. “I guess I'm a fan too, who wouldn’t be, but… Here, I’m not gonna show random people my whole ID, y'know, but… See? My name’s Lyle. Not Ryan.”

Before he left, Yuri glanced over his shoulder as he smoothed over his jacket, wondering what game Ryan was playing. The lie was ludicrous but both effortless and convincing. Had he not known better, he might’ve bought it as well, and he was good at analyzing people.

The absolute confidence in Ryan’s voice made the woman falter, making her only give the card a cursory look. “Ah, I… Must've been wrong?...”

“Hey, it’s fine. No harm done, right?”

The card disappeared into Ryan’s wallet before it could be further studied to notice Lyle read in the place where a surname should’ve been. It was Karina’s ID, because earlier he’d promised to pick up a package she'd ordered and the post office had delivered to the other side of Sternbild, and he’d forgotten to return the card despite having stopped by her house to drop the package there (and had had a lovely chat with her mother).

Christina had a sense of humour and (naturally) loved him despite the things he said on HeroTV, and Karina knew him well enough to not be surprised he'd forgotten to return her ID (the tired emoji she had texted him was out of affection for her fantastic buddy hero), but more pressingly, Ryan couldn’t see Yuri anymore.

He hadn't only excused himself, he had left the entire establishment, and the last look he'd given to Ryan had been so cold.

“Anyway,” said Ryan while standing up, fitting his arms into the sleeves of his motorcycle suit without pantsing himself, a type of feat on its own, “I’ve gotta bounce too, but I hope you get that autograph someday.”

“...Thanks,” she said, unimpressed with his apparent incapacity to take a hint. Autographs were far less interesting than the rest of the celebrity she’d hoped to get to know better, intimately and in private. Honestly, this man wasn’t bad-looking, so it was a shame he was oblivious.

Ryan pushed the door open and stepped out on the street. Gusts of wind played with Yuri’s long hair where he stood by the curb, gaze unfocused in the distance and maybe taking a call.

He hadn’t disappeared yet, and that was enough for Ryan.

“Yo, what's up. Haven't seen you in a while,” joked Ryan, walking to where Yuri stood and zipping his suit all the way up because the wind was cold.

“Hm,” said Yuri, not sparing him even a glance, lowering his phone where he held it against his ear. “I was under the impression you found more agreeable company.”

“Oi oi, you're plenty agreeable to me. We're like the best of friends, right?”

“A rather confusing statement, given that I have not consciously given you a reason to think so; I would have expected you to be better at reading people than this. How disappointing.”

Ryan tilted his head to the side, scratching the bridge of his nose with a smile, not minding the lashing he got, yet the more he thought about it, the more uncertain he felt. The man next to him was reserved and always sharp with his words, but only a moment ago he had made a joke—these words, however, carried no light-hearted jest of any kind. They rang true.

As cold and cryptic as Yuri could be, he had an unprecedented sincerity. This time, Yuri meant what he said beyond his usual exasperation. Ryan had a good guess as to what he had done, but his understanding of why it had offended him so much was lacking.

He had somehow hurt him, alluded to something private that Yuri had grown to ignore.

At some point, he’d gotten quite good at pointing out hidden insecurities only he could notice. Real fame had gotten into his head and given him the idea that he couldn’t be bullied if he did it first. Then he’d moved to yet another town and stopped without explanation because being alone was more unbearable than anything: a few jokes about his personality he could take with a smile.

This time his insight failed him, the faint feeling of the pain of being alone too broad of an idea, one he couldn’t begin to narrow down. But there had to be something wrong with Yuri to argue with Ryan of all people about justice and capital punishment and then circle back to good-natured ire.

Against his better judgement, Ryan thought that perhaps Yuri had understood his remark as mocking the way he couldn’t get any attention from the woman he’d shared a few words with because his appeal was of a very different make than Ryan’s.

“Eh… Hey, I can't help being so damn famous and sexy—though I’d guess the four hours per day at the gym have something to do with it—where you’re busy with your justice and intellectual pursuits, but I'm hundred percent sure you could get the same game I get if you wanted, for sure.”

“...Excuse me?”

Ryan imagined this was likely how a lion with a metal-toothed trap around its leg felt when it stepped into yet another trap. ”Yeah, I mean… There’s just this one little issue… Or, y’know, yeah, not that, wrong word—”

“Then, Mr. Goldsmith, pray tell and enlighten me as to what this one issue is, which you apparently find so interesting that you cannot stop picking at it like a child at a scab? It would bring me no greater joy than to hear you say it out loud, so as to confirm or deny this issue that ravages your mind.”

The intensity of the look Yuri gave him made Ryan's words get stuck in his throat like he'd punched him with so much force it collapsed his lungs.

“Uh,” he said, faltering like he was a boy of fifteen years of age, “I was kinda thinking about the part where you just said you don't wanna give anyone a reason to think they're on good terms with you?... A smile might be nice sometimes type of thing—kind of a joke too, I guess…”

Yuri averted his gaze because not only was this not what he had prepared to hear, it was also so incredibly simple-minded that he couldn’t believe Ryan had made it this far in life instead of having simply keeled over and died out of sheer naivete.

“I am not interested.”

“Not interested, huh?”

Ryan was making this complicated when it wasn't: Yuri was not interested in women.

He had never been, and not for the lack of effort. He had tried, knowing that a good son found himself a wife, had children, and owned a house with a white picket fence; this was something he would never be able to give to his parents. There was a time this had deeply troubled him, and even now Yuri would never speak of it out loud—yet out of everything he had wrought in his life, being hom*osexual was certainly the very least of his concerns.

“Yes. I simply am far too busy for something like that,” Yuri said, any fury thoroughly dispelled from his voice.

“Ahah, let me tell you, she was not looking for an autograph or anything beyond tonight… I have an eye for these things.”

Yuri’s first reaction was that he wanted to laugh but didn’t, his face a calm mask of indifference.

On the other hand, it was as laugh-worthy that he had constructed a scenario in his mind where Ryan had purposefully flirted with him only to mock him while Yuri had realized he had no choice but to loathe this man for the sake of his morals and that simultaneously the time spent with him had made him feel more at ease than anything had in years.

This was nothing but a monstrous display of his emotional perversion that was something far worse than simple hom*osexuality, an outlandish sense of kinship with a man who he had nothing in common with. For Ryan to have seemingly confirmed he had only mocked him all along after this realization was something Yuri would not tolerate.

The part where Ryan had treated him as his insincere plaything like a porcelain doll was what annoyed him, not the likely idea that Ryan was a classically intolerant man who could accept differential lifestyles as long as they were out of his sight.

Unfortunately, for any of this to have occurred, it required Ryan to have noticed something in the first place.

He hadn't walked out on him because he had gotten jealous or disappointed that women approached Ryan and not him, but now he recognized he shouldn’t expect Ryan to understand that Yuri was the disappointment of his family in more ways than one. It was something impossible for him to conceptualize, something he had never noticed, felt, nor in any way thought about.

As Yuri had kept telling himself, there was nothing else to Ryan’s behaviour than having a fundamental level of misunderstanding of standard social boundaries, and his coquettish nature was borne out of the incidental hom*oeroticism only a deeply heterosexual and therefore oblivious man could ever hope to achieve.

“Undoubtedly, she was not in actuality looking for an autograph nor a husband. I am certain you could still confirm the true nature of her request if you so desired, given that I must take my leave regardless of what you thought of me excusing myself. How… Truly lucky for you.”

Ryan did feel lucky, but it was because somehow he had managed to undo whatever it was that he had done to make Yuri so cross with him.

“Eh, plenty of fish in the sea, and whatever else they say… Mmm, besides, I’ve got this feeling that you’re not gonna be able to catch a cab any time soon if that’s what you’re hanging on that phone line for. I parked my bike where the cabs usually line up around here, so there’s none in the area right now, huh.”

Yuri squinted in the vague direction Ryan gestured towards, the very same he’d expected to find a cab in. Not only that, but the taxi phone line itself was congested, and Yuri was not getting through.

“That would be highly unusual. As such, this must be our farewell,” said Yuri, and the moment the words left his mouth he felt the burn of the photos in his chest pocket. He had never asked about them, but the flame turned into cinders and burned out.

Yes, he understood, the photos had been his excuse all along.

Yuri would not repeat his mistake—he would put a stop to this. He could not allow himself to slip after decades: the frivolous outing had left him unable to answer a call from the nursing home about his mother, who was his responsibility. Had anything happened to her, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

Ryan shrugged and wandered off. It was easier to get rid of him than Yuri had envisioned.

“Good evening, you have called the phone line of Sternbild Taxi Service, apologies for the wait, we are experiencing high amounts of traffic at the moment. How may I help you?”

“I need a taxi at…” Yuri glanced at the street corner to make sure he was giving the address with absolute precision, double-checking out of habit. “Thank you.”

“...Ah, this is central Bronze Stage area?”

“Yes,” said Yuri, frowning to himself.

“I am very sorry, because not only are we experiencing an unprecedented amount of traffic, but a few cars are also out of commission at the moment, and the central Bronze Stage is unfortunately not a priority. At the very earliest, a car may be able to break from the general Silver Stage area in an hour after the evening starts slowing down, or in the case that any Bronze Stage driver has to drive through the area, which we cannot predict and is not guaranteed. We are very sorry for any inconvenience caused, but there’s nothing else we can do at the moment.”

Central Bronze Stage area was one of the poorest areas of Sternbild and had the highest incidence of crime, two facts that did not exist separately from each other. To divert cars from this area at rush hours… The taxi service and its divers were only maximizing their profits. Being a driver was not a glamorous career, so it made sense—if only the company ensured proper pay despite the luck with passengers.

Yuri did not respond and hung up in a moment of petulance because he was effectively stranded. He tried to call the nursing home again but nobody responded. A passing motorcycle flashed its light at Yuri, who lifted a hand to cover his eyes from the bright headlight.

It was Ryan.

He hadn’t put on his helmet for the short way he’d driven to Yuri from where his motorcycle had been parked down the street. He put his feet on the ground and killed the engine, pointing to Yuri with two fingers, a lopsided smile on his features.

“You can’t get a cab, right? No need to be shy, I'll take you wherever, Judge.”

“I do not need your help.”

“Catch!”

Out of instinct, Yuri caught the object Ryan grabbed from behind his back and threw at him in a lazy arc. It was an open-face helmet, the same model Ryan should’ve already been wearing instead of it hanging from the handle of his bike.

“I'm a law-abiding citizen, y'know? You're gonna have to wear the helmet even if your pretty hair gets messed up.”

“As I said,” Yuri tried to hand the helmet back to him but Ryan didn’t take it, “I am fine.”

“Oh, okay. Well, I guess I can hang around till your ride gets here. It’s scary, the streetlamps are broken and everything around these parts, eh...”

There was no car coming to pick him up so Yuri exhaled from between his lips.

“...Fine.”

“Oi oi, Judge, you need my help, after all?”

“Do not try your luck.”

“Aww,” went Ryan. “You ever ride a motorcycle before? Driver or passenger, either way.”

“No.”

“So, first, you just sit behind me, that’s basic. Once we put on helmets, talking’s gonna be hard, even harder when her engine’s purring, so tap my shoulder if you wanna stop. Left for being fine, right for stopping as soon as I can pull over. Any reason, okay? Most important thing, remember to lean into curves with me and all that because if you don’t—well, imagine riding a bike and having a counterweight fighting against you. It’s not gonna end well. Uh-huh, best to sit close to me so you can follow my lead.” Ryan smiled. “Romantic, isn’t it? I've always liked driving dates.”

“A shame this isn't one, then,” said Yuri, his voice dry and humourless.

“Can't help not being your type, huh?” The motorcycle gently bobbed when Yuri sat behind Ryan. Empty words, as they always were. He shouldn’t concern himself with Ryan.

“We should get going,” he said, and Ryan glanced over his shoulder while reaching backwards to tap the spot where the passenger should keep their feet. It hadn’t occurred to Ryan before seeing Yuri lift his one leg to tentatively rest his shoe against the footrest, but his manner of dress was problematic.

“Uh-huh, sure, but there's an issue I just realized… But, hey, I think I know how to fix it, by—”

“Fine.”

“But—”

“Do it: fix it, now.”

“Eeeh… Don't say I didn't try to ask, though.” Ryan twisted his body and reached to Yuri’s ankle to gather his flared pant leg into his hand, but before he could do anything else, a slender but stern hand caught his hand and painfully twisted it until the joint could bend no more, forcing him to drop the fabric.

Yuri met his gaze, his mouth a straight line and his eyes severe. He had grit his molars together, tension running through his jaw and down his neck.

“Oi oi, I tried to ask, didn't I? Your flared pants are gonna get tangled up in something or get singed against the exhaust pipes. You told me to fix it!” His attempt at sounding like he wasn’t in pain was admirable but not perfect. “Where'd a judge learn to do a wrist lock anyway? You take self-defense classes or something?...”

Yuri let go of his hand as if it had burnt him. “Ah, yes. Self-defense classes. I… May have overreacted.”

“Owie,” said Ryan in the saddest tone he could muster while flexing his wrist. “You think you might’ve?... Really mad about the time I said I broke my arm and hadn't? I depend on these wrists to live, eh…”

“What is it that you intended to do?”

“Put your pant leg into your sock, duh. It won't look good but better than ruining a pair of pants or getting them torn off and into the engine of this bad girl, doncha think?”

As irrational as Ryan could be, this was a reasonable concern and a sensible adjustment.

“I see. I’ll do it myself.”

“Okey-dokey,” went Ryan. He stretched his wrist and heard a metallic clip. One curious side view mirror adjustment later, he could see that Yuri had neatly rolled up his pantleg almost over his knee to reveal sock garters against his slender shin. Clip, it sounded again, his sock now freed from the garter.

Ryan readjusted the side view mirror to where it was supposed to point, briefly catching Yuri's eye through it because he was leaning to the side. He winked on instinct.

Of course he wore sock garters: Ryan shouldn't have expected anything less, the same as he shouldn't have expected Yuri's legs to be anything but as slender as they were long. He tapped his thighs with his palms to have something to do. He would've loved to look more than he cared to admit, but with the way Yuri was, it would've been little more than peeking into someone's changing room.

Behind him, Yuri's weight shifted to the other side.

Clip and clip, sounded the sock garter, and soon Yuri straightened. Ryan glanced behind him at what Yuri had done, his simple black socks lumpy from the pantlegs stuffed into them. He had completed the task diligently and pulled the socks up as high as they went.

Ryan pursed his lips. “It's kind of a cute look, eh… A charm point, right?”

“Hardly. Spare me the commentary.”

“So… Where may I take you, sir?” Ryan’s voice was not made for customer service, and Yuri sighed to signify his wisecracking was not well received.

“Silver Stage,” Yuri said, carefully picking out a clear landmark close enough to the nursing home his mother spent half her time in that he could feasibly walk there but not close enough or specific that it gave anything away.

He did consider getting Ryan to drop him off in the general Silver Stage and calling a taxi, but objectively, it was faster to get to where he wanted without that extra step. Since he’d already gotten himself into this absurd situation he might as well take advantage of it.

“Are you aware of where the private hospital in the eastern Silver Stage area is?...” said Yuri, and because he (Lunatic who pried into documents, not Yuri Petrov) was aware it was where Ryan had to get his prior back injury monitored, he knew that he wouldn’t ask a thing. “You can stop by it, and I'll get off there.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve passed it by once or twice. It’s a big building with that reflective modern statue thing in front of it, right?” Ryan tilted his head to the side and pushed his motorcycle ahead, bouncing it off of the center stand and grabbing the helmet off of the handle to put it on his head. “It’s like, real phallic for no reason, you ever notice that? Great landmark if you ask me, eh? Memorable! Just a huge silver co*ck.”

“...Not necessarily how I would describe it,” said Yuri, though he could understand what Ryan meant. If he had the sense of humour of a teenager, perhaps it would’ve been amusing to him. “But, yes, that is the very place.”

“Awesome. We’ll get going now, yeah? You got your helmet on, b—” Ryan swallowed the rest of his sentence because of the babe that had almost gotten out of his mouth on pure instinct. The only reason he lugged a spare helmet with him, always strapped to the small backrest of the pillion, was because he loved driving dates as much as he said he did.

Yuri had no idea what had gotten into him, and he could only assume Ryan had promptly inhaled his spit, which was not surprising or even mildly interesting. He checked his phone before putting it back in his coat pocket, but the nursing home had not responded.

“God,” mumbled Ryan to himself as he started his motorcycle, a far cry from the sleek modernity of Golden Ryan’s hero vehicle. This one was a classic kickstart, and when the engine ignited on the second kick, the roar of the engine became too loud to hear anything less than a shout. “Any of you, really… If you’re out there? I dunno, do something… Damn, I never was good at prayers; nevermind all that.”

The face of the Justice Goddess on the central Justice Tower remained unchanging, the citizens of Sternbild everywhere around her like ants and a singular motorcycle departing from the central Bronze Stage only one sign of life among many.

Chapter 6: Encouragement & Deterrent (Cold Comfort)

Chapter Text

The day's weather broadcast flaunted plenty of sunlight with bright skies: an even nicer day than yesterday.

Yuri stared out of the kitchen window, sunrise peeking from behind the city's skyline, their house far from the heart of Sternbild. He wondered if Ryan was already awake and whether he’d been alright after the stranger had lost her temper at him.

He had been so anxious he felt ill when he’d returned home, only for the uneasy feeling to disperse without anything to latch on when he learnt his father hadn’t returned home because something important had come up. Yuri feared it was nothing as professional as he claimed, but his mother trusted it was.

She was in a cheerful mood, talking about the gift basket he’d sent as an apology while cooking breakfast, going over the same things over and over again; the pearl necklace she was now wearing, the sweet-scented perfume, the novelty chocolates packaged with a rosy bow, and the bottle of expensive champagne.

Yuri had flipped open the included card when she’d shown the gift to him, and underneath the generic pre-printed apology in cursive, the line where the sender’s signature should’ve been written was empty.

He’s so thoughtful, she kept saying, and Yuri kept smiling without a word as he closed the card and set it ajar on the table to showcase the soft pink roses on its cover.

The card and gift basket were at the end of the kitchen table where his father would’ve usually sat: the seat for the man of the house, the same spot where Yuri would sit someday when he was older. When he’d been younger, he hadn’t understood what his father had meant by it because to him it had only been something heroic.

He’d become old enough to understand anything related to heroism wasn’t what his father had ever meant.

Yuri rearranged the utensils before him, worried he’d forgotten to set the table like his mother had asked (including a spare plate for his father at the side, just in case).

His mother served him breakfast: eggs and bacon with hash browns, one of his father’s favourite meals. Yuri tried to not be disappointed that they couldn’t have had porridge instead, because without his father home, he could’ve sprinkled on as much sugar as he wanted.

“Yura?”

“Hnh?”

“A penny for your thoughts?…”

“Um… I was thinking about how hungry I am,” he said, twisting his line of thought into something more palatable. He wasn’t a child anymore, anyway, and semolina porridge was a better fit for a child’s meal.

“Well, eating will help with that.”

His mother turned back to the stove and played with the necklace around her neck, her nails clicking against the iridescent pearls. Yuri swallowed a sigh while picking up a fork and started eating, soon joined by his mother next to him.

Their conversation was pleasant enough despite his mother constantly circling back to how kind of a man her husband was, as if saying it enough times could make it true again. He felt bitter about his mother’s insistence on it, but that feeling made him feel guilty—before this, before everything, she had always treated him well. She was the only mother he could ever have, and it wasn’t right for him to resent her.

“How did it go yesterday?”

“Mn?”

“My sweet little Yurochka, always in his thoughts despite being so grown up now,” joked his mother in a lighter tone.

“…I was thinking about how good this food is.” His gaze fell to the mostly untouched plate in front of him, bits and pieces of his breakfast pushed around rather than eaten.

Yuri was a bit reserved by nature, but lately…

His father had always been strict, but maybe she’d gotten more curt with him than she should’ve been. Olga couldn’t pinpoint why. It’d gotten hard to remember things at times like a shroud had fallen on her memories, obscuring them from her view in the same way Sternbild’s early morning haze could hide the city from view, fog drifting onto the island from the ocean and mingling with the strangling haze of exhaust fumes and factory smoke.

Maybe she was getting sick; Sternbild’s oceanic climate had never agreed with her.

“I know this is your least favourite thing to have for breakfast.” Olga reached over to her son to grab his plate from the table before him without asking, using her fork to push his food onto her plate.

“…Sorry,” said Yuri, shrinking in his chair in a way that broke her heart.

When had he become so afraid, more afraid than he ever had been?… He’d always been so brave, smiling wide at the pediatrician when he got his shots even if it stung, all of his missing teeth on display without shame when he got to pick out a Mr. Legend plaster for himself.

“No… I’ll make you something else,” she got up and held out her hand until Yuri hesitantly gave her the utensils, which she dropped into the sink. Olga opened and closed various kitchen cabinets, picking out things she needed. “Was it fun to hear Mr. Legend talk about his work?…”

“Um, y-yes, it was…”

“He’s always going on about it all, I bet it was a little boring for you,” said Olga with endearment in her voice, shaking her head with a smile. “Remember that presentation you made about Mr. Legend for class—it was first grade, wasn’t it? I still have that saved, you were so proud of it.”

“Ah, yes, I remember that.” There was a long silence until Yuri spoke again, during which Olga picked out a pot and set it on the stove while measuring milk and sugar, the latter gratuitously. “But, yesterday, while I was there at the event, before the speech… I met someone nice, and we spent some time together. That's why I got home so late.”

“Ooh,” she said, stirring the milk she was heating up to ensure it didn’t burn and measuring semolina on the side. Olga glanced over her shoulder and noted how Yuri fidgeted in his seat. Nice was a very unspecific yet positive way to refer to someone he’d met since she knew he had a good memory and an eye for detail. “…What’s her name?”

“What?”

“You don’t want to tell your mama?” Olga smiled while pouring in semolina, and then wondered if she was talking to him too childishly. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, but a teenager; all this time had passed so fast it had become a blur.

“No, I don’t—I mean, it’s nothing like… I don’t have anything to tell.”

“I was getting ahead of myself,” she said. “And, mm… You’re old enough to have secrets.”

“But I don’t have secrets,” he insisted.

“Of course,” said Olga.

“…His name is Ryan, he’s not a girl,” said Yuri, sounding a little frustrated with her.

His tone made Olga smile: that was more like the brave boy she remembered so well, the same with firm opinions that landed him in trouble in elementary school when he pointed out his teacher’s simplistic guideline for teaching math was technically wrong because he already knew about the more complicated rules they’d learn later.

“Right, Ryan. Hmm… It’s been so long since you invited someone over, maybe him?”

Disruptive behaviour, that's what they had said back then, but how come he’d gotten lectured for doing his best?…

“Um, maybe…”

It must’ve been something else because Olga could remember her husband lecturing Yuri on how to act. He’d always been strict, but it was for Yuri’s good; he looked after them well, and he cared so much. Her arm absent-mindedly hit the porcelain container labeled as sugar and toppled it over while she kept whisking the semolina.

“Ah, why’d I do that…”

“It’s okay…” Yuri had already gotten up and righted the container, brushing sugar off the porcelain into the sink before lifting it back into the cabinet and closing it. Her son was afraid his father would get angry at the love of his life if he saw the mess, the sugar spilled on the countertop and the floor.

He wouldn’t do that, would he?

“I’m here… I’ll help you,” affirmed Yuri. His voice was so young, one that cracked if he spoke too loudly, but so soft, the same she’d hushed Yuri with when he’d been a fussy baby; he was comforting her. How long had it been like this? A child wasn’t supposed to reassure their parent—this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It was a bitter consolation, the taste of bile at the back of her throat.

Why was she so angry?

Yuri swept up the sugar on the floor and carefully poured it into the bin to not spill it again, making sure not a single grain of sugar remained on the dustpan while she stirred the pot. He started wiping the counter with a dishcloth.

Olga raised her hand as if to strike when Yuri got too close, and he froze in place. She drew back her hand and pressed it against herself. She’d never hit him; it was only a reaction to the sudden movement, she didn’t mean to—it was only that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“…Please, Yuri. It’s fine. Go sit.”

Yuri nodded and walked halfway to the dining table, only to turn back when he noticed he was still holding the dish rag.

He hesitated, meandering between returning it where he’d picked it up from or keeping it; in the end, he walked carefully back to the wash basin. His mother had no particular emotion on her face, and the uncertainty gave way to some slight hope that he hadn’t ruined the day before it even started. Yuri wiped his hands down and settled back in his seat.

His mother’s plate was cooling next to him, the hash browns absorbing grease from the bacon and runny yolk from the sunny-side-up eggs, slowly falling apart into unappealing mush.

It’s okay, he tried to convince himself, aspiring to be unbothered in the same way Ryan had acted the last he’d seen him, laughing in the middle of getting yelled at by a woman he’d spilled some of his soda on. It had been an accident, but Ryan hadn’t even tried to explain it.

You’re busy, right? See you tomorrow, that’s what Ryan had whispered to him, hand pressed against his back to push him away, the anger of the woman having rooted him in place. Yuri had stumbled and turned back, his worried gaze met with Ryan's easygoing wink.

He’d smiled and left, too awkward to know what to do or say—he berated himself for that.

Yuri jumped when a bowl was set in front of him.

“Your food,” his mother said, letting go of the bowl of semolina porridge with sugar thickly strewn on it, and a large helping of jam. A spoon was stuck into it.

“…Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The two of them ate in silence.

Yuri tried to feel grateful for his mother cooking specifically for him, but he found it difficult. He wanted to feel grateful, but the feeling refused to appear with each sweet spoonful he ate, making each mouthful staler that the last.

“…It’s a nice day today, isn’t it?” said his mother, breaking the silence. Yuri nodded. “It’d be good for you to go outside every once in a while—so often, you sit in your room reading books all day.”

“…Right,” Yuri agreed slowly, trying to think of some way to tie this into him going to meet Ryan. He didn’t usually go much anywhere (as his mother had said) so he couldn’t think of anything he’d claim to want to do. Still, he didn't want to tell his mother more about Ryan.

“Do you think you could run some errands for me today?” Yuri felt desperate hearing his mother's words, not wanting to waste the entire day on errands while Ryan was waiting for him. He couldn’t think of a way to decline without being ungrateful after his mother had cooked this meal specifically for him, so he simply nodded, resigned to his fate. “Alright, that’s settled then! I’ll write you a list.”

A list, thought Yuri. If it wasn’t too long, maybe he could try to finish it as fast as he could and then detour by the Hero’s Bar where Ryan would be, as long as he’d keep waiting for Yuri. Ryan didn’t seem like a patient person, however, and Yuri didn’t even know when his departure flight was…

After he finished eating, his mother waved him away, saying she needed to clean the kitchen and he needed to get ready to run errands later.

Yuri closed the door to his room and paced around it. His mother could’ve said what she wanted him to get for her, but since she insisted on an entire list, it must’ve been more than a quick trip to the grocery store.

He fell on his bed after trying to decide whether he should’ve worn the same shirt he’d worn yesterday (so Ryan could recognize him better) or a new one, having arrived at no better conclusion.

After rolling about his bed like he had a stomach ache (which he had, but only because he felt nervous), Yuri lifted the corner of his mattress, took out a cassette hidden there, and inserted it into his relatively new cassette player. He’d scratched out the information written on the cassette (he didn't want anyone knowing what he listened to) and glued a crying moon sticker on it to be able to recognize it nonetheless.

A crying moon, because the cassette had the most significant numbers from the opera he’d seen years ago with his mother, using tickets his father had received from work. The highlight of the first act was when the protagonist sang to the Moon in her lilting soprano voice.

The opera house had a distinct set of rules he liked: you sat quietly, clapped when applicable, and nobody cared to look at you when the fantastical costuming and singing sprung to life on the stage, a self-contained myth that demanded your attention. It was similar to when heroes appeared on HeroTV, drawing everyone’s focus because they were eager to see how Mr. Legend would save the day.

Similar, but not the same.

He’d been too young to understand what happened in the opera when he’d seen it, unable to take in the elaborate performance and try to guess the story simultaneously since it had been performed in a language he didn't speak. It’s a tragedy, he thought, lying on his back on his bed and staring at his ceiling which was stained from removed blue-tack.

Yuri used to keep his favourite posters above his bed, one large poster of Mr. Legend protecting him from nightmares that he’d kept there for as long as he could remember until Mr. Legend had become part of them, some posters of stars and planets, various things that had been a part of his dreams for the future; heroism, scientific discovery, and fairytales.

These days, he wasn’t sure what he hoped his future would bring—maybe to never hear his parents arguing downstairs, but he knew they could never return to a time before it had started. He wouldn’t have minded meeting Ryan again, but even meeting him once before he left Sternbild (probably for good) was proving to be far more complicated than it should’ve been.

Yuri grimaced and got up red-faced, settling at his desk instead.

He tried to focus on the various notes he kept on his desk that were mostly about books he liked (and some about comics he read at the library so he could remember where he’d left off because he only loaned proper books) but found his thoughts straying to how he hoped he could leave soon. Every noise from downstairs made him either worry his father had returned or hope his mother was finally about to call for him.

Once the cassette reached its end after an excruciating length of time where he kept trying to read and instead paced around or laid on his bed when he felt sick, he rewound the tape and took it out, left in the silence of his room. At times it brought him peace, but now it only served to make him more anxious.

Yuri returned to walking around his room while thinking about how Ryan had said that he didn’t look like someone who skips school. It was true. He hadn’t ever even left the house without telling his parents where he was going but it seemed so easy when Ryan spoke of it—maybe he could walk out of the door like Ryan could have, if only this once.

He snuck downstairs and peeked down the hallway, finding himself directly staring at his mother rummaging through the closet by the door. Yuri turned to leave, but she’d already seen him.

“Yura?… I thought you were in your room.”

“I…” He turned back to face her, the movement slow and robotic. “I just thought… Thought that I heard the door, so I came downstairs to check.”

“You must’ve heard me.”

“Mm,” agreed Yuri, relieved his mother didn’t ask more questions. “Probably.”

Olga fit the lid back onto the shoe box with a pair of beautiful wine-red kitten heels inside that Yuri had never seen her wear. He realized she was holding a few bills, and his surprise was plain to read from his face.

“This is some money I’ve set aside for myself,” she said while lifting the box back into the same cabinet she’d pulled it out from. “Papa is so careful with money—he’s being sensible, of course. This is… What if I want to surprise him with a gift?”

Yuri wished his mother could see what he saw: it wasn’t love to have to hide money in a shoe box if you wanted to use any of it without telling anyone. But he couldn’t say that, so he nodded.

“Come here,” said his mother, holding the bills to him with a tired smile. “This is for you, for the errands you’re about to run: it’s our little secret, Yura… Use the rest as you’d like. Here’s the list for your errands. Since you’re already downstairs… You’re all ready to go!”

He took the bills and the list into his hands like his mother might change his mind.

“Thank you, mama,” stammered Yuri. He started to put on his shoes, found it challenging to do while holding onto the bills and the paper, and set them aside. Once he’d already laced up his shoes, he realized he’d forgotten his wallet in his room, but his mother walked down the stairs holding it in his hand.

“Don’t forget your wallet,” she said, offering it to him. “You always put it in the same spot on the corner of your desk.”

Yuri felt frustrated she’d gone into his room like that and hurt that she'd touched his things without his permission, but the emotion was too close to anger for him to not feel guilty about it.

“Um, right. Thank you, mama.” He fumbled to put the bills in his wallet while taking his leave, determined to leave as quickly as possible.

“Yurochka,” his mother said gently, a terse smile ghosting on her features before she turned serious.

“Y-Yes?…” Yuri didn’t let go of the door handle, afraid it’d lock itself up if he did and trap him inside forever. He glanced back over his shoulder.

“You’re the best son a mother could ask for, you know that?” The returned smile on Yuri’s face wasn’t genuine, and he said nothing. Olga didn’t know what she had wanted to hear, or what she had thought she could’ve heard, or even what she'd wished to hear. “Off you go now—come back before eight!”

When he left, she closed the door behind him and waved him goodbye.

Yuri walked until the house was out of his view, breaking into a sprint like someone was chasing him. By the time he reached the bus stop, his lungs prickled and his legs ached, but he managed to catch an earlier bus because he'd hurried.

Only on the bus did he manage to will himself to read the list of errands, preparing himself for disappointment.

Your only errand is to have fun, OK? Mama loves you very much. Wouldn’t these be nice places to visit with Ryan? Papa took me to these before we had you.

The rest of the paper detailed various places his father had taken her to when they’d been dating, written in his mother’s neat writing in simple ballpoint pen.

It made Yuri feel too many ugly emotions for him to be able to recognize them separately, like they’d all been sewn together into a repulsive quilt that wrapped around his neck till he could barely breathe.

He didn’t want his mother to know anything like this about him, and he didn’t want his mother to act so sweet when she could be all but that, and he most definitely wanted nothing to do with any of these suggestions.

He wanted Ryan to have nothing to do with these places because he was the only person he knew who truly had nothing to do with his parents, Mr. Legend, or this city he’d grown up in.

Ryan was different, and he didn’t want that to change. With all his heart, he hoped he would never change.

The empty feeling of shame was what followed: the guilt of not being able to feel grateful, and the shame of who he was and the things his mother assumed about him that he didn’t want her to contemplate, private things he hadn’t managed to decide for himself—now they had ended up on the long list of things his parents had already chosen for him one way or another.

Yuri systematically folded the paper over until it was only a thin strip, but no matter how he tried it didn’t disappear like it had never existed, turned to ash and blown away in the wind. He stuffed it back into his pocket (too ashamed to throw it away) and bit back tears, staring out of the window and hoping nobody noticed. Something, he hoped, the world would allow him to keep to himself.

His travel was over too quickly: the bus ride, the short monorail trip, and the walk from the station to the Hero’s Bar.

He meandered around the street corner, wondering if it would feel worse if Ryan had already left or if he was still waiting for him.

It would’ve been better if Ryan had left (this was selfish), but Yuri wanted to meet up with him (he was selfish).

It was already around midday, so he couldn’t expect Ryan to have waited for so long. Yuri paced back and forth the street. He shouldn’t get his hopes up.

When he finally turned the corner, he couldn’t see Ryan—he was too late.

Yuri stared at the crowd, forlorn, about to leave when he realized he was looking directly at Ryan who almost met his eyes but not quite; the other boy’s gaze flitted over him, the bright sun overhead rendering others into silhouettes without discernible details.

Unbeknownst to Ryan, Yuri kept looking at him while he leafed through his cash and thought about how he had enough money to buy himself some clothes—probably buy Yuri something too, and still have enough left to get them a good meal somewhere. His parents always complained about him being careless with his money, but it was because they had different priorities.

They wanted him to spend his money on specific things they found agreeable but he was perfectly happy using his money to eat well and buy others gifts. It wasn’t like he didn’t save any of his money, and he’d earned this money fair and square from a modeling gig, so it was only fair he got to use it as he wished.

They really didn’t get him sometimes…

He yawned because he’d stayed up way too late and gotten up way earlier than he usually would have for the second day in a row. First it had been the speech, and now he’d promised to meet up with Yuri without setting an exact time for it.

“…I’m super gonna fall asleep,” mumbled Ryan to himself, adjusting his position in the chair, sitting around one of the tables set outside the same Hero’s Bar he’d found himself at yesterday. It was as warm as standing in studio spotlights but this was a gentler warmth that he could’ve found himself dozing off in.

Ryan sighed and stood up to stretch before turning around to see how he looked in the reflection of the glass-enclosed storefront; it was no mirror but it let him see himself passably.

He’d spent more time styling his hair and doing his makeup, had carefully applied mascara and eyeliner, and his clothes were as mature as yesterday but way cooler—he’d picked out these clothes himself instead of wearing an outfit someone else had gotten him.

The eyeliner was messy on purpose, not because he wasn’t the best at applying it and hid it behind the smudged look. There was something more complicated about having to look at your reflection to know what you were doing as opposed to doing someone else's makeup.

Still, the smudged look went well with his clothes, the popped collar of his oversized off-white dress shirt and the black leather jacket over it with shoulder pads that gave him the illusion of having broader shoulders than he had (but which he would definitely have if he was more muscular). Ryan brushed some imaginary dust off his shoulder, golden bracelets around his wrist clinking together.

The one downside of his outfit was that it didn’t help him stay cool: it looked cool but was very warm to wear on this cloudless day, the dark leather of the jacket absorbing sunlight. It was almost too warm, but he wouldn’t admit defeat so readily.

He only had a few things packed up with him, and he hadn’t considered what sort of outfits he might want to wear besides being told to look normal and presentable for Mr. Legend’s speech. Despite his limited selection, he looked great with the jacket’s one button done up and having buttoned the shirt only in the middle underneath the coat.

A sliver of his chest and stomach were exposed, and his parents would’ve hated seeing him like this, but he didn’t care. The cuffs of his dress shirt folded perfectly onto the sleeves of the jacket like it was one fancy piece of clothing instead of two; that was the level of detail his outfit had.

It was awesome. He was awesome, and he only needed his own opinion. (And today, maybe Yuri’s opinion.)

He tilted his head at his reflection, wondering what sort of people Yuri’s parents were and whether they would give Yuri permission to meet Ryan here, something he had picked up from between Yuri’s hurried words when he left while Ryan was stuck getting yelled at by some lady.

Himself, he didn’t care about that sort of thing, the permissions or getting yelled at. His parents hadn’t permitted him to get his ears pierced, but he’d gone ahead and asked one of his ex-girlfriends to pierce his ears the same way she’d done her ears. They could do nothing when he went home with his new earrings—not like they’d noticed anything for multiple days, anyway.

He squinted at his reflection and noticed the customers inside the Hero’s Bar staring at him because he’d been using the window as a makeshift mirror for such a long time. Ryan flashed his undoubtedly adoring audience a smile.

“R-Ryan?…”

Ryan almost jumped, spun around to locate the owner of the soft voice and grinned at Yuri standing some ways away looking out of place.

“Dude! I’ve been waiting for sooooo long! I was here by before ten and it’s what now, at least midday, right?!”

He walked to Yuri and offered him a fist bump. It wasn’t returned, the other boy standing still like he was dazed.

“Sorry,” said Yuri, and Ryan shrugged.

“Eh, it’s fine, I knew I’d prolly have to wait, your parents give you trouble or something?”

“Um… Actually, my father had something work-related come up, so he hasn’t been home at all.”

“Oh yeah? My dad’s like that, like, all the time.” Ryan tried to get Yuri to fistbump him again, but Yuri only looked up at his face. “Your mom, then?”

“She said I should go out to enjoy the sunlight…” Yuri trailed off, his gaze wandering and landing on the hand Ryan was holding out, and held his own hand out halfway on a polite instinct. “So… I didn’t really have to ask, I just couldn’t leave earlier.”

“Ooh, sick, so it worked out like, super perfectly,” replied Ryan, reaching out to Yuri’s hand to shake it.

“Hnh?…” went Yuri, and Ryan laughed.

“I was trying to fistbump you but you weren’t having it, so I figured we were gonna shake hands like this was a business meeting, eh…”

“Oh,” said Yuri.

“You were wayyyy too busy staring at my outfit, right?”

“You look… Very different today so I almost didn’t recognize you, that’s all.”

“You think I look super good, right?”

“You…” Yuri paused, his voice almost demure when he spoke up again. He meandered and started a different sentence altogether. “Um, s-sorry I didn’t dress up like you did; I hope it’s okay…”

“Huh, what do I care, I figured you’re not into this sorta stuff, usually it’s just me when I hang out with other guys.” Ryan explained at length how his guy friends liked to dress up but they just wanted to wear trendy hats and shoes and forgot to care about what really mattered, like having an awesome jacket. “…Do you like dressing up, though? I think you might, you’re cool enough.”

“Not really,” Yuri trailed off, looking at Ryan and his eyeliner. “M-Maybe a little, but I don’t have a lot of clothes, so I couldn’t even if I wanted to…”

“Huuh. Y’know, we could go buy some, like, before taking photos and all that. It’s a ton of fun, and we’re kinda the same size so then we can swap clothes too, y’know?” said Ryan, everything starting to fall into place without him even trying, as long as Yuri said yes.

“Um… I’m not sure, I don’t know if there’s anything that would look good on me—”

“That’s so not true.” Ryan shook his head and extended his hand. “I’m really good at shopping! Let’s go!”

This time Yuri took Ryan’s hand eagerly and without hesitation, trailing after Ryan without being able to think of anything other than how nice Ryan was despite barely knowing him. It overpowered the feelings of shame and guilt he'd harboured all morning.

Ryan stopped, Yuri with him.

“Actually, you prolly should like…” Ryan scratched the bridge of his nose. “I mean, you should lead us, I kinda don’t know where any malls are or anything… Y’know, ’cause I’m not from here, I’d totally know otherwise.”

“Oh, right,” said Yuri, embarrassed because Ryan had seen him smile a bit too much, glancing down at their intertwined hands. Ryan didn’t let go, so he took a tentative step to the side and Ryan followed along without question. He did this repeatedly, like he found it hard to believe Ryan expected them to walk anywhere hand in hand after Yuri had been visibly too happy about it.

“Uh-huh?” went Ryan, tilting his head to the side. "Where are we going?"

“To the mall?…”

“Now you’re just messing with me, ’cause first we were going in a circle and now we’re going back where we came from.”

“No, I…” Yuri’s voice wavered because his first instinct was to think Ryan was angry, but his touch didn’t hurt and his voice was as upbeat as it ever was. He was joking. “Um… Maybe I was messing with you, since you wouldn’t know.”

“Nooooo, I’d totally notice!” Ryan pressed the thumb of his free hand into his chest while walking along Yuri.

“…Okay. Where did we come from?”

“Ehm?” He looked around. “We didn’t get that far yet… From there, for sure.”

Yuri looked where Ryan pointed and burst into a short fit of laughter, shaking his head.

“I answered mega wrong on purpose to make you laugh, y’know.”

“Okay,” agreed Yuri, smiling without looking at Ryan. It would’ve only made him laugh more because it was obvious Ryan hadn’t answered wrong on purpose.

“It’s true!” Ryan didn’t think Yuri looked convinced, and the wrong answer had made his face feel warm (or was it Yuri’s laugh?). He needed to give Yuri a reason to believe. “I mean, it’s ’cause you have a super nice smile, duh.”

“Um… I do?”

“Oi oi, I’m always right!”

“Do you like other things about me?…” As soon as the sentence ended, Yuri felt awful about asking it out loud—he wanted to take it back. He shouldn’t have said that.

“Yeah, of course,” said Ryan, and the answer came so quickly to him Yuri didn’t have time to get nauseous about saying things he should’ve kept to himself. “You’re super nice and you listen to me, all that stuff I said already… Hum, it’s just nice to hang out with you, it’s like I’ve known you for wayyyy longer. You like hanging out with me too, right?”

“Y-Yeah?” breathed Yuri, cleared his throat, and said it again more clearly.

It made him too happy, and that made him feel guilty anew. Ryan didn’t think about his words as he did—he was too straightforward. Yuri chewed on his lip, thinking about romance flicks he’d watched with his mother. People in those weren’t ever so candid about their feelings; more importantly, they were all about men and women.

“Awesome! And you think I look great too, right?”

Yuri had avoided the question once, but he didn’t know how to avoid it twice. “Y-You do look great.”

“Hell yeah!” whooped Ryan and felt like he ran out of words to say. He didn’t usually feel this way when being complimented, so he had to focus on tussling his styled hair: the great Ryan didn’t run out of things to say.

Yuri stammered without managing to say anything, nodded instead, and kept his eyes on the street ahead. He wasn’t being fair to Ryan, but it would be only for today—he didn’t know whether this counted as lying.

“And like, uh, yeah, obviously… I’m both handsome and awesome. But it’s nice to hear it,” Ryan continued and skipped ahead, pulling Yuri with him, right past the mall Yuri had thought he’d like, one that was too new to be featured in the list his mother had written.

Yuri stared at the building across the street, not getting a word out to ask him to stop.

He squeezed Ryan’s hand, but all Ryan did was squeeze his hand back while rattling off about how much more fun he’d had in Sternbild than he’d thought he would have because of Yuri and how he’d really saved his trip.

Yuri couldn’t speak to stop him from walking past the building, so he reached out and tapped Ryan’s shoulder with his other hand to get his attention—his right shoulder.

Ryan scanned his surroundings upon being tapped and found nothing unusual at a glance, so it couldn’t be that he’d zoned out while thinking about how close Yuri was to him and stopped focusing on where he was going.

He had chosen the fastest route, familiar with Sternbild now that he lived here. Getting to know every new city he settled in was always an adventure on its own, but none of the other towns matched Sternbild in complexity; it was a multi-layered maze you could get forever lost in.

Sternbild’s charm was not the grandeur of lived bygone times and of buildings that had stood for hundreds of years, but rather a self-made one, of reproduced ancient monuments and statues, a melting pot of various cultures and eras: Ryan could find echoes of every place he’d ever visited right here.

Yuri tapped his shoulder again, and Ryan could feel him fumbling behind his back, Yuri’s weight no longer still and calmly following his lead.

It wasn’t possible to pull over on one of these narrow one-way expressways in Sternbild, not before they merged into main roads crossing the Stages themselves. It’d be at least fifteen minutes… Yuri stopped tapping his shoulder, probably aware of the circ*mstances (but not happy about it, Ryan imagined). He had been born in Sternbild, so he must've known this city like his backyard.

What Yuri didn’t know was that Ryan could make the impossible possible: after all, he was the great Golden Ryan.

This road ran next to a park partially caught between two different stages, the curve following its sloping hills as it climbed higher and higher still. It was secured by cement walls, but in some parts where the road and park ran parallel to the ground and each other, that cement was replaced by rudimentary metal fencing.

Ryan had driven through this way enough times to notice the part with a grass field where the metal fencing started a few poles too late, clean-cut, not twisted and torn as if it had never been replaced after an accident. He glanced at the side view mirror and saw the lights of the nearest vehicle a long distance away, still partially hidden behind the curve in the road.

He decelerated as much as rapidly as he could, not easing quite into a crawl because they needed the momentum to turn without being caught by the truck.

Golden Ryan’s hero vehicle and the things he could do without being constrained by traffic laws had really skewed his perception of everyday motorcycle riding, he thought, noting that Yuri wrapped his hands around his waist in surprise and was now holding onto him very firmly.

“You mind bumpy rides?!” Ryan called over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the road. “We’re stopping soon, okay?”

“…Excuse me?”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” muttered Ryan to himself, glancing at the side view mirror to ensure the truck behind wasn’t too close before he swerved to the left side of the road—left, because he had to make a sharp turn to the other side and wanted to make it clean enough to right his bike before it slipped through the gap in the fencing.

He turned by throwing their weight around. Their weight, because Yuri matched him perfectly.

The turn was more sticky with a passenger, but it was passable: the motorcycle rolled off the asphalt with a small leap, landed on the gravel lining the road, and shortly afterwards the tires hit the park’s manicured grass.

Ryan removed his boots from the footrests and hung them on the sides for the added promise of stability when the tires ran over softer ground that the bike sank in. This would’ve been nothing for the bike he used at work, but with his own bike, he couldn’t afford to use the handbrake and made sure to drive straight ahead while reducing the throttle.

“What are you doing?” asked Yuri over the engine’s roar, the motorcycle still in motion. The soft ground was absorbing their remaining momentum and bringing them to a more rapid halt across the grass field than Ryan had anticipated.

“You’re kinda stronger than I thought—for an office worker, anyway,” Ryan said over his shoulder, and Yuri let his hold go while Ryan took his hand off the throttle. “And, hey, I’m parking as fast as possible since you tapped my shoulder. Twice, by the way, and I haven’t taken you for an impatient guy, so I figured it’s important, yeah?”

The motorcycle rolled to a halt and Ryan planted his feet on the ground before killing the engine. He felt Yuri fumbling and adjusted the side view mirror to see him lifting a phone to his ear, having already removed his helmet.

“Yuri Petrov speaking. Yes, my apologies for not picking up immediately, thank you for your patience.”

He got up from where he was sitting behind Ryan and handed off the helmet before walking away to be able to talk without Ryan hearing his every word.

His pant legs were still stuck in his socks. As he padded along the side of the park with his back to Ryan, he could’ve been mistaken for a strange beast in the night, all of him dark except his ungloved hands and the now-messy platinum hair that flitted about his head, strands reflecting what little light reached the unlit center of the empty field.

“I see,” said Yuri to convey his attentiveness, wet grass underfoot swallowing up his shoes till he felt his socks get wet. The care home hadn’t tried to reach him because something had happened to his mother, they’d tried to contact him because his mother had so badly wanted to stay.

“Yes, of course, she can stay longer than intended if she wishes so. She usually spends weekends at home, so it must have been that she’s never coincidentally ended up at your care during any special weekend events; that must’ve been why she’s so insistent on… Yes, she used to bake extensively. I understand, you had to make sure before tomorrow so that you can prepare the schedules to account for her addition.”

The relief Yuri felt was tinged with absolution, of not having failed to be there for his mother. It was accompanied by a dull guilt Yuri had stopped examining long ago.

“Her usual nurse should have her file with… Ah, yes, I give the present weekend staff permission to access her files.” There was nothing special in those files, Yuri had made sure of that. Maybe some of it was Maverick’s doing. He had no way to tell, the secret as to whether Maverick had known about his mother now dead with him.

He’d seen to that himself: Lunatic had, if he had to make that distinction. Same as he’d seen to it that his mother couldn’t tell her the answer herself (like she couldn’t tell him whether she had protected him from Maverick or if there was some other reason for him to not recognize him), since inadvertent or not, he’d caused his mother to get lost in her mind.

Yuri ended the call with a polite goodbye, ensuring the nurse that it was no problem for the call to have reached him so late because that’s why he had a note to always contact him, no matter the time or urgency.

He pretended the conversation was continuing, not letting his hand and phone fall from his ear while he glanced back at Ryan. The other man wasn’t looking at him, however, squatting next to his bike.

Yuri tucked the phone in his breast pocket and approached Ryan.

“Urgent call go well?” he asked before Yuri had a chance to speak.

“…It was satisfactory,” Yuri replied, placing his words in a deliberately obscure way. “The matter can be considered solved.”

“Oh yeah? Something personal, then… You got a secret lover, eh?"

Yuri sighed. “No, but frankly speaking, such matters would not be yours to know either way.”

“Eeeh, but I’m nosy,” Ryan whined, his sentence cut off by him sucking in air and waving his hand around, having burnt his skin while poking around the motorcycle’s machinery. “Damn, the engine’s still running mad hot.”

“You have to cool the burn immediately,” said Yuri, listing basic first aid for burn injuries instead of reprimanding Ryan for reckless driving as had been his intention.

“Yeah, yeah… It’s fine, I’ve always been the guy to eat the cookie when it’s still fresh out of the oven. Can’t resist them, even if I know I’ll burn my hands and mouth, and I never learn,” Ryan meandered, continuing fiddling with his motorcycle instead of doing anything about the burn. “It’s part of the thrill, y’know, like how some people test their limits with spicy food. Mm, I wanna know if I’ll get burned this time.”

Ryan stood up when Yuri walked closer.

“Give me your hand,” he said, meeting Ryan’s eyes.

Ryan gave the other man an amused look before showing his hand, which Yuri took and turned around. Yuri’s skin was cold against Ryan’s, pleasant before he ran his fingertip over the place he’d burnt: he couldn’t help but grimace at the sudden sting of pain. The burn ran across the side of Ryan’s hand, an elongated red mark where he had bumped it against the exhaust pipe.

Yuri tugged at his hand to prompt him to follow.

“Oi oi, careful, this is the hand you twisted too, it’s taken a real beating today… You’re sabotaging my career, eh? So much for fair play.” Contrary to his words, Ryan followed along while attentively looking at Yuri’s face despite him only looking ahead, much like an overeager pet on a leash searching for any further clues as to what he was supposed to do.

“The grass here is wet and cold; it’ll soothe your burn in the absence of other ways to cool it. It’s only a first-degree burn, wholly superficial.” Yuri let go of Ryan’s hand before he finished his sentence. “It is very unlikely to leave a scar.”

“Uh-huh,” went Ryan and thought better of joking about how there were easier ways to get him on his knees, biting his tongue to stop himself. He’d already displeased Yuri once, so he didn’t know why he kept pushing his luck—it was part of the thrill of eating freshly baked cookies, he supposed, that same part where he never learnt better and burnt his mouth.

Not able to think of a rebuttal beyond jokes in poor taste, Ryan crouched and put his hand into the grass, the soft ground giving way for cool water to pool in the indent his touch made. Ryan leaned his other arm against his thigh, careful to only ever hold one hand against the ground if he didn’t have more of a reason to.

He glanced at Yuri’s shoes next to him, water gathering deep enough to almost cover his shoes, the only thing keeping his pants dry the funny way they were tucked into his socks instead of dragging against the ground. Unlike Yuri’s drenched dress shoes, Ryan’s boots kept water out of them.

“What you did was highly illegal and dangerous,” said Yuri, breaking the silence when Ryan was uncharacteristically enraptured by staring at the ground instead of talking without pause.

“Hm?… Well, hero license applies all the time, y’know.”

“…Yes, but that has nothing to do with—”

“Aht-aht, it was for an emergency, I had to stop, y’know? Nobody goes here, so there was nobody to endanger.”

“I was a passenger,” Yuri chided him.

“Yeah,” replied Ryan, looking up at Yuri from the awkward angle he was reduced to. He blew the hair flick on his face into a spot where it obscured less of his vision with a puff of air from between his lips. “But I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

His tone was confident, the same he’d had when he’d told the woman at Hero’s Bar that his name was Lyle: it was too easy to believe. Yuri narrowed his eyes, trying to decide if Ryan had knowingly put him in danger. It didn’t fit with the profile he had constructed of Ryan in his mind, but many things about Ryan didn’t.

“What about yourself? How exactly would you have ensured our collective safety if something had happened?”

“Ha, depends, I guess,” said Ryan, vaguely noting that he was in an impromptu cross-examination. Yuri was always stuck at work one way or another. “There’s a lot that could go wrong while on a motorcycle, I just knew nothing’s gonna happen since it was me driving, right? We weren’t going that fast, and the truck behind us wasn’t close. I’ve seen that gap in the fence so many times, Judge, I knew exactly where it was. Doubting the great Golden Ryan, huh?… Mm, but I’m sorry for scaring you with that.”

Yuri huffed, thinking about how he’d held onto Ryan, which wasn’t because he’d been afraid.

“I was not scared,” he said. “I did not want to fall off because of your carelessness; I am certain you can see the distinction. One can only hold onto so many things on a motorcycle.”

“Oooh,” said Ryan in an exaggerated tone, his words carrying light-hearted disbelief. “Right, I getcha.”

Yuri could’ve clarified that it was common sense to have a healthy self-preservation instinct but couldn’t have explained that it was almost insulting to think he could be afraid to begin with: he was not fearful, he’d never been—at least not in a long time. There was almost nothing left he had left to lose.

“So, anyway, you got your call sorted out, and my hand’s gonna be fine. You want the bad news now?”

“…Which are?” Yuri sounded much like a judge requesting elaboration on a suspicious statement.

“My bike’s busted. I think the exhaust port bolt got jostled when swerving to the side and bumping off the road, eh… Might have oil leaking into the engine, just based on prior experience.”

Yuri wondered if Ryan wanted to keep him here against his will, given how forceful he could be, and he’d seen how easily lying came to him. This could be a strange ploy. It was easier to believe than Ryan wanting to be nice to him (in bizarre ways that went against common sense)—Ryan lying would’ve set him free of these useless feelings of his.

He only needed proof.

“Hm.”

Yuri walked to Ryan’s vehicle and left him alone in the dark. He didn’t know much about motorcycles, he had to admit, but oil in the engine was a fire hazard.

And he did know a lot about fire hazards, more than he would’ve liked to know.

He bent down to touch the ground underneath the exhaust pipe because oil made its way through the engine quickly and if it did not ignite with disastrous results, it was expelled as-is.

Some sticky dark residue was left on his fingertips, and when he brought it closer to his face, the pungent smell of oil was noticeable, a faintly iridescent coating on his pale skin. Oil was highly flammable and toxic. It was something you didn’t want anywhere near your being. In blue-green flames, it would burn away in a heartbeat and leave his hands clean.

“Hey, Judge,” said Ryan from next to him. “Here you go.”

Instead of questioning Yuri’s lack of trust in his ability to diagnose his motorcycle's issue, Ryan offered him a piece of cloth to wipe his hand on.

“You should continue cooling the burn,” said Yuri, the white cotton staining a greasy brown from the oil. He knew that his actions were only ridiculous and offending to Ryan who always went on about how he was right.

“You’re so welcome,” went Ryan, pointing to him and winking. “Extra welcome, ’cause—”

“The cooling should continue for twenty minutes. It hasn’t even been five minutes.”

“Twenty?! Last time I had to take a first aid class, they said ten minutes is fine.”

“It is an updated guideline.”

“And then at that class they pulled me aside, and went all: but Ryan, for you it’s like a minute or so. Wow, you’ve got thick skin but also soft and clear, it’s remarkable. You really are one in a million, Golden Ryan, the only real number one! And remember, if your boss asks you to sit in the middle of a field at midnight for like twenty minutes straight while your motorcycle is parked super illegally, never do that. That’s not required. That’s like, workplace hazing,” Ryan said with a dramatic tone while gesturing, to which Yuri lifted his brow. “C’mon, you don’t think I was being funny?”

“I fail to see the humour.”

“Your Mona Lisa smile always makes me think it’d be easy to make you laugh, but it’s a trick of the eye every time, damn.”

“I don’t know what you might possibly mean.” Yuri considered offering the cloth back, but it was torn and frayed, perhaps a rag. Ryan must’ve kept them in his motorcycle’s compartment for situations like this. He put it in his jacket pocket.

“The Mona Lisa smile, eh… It’s the way she’s smiling in that painting, but kinda not, all ’cause of the shadows and the angle you’re looking at her from. You walk around and get the idea she’s following you with her eyes and sometimes smiling, but is she really, y’know?…” Ryan gestured to Yuri’s face, playfully pacing back and forth in front of him. The distant street lamps cast shifting shadows on his face as he turned it to track Ryan, over his sunken eyes, under his high cheekbones, the curve of his nose and around his delicate lips. “Mmhm, I’m seeing it on you right now. She’s the same as you.”

“You have visited the Louvre,” Yuri said, and Ryan exhaled in amusem*nt, shaking his hand.

“Oi oi, that wasn’t really the point…”

“Then, pray tell, what was the point?”

“That your smile isn’t just nice, it’s also real mysterious?…” Ryan shrugged, as flippant as ever. “The point was something like, I’d get my bike’s engine busted again for your smile, I’m awesome like that.”

“…Yes, and for that, I extend my gratitude to you even if I cannot approve of your methodology, and promise to reimburse you for the damage sustained,” said Yuri, not knowing how to react to the rest. He was not beautiful, no matter how he tried, and he definitely didn’t have a memorable smile. He always looked weary, but it was enough to not look like he had a scar across his face.

“Reimburse me? Don’t make me laugh, man. I know I’ve got a handsome smile too, but still.” Ryan kicked his motorcycle off its central stand and started to push it along, heading deeper into the park. “My bike’s gonna get thrashed for sure if I leave it here, but this park’s the one with the fake Stonehenge in the middle—eh, at least connects to that place. It’s a big park is what I’m saying. But the nearest walkway isn’t too far away, and then I can get my bike somewhere else without pushing it thru mud and you can get to Silver Stage. C’mon, it’s over that hill, behind a few trees.”

Yuri wondered how someone who’d lived in Sternbild for such a short time knew about the gap in the fencing on the expressway or the layout of this unremarkable park with its only claim to fame being a reconstructed Stonehenge, or knew how to reach the park’s paved walkway from a poorly lit and maintained corner of the park.

This field would’ve grown a sea of wildflowers if it wasn’t so meticulously maintained, shortly-cut grass becoming sunburnt and dry late in the summer when the now-abundant water dried up without cover.

He’d seen the meadow once from the rooftops, many years ago when Lunatic had already existed but hadn’t been known to all. It was the sum of his knowledge of Sternbild’s parks besides their rough locations: it didn’t matter to him or Lunatic… It wasn’t a route he ever had to take when he could fly over them, and he didn’t have time for frivolities like leisurely driving around Sternbild and taking a stroll through a park.

“Judge, you coming or what?!”

Yuri snapped out of his thoughts.

He couldn’t make out Ryan’s expression in the dark, but his voice sounded like he was smiling while waiting for him to catch up. Yuri had no reason to not follow him because he wasn’t quite sure how to get to the closest walkway besides walking in a summarily picked direction till one crossed his path.

Ryan continued pushing his motorcycle further when he noticed Yuri gaining on him. The other man would catch up to him sooner than later. It's those damn long legs of his, he thought, looking over his shoulder to give the approaching man a smile.

“Hey, you come here often?”

Yuri eased his walking pace, ignoring Ryan, something he did frequently. “Repairing structural damage to the engine cannot be cheap.”

“Still on that?… I steered my bike off the road, so no need for you to chip in on the repair.”

“A steering choice you made due to me; it is the principle.” Yuri paused. “…I would rather not owe you.”

“I seriously don’t need it, so you’re not owing me much of anything. I guarantee I earn more than you, and you basically work like two government jobs, yeah?… I’m sure they don’t pay you pennies, but with the way Sternbild works, I don’t think you’re getting paid as well as you could be paid elsewhere.”

“It is crass to discuss pay in this way.”

“That’s real old money talk… Eh, but knowing you, you’re like that just because. You know that if you were somebody else, you could be accepting bribes left and right? That’d earn you better than the way you do things.” Ryan glanced behind him to catch Yuri’s eye. “That’d go against your morals, though.”

“It would be counterproductive for a judge.” Yuri had chosen to walk slower and behind Ryan to not pass him by and leave him pushing his motorcycle alone. It must’ve been heavy in this poor footing, tires sinking into the ground. His golden strands of hair were outlined by the light from the streetlamps ahead filtering through foliage, lighting him up like some sort of false idol in the dark.

He was handsome, even if his hair had gotten messier from the helmet and he must’ve been getting sweaty from pushing his motorcycle along the soft ground while clad in full leather, and if Yuri’s own shoes were any indication, his boots were as drenched. Ryan was realistically quite disgusting right now, much like a wet cat.

“Counterproductive,” mused Ryan. “That doesn’t stop people, though… Dunno why I never thought about this before, but honestly, you might be why the hero industry’s different in Sternbild.”

Yuri’s eyebrows knit together in refusal. He didn’t want to hear that from Ryan.

“I am hardly responsible for the entire hero industry, and it became public knowledge within the recent years that the prior chief of operations of Apollon Media, Albert Maverick, was deeply entrenched in corruption and had clear ties to a major criminal organization. HeroTV operates under Apollon Media and Maverick himself was central for—”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Apollon Media kickstarted the hero system and so on, plus I got some classified info about all of it when I got hired for the first time. I was never here for any of that, though, so I only know the way it’s now. That guy was already out of the picture by the time I got here, like, permanently. Luna killed him in the end, right?…”

“Yes,” said Yuri, after a bit of pause.

“Uh-huh… Got him in the transport or something.”

“The police personnel transporting Maverick were also injured in the process.”

“Boo-hoo,” said Ryan, in the most monotone voice he could muster. He shook his head in feigned dramatics. “No way… I change my mind, Luna injured a bunch of cops who didn’t notice anything weird about Maverick for like, I dunno, years… Damn, he might move onto real people next. I’m personally gonna bring him to justice now, for sure.”

“They are real people.” Lunatic, less so.

“Yeah, guess I shouldn’t joke like annoying bastards aren’t people like everybody else, not like they were born that way… Y’know, maybe he’s part of it too. I mean, part of what’s keeping Sternbild in check; you and Luna, and Sternbild’s heroes fall in line, just like that.”

“I cannot say I follow the logic behind your strenuously connected statements.”

“Mm… Something about the work environment here, sh*t like that. You don’t take bribes and Luna kills murderers; heroes doing it for their ideals don’t get pushed out of the system, they stay. Y’know, people like old Tiger and Sky. Not like it doesn’t count for everyone here, but I know those two wouldn’t have survived a day at some places I’ve been to. Eh, the industry would've eaten them alive.”

“I…” Yuri fell quiet while Ryan spoke of his colleagues and their strengths and how Sternbild was unique, but he didn’t hear most of it. “I don’t think you’re right.”

“Oh, I’m never wrong,” claimed Ryan, sounding impossibly smug.

“Have you not an ounce of devotion for your line of work? Thinking as you do makes you a subpar hero,” snapped Yuri, each word like a lashing. “Unworthy.”

“You get so intense so fast, Judge…” Ryan smiled, unfazed. “You know, I’m actually a real selfish person. Lazy, too. I’m a good hero, though, since that’s unrelated. I think you’ve noticed, right?”

“…No,” said Yuri, and it was unclear to even himself what exactly he rebutted, torn between agreeing and disagreeing. Ryan was selfish but he wasn’t, in the same way Yuri had thought him to be impossibly lazy, but he also wasn’t, meeting his partner at the scene of an apartment building fire despite it only leading to more attention on his buddy hero, and he was a good hero just as much he wasn’t.

“True… You’re onto something. Yeah, now that I think about it, I’m more like a god, honest.”

“Hmph, you contradict yourself and your prior statements; everything you do and say is self-contradictory.”

“Not true… I don’t act like that.”

“You do.”

“Nuh-uh,” went Ryan, and Yuri realized he’d managed to trap him into a childish back-and-forth argument.

“…Stop.”

“Stop what?” Ryan asked coyly as he pushed his bike through a gap between two bushes where its tires soon hit the pavement. Yuri walked after him, huffing to himself. After emerging from the bushes, he sat on a nearby bench to take his pant legs out of his socks.

Ryan propped his bike up on its stand, stretched out his arms while catching his breath, the leather of his driving suit creaking with his movements, and waited for Yuri to speak. It had been rougher to push his bike up the hill with the soft ground and slippery grass than he had anticipated.

“You have to change your thinking,” said Yuri, still fixing his clothing.

Ryan had to change. He wanted Ryan to change. He needed it.

The way Ryan was, in his self-contradictory totality, it made Yuri’s heart ache with a sick longing for being seen for what he was, a twisted, desperate feeling that ebbed like the tide. It splashed against his ribcage, drained into his lungs, and unwittingly spilled out of his mouth like a putrid mass of malformed thoughts, making him say things he shouldn’t have.

“Yeah?” went Ryan.

“It is… Thoroughly unbecoming of a hero to think in the way you do,” said Yuri, his insult much weaker than it had been earlier.

“That’s what you keep telling me, but y’know… I’ll keep telling you the same thing about how I’m not just a hero—I’m the great Golden Ryan, yeah, but I’m also me. Plus, it was different in Continental and elsewhere; you want points, you want fame, you wan’t to win at any cost…” Ryan rolled his shoulders, and the leather grew taut across his upper back. “I guess I found that out the hard way, ha. I can’t say I’ve always played by the book, but not like—”

“Ryan, I—”

Blue Rose’s latest single started to play in Ryan’s chest pocket, the cheery pop jingle overpowering Yuri’s words.

“Huh? Who’s calling me after midnight?” mumbled Ryan, zipping his collar open and fishing his phone out while Yuri watched him. “Eh… Hold that thought, I gotta take this real quick.”

“As you wish,” said Yuri out of politeness, his turn of words making the corner of Ryan’s mouth tug upwards before he pressed the phone against his ear.

“Pronto. What’s so urgent you’re calling me so late?… Something happen?” Ryan didn’t waste any time on introductions nor did he walk away from Yuri for privacy, talking as loudly as ever. “It is super late, though. Well, because of time zones, right? Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Yuri finished fixing his pants and socks while Ryan talked, leaning on his motorcycle.

“Best restaurants at—haah, why’re you asking me about that? Taking a vacay there? Yeah?… I mean, I’d love to help, sure, but I can’t. I haven’t been there in years so I’ve only got outdated info. Mmhm, literal years. Yeah, nah; I’m in Sternbild right now. Sternbild—yeah. It’s like midnight over here… I’m here ’cause I work here, being Golden Ryan and all that. Yeah, I’m still doing it.”

Ryan rolled his eyes at Yuri as if he could understand what Ryan was talking about and with who. It was strange to think Ryan knew someone who wasn't constantly reminded he worked as the hero Golden Ryan: he used his own face in hero work, after all.

“Nothing’s going on. Nah, I’m not on a date right now—relax! Can’t someone my age just be out and about at this time? I’m a big boy these days, remember?… I mean, with a guy from work, what’s it to you anyway?” Ryan clicked his tongue. “Okay, fine. Why don’t you talk to him, eh? Let’s get you on the speaker, here you go.”

“Don’t do that,” spoke the woman under her breath on the other end of the phone that Ryan held out in Yuri’s direction. She fell silent, hearing the distant echo of her own voice. “Ryan, non essere infantile… Yes, good evening?”

Yuri didn’t have to speak the language to gather the gist of the woman’s frustration, but Ryan just shrugged and showed no indication he had understood. Humour her, he sounded out. In practice, it was more like a plea to humour him, because the woman on the other end of the phone didn’t sound enthusiastic.

He cleared his throat. “Good evening, miss?…”

“To you, it’s Mrs. Goldsmith.”

“Mrs. Goldsmith,” repeated Yuri, gaze straying to Ryan’s face, who raised his brows and spread his hands, including the one holding the phone.

“Yeah, my mom, who loves me sooo much she only calls to ask me for my restaurant recs, ha. Gave me her surname, though.”

“Your mother,” said Yuri, slowly. The things Ryan said about her he would’ve never spoken in front of his mother. Ryan’s mother huffed, and just as her voice was sharp where Ryan’s was relaxed despite the similar cadence, so was her short exhale.

“I am much more than Ryan’s mother. And you are?”

“Ah, yes, pardon my manners,” said Yuri, his voice professional once he gathered his bearings. He deliberated what he should say, but since this was Ryan’s mother, privacy was not a priority, and while he doubted many things Ryan told him, he did not doubt that this woman truly was his mother. “Yuri Petrov, the director of Sternbild’s Justice Bureau speaking.”

“See, he’s a guy from work, like I said.” Ryan pointed at the phone like it was someone’s face.

“Does that make a difference to you, hmm?”

Ryan gestured towards the phone he held with exasperation as if his mother could see him, ranting: “Wha—how’d you even know that anyway? Did I bring anyone home after my first girlfriend, which was when I was prolly like twelve, so—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said—”

“I said that you haven’t ever been concerned by whether you’re overfamiliar with your superiors or not.”

That was not what she said, thought Yuri. He studied Ryan’s face during the pause that followed, a frozen expression on his angular features as he put the pieces of the conversation together. The entire spat made as little sense to Yuri as his mother’s clarification had seemed to make sense to Ryan based on his expression.

What he did gather was that Ryan’s mother (Mrs. Goldsmith) wasn’t a good listener, and her personality was at least as strong as Ryan’s—she could speak over Ryan without issue, and he had no choice but to fall quiet.

“Oh, that,” said Ryan when he realized his mother hadn’t somehow figured out he’d gone out with guys too, just hadn’t ever ended up with one as his long-time date. There was probably some reason for that, but he hadn’t thought about it and wasn’t about to start. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Now, I have to sort out the reservations in some other way, so have a nice outing with director Petra.”

“Who,” went Ryan, which his mother must’ve taken for a goodbye and ended the call without further fanfare. Ryan dangled the phone in his hand, then threw it into the air and caught it. “Y’know how it is with the woman who gave birth to you… Or maybe it’s just me, eh, director Petra?”

“Yes, well,” Yuri trailed off while smoothing out his jacket, thinking about how Ryan had said his mother only called to ask him things like this. “…The call I had to pick up was from my mother as well.”

Not entirely true, but the issue was that he shouldn’t have said anything, not that he had bent the truth.

“Damn, that means it was more than urgent, at least if your mom’s anything like you, huh.”

“My mother… She is akin to me as much as you are akin to your mother.” Ryan was many things, but Yuri considered him very meddlesome and surprisingly observant. His mother had seemed… Unconcerned, to say the least.

Ryan laughed. “Alright, I get it. Yeah, if anything, I think I’m more like my dad—my papà, eh?… I’m not happy about it, though.”

“And why is that? A son should aspire to be like his father, should he not?” said Yuri, which only made Ryan more amused.

“Psh… He’s mad annoying, honestly. Every time I talk with him I go like, damn, when is this guy gonna be done? The world doesn’t revolve around him but he didn’t get the memo about it.”

Yuri inclined his head to the side. “Yes, I think I can see the similarities…”

“Except the world actually revolves around me, so it’s different, right?”

“…Of course; the world revolves around you as naturally as the Earth orbits the Sun.”

“Aha, you get it, Judge.”

“That must be why you dressed to warrant attention as well.”

“I did?… Was your attention drawn, huh?” asked Ryan, a lopsided smile on his face because Yuri had brought up his clothes all by himself.

“…It is a distinct manner of dress,” Yuri clarified, looking away from Ryan as if he’d never seen how the leather clung to his muscular frame, or how the suit was unzipped right now, so it creased more strongly under Ryan’s chest.

“It’s just a normal motorcycle suit, but it really does fit me, yeah.” Ryan was silent for a time. “Y’know, I was worried I’d be way too late since you seem like a punctual guy, so I didn’t have time to change my clothes to dress my best, right? All because my boss was busy lecturing me about the damn Luna job offer thing.”

“It was not an official disciplinary meeting because I was not involved nor informed.”

“Mm, I figured,” said Ryan. “But for a sec I kinda thought that you were avoiding me at work ’cause you’re gonna be lecturing me too and it’d be awkward for you.”

“I was not avoiding you,” lied Yuri.

“And for a sec I thought you might not show up at Hero’s Bar when you weren’t there by the time I was.” Ryan’s voice had turned softer and quieter like he was telling Yuri a secret.

“…I had unfortunate sudden engagements,” lied Yuri, again.

No, he had stood by the street corner outside Hero’s Bar, stared at Ryan walking in, stared at him sitting down, stared at him chatting briefly with someone and sending her off, and stared at him ordering food and looking around as if he had been concerned Yuri wasn’t there yet.

“I’m glad it worked out, eh… Blowing off a meeting with the great Golden Ryan without an explanation? Doesn’t really happen to me ever, so it would’ve really hurt my feelings…”

Yuri met Ryan’s gaze after a moment spent deliberating his words. The other man was leaning against his motorcycle, turning his phone in his hands.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Yuri said. “It could not be of such importance to you.”

“Huuuh, are you the judge of that, too? I’m having a good time hanging out like this.”

“All I do is argue with you.”

“A lot of people argue with me, you’re not special, eh…” Ryan shrugged. “You keep talking to me, though.”

“I don’t know why, when I have nothing to give you, Ryan. Leave me alone for your sake. For my sake,” said Yuri, his tone more urgent and forceful, desperate—or that’s what his tone would’ve been if he had been able to force the words out of his mouth.

He was a drowning man clawing at the side of the boat, his sickly hands ready to pull any soul into the water with him, and Ryan didn’t look away from the strange light under the water's surface despite the warnings and common sense.

Somehow he hadn’t yet realized that any relationship founded on falsehoods was fleeting and ended in betrayal; that much had been clear to Yuri since time immemorial—since he had seen Rusalka as a boy. The titular character gave away her voice for a chance with the fickle prince, only to be reduced into a vengeful will-o-wisp when she was inevitably rejected due to what she lacked; the voice she’d given away and the humanity she'd never had because she had never been human at all.

“Yuri,” said Ryan. “Yuri.”

“Hnh?…”

“I’ll walk you the rest of the way, how’s that sound? There’s a twenty-four-seven mall nearby, and they’ve got free parking, so I can leave my bike there until I figure out where to tow it—that’ll take a while, right, it’s a night during the weekend. There’s a funicular to Silver Stage right next to it, might as well take it, and catching a cab will be easy.”

“…Yes, that is a reasonable suggestion,” said Yuri, because he was more of a hypocrite than Ryan was. Lunatic cast judgement on others when he himself was irredeemable, blood staining his hands.

In the final act of Rusalka, the prince asked for a kiss from the will-o-wisp despite knowing it would kill him, but it was only a fairytale.

Chapter 7: Simplify & Complicate (True Colours)

Chapter Text

The comfortably cool, air-conditioned mall hallway offered a welcome shelter from the sweltering post-midday heat. It sported many of the same stores Ryan visited in his hometown despite the ocean between them and more, in some ways making him feel like he'd never traveled anywhere.

Maybe it was because Ryan had never felt any attachment to the town he'd happened to grow up in. His loyalty to his home was similar, and the place was better described as his parent's house because he spent as much time out of it as possible.

Home is where the heart is, or something like that—not quite the sort of wordplay Ryan could've looked up in the poetry book he'd taken from his parent's bookshelf, but he much preferred the daily aphorisms section found in the magazines he bought at the same corner store where he bought the chocolate bars that went against his diet.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, it's nothing…”

Ryan grinned and swung their interlaced hands to the rhythm of his step.

“Oi oi, you were totally checking if I'm gonna walk past every store, right? I was thinking about which ones look the coolest, plus I wanna stop by a store we don't have where I'm from; that's the most fun, right? Besides, earlier, it's not like you told me what sorta mall we're gonna visit or where it is, so I super couldn't know it was right here! I wouldn't have totally zoned out anyway, nuh-uh.”

“Okay,” said Yuri, a shy smile on his face. He often agreed with what others told him—he didn't want to cause problems. It was safe to say yes and okay and of course. People didn't usually care what he thought as long as he caused no problems.

“Nooooo,” went Ryan, because he did care despite always talking about himself, and he knew when Yuri didn't actually agree. Instead of getting frustrated, it launched him on long tangents to convince Yuri that whatever he had said was true, a valiant prince fighting a losing war only he cared about. “…Plus, not only that but like I've been saying, you super duper wouldn't know where to go in my city!”

“Mm…”

Ryan glanced at him and sighed. “Ugh, you'd like, buy a map or something, and you'd be real good at reading it, right? You wouldn't get lost once.”

“I'd start by ensuring I know all the most important landmarks in advance because it's easier to navigate when you have the rough layout of the city memorized… I've memorized all the important addresses in Sternbild, but since I've never been to a different city, I suppose I'd have to buy a map first to get started…”

Yuri would've asked Ryan how he'd prepared but could guess he hadn't done anything specific based on his admission of having traveled in circles on Sternbild's circular monorail, having missed both the signage and the in-train announcements. Unlike Ryan, he liked to be prepared, and he was reasonably confident he could've navigated any other city after some practice beforehand.

“Eeeh, whatever…” Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “Y'know, I don't need a map 'cause I'll always be able to find someone to show me around like I found you!”

“You're probably right.” Yuri found Ryan to be someone who could always find others to talk with; he was outgoing and likable. Ryan knew Yuri agreed, and not only because he had the habit.

“Uh-huh, of course I'm right!”

He didn't know that it left Yuri wondering how anyone could think so little of Ryan they were picking fights with him. Yuri tried parsing his image of Ryan with what he'd told him about his friends, their lack of understanding for him (and the things he'd filled in between the lines), and the various ways he thought they were similar.

They were both weird but Ryan's was a different peculiarity, one more noticeable once you'd known him for a while and he kept acting the same: he could make friends but couldn't keep them—was that what happened to him? He didn't know how that fit in with Ryan mentioning he'd had multiple girlfriends.

Yuri deliberated whether he could keep friends if he managed to make them in the first place, arriving at no answer due to the worry weighing his thoughts down.

“…When does your flight leave?”

“Huh, my flight home?” Ryan’s hand cut through the air in an over-dramatic, dismissive arc. “What, worried I'll miss my flight? Hey, I walked past some place once!”

“I was only wondering when it is…”

Ryan tilted his head to the side and studied Yuri's face. “It's an overnight one, so it's wayyyy later.”

“Alright.” Yuri's lip would get ugly and start bleeding if he didn't stop chewing on it.

“Don't worry about it, okay?”

“You won't miss it, I believe you.”

"Yeah, that too, I guess… But I mean, let's focus on having a fun day, right?” Ryan's sunny smile and warm hand in his made Yuri almost forget that they only had one short day to spend together. “Whoa, that store looks super interesting—never seen one before! And, hmm, okay, I've got a question: what's your fave colour?"

“Um,” started Yuri, wondering about the question himself. In the past, he'd confidently asserted he loved vibrant colours, but now his preferences were dictated by the vague notion of propriety—his genuine opinions had turned muddy and distant, hidden under a rudimentary instinct evoked for survival. “Green?…”

“Don't say it's the green of your shirt, 'cause I'm super gonna disagree. It's totally an old guy colour, so I don't believe you.”

“I-Is it that bad?” More proof that he should've worn a different shirt, but he couldn't decide on a hypothetical better one: most of his clothes were old and shabby from use, except for the shirts that qualified as Mr. Legend merchandise. Those he stuck in the back of the cabinet, adding to the pile every time his father brought a new one home.

“It's not mega bad or anything, it's a totally normal shirt, but did you really pick that shirt out by yourself?” Ryan weaved through passersby, navigating them to the bright storefront he'd picked as their first destination. The careful wayfaring ensured that nobody walked into the boy he was leading on, who was looking down while toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Kind of, but…” He'd owned this polo shirt for a long time. Years ago, his father had taken him to buy clothes: he'd picked a shirt with a colourful flower pattern and showed it to him, and his father had laughed and pointed to the shirts his son should've picked. Not a colourful, ruffled one (a girls' shirt), but proper and neutral-toned (and very boring), something Yuri had internalized as the only kind of shirt he should have. “My father, um… He recommended it.”

The shirt had been too big for him then but he'd grown into it in the same way his father had grown into the role of all-encompassing control.

“See?! It's an old guy thing, I knew it! What's your fav colour, though?”

Yuri found a safe answer to settle on after lifting his gaze, greeted by the colour (or lack thereof) that dominated Ryan's outfit from his eyeliner to his boots. “…Black.”

He worried the answer had been improper when a short laughter sprung from Ryan's chest.

“Soooo, every colour? Since black has all colours in it, eh…”

“N-No?… Black is the absence of colour.”

“Whaaat? Naw, that'd be white, like a blank paper, right? No way, you definitely get black when you mix all colours together.” Ryan stopped by the store entrance and turned to Yuri, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Um, pigments, yes, but in physics, black colour is perceived when a given surface absorbs most wavelengths of light visible to the human eye and white is formed when it reflects all of them: the darkness of black or brightness of white depend on how efficiently they absorb or reflect light… Specific colours are formed depending on what exact wavelengths scatter off surfaces.”

“Huh, right, I knew that.” Despite his best effort, Ryan couldn't hide his difficulty grasping the topic from Yuri, who reasoned that he should've learned it in school but their curriculum wasn't necessarily the same. “But, anyway, I thought you'd like colours more, and many would look good on you, so.”

“…Which colours?”

“From what's trendy for the summer right now, prolly the pinks and purples. I think you'd just look nice, but there's like all of this, eh…” Ryan lifted their intertwined hands and gestured with them to the store's display of mannequins wearing the latest fashion, after which he let go and hovered his hand above Yuri's. “Like, colour science to figure out what colours look good on you.”

“Colour theory?…”

“Hum, yeah, maybe? See… Let's compare.” He turned his hand around and Yuri followed suit, only becoming aware of how much colder his hands were than Ryan's, hoping it wasn't noticeable to the other boy. His concern dissipated when Ryan's fingertips settled on the soft pad of his palm in the same spot he often rubbed nervous circles on with his thumb.

“I'm pale, but you're paler; I can see the veins on your palm and everything.”

Ryan's fingers traced partial pathways made by the sprawling veins across Yuri's palm and the spots where they turned visible on his finger joints only to disappear again, retraced them back to the palm and found the most distinct line that snaked over his wrist, following it up his arm. The delicate touch made Yuri's hair stand on end.

“Your veins are mega blue through the skin.” Ryan looked down at Yuri's face because of his greater height, most of which came from the difference between the heels of an average leather boot and those of flat sneakers. “And see mine? Kinda greenish, not as blue. So… Your skin's got a cool undertone and mine's more neutral.”

“Mm,” went Yuri, blinking, trying to focus on discerning the undertones of their skin and not the colour theory of Ryan's golden eyes lined by dark eyelashes. Clumps of mascara stuck to them, inelegantly applied, eyeliner smudged too far for it to have started as purposeful, but the wildly spiked hair served to make it into deliberate choice nonetheless.

He could see that Ryan was pale but not as pale as he was, nodding despite not seeing much variance in the colour of their veins, far too preoccupied with a warmth spilling over his heart. Yuri was worried his skin was getting red everywhere if anything—in his imagination he transformed into a bright red flame, alerting all to how he looked at Ryan in the wrong way.

The tips of Ryan's ears were red, but Yuri only saw how most of his lip gloss was already gone because of his emotive face, lips now pursed in thought.

“You—You know, we're, uh… Reflecting different wavelengths,” said Ryan, after a long pause. He looked expectant, so much that Yuri couldn't help but laugh despite the flush to his face, embarrassed tension unraveling.

“Yeah, we are…”

“See, we're super duper different but make a perfect pair! You know about physics and other stuff that you can remind me about because I can't remember everything, obviously, and I guess you're better at school than me anyway… Uhm, but I can also totally tell you about stuff you didn't know about!”

Yuri wanted to reply but giggled instead, the warmth of his chest exhaled and given form. While he didn't know about undertones of skin, he knew colour theory—colour science, as Ryan had called it, but he didn't want to ruin Ryan's excitement. His giggle turned into a smile and his eyes widened in realization, scrambling to cover his mouth with a hand as if the laughter had been borne out of mockery.

“S-Sorry…” The words were mumbled against his palm, the same Ryan had held.

“Aww, sorry for what?” Ryan teased and playfully co*cked his head to the side.

Yuri was cute, and he didn't understand why he was so self-conscious all the time since there was nothing wrong with his smile and laughter (or any other part of him). As the polar opposite of Ryan, Yuri had everything he lacked: patience, grace, and intelligence. (Yuri would've been able to come up with better compliments.)

Inversely, Yuri wasn't as good at reading Ryan as he was at reading him: had he been, he wouldn't have needed to be so ashamed all the time, but something unnecessarily obfuscated his thoughts. The shadow was plain to see yet formless, but to judge it Ryan would've had to judge himself first for the feelings that loomed over his own mind.

Perhaps it was jealousy Ryan felt (for all that Yuri excelled in but he didn't), but jealousy didn't explain why Yuri could make his cheeks burn so hot. Jealousy was only one step removed from admiration—basking in Ryan's greatness often made envy blossom—which was why other boys picked fights with him whereas girls were more inclined to embrace the admiration and want to date him.

“Uhm, I kinda read about that colour stuff in a magazine. I think it's real, though, I've noticed some colours make me look redder and whatever…” Clothes were not the reason he was redder than usual right now. “Yep, clothes and stuff… But, yeah, let's go!”

He turned and walked into the store ahead of the other boy, pretending he was surveying the clothes instead of drowning in a predicament becoming increasingly clear to him, one he'd joked about: this outing was more akin to a date he would've taken his past girlfriends on than it wasn't.

Making up compliments to hear Yuri laugh was one thing, but thinking he was cute when he did was something else.

There must be something he could do to make this more like the occasions he hung out with his friends, though Yuri didn't seem to mind. Was it so wrong? Ryan liked going on dates and making people laugh, shopping, all of it. Naming this (whatever it was) as a date would've simplified everything, but that wasn't right either.

Probably, since he'd never been on a date with a boy—truthfully, the idea had never crossed his mind. More awkward was that they'd met yesterday so they were advancing too quickly, which was what magazines gave advice for in the dating sections. The articles had never covered the troubles of being a boy who'd maybe taken another boy on an almost-date on accident.

And you had met him yesterday, and you'd be traveling across half the world sooner than later, so…

A frustrated groan forced its way out of his mouth. His favourite school subject was P.E. because he didn't excel in any other subject, and he liked people, but it often happened that they didn't like him back (because he was too awesome), something he'd try to ignore for as long as he could: a situation he wanted to avoid with Yuri.

As if on cue, the other boy appeared beside him, a worried crease between his eyebrows. Because Ryan hadn't gotten smarter and remained as stupid as usual, he blurted out the first words that came to him, guiding them to something mundane: “Whoa, I just totally remembered something dumb that happened to me—you ever gotten a super low score on a math test 'cause you could answer right but then couldn't explain how you got the result?”

“U-Um, no, that hasn't happened to me…”

“It felt mega unfair. I compared my answers with my friend and he had the exact same answers but he'd solved them in a different way than me.” Ryan straightened and played with the sleeve of the shirt hanging on a rack before him. “Had them written out step by step and everything.”

“You didn't write down the way you solved them?”

“Erm, I solve them by looking at them and thinking about it in my head until I figure out the answer.”

“Thinking in your head?…”

“Yep… Plus, it's like the only thing I really think about in my head, too. Math, can you believe? I mean, I look like I'd be great at math since I'm like, uh… You know, I am great at math too. I'll give you an example, but like, later, 'cause we gotta focus on thinking about clothes now, so no math and other stuff, right? I'm super duper derailing everything, no need to make this so damn—so f*cking complicated, haha…”

“…Okay.”

From Yuri's downcast eyes, Ryan could read that he disagreed. He couldn't explain, not this time: he'd have to fix it in some other way.

“Uh, so, have you seen anything you like yet?”

“No, I haven't…”

“Then how about this?!” Ryan pulled out a discounted shirt out of the rack by the clothes hanger in one dramatic movement, all billowing sleeves and ruffles made out of a thin crinkled fabric painted in a garish pattern coming into view in their full glory. The grandma curtain lit a sparkle in Yuri's eyes like Ryan had presented him with the loveliest gem straight from his dearest dreams.

In hindsight, Ryan should've guessed that a busy, colourful pattern would be exactly his style. The intended comedy became apparent to Yuri, whose smile wavered.

“Ha,” went Yuri. So soon after his genuine giggle, his attempt at laughter was a ghost that wasn't even wearing a convincing costume but an ill-fitted old sheet. “No, not s-something like that, it's so… Silly-looking, and all too colourful.”

“It could be kinda nice, y'know! But it's not in fashion right now, that's what I'm joking about, duh. These are on discount 'cause they're stuff leftover from the spring styles. Plus, this discount rack only has like, clothes for old people—not that there's anything wrong with them, but like, we couldn't wear them the way they're meant to be worn, eh….” He hung the shirt back on the rack and pointed across the store. “Huuh, we should start there, I think…”

“R-Right…”

“Hey, actually, do you wanna do a whole thing where we pick clothes we like and show them to each other? We'll know best what were looking for style-wise,” Ryan realized that Yuri was already lost, “uh, probably, but I've never been to this store before so I dunno if I can find stuff that easy, but like, that's why it's not necessarily clothes we want to wear for real but ones with fun patterns or something that could be fun and whatever.”

“I don't know…”

“They super duper don't have to be fitting or anything, it's just, if I could wear this or some part of it I totally would-type of thing, yeah? So afterwards we can go look for that type of clothes together, it's just a, uh, a game to get us started. Fifteen minutes, I think that's enough time.”

“Okay.”

“Let's meet there,” Ryan pointed out the fitting rooms, “by the chairs and everything. There's a clock in the plaza, so just peek at it every once in a while through the storefront: fifteen minutes passes like nothing!”

Yuri agreed again, and Ryan gently squeezed his shoulder without a word but with an expression on him that looked a bit sorry, turning around and heading to the exact opposite direction from the area he'd pointed out.

He could easily get rid of Yuri in the store if he wanted. The more Yuri thought about it, the more he felt it would've bothered him more to lose Ryan's company without an explanation than to hear he was uncomfortable to be around.

Yuri headed to where Ryan didn’t go and kept glancing in Ryan's direction, who flashed him a smile every time their eyes met. An encroaching awkwardness swirled around him—the same that nipped at his heels every time he tried to shop for clothes—mingling with concern over his bizarre actions.

Equally as concerning was that he kept having the same thoughts, repeating with no end in sight. If Ryan hadn't noticed anything, someone else definitely had, maybe a judgemental passerby: they were looking, or were they? He should've been grateful for every moment with Ryan, every person who didn't point him out, and for the slip of paper in his pocket folded over multiple times.

He rubbed his palm with his thumb in a slow circle, realized it was the same spot Ryan's finger had ghosted over and stopped, abruptly reaching out to hold a summarily picked clothing in his hands to avoid the nervous habit.

Hundred Power could do almost anything—it enhanced your abilities hundredfold. But his father had never noticed that Yuri's thoughts ran in a closed loop, whipped to chase after each other, so maybe nobody else could tell his thoughts were all wrong: not the cashier, not the woman who passed him by in the aisle just now, and not Ryan.

The other boy was engrossed in going through various pieces of clothing and checking some of them out with thoughtfully pursed lips, eventually disappearing between shelves.

Yuri found himself stuck in place, his thoughts not stumbling over but suspended in motion with him. Every time he felt happy, it was followed by an equal opposing force of the same strength. The pattern was predictable—logical—like the reason why metalloid ions burned in different wavelengths in a simple experiment they'd done in school.

While logic wasn't freeing, it was comforting: he only regretted he couldn't rely on it consistently, see-sawing between being overly emotional and reasonable. I have to focus, he thought, having wasted much time standing still instead of finding clothes to have something to show Ryan.

Finding a consistent array of acceptable shirts was easy, and they were in the area Ryan had pointed out so he hoped they'd suffice. Somehow, he found enough before the time was up and had already rifled through everything he dared.

He sat by the fitting rooms to wait.

Ryan didn't appear once the fifteen minutes were up, the cold disquiet in the pit of Yuri's stomach breaking through the flimsy cage of reasoning he'd built as if it were made out of paper.

“Yuri!… Oi oi, over here! Yuri, look!”

The wide-brimmed sun hat was what Yuri saw first, sitting atop Ryan's head—or rather, it sat precariously balanced on his styled hair, an ill-fitting lid on a Ryan-shaped container. The hat slipped off, turning Ryan's grin into a look of surprise accompanied by a yelp.

Yuri stood up, worried, but Ryan straightened between standees of various headwear and put the hat away. An older woman beside him shook her head at him, her words too hushed to hear.

“Aweh, it's okay! I would've paid for the hat if it broke, yeah?” said Ryan, clear to Yuri because his words were loudly spoken like he was making sure Yuri heard him. After the woman judging him turned away, he started his trek to Yuri, not too far but set apart by the store displays.

“I got mega distracted by some funny stuff I saw so I'm prolly a bit late,” Ryan said after he was close enough to Yuri to speak in a more normal tone (but he was loud all the time). “But I found something awesome.”

Yuri was going to lie that he hadn't noticed Ryan was late when the other boy threw the clothing haphazardly on the chair next to Yuri and unfolded a draping dress made of shiny golden fabric by holding it up by the thin shoulder straps. He held his breath, trying to decide if Ryan had grown tired of him and the dress was the same as the ruffled shirt from before, part of some cruel joke.

“…Awesome?” asked Yuri, carefully.

“You don't think so?”“I… I didn't think you'd wear something like that.”

Ryan tilted his head, amused, not menacing. “I mean, yeah, it wouldn't fit me 'cause it's not my size and stuff, but I mean just the fabric. It's cool, right?”

“Ah, right,” said Yuri, embarrassment pricking his throat. He didn't find the fabric nearly as show-stopping Ryan did because it was patternless, so he opted for a diplomatic answer: “…It's interesting.”

“Awww, c'mon… Okay, I know it's not like, in style at all, but it's so cool. I think wearing it would totally be one of those cases where you're ahead of fashion and stuff!” He threw the dress on top of the other clothes he'd discarded, easy-going after his dramatized disappointment. “You next; show me a cool fabric you picked.”

“I don't think I have anything to compare to taffeta—”

“The what?”

“Taffeta? It's the fabric that the dress is made of…”

“Really? How'd you know?”

The shock of Ryan asking him a question he had an easy answer for ran through him, but maybe it could be one of those things Ryan understood. “…I sew. Not much. I wouldn't say it's a hobby, it's merely because my mother has taught me.”

“Sew? Huh, like clothes for yourself?”

He'd been so excited when he'd finished his Mr. Legend costume for his presentation about him in the first grade, but he'd been a little kid. “No, not really… And I've not made anything complicated, o-only a few simple things. As gifts for my parents.”

“Huh… That's pretty cool. I prolly would be great at sewing too if my mom taught me. I guess she's too busy, though… Uh, I mean, to have a sewing hobby herself. But she's teaching me all the important stuff since I'm her only son and everything, right? Auditing's just mega boring. Meh, whatever…”

Auditing had to do with finances and companies, but that was as much as Yuri knew about it. Most perplexing was that Ryan thought of colour theory as a mysterious colour science Yuri probably didn't know anything about but offhandedly mentioned auditing like it was common knowledge.

“Soooo, what fabrics did you pick?”

“Uhm… Nothing showy like that…” He realized Ryan could barely tell what clothes he had because he'd carefully folded all of it in a pile that now was squeezed against his chest. He let his arms fall, revealing the topmost shirt on the stack. “This shirt is made of mesh cotton, but most polo shirts are.”

“Hmmh,” hummed Ryan, unfolding the first shirt on the pile to hold it up between them. He threw it on the chair next to the clothes he'd already thrown on it, the plain gray polo shirt a stark contrast to the bright shiny dress underneath. All of the clothes Yuri had picked were solid colours in gray, black and white, with the occasional splash of dark brown or a washed-out green or blue.

Not able to stop himself, Ryan went through the entire pile like this until Yuri was left holding a pair of jeans, near-identical to the ones he wore. The jeans were about to join the rest of the clothes when Ryan started gesturing, and Yuri awkwardly put his hands away, unthinkingly wrapping them around himself.

“Right, so, these are kinda nice, but also kinda, like, basic. Uh, many people dress like that, though, but it's an awesome day today, so we should get awesome clothes and everything… I mean, it's kinda cool how many different polo shirts and stuff you found in this one store too, I had no idea there's so many different brands for them… They kinda come in all these muted tones, don't they, but what about brighter colours? You like them, right?”

“Ah… A little.” Despite not saying so to Ryan outright, he did like bright colors, but wearing them was a different obstacle altogether.

“A little? No way, I'm soooo sure you love fun colours.”

“But these are clothes—I shouldn't wear certain colours…”

Ryan chortled before seeing Yuri's face: “You shouldn't?…”

Yuri shrugged.

“Is this like… Your dad's opinion again?”

Yuri looked down at the pile of haphazardly discarded clothes, his boring choices hiding Ryan's golden dress and whatever else he had picked.

“Oh, c'mon, he sounds like a total jerk. Hold these for me,” said Ryan, shoving the pair of jeans back to Yuri and walking across the aisle before glancing back. “I'm gonna pick out some fun clothes I saw, so wait a sec, I'll be back in a minute, okay?”

Yuri nodded. He didn't think his father's view on proper clothing was only the opinion of a jerk (though he did find some odd comfort in Ryan having called his father one); this was about things found acceptable in society. Continental couldn't be wholly different…

The mess Ryan had created blocked the chairs, and he started systematically folding the clothes away without anything else to do. (He didn't want anyone to think he was the cause of the disarray, anyway.)

In the process he went through every piece Ryan had picked—it was an eccentric collection of things that had no specific style as far as Yuri could tell, with various unique fabrics, a faux leather belt with studs in it, jacket lined with synthetic fur, some bright yellows and loud animal prints.

Ryan returned when everything was folded up, waving with a grin.

“You find anything else in the meantime?”

“Hmh? N-Not really, I wasn't looking…”

“That's cool, I've got a bunch of stuff for you,” said Ryan, gesturing to the fitting rooms. Nobody had entered nor left while Yuri had waited by the entrance, and all of the doors were open, six of them, each a window into an identical closet filled with mirrors.

“This one?”

“Mm…” went Yuri, awkwardly fidgeting.

“You first! Or at the same time?”

“First to try on clothes?” muttered Yuri, repeating the question to himself. It didn't matter much whether they took turns or changed in closets next to each other, he supposed. “Um, either is fine…”

Yuri glanced at the clothes Ryan held and then at the fitting room, figuring Ryan would hand them to him once inside—much to his shock, Ryan walked into the same fitting room after him and closed the door.

This is what his question had meant, Yuri understood: he'd asked if they could change clothes at the same time by sharing the small space. Too surprised for anything else than staring, Yuri caught himself looking at Ryan for too long (or so he thought) before turning around to face the corner, panic swelling in his heart.

“…What's up?”

“N-Nothing!” Yuri fumbled with the collar of his shirt, undoing and redoing the upmost button.

There was a reason why he avoided locker rooms and hated changing, and if he was honest with himself, he knew exactly why the other boys at school treated him unkindly—the same reason his mother had written the note that smoldered in his pocket.

“I… I don't want to make you uncomfortable—sorry.”

“Huh, how'd you do that?” Ryan reached beside Yuri to grab one of the shirts he'd hung on the row of coat hooks.

“I might look at you when you change.” The words were hushed and forced out of his mouth as one laborious sentence.

“It'd be hard to not look at me 'cause it's a small space and there's huge mirrors and everything.” Ryan spoke through fabric, voice muffled, busy pulling a shirt over his head. “It's not any different than school locker rooms, right?”

“I suppose,” said Yuri, slowly, trying to think of some way to escape the situation. Ryan fixed the spaghetti straps by pulling at them, making the elastic snap against his skin. The girls' summer camisole sat snugly on him, satin lined with lace in a vibrant plum colour.

“I actually picked this out for you 'cause it's a nice colour, but we're kinda the same size and I wanted to see how it'd look on me. Plus, you're shyer than me so maybe you won't like it?” Ryan cauged his reflection. “Meh, it's way too cute for me… It's a fun shirt, though. What do you think?”

To look at Ryan was now an obligation—it would've been weird to not. Yuri turned around but did not leave the corner, putting as much distance between himself and Ryan as possible.

“You'd probably look good in anything,” he said, every word hesitant and spoken between quick glances.

“Yeaaaah, that's true!" Ryan ruffled his hair and grinned at Yuri who'd fixed his gaze on his sneakers, willing for the Earth to crack open and swallow him up. “…Y'know, Yuri, it's okay if you don't wanna share the fitting room, I don't mind, I'm mega awesome like that.”

Their eyes met, and Yuri's eyes were nearly as melancholic as they'd been when they'd met for the first time in the lecture hall with stuffy, strangulating air.

“I—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm really sorry… I don't know why I sounded so strange earlier and you had to talk about mathematics to change the topic—”

“Huh? Nah, that was… It was 'cause of something I did. Or, uh, thought, I dunno.”

“You haven't done anything wrong, I didn't mean like that—I'm sorry. I don't know… Don't know how to…” Yuri's hands pressed against his chest, a pair of bolts locking the door into his heart, fingers sinking into his palms. “I s-still want to spend time with you, I really do.”

His voice was all worry and desperation so intense it took Ryan by surprise, but it was genuine, the sum of everything he'd noticed Yuri kept to himself. Regrets and concerns built up until Yuri returned to squeezing his arms and adding to the faint blue-black blotches where his fingers had dug into his flesh earlier.

“Of course you wanna hang out with me, I'm the coolest guy you know,” said Ryan, albeit his usual bravado was diminished by a dumbfounded monotone. His hands sought Yuri's, gently prying them free. “But that's the thing: I'm not uncomfortable at all. Yeah?”

“R-Right, sorry for assuming. Not like… Not like there's a-anything to be… Sorry. It's just like school locker rooms.” Yuri pulled his hands away from Ryan's hold. “Sorry that I say sorry all the time, I don't know why.”

The space between them filled with a fear Ryan couldn't recognize.

Yesterday he had thought he might've crossed an unseen boundary Yuri had strung around himself, but perhaps not: now, however, he definitely had. This one he'd walked into, tripped on and trampled over despite it being in plain sight, all because he'd tried to simplify things.

He could’ve shared a fitting room with someone else, but not with Yuri. For him, this must've been more akin to how it would've been when he was shopping with a girl: she might've stuck her tongue out at him while peeking out of the fitting room, but he'd never have thought of sharing the fitting room with her.

Usually nothing dumb was off-limits to Ryan, but he'd never understood the point of sneaking into the girls' locker rooms to catch them unawares—once had been enough despite him being easy to rile up into breaking the rules. He'd gotten into trouble for admitting he'd taken part in it, but he'd only brought it up out of the idea the teacher could tell everyone it had made the girls really upset and the other boys didn't have as many of them as their friends so they probably didn't know.

It'd been naive of him, both to think that it wasn't part of the intended fun to upset others and also to think a teacher would listen to his explanation to figure out he was only trying to make things right. He'd grown out of the idea authorities wanted to help at the same time he'd grown out of thinking staying as everyone's friend was easy—it was near-impossible to be friends with both boys and girls in the same way, and all of the girlfriend business complicated it further…

“S-Sorry…” mumbled Yuri, overwhelmed by Ryan's silence.

“Mm, it's cool.”

Ryan pulled the shirt off himself, hung it on a hook by the straps and put on his original outfit, never having taken the shirt out of the coat. The buttons popped in place with little more than a rustle of fabric.

“Uhm, so, I'll sit outside and you can show me the outfits you like the best, right?”

“I don't—I'm not very good at putting together outfits… I'd just disappoint you,” said Yuri, words tumbling over each other because he was afraid of saying the wrong things.

“I can totally pick out the outfits for you and everything, I love that part! And then it's like, all done, you just try them on.” He gave Yuri a shirt with a subtle floral pattern and a pair of jean shorts, something lighter for the summer but nerdy-looking enough to suit Yuri's tastes (he hoped, since it was very akin to what Yuri already wore).

“Okay…” Yuri's voice faltered and he chewed on his lip, his eyes large when Ryan exited the small fitting closet and closed the door behind him. Based on his sneakers still near the door, visible from the outside, he was listening to what Ryan did.

He dragged one of the chairs from the entrance into the hallway separating the two rows of closets and sat in it while Yuri changed, staring at the sneakers he took off to change once he dared to move, as if placated by Ryan’s idle chattering outside. He would've bought Yuri a really cool pair of shoes if they had more time.

Once Yuri finally emerged, the outfit suited him (of course, since Ryan had picked it) but he'd tucked the oversized shirt into the shorts like he'd dressed for a formal event. It was difficult to not to laugh but Ryan did his best, imagining Yuri's fragile self-confidence crumbling in front of his eyes.

“Pull it out a bit: it'll look more natural. It kinda gets bunched up in the shorts like that…”

“Um, right… L-Like this?” He pulled the shirt out until it didn't sit flush against his body and didn't make the shorts look lumpy. “Yeah!” Ryan teetered in his chair, spinning his finger in a circle to prompt Yuri to turn around to see the outfit in the mirror. He leant to the side to see himself in the reflection next to Yuri. “It's way better like that, right?”

“…I look normal,” said Yuri, like he'd seen himself for the first time. The utterance was filled with such heartfelt amazement that Ryan couldn't help but burst into a loud laughter, almost flipping his chair over.

“I mean—” Ryan fell quiet when Yuri laughed too, an equally amazed almost-giggle that warmed him as much as it confirmed that the other boy could enjoy trying on outfits as much as he did. “You're a weirdo and everything, but you kinda look super duper normal all the time.”

Yuri's smile in the reflection was so sweet that Ryan had to clear his throat and look away (very awesomely), which gave Yuri time to think of a rebuttal.

“It's weirder to like shopping so much.”

“Waah, it's totally not! Besides, I'm gonna make you try on more outfits and you're gonna agree with me, I know you will! It's 'cause we're weird together, eh?”

Ryan stood up and showed Yuri a different shirt, and they continued—they laughed and tried on more clothes, but mainly Yuri while Ryan spent more time finding the clothes. Every single outfit made him happy all over again like he'd never gotten to try on clothes he liked.

With each outfit Yuri got a bit more adventurous and the rough start to the shopping trip became little more than a speed bump, because he ended up daring to try a very brightly patterned tank top at a different store (rather garish, but somehow looked nice on Yuri), even agreeing to let Ryan style his hair for the photos they were going to take. Eventually Ryan excused himself to buy the necessary hair product while Yuri promised to return the clothes he'd tried on last, easily trusting him to return.

The easy-going atmosphere froze into a cold trepidation when Yuri noticed that the slip in the pocket of his jeans must've fallen out sometime during the few hours spent on trying clothes. Someone would pick it up and read it, and he didn't want that to happen—he should've gotten rid of the note and slipped it into a trash bin somewhere.

Yuri passed Ryan by and peeked into the fitting room he'd used, but it was empty.

“Everything okay?…”

“I lost… Ah, an errand list my mother gave me.”

“Huuh… Is it that important? More important than having an awesome time with me, the great and wonderful Ryan?”

Yuri glanced at Ryan who was lazily shaking a container of hair product of some kind in his hand while a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His concerns felt so far away, like they were in a different time and place, irrelevant and small.

“I guess it wasn't so important. She doesn't have anything to do with me hanging out with you, a-and… And having an awesome day.”

“Mmhm, exactly! Also… I think I saw some rest area type of thing by the entrance—I'll do your hair there, and then we can go look if we can find some photo booths, okay?”

“Okay,” said Yuri, a braver smile on his lips than earlier that lighted up his face. Despite lacking in the easy-going optimism that Ryan exhibited, he found himself reflecting the innate light and joy.

He was still lacking, but in Ryan's company, nobody would've been able to tell.

Ryan slipped the container into the bag he was holding and grabbed Yuri by the hand, a touch willingly accepted. Together they rushed out of the store, into the hallway, and down the stairs like running from something or someone, yet not out of fear but of freedom.

In these fleeting moments Ryan wasn't about to leave soon and Yuri wasn't needed at home, and their parents were distant echoes drowned under the sound of footsteps.

“There!…”

Ryan gestured to a small nook near the entrance made more secluded by a decorative art installation—Yuri might've never noticed it had Ryan not pointed it out.

Once the metallic sheet had depicted a beautiful night sky with an endless array of stars made of inlaid glass, the Sun and the Moon on the far sides of the star-filled expanse. Time had worn it down till many of the stars were no more as if they'd sputtered out when the glass spheres had fallen out, and the remaining glass had discoloured.

Rust from the metallic frame seeped into the glass like blood, the Moon no longer a pure silver hue, and the Sun had lost its luster, dull cloudy imperfections under the cracked surface from how kids had made a game of throwing pebbles at the largest star.

“It's real old, huh…”

Yuri stopped next to Ryan, idly noting the spots where glass had fallen out. The art was less interesting than the hero who'd fallen silent, staring up at the art installation with pursed lips.

“You wanted to show this to me?”

“Huh? Naaah, how’d I have known this was here? But you ever see something and go—oh yeah, the passage of time is real—better take a moment to reminisce and all that.” Ryan leant down and picked a fallen star, turning the cracked glass orb in his hand. “I thought Sternbild's putting money in all culture stuff.”

“This shopping centre is owned privately, not by the government.” Many building permits were among the legislations that passed his desk. “It was converted into a twenty-four-seven mall not too long ago due to the decreasing profits in the wake of new development.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“And this mall hardly looks like a place with a repair shop, as you suddenly insisted.”

“Yeah… I kinda lied, y'know?” Ryan winked at Yuri, who stopped in his tracks. “I'll go buy a few things and then we can go to the funicular 'cause it's one of those with a separate vehicle floor, and then I'll get my bike parked to figure out the towing for real.”

“I wish you had told the truth from the start.”

“Honest, I kinda thought it was obvious there's not gonna be a repair shop at a mall,” said Ryan, slowly realizing how seriously Yuri took what he'd considered a harmless white lie at worst. “The parking's like, well, it's so cheap it's basically free, and then I just started saying sh*t when you stopped me outside to question the non-free parking. Y'know how I get, right?”

“I thought I knew, but I am questioning my assessment.”

“I'll only take like a minute and you can wait right here by the entrance—I'm gonna get a hat so fewer people go like, whoo, Golden Ryan!” Ryan fidgeted in place, over-eager to leave as if in a hurry but torn over his desire to explain himself, hands raised in a calming gesture. “Judge, I'll be back so fast, yeah? Ciao!”

Yuri stared at Ryan waving a goodbye and making his way down the hallway at a brisk walk. I should follow him, he decided, but by the time he had the thought, it was already too late: the other man had disappeared from view.

Ryan's lie had been blatant to Yuri from the moment it'd been uttered, but he'd wanted to know where it led. Desiring discretion was much less sinister than he'd envisioned, another piece of evidence that every malicious twist he imagined never came to pass, his thoughts illogically repeating.

Instead of trying to find Ryan fruitlessly, he sat on the bench in the space cordoned off by the art piece and deliberated whether the hero would come back or not. A non-negligible part of him (a part he found difficult to suppress) hoped Ryan would return despite getting him to join this expedition to a mall under false pretenses.

A minute passed, and Ryan hadn't returned, but it was one of his usual exaggerations. Since Yuri's mother would remain in the care home over the weekend to bake with the staff, he had nowhere to be, able to afford to wait for potentially nothing.

Fifteen minutes was how long he was willing to wait—a reasonable amount of time—after which he would take the funicular by himself. Time passed, leaving Yuri in its wake where he barely kept his head over the water and Ryan hadn't returned. Five more minutes; that was more than enough.

One minute past fifteen, Ryan turned the corner of the art piece at speed and then vied nonchalance. Yuri didn't recognize him at first because he was wearing a baseball cap and empty glasses frames that softened his face, similar to the ones he'd worn during the first time they'd met at Hero's Bar, but these ones looked much cheaper and less fitting.

“Took a bit longer than a minute, oops, how's it busy here after midnight, huh?”

“It took you a full sixteen minutes to return.”

“Who're you, Junior? He's always on about wasted time, but it's time well spent if it's me…” He made a dramatic gesture to his head, and Yuri noticed he'd also put his hair into a short messy ponytail. Many strands were too short to be tied and were instead tucked behind his ears or held in place by the hat. “How do I look, eh?”

“Hmh… More discreet.”

“Yeah? Mission accomplished, right? Thought of getting sunglasses but then I couldn't see sh*t; it's too dark outside.” Ryan offered Yuri a paper bag with a rectangular shape inside. “This is for you, by the way.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes. “…I can't recall asking for anything.”

“It's a gift from me, c'mon,” said Ryan, lifting a fancy shoebox out of the bag to parade it in front of Yuri's face and to confirm it wasn't a volatile object. “At least check it out, man.”

Yuri stared placidly at the box, rifling through the memories of every instance he'd turned down Ryan's inane gifts. One gift he hadn't turned down: the Golden Ryan-branded sundae he had eaten—clearly a critical mistake that now egged the other man on.

He reached out to tilt the box, trying to locate the price sticker. Ryan let him until he realized Yuri's aim and pulled the box away from him entirely.

“Oi oi, don't try to see the price 'cause it's not there anyway, open it and look at the damn shoes!”

“I can't accept them,” said Yuri, watching Ryan open the box and tilt it in his direction. One look was enough for him to decide this was Ryan's premeditated practical joke; he would have looked ridiculous wearing them.

The shoes were of treated leather with a deep dark colour that broke into a purple hue in light: men's dress shoes but not the standard fit Yuri wore, the overall shape gracefully pointed and the heel taller. Undoubtedly a costly pair of shoes, and it was miraculous (almost too much so to be a coincidence) that Ryan had found something like them in the mall.

“The receipt for returning them is right there in the bag, sure, but unlike me, you're walking around in wet shoes, so…”

If his leather boots weren't drenched, how did he know?… Yuri shifted where he sat, half expecting to hear his shoes make a wet squelch, but there was no such sound. The only indication of his waterlogged shoes was that the black leather had turned dull in light and his feet were cold.

“I got you socks too, would kinda defeat the point otherwise, right?” Ryan set the shoes on the bench to pick a pair of socks from the bag which he held out. They were black and visually similar to the ones Yuri wore, surprisingly modest and clearly marked as a cheap store brand. Perhaps the shoes only looked so expensive, Yuri couldn't tell—he didn't know the names of luxury brands.

It would've been ridiculous to deny Ryan's gift in favour of walking around in wet shoes and socks like a petulant child. “They may not be my size and thus ill-fitting.”“Nah, they'll fit, they were picked out by me, yeah? You shouldn't doubt me on this stuff.”

Yuri revised the evening in his mind; being a passenger on Ryan's motorcycle, talking with the hero’s mother in passing, agreeing to accompany him to the funicular, and concluded that accepting a pair of shoes to replace his drenched ones was a minor ridiculousness in comparison.

“Fine, but only to replace mine due to the unfortunate situation you forced upon me by driving off the road.” Yuri leant down to start unlacing his shoes, picking out Ryan's self-satisfied expression from the corner of his eye. The man sat beside him, ripped open the sock packaging and put one sock in either shoe in the shoebox, which he then set on the floor in front of Yuri.

Ryan scrolled through his phone while Yuri changed out his sock without letting his foot touch the ground, his sock garter clipping onto it without needing adjustment, but Yuri knew he was keeping an eye on him nonetheless.

The behaviour was nonstandard. He purposefully gave Yuri privacy by focusing on his phone as if there'd been something inappropriate in looking at him. Upon reviewing the facts, Yuri realized that Ryan hadn't looked at him stuffing his pant legs into his socks beyond the initial curious glance he'd caught in the side view mirror.

A bizarre coincidence, perhaps, but Yuri couldn't overrule that Ryan thought him to be hideous in every way. A logical conclusion: he didn't enjoy looking at his own visage either, having covered up any and all reflective surfaces in his private room in the house he called home and shared with his mother.

He stood up in one fluid motion after finishing lacing the shoes and took a few tentative steps. The shoes fit him well, Yuri was loath to admit, and felt comfortable to wear despite being brand new, the leather pliable and soft.

“They fit perfectly, eh?” Ryan put away his phone, pointing to the mirror-covered wall opposite the art installation which Yuri had pointedly ignored this far. “Check 'em out.”

Slow and measured, Yuri turned to observe his reflection (as any normal person would've done), careful to never raise his gaze to where he would be forced to see his face. His flared pants sat on him better with the taller heels in a subtle way he couldn't ever have come up by himself.

“Ah, thank you…” The words were foreign objects in his mouth, rendering his tone softer than intended.

“Huh, what'd you say? Thanks, really? For what?…” Ryan's tone was playful, his deep-set eyes lit with a mischievous spark, knowing well what Yuri meant but wanting to hear him repeat it. Unlike Ryan, Yuri was not a difficult child but a judge; he had no issues admitting to simple realities.

“Indeed, the shoes are comfortable and fit me well enough.” Yuri cleared his throat upon finding the softness persisted. “I thank you, and will have to reimburse you, of course.”

“Eh, there you go again… It's gonna look weird if my boss wires me that much money out of the blue. For some shoes, too.” Ryan tilted his head to the side when Yuri frowned at the claim about their high cost. “But I have a solution: let me style you, and we're even, okay?”

“…Style me?” asked Yuri in a dry tone that fit his mouth much better. “That hardly sounds compensatory.”

“Uh-huh, that so? I mean, it breaks about even between the shoes and getting the great Golden Ryan style you.”

“And what exactly am I providing to you in this exchange?”

“Yourself as my model, duh, that's a real once-in-a-lifetime experience. Hard to match, but y'know, since it's me I don't think I'm underselling the occasion or anything either.” Ryan raised his hands in a calming gesture when Yuri didn't look too happy. “Oi oi, I'm being serious about this; you don't wanna owe me and I don't want your money. This fixes it, and we can argue about the engine some other time. I'm not a guy who goes back on his word.”

“You did lie to me about the parking and repair a moment ago, rather brazenly, all to manufacture false pretenses under which to stop by this shopping centre.”

Brazenly, repeated Ryan in his mind. Displeasure he understood, but to call his joke of a lie brazen was petty of Yuri, though somewhat endearing.

“Well, yeah… But this mall was in our route anyway so it wasn't a detour. Plus,” said Ryan, raising his brows, “I didn't really force you anywhere and you could've left any time you wanted, but you didn't. What's up with that, eh?…”

“I would not go back on my word to reimburse your motorcycle's repair. I had to stay.” Ryan's expression turned so soft that Yuri couldn't bear seeing him and what was perhaps some heroic pity for a man bound by rules seen and unseen, strung beside them like a puppet in a children's play. “Do it, then.”

“Do it, the styling? You don't even know what it entails: a rash decision from a judge, doncha think? Based on what I told you, how'd you decide it's fair?”

“To make a decision within your inane parameters, I must make it as you would: far too quickly and on a whim.”

“Hey, you gotta have quick thinking on the field, and I'm good at that. The best, really, if we wanna compare.”

“We don't have all night to spend on your egomania.”

“I kinda wish we had all night… Anyway, I don't want you to twist my arm again, so letting you know, I'll have to touch your clothes,” said Ryan. “Y'know, same as if you've ever had a stylist for a publicity event, but like a personal one this time.”

Yuri unerringly waved off people trying to apply powder before he appeared on camera, but HeroTV (or Agnes herself) had never complained because he hadn't stuck out. Whatever Ryan considered normal was hardly normal for anyone else, something he most likely failed to realize despite being more clever than he let on. Yuri would save time by going along with him: pointing it out would've only drawn unnecessary attention.

“Yes, I am well aware—and as I said, we don't have all night.”

“If you say so…” Ryan stepped closer to Yuri and reached over his shoulders to hold the lapels of his jacket, exactly the same way he'd help his avec at a high-end celebration out of her jacket. “Let's get the coat off for a bit, yeah?”

“…Very well.” Anything else that nonchalance would've been abnormal, and Yuri was committed to not appearing as such.

Ryan carefully laid the coat on the bench they'd sat on. He returned to standing somewhere beside and diagonally behind Yuri, too close to be socially acceptable.

“You like this combo, the ruffled dress shirt and the high-waisted flared pants—the only thing I've seen you wear besides the suits at work, but hey, naturally you've been dressing your best to meet up with me, so it's your favourite,” asserted Ryan to no reaction and continued, “It suits you, yeah? The flared pants look better when you've got more heel like with these shoes; makes your legs look even longer, works nice with your posture, raises the hem slightly further from the ground so it's more practical.”

“You have a very limited view of my taste in clothing,” said Yuri but couldn't deny having dressed his best so he chose to not engage in feeble denial. Ryan's observations on his clothing and body were delivered without ire nor comedy despite Yuri trying to quietly manufacture hidden value judgements into his words.

“Ha, guess so. Either way, you're about as tall as me, but you've got a more slender figure.” A fashion show bod, Ryan had said a few weeks ago in a Justice Tower hallway. “But when you tuck your shirt in like this, it kinda counteracts it. Wear whatever you wanna, but I'd pull it out a bit, yeah?”

Ryan's hands ghosted against Yuri's sides before he pulled the shirt out enough to have the fabric gather and billow above the high waistline of his pants. Yuri watched the reflection of his hands in silence where they almost touched him but didn't, sure to only touch the fabric. The carefulness wasn't Ryan's usual hands-on style.

“So… Y'know, the draping emphasizes your waist and breaks the silhouette when it sits like this instead of clinging onto you, tucked in all neat—”

“And your clothing doesn't cling to you?”

Ryan chuckled. “Not so many ways to wear a leather motorcycle suit, y'know?”

“Hmh,” went Yuri, standing still and quiet. Ryan was close enough for him to smell his body spray (or was it cologne this time?) and the faint musky scent of sweat from him having pushed his motorcycle in the park.

“You ever wear your hair in a braid?” asked Ryan, making Yuri blink and refocus his gaze where the white fabric gathered around his waist, the draping of his shirt certainly much more natural than what it usually was.

“…On some occasions.” Sometimes he would sit still for his mother while she wondered when his hair had gotten so long, braided it and called him Yurochka like he was a child again. Besides those rare evenings, he braided his hair loosely to keep it out of the way during household chores or when he slept, but he'd never found the time to practice braiding his hair enough to be satisfied.

“How come I've never seen you with one?”

“Your point being?”

“I'll braid your hair for you, then I'm all done.”

“…You are able to braid?”

“Why're you that surprised? I'm the great Golden Ryan, of course I can braid, duh… Is there something I can't do?” The words were cheeky and did little to reassure Yuri of his capabilities. “I'll do a French braid, half starting on the side where you clip it back. I'll leave you that fringe too, you'll see.”

“And where do you intend to do this?”

“Sit at the end of the bench, I'll sit behind you?”

Hesitation crumbled and turned to quiet agreement far too easily, lured by the promise and threat of illicit moments of casual intimacy; continued quick thinking and more inane decisions on a whim (and any logic to his actions had long since frittered). Barely lucid from the weight of his actions, Yuri found himself at the end of the bench where Ryan settled by sitting open-legged behind him, maintaining a respectful distance.

“…What's up, Judge?”

“The ceiling, I presume,” said Yuri, dryly.

“Thought you were a judge, not a jester, eh,” went Ryan without finding a way to continue his line of questioning, thrown off by the uncharacteristic deadpan joke that distracted him long enough for Yuri to change the topic.

“At the very least, you should have a comb and additional hair clips, for without them I fear your attempt is doomed to fail,” he continued, disgruntled to find himself allowing a Ryan-like smugness seep into his voice. He huffed, tousling the wavy locks falling over his cheek. His hair was no easy beast to tame, all waves, curls, and silken strands that slipped away from grasp, so Ryan would have to admit defeat before starting.

“Funny thing, I've actually got all of that, uh-huh… Check this bad boy out.” A rustle sounded, after which Ryan reached forward to give a translucent plastic package to Yuri who cautiously took it.

“Bunny and Lioness Hair Accessory Kit,” he read off the cover. “Side B. Show your supervillain side: super dark, but still super glam.”

Ryan chuckled behind him. “Man, I wanna hear you say that again.”

“Why do you have a children's hair accessory craft kit?”

“I love bootleg stuff so much you don't even know… But, really, 'cause it came with a comb, plain hair ties and clips, eh. I mean, you wanna add crystals and glitter to them? You can if you wanna, there's like, glue and pincers in there and whatever.”

“…You planned for this.”

“Yeah, kinda… Brazenly lied about the parking and repair, then foresaw all this playing out like a supervillain.” Ryan showed he'd already picked out the glittery black comb, which was flimsy and of pathetic size because it was more of a children's toy than an actual comb. “Y'know, 'cause I'm super dark, but still super glam, so it distracts you so bad you can't tell I'm secretly evil and always planning to collapse Sternbild.”

Yuri huffed, undoing the ribbon and hair clips holding his hair before Ryan could complain.

“Sorta stings; I wasn't popular enough with kids to get bootlegged on that thing. They have bad taste or something. Bunny and Lioness? Uh-huh, my old partner's stealing my blonde guy spotlight and my current partner's going around stealing my gimmick… Damn, I'm the lion.” Ryan's rant was in good humour, and he continued talking without waiting for a reply while partitioning Yuri's hair, which his delicate touch made stand on end. “Makes sense, though, 'cause the funniest Golden Ryan bootleg thing I've seen was—nah, I change my mind, it's only funny to me, you wouldn't get it…”

The quietude afterwards stretched time out and made Yuri needlessly aware of Ryan's fingers lightly brushing against him. “Try,” he said, if only to break the silence.

“You didn't like the co*ck statue joke either, though, this is kinda similar…”

“Prompting you to speak will save us both the trouble, as I can only presume you would talk circles around the topic and then end up sharing nonetheless,” sighed Yuri, his tone prompting a laughter from Ryan. He felt the laughter against the nape of his neck as a sudden exhale during which Ryan leant more forwards, and his eyes fluttered.

“Ha, fine, you asked for it; the story of the funniest Golden Ryan bootleg. Years back I was scouring random shops, then I turn around and see my bastardized logo—my old one, it's a bit different, but besides the point—and I look at it closer and it's on a poster advertising lion's virility, something like that. And it used an unreleased pic from some photoshoot a month or so ago that I'd knocked off 'cause the almost-naked photos didn't fit what I meant to go for at the time.”

Yuri thought about Ryan's words in silence, frowning. These days, even Yuri had seen more of Ryan's body than he cared to because the hero didn't shy away from showing it off.

True to his word about a side braid, Ryan finished partitioning most of Yuri's hair into what'd be a braid that ran across where he usually clipped his hair back but left him a generous fringe, never coming close to touching the parts where a scar ran against his scalp.

“I was wearing swimwear but looked totally naked in the poster, like as if I was holding my co*ck on the poster 'cause the crotch area's censored by the advertised pill bottle… See, they stole my photos for some impotency med, it was named golden-something, and made it look like I'm endorsing them… Can you turn your head to the side a bit? Yep, like so, thanks.”

“And how did they acquire the relevant photo?”

“Meh, turned out the photos leaked 'cause the photographer was looking for a quick buck. I wasn't so big back then and didn't have much experience in legal matters, so I went like, f*ck it, whatever, this is part of my thing now. I was still learning to manage myself, so I was, what, eighteen or nineteen? Something like that—my bad for not looking into that photographer better.”

“You don't consider that an egregious violation of your privacy—more, your personhood?” Privacy violation at best, as it would've constituted harassment in Sternbild.

“Huh?” went Ryan, so surprised he stopped braiding.

“You once told me that you have no interest in fraternizing with your manager due to the commercials he has approved your partner to film. I need not guess which ones you meant because I know; she is young and has been a hero for years, and they are suggestive to say the least. Yet here you are, presenting this story as your funniest bootleg encounter.”

“Oh, but that's different.”

“…How so?”

The braid slipped from Ryan's grasp, the slightest touch of unraveling hair against the side of his hand burning it anew—he probably should've followed Yuri's advice and cooled it for ten, twenty minutes.

Since he was mediocre at taking advice and bad at following rules, it was pure irony he worked with a partner whose public persona had an endless maze of restrictions. Don't stand too close to Blue Rose but don't be distant. Don't smile at her too much but be friendly enough.

Don't be so much like you, Golden Ryan.

They'd say all of that while Karina was dressed in what was best described as a glorified piece of swimwear as mandated by Titan Industry—she was supposedly in a cute nurse costume but a cute nurse wasn't what sprung to mind when evaluating her risque outfit. A sight they thought Ryan couldn't resist but that's what pissed him off the most about the endless remarks; he had no problems treating Karina strictly as his colleague.

Beyond her being younger than he was, she plainly had no experience with anything Ryan had gone through many times over before he'd been her age. Karina's hero life had stolen more than half her life away and rid her of so much; she didn't have an embarrassing story about her first kiss, hell, she hadn't been in any sort of relationship—all she had to show for her teen years was an unattainable crush on Kotetsu of all people.

He couldn't help but feel protective over her despite promising not to be since she was one of those people who pushed themselves too hard for their own detriment, wanting to excel and fit some imaginary mold of perfection.

It was different when he'd been in her position. He was different.

Ryan Goldsmith was Golden Ryan, and Golden Ryan was Ryan Goldsmith; there was no meaningful distinction, not like there was for Blue Rose and Karina Lyle, or how there was for Barnaby Brooks Junior the hero, and the Barnaby whose day got thoroughly ruined when an overzealous fan unpredictably spoke to him at the supermarket.

At this point someone could bite off a piece of him and he'd laugh. Golden Ryan was made for consumption, so of course he was irresistible.

“I mean, kinda isn't any different, but it's no biggie to me, I adjusted.” Ryan continued braiding where he'd let off, the hair against his fingers soft and sleek. “Rose's got it way worse anyways, eh…”

“I am inclined to agree but worse doesn’t turn bad into good. Blue Rose also enjoys the privacy of a concealed identity, whereas you do not.”

“I'm no different than Junior then, am I? Anyhow, Titan Industry's kinda stringing Rose along when they'd be nothing without her… And y'know how Rose wants to be a hero, a singer, and get a master's degree or something? There's leverage to fix her contract right there, 'cause she'd be good at those other things too.”

“What about you?”

“Me?… I mean, I love talking about myself, but—”

“Have you no other prospects?”

“Yeah, well… Can you give me a clip from the baggie? Gotta hold this hair in place for a bit.” Yuri picked out a clip and offered it over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

“As for me—Titan Industry's a real piece of work, so I'll help out my partner. Her parents aren't in the business like I am, so… I'll see that some other dumb sh*t I got caught in never happens to her,” said Ryan, and Yuri inclined his head to the side ever so slightly like in an unsaid question, only noticeable because he was braiding his hair. “Almost done—I'll tie this off with the ribbon you use?”

The black ribbon was tangled around Yuri's fingers like spiderweb. He considered denying it from Ryan but ultimately saw no reason to, so he unwound it from his hands and set it on Ryan's palm.

“Wouldn't be your hair if you didn't have this dramatic ribbon on… Mmhm, there we go; I'm done.” Ryan flipped his work over Yuri's shoulder, his hair long enough even when braided. The ribbon had been tied into a neat bow tie that echoed how Yuri tied it himself, but it was smaller and the trailing ends were longer.

Ryan stood up and offered his hand, which Yuri took with an embarrassing lack of hesitancy. He pulled him to his feet but the touch was never rough, and following Ryan's hand in his, he spun after the man to face the mirror. Yuri had avoided focusing on his visage when Ryan had initially worked on his clothes, now lifting his eyes to see the entirety of himself.

No cracks appeared in the mirror from a potentially hideous sight despite Yuri seeing himself whole.

The braid was incredibly tidy for something Ryan had created without more than a cheap comb and a few flimsy accessories to hold his hair in place while he'd braided it. The hairstyle replaced the usual hair clips at Yuri's temple with a braid on the side of his head that joined the larger braid where his loose ponytail usually was.

Locks of hair falling over the side of his face had stayed unchanged, never compromising his comfort—it was nearly uncanny, stoking the cinders of worry that Ryan knew too much.

Somehow Ryan had elevated his usual look into something that made him look more pointedly effeminate (but he'd always wanted to be beautiful, not ruggedly handsome) and effortlessly stylish, something he never achieved despite his best efforts.

“Am I gonna escort you hand-in-hand for the rest of the evening?”

“Mn?…” Yuri pulled his hand away after registering he'd rested his hand on Ryan's like a Victorian lady being chaperoned, the pointed tips of his ears rosy where his makeup didn't reach. “I thought it was a continuation of your styling.”

“Kinda was; it's not finished till you give your review on the completed look.” Ryan gestured to their reflections, standing next to him and playing with the zipper of his driving suit.

“Well, I look rather normal, if not unprecedentedly… Fashionable despite the changes being few in number, yet it suits me well enough.” Yuri thought Ryan looked a little too pleased with himself. “A surprising result, given your personal inclinations for the loud and unnecessarily attention-grabbing.”

“Who am I to stop other people from looking real normal?… Though, you'd grab my attention if I saw you pass me by, just saying.” Ryan met Yuri's gaze evenly, unflinching when Yuri turned his head to look at him directly instead of his reflection. “That's why we're here, aren't we? All 'cause of your weird vibes that I was picking up on.”

The comment was unexpected enough to make Yuri huff out a laugh, having expected something far more coquettish. “Of course.”

“No denying it, huh?”

“I have heard my nature is off-putting more times than I can count—to deny it would be tantamount to denying basic laws of the universe.” Like gravity, some things were unavoidable and true.

“That's not what I said, though. I said you've got weird vibes, not that you’re off-putting. There's a difference, eh?”

“And as such, there is no harm done if I were to call you a bizarre man with eccentric habits?”

“Basically a compliment.” Ryan hummed, offering Yuri his coat. “You think too much, you know that? Everything would be a lot easier if you didn't. I mean what I say, not something else.”

“Yet you built up a superfluous lie to justify our detour to this shopping centre, unnecessarily convoluting a straightforward matter.” He took the coat and wore it, careful to not get the braid caught under the collar.

“Aw, give me a break, Judge… We’ve both got some bad habits about making stuff messier than need be, but I’m always on my best behaviour otherwise, right?”

Yuri shook his head and turned away. The reflection in the mirror betrayed him, making a show of how he rolled his eyes with a faint smile on his lips, all of which Ryan saw and committed to memory despite knowing the private expression was never meant for him to see.

The mockery was deserved—especially when Yuri packed his old shoes into the shoe box and settled it in the paper bag where he found a piece of paper folded over multiple times. Ryan snapped out of his dream-like state and snatched it out of his fingers with a whoa.

“...Something private?”

“Just the receipt. That’s for me only.” Ryan put the paper into the wallet in his breast pocket for safekeeping, where it weighed like lead against his heart.

The truth was that he’d found this paper on the floor of a fitting room a long time ago, and he’d meant to return it to Yuri after he’d recognized the art installation with the Sun, the Moon and the stars between them… The lack of reaction had thrown him off the plan he’d deliberated from the moment he’d found the paper in some old folder of his and effortlessly slotted into today’s nightly escapade once he’d realized they could visit this particular mall on their way to the funicular.

Yuri didn’t like lies or false pretenses—Ryan didn’t want him to think some hazy memories were the only reason he wanted to spend time with him, and since the other man had never replied to the letters he’d sent… Well, maybe it was better this way.

Nothing wrong with wanting to keep things simple.

Chapter 8: Fact-Fiction & Past-Present (Fool Me Twice, Shame On Me)

Chapter Text

“Which one is your fave?”

Ryan gestured to the art installation next to the benches when Yuri blinked in confusion. Sunlight filtered through the glass orbs set into a polished metallic frame, reflecting splashes of colour around them. The spheres portrayed simplified constellations and inaccurately sized depictions of the Sun and the Moon, the lightless Earth in the center carved out of the dark metal of the frame.

“Y'know… Which one of those,” Ryan gestured to the stars with a nod, “is your fave, if you can pick.”

“My favourite constellation?...”

“Eeeeh… I kinda meant like, what's your fave glass ball, haha—they're all different sizes and colours, right? But yeah, sure. I didn’t notice it had any constellations, like, I totally could’ve, but I focused on the colours, so.” The other boy shrugged (and definitely couldn’t name a single constellation). Maybe he couldn’t see past the stylization, which Yuri could help him with by guiding his eye.

“This star chart takes some artistic liberties, but the central one—here—is Orion above the Earth… ” He glanced at Ryan, who was studying the metal plate with a furrowed brow, trying to follow the path Yuri drew across the stars with his finger. He sat so close their thighs brushed against each other. “And Orionids—the meteor shower appearing to originate from the area—are prominently visible a little above it in the night sky… There, in the cusp between Orion and Gemini.”

“Yeah, like shooting stars?... Oi—that’s my zodiac sign!”

“Gemini?” Yuri remembered the birthday marked on Ryan's passport at the end of June, almost on summer solstice but before the days started to shorten. Maybe he could've been invited to his birthday party next year if only Ryan didn’t live so far away. Yuri hadn’t been invited to one in years and held none.

“Yep! Sooo, is Orion your fave constellation?” He gave Yuri a lop-sided smile. “Or Gemini, maybe?”

“I like the ones that have long histories.” Yuri's smile turned bashful at the easily given admission, his gaze straying and falling from the make-believe stars. “I-It's fun to read about those things and what ancient people thought they saw in the stars: sometimes we see the same things, sometimes the old constellations are no more. For example, Orion was a hunter for the ancient Greeks, and Taurus next to him his prey—but I don't think it's my favourite, or if I have favourite at all…”

“Whah, there's constellations that aren't constellations anymore?... Is Gemini a cool one, though? For the Greeks or whoever?” Ryan’s shoulder bumped against his, prompting Yuri to continue talking out of the fear of causing a quiet moment between them (during which Ryan could've drawn away, maybe—this was far from a logically sound conclusion). Yuri’s cheeks felt warm.

“I’m not sure if it’s cool, but Gemini is associated with twins, usually the heroes Castor and Polydeuces—the Dioscuri. Um, but Polydeuces is better known as Pollux.” He paused while Ryan oohed and nodded as if he knew anything about the subject, which he clearly didn’t. Mild regret over his (probably dull) subject matter couldn’t stop Yuri from finishing his explanation. “Some saw the constellation to represent Apollon and Heracles instead, the former a god and the latter the best of ancient Greek heroes venerated as one. There's not much connection between the two pairs of siblings, though all but Apollon were part of the Argonauts later…”

“Huuh, alright,” went Ryan, and then said nothing more. The silence Yuri wanted to avoid came and went without Ryan drawing back. He caught the other boy studying his face from the corner of his eye but couldn’t make out his expression (out of the fear of staring too much).

He rubbed his palm with his thumb.

Unsure what Ryan’s lack of further reaction meant, Yuri faltered despite what Ryan had said about him explaining things before: mythology was a more esoteric subject matter than physics or chemistry, perhaps something less pleasant to hear about.

“S-Sorry for going on about something like this. It's not awfully interesting, just something I read about.”

“It's fun when you explain stuff, though.”

“I-It is?”

“That's what I've been saying! It’s fun ‘cause you know a lot of stuff I don't since it's nothing we would've learned at school and is like, obscure stuff, yeah? Plus, your face kinda really lights up…” Ryan trailed off and gestured weakly before resting his hands in his lap to pick at his black nail polish. “Uh, you look excited and stuff, and it’s fun when other people have fun—I mean, that's normal to think, right?”

Yuri looked down at Ryan's hands in his lap, ripped black jeans matching the nail polish he was absent-mindedly picking off, then his own. His fingers twitched when he realized how easy it would be to put his hand on Ryan’s. The thought made him ball his hands into fists to ensure it wouldn’t happen as if he could spontaneously lose control of his body.

Ryan leaned down into an awkward position to catch Yuri’s eye, his face swimming into view and ripping Yuri from his thoughts: “Who're the Argonauts? You mentioned them—sounds kinda cool!”

“They were a crew of heroes assembled by Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece, which he needed as proof of him being the rightful king of Iolcos,” recited Yuri like he’d been called to the front of the class, relying on a sentence read in a book to guide him along rather than carefully picking his words when he at first found himself far too distracted by Ryan's black nails. “And, Heracles is the only one of the three heroes I mentioned who didn’t stay for the entire journey.”

“So did that Heracles guy do anything extra cool if he was the best of the best? Kinda like me, eh? I'm gonna be like that as a hero, y'know: the only number one, for sure!”

“...He did various things,” said Yuri, racking his brain for a good example to tell Ryan, something that didn’t exemplify any of Heracles’ major human flaws. The ancient Greeks were as fond of tragedies and depressing morals as they loved tales of heroic triumphs. “He completed twelve extraordinary feats, the first of which was to slay the Nemean Lion: a monster with an invulnerable golden pelt, which he afterwards wore as armor.”

“Hmm… That is super cool,” agreed Ryan, leaning over him to grab the shopping bag set on the bench on the other side of Yuri, who proved to be a meaningless obstacle.

“And, uhm, o-once he wrestled with Thanatos and became the only one to ever successfully cheat death—though he helped someone else rather than doing it for himself. But it’s a long, convoluted story…”

“Let me guess, Thanatos is like the Grim Reaper?” He glanced at the other boy while straightening with the rustling bag in tow.

“Sort of… But—but despite being merciless in some stories, he was initially meant to be the god of peaceful death.” He could’ve taken Yuri right now, who was too at peace with how this day had gone so far despite his embarrassingly fluttering heart.

“Hmm… No scythe or anything like that?” Ryan set the bag down at his feet and made a scythe-slicing whoosh with his mouth while gesturing the act of reaping.

“He didn’t carry a weapon… Sometimes an upside-down torch to signify an extinguished life. In art, at least, as a symbol to recognize him by.” A smothered fire, the remnants of a flickering soul held in the palm of his hand—but Yuri only ever thought about fire during school experiments with the Bunsen burner, and Thanatos' voice didn't echo across empty rooms or the negative spaces where something had once been.

“Why were the other guys called Argonauts anyway? It sounds like astronauts, like they went to space to study the Orionoids, haha.” Ryan leaned back and made a loose gesture with his hand, effortlessly transitioning from holding an imaginary scythe into dramatic questioning. Orionids, thought Yuri, but only smiled without correcting Ryan.

“They sound similar because they have the same root; it’s originally Greek. Um, like the word nautical… I think it comes from a word that means sailor.” Yuri’s digression made Ryan whisper the words to himself in wonder, holding his chin. “And the ship they sailed on was called the Argo… She could talk because the gods helped in building her, and once she spoke to explain that she couldn’t carry Heracles any longer.”

“Hey, what does she have against Heracles?” asked Ryan, and Yuri pursed his lips, unsure. He couldn’t remember that part.

“There's multiple different versions of the journey since it’s such an old story and a popular myth. I know the more common version better, the one that says Heracles didn’t continue the journey because Hylas, his… Um…” Yuri felt conflicted, having perused this issue many times over because Heracles and Hylas were more than simply companions.

The former had killed the latters’ father over something petty, then taken him in as a protege and fallen in love. As grotesque and uncomfortable (many of the myths were) as it might be—it remained the first confirmation in Yuri's mind that love need not only exist between a man and a woman.

Hylas had beautiful wavy hair that he wore long, the way Yuri's father would never allow for him. Sometimes, he thought about being allowed to grow his hair out and dreamed of being whisked away on an adventure: it didn’t matter where, why, or how as long as he could disappear from the life he had been ordained by fate. Maybe the longing made him equally grotesque (this is what the other boys saw and hated), but at least he was mature for his age, so it would’ve been different than in the myth.

The myths weren't all bad: he’d also found out about Achilles and Patroclus, even loaned a thick dissertation on the Iliad, and then promptly returned it to the library when his mother had once questioned why he was reading something like that.

To cover his tracks, he’d loaned many books for appropriate reasons, learning much more about ancient Greek myths than he’d intended. (But with the note his mother had written for him, maybe the charade had been in vain.) He rubbed his thumb against the center of his palm in anxious circles.

Ryan was about the same age as him, much like Achilles and Patroclus were equals with different strengths that complimented each other—but why was it that every time one of them had to die?

He wanted the sort of romance princesses found in children's cartoons (which he absolutely did not watch, not really, he was too old for that) where nothing could get to them, all evil vanquished by the power of love… But reality never worked out like that, not when heroes sent apology baskets picked out by assistants without even bothering to sign their name on the card.

Just as he'd realized the impossibility of happy endings, so had he realized that Hylas was only a possession to Heracles who nonetheless loved him, which he now found not at all hard to understand. (And, he thought bitterly, Hylas escaped from Hercules when taken by the nymphs, but there’s nobody to save my mother. Nobody knows but me.)

Sometimes, he wished his father didn’t exist.

Not that he dreamed of anything terrible happening to his father—daydreams were only that, pointless thoughts. There was no balm to soothe the open sore of who and what his father had become, and his mother would never treat him as kindly as she once had. And Ryan was going to leave, and they’d never meet again.

“Hylas was some other hero?”

“Yeah,” Yuri breathed, surprised to be drawn out of his thoughts by Ryan’s voice almost next to his ear, humiliated to realize he must’ve been still and quiet for a long time. He turned his face to Ryan’s direction and jerked backwards when he saw the other boy’s face right in front of him, awkwardly shuffling back on the bench till they weren’t sitting so close to each other. Some other hero was close enough; the rest wasn’t necessary to know. “Hylas goes missing, and while Heracles is searching for him, the rest of the Argonauts depart to continue the journey.”

“Whaaat? No way, they just left them? Why didn’t they join up later?”

“Um… Well, Heracles never finds Hylas.”

“But he’s the best hero, so shouldn’t he—how hard could it be to find one person?” Ryan tilted his head to the side, frowning.

“The heroes in the myths are more akin to powerful people who usually end up doing good but not always,” Yuri added, carefully placing his words because he wasn’t wholly talking about the Argonauts anymore. He thought about what Ryan said yesterday and the things he hadn't dared to say in response—maybe it was a bit tacky to say this, but he thought Ryan wouldn’t mind. “Many of them were sometimes awful people too.”

“Oh, okay,” agreed Ryan without any hesitation, “I thought they were like movie heroes, I guess, not kinda like real people.”

“R-Right… Um, I suppose it’s more in the way of… The mythical heroes exist to convey some morals or ideas rather than be perfect. There’s a lot of literary analysis about it…” Yuri trailed off when he saw Ryan try a bit too hard to mask an emotion, rigorously nodding.

“Yep, mmhm, super cool!”

The corners of Yuri’s lips curled into a shy smile. “It’s okay… I know you think reading and writing book reports is boring.”

“Wha—no, I don't!” Ryan met Yuri’s smile for a moment and sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. When he spoke up again, his voice was less boisterous. “...I guess I do, yeah. But it's different when it's you. So… I just hope you won’t ask me about it ‘cause I don’t know what to say to stuff like that. I don't even remember when I last read a book—like, the entire thing. Not even that poetry book I've got… Yeah, I guess I told you about that. Ugh, I wish you’d explain every book to me the same way you’re explaining this constellation stuff; that’d make it all way better. If you wanted to, I mean.”

“...It’s fun to answer your questions.” The other boy was talkative, but a surprisingly good listener and asked relevant questions. A short silence flitted around them, broken by far-away sounds of other customers and Ryan rhythmically tapping the bench.

“Hum…Well, I've got another question: is Argo a constellation, too? The talking ship or whatever.”

“Ah, it is!” Yuri was taken aback by his own enthusiasm, mouthing a sorry and looking at Ryan with big eyes, but the other boy only tilted his head to the side with a smile as if to prompt him to continue. “It was a constellation called Argo Navis, the biggest constellation in the southern sky. Um, in the entire sky actually, but it proved to be unwieldy, so it was split apart into three smaller constellations: Carina, Puppis, and Vela.”

“Carina and Vela sound like girls' names, right, but then the middle one’s like, eh, maaaybe like puppies. Just said in a funny way.”“Puppis is Latin for poop deck,” said Yuri abruptly in his enthusiasm to further the conversation, reddening in the face after realizing how loudly he had spoken the words poop deck and further embarrassing himself. It was worse to react so strongly to saying something as inconsequential as poop deck since he wasn’t eight years old—he couldn’t have explained to anyone that his father sometimes threw fits over most mundane language to chastise him so he tried to prune any potentially offending words out of his speech.

“Puppis… More like poop piss,” said Ryan without missing a beat, laughed, and repeated it until Yuri laughed too, his ridiculous, sprawling worry forgotten. “What part of the ship even is that?”

“I think the back of the ship?... But I don’t know why it’s called that.”

“Cool! Man, I’m still thinking about how everything’s like, the Argonauts, and, uh… Carina and stuff, and there’s like, Heracles… But their leader is Jason? I know like, two guys whose name is Jason; it’s a super duper normal name.”

“I think it would’ve been written with an I instead of a J… Since it’s Greek. Well, i-it’s more or less the same sound, so I don’t know if that matters, and it would’ve been a different alphabet…”

Ryan spoke over the last part of Yuri’s sentence: “Huuh, right. That makes it seem kinda cooler. Y’know, one of my girl friends taught me some—a girl who's my friend, not a girlfriend.”

“Um, taught you what?” asked Yuri, a humiliating, now-familiar tinge of jealousy in his voice despite Ryan’s clarification.

“Some Greek—the language—but the letters are way too hard. They’re the same as, like, the Russian letters, eh… It’d be easier if it was written with the normal letters.”

“The Greek alphabet is different from the Cyrillic alphabet, which I assume is what you called the Russian alphabet despite many languages using it… Normal depends on what you're used to.” Yuri played with the lapels of his floral t-shirt. His mother had taught him Cyrillic despite him having nowhere to use it; he slowly made his way through a book written in Russian he’d found at the library with the help of a dictionary, but he wasn’t good enough to read anywhere near fluently.

“Huh, I guess you're right. But what’re the letters called that I’m talking about, for English and like, Italian and stuff?” He rummaged through the paper shopping bag set on the floor by his shoes.

“The Latin alphabet.”

“Oooh, right! I totally knew that,” went Ryan, pulling out the container of hair product he’d played with before.

“The Greek alphabet is actually the oldest of the three—both the Latin and Cyrillic alphabets are derived from it.”

“Damn, it’s mega old or something, eh… Ready for getting your hair done, though?”

“Ah, yes…” Yuri stared at the container in Ryan’s hands, then at the golden-blonde hair that had been wildly spiked upwards. “I-I think…”

Ryan chuckled and stuck his tongue out. “I’m not gonna do your hair like I’ve done mine! Yours is too short, and besides, my hair’s pretty much straight, just gets these, uh, spiky-wavy parts ‘cause it's kinda thick and cut in a layered way… But yeah, don’t worry ‘cause I don't even have a comb or anything! I’d need that for this sorta hair.”

“Should I—”

“Naw, just stay sitting down; it's easier! So, I'll have to get this stuff on my hands and then touch your hair, is that cool? I got hair wax! Hum, this said that it’s for wavy hair and all,” he said, standing up.

“Um, okay.” Yuri stared at the stars of the art installation instead of Ryan before him.

“I’ll do your hair less like… Cool, and more like… Eeeh, cute, maybe?”

“Okay,” said Yuri, and he meant it, but the idea embarrassed him all the same (to have some part of him be thought of as somehow cute by Ryan). Maybe they should’ve talked more about different alphabets and languages: he hadn’t even touched the topic of logographic writing systems.

Yuri held his own hands in his lap while the other boy prattled on, explaining what hair wax was and why he'd picked it. Even for Ryan, the explanation was getting so long that it worried him.

“You don’t have to do my hair if you don’t want to…”

“Huh,” went Ryan, the noise escaping him as a loud gasp. “Nah, I’m good; I was just, uh, explaining ‘cause, y’know, I thought of something funny about hair wax and then wanted to share, haha. Kinda like remembering math earlier or something. Yeah, anyways… Uh, hold the container for me ‘cause my hands will get sticky?”

Yuri held the opened container and squeezed his eyes shut as a precaution to not have to worry about where to look. Ryan ruffled his hair before reaching for the hair product, coaxing the strands loose from where Yuri combed them in the morning.

“Dude, your hair's super duper soft… Do you brush it flat on purpose—I mean, it's kinda cool, um… There's a ton of hairstyles where your hair is real straight and flat. For sure.” Yuri didn't know better to refute the claim but wasn't sure what to think about it. “And it's a super cool colour!”

“...Is it?” asked Yuri, frowning and squeezing his eyes tighter shut when Ryan pulled at the hair that fell over his forehead, straightening a wavy lock to see how long it was.

“Mmhm!” Ryan let go. His hand held the container above Yuri's hand before settling in his hair, fingers gently racking through strands. “I've not seen hair this colour, not ever, nuh-uh… Except kinda on some old people, I guess, but yours is totally even and not like, graying or anything.”

He'd been teased about the washed-out colour, his classmates saying that he'd already gone gray. Yuri chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t know why I said it like that, haha… Y’know, my hair's kinda weird too, my mom's always telling me I should use a toner and always wear a hat outside 'cause it looks like I've got bleached hair but I’m blond for real: my hair just gets this yellow-golden in the sun…” Ryan hummed and continued talking about how sunlight could affect your hair colour, eventually trailing off. “Anyways, you know any languages?”

“Um, languages are interesting, so I know something about many of them…”

“Yeah, but do you speak any? Besides English, I mean.”

Yuri hesitated: the question was harmless but still felt wrong to answer. His father didn’t like the idea of others talking in a language he didn’t understand. “One other language.”

“Oooh, which one?” The side of Ryan’s hand touched his forehead when he ran his fingers through the flicks of hair that usually laid against his forehead, never long enough to be called a real fringe, which were for girls.

“Russian,” answered Yuri, his voice soft. His heartbeat was so loud he resorted to holding his breath in the hope it would even out.

“Whoa, so you totally know all of those super hard letters! Erm, of the Cy—Cyrillic alphabet.”

“Mm,” went Yuri, and wondered how necessary it was for Ryan's touch to linger around the nape of his neck, feeling awfully exposed. (Probably his own fault, for which he berated himself—stop making it weird.)

“That’s cool, it seems super hard; sometimes I feel like I barely know one set of letters when I try to write some words, haha… Like I’m super good and everything, but still.” His voice was even where it was usually emotive, making him sound like he too was holding his breath. “I'm done.”

Ryan didn’t move for a time so long Yuri managed to coax himself to open his eyes with a flutter, looking up at the boy staring right back at him, bent down with hands on either side of his head. The would-be hero’s other thumb brushed against the shell of his ear and his expression was nearly solemn, entirely unreadable to Yuri: he genuinely worried that Ryan had lied and his NEXT power was actually reading minds, thoughts plucked from his brain by the fingertips on his skin.

“You really are cute.”

Yuri didn’t think Ryan was mocking him, but cute was definitely something he wasn’t. His hair—maybe, but his entire person? He became worried he’d faint if his heart raced any faster.

Unthinkingly (rudely, maybe) he lifted his hands to Ryan's wrists, fingers shyly brushing against his skin when he found himself too unsure to try to move the other boy's hands. Yuri raised his brows, a question better left unsaid lingering on his lips.

When Ryan didn't meet his gaze, Yuri dared to look at him a bit longer to take in the exact shade of his irises (which always appeared to be a different pale hue depending on the light, from a gleaming gold to a pale beige or an equally unnatural chartreuse green) and the unstyled flick of hair hanging down in front of his face that Yuri desperately wanted to fix somehow: maybe brush it aside with his fingers.

He wouldn't, of course, but he wanted to.

Maybe he'd imagined Ryan calling him cute because it'd been so long and the other boy hadn't said anything. Or maybe it wasn't such a long time and his thoughts had stretched time out like taffy, desperate to hold onto sweet things he enjoyed, candy wrappers he secretly kept in a box to remember which ones he liked best.

“S-Sorry?”

“Huh?” went Ryan. Immediately afterwards, he withdrew and burst into a boisterous fit of laughter, gesturing to himself as if there was something funny about him, shaking his head as he did. “Aaah, maybe I meant cute kinda like a gecko with super big eyes, something like that.”

Ryan wandered away, wiping his hands on his jeans while Yuri thought about how lizards weren't cute at all: they licked their eyes, ate their shed skins and crawled around in the lairs of cartoon villains. Was he like that? “A gecko?...”

“I got to hold one once, it was actually super duper soft and uh, they're kinda shy, I guess. I thought they'd be cold and clammy for some reason, I dunno—damn, my hands are so sticky now, ugh, kinda didn't think about that part… But you should come see yourself in the mirror.” Ryan inspected his hands and his jeans, trying to see if any waxy residue was left on them while Yuri robotically stood up and walked to Ryan. He was still frowning about the idea of being gecko-like upon meeting his own reflection.

His hair now had volume where it usually laid more or less flat against his scalp. Locks of hair didn't awkwardly fall over his forehead but curled more, wavy strands clearly separated from each other as if picked out and arranged by careful fingers (which they were).

The hair on the sides of his head was left less tousled, so it looked like his hair was cut shorter there despite it being about the same length all around.

On his lips was a trace of a pout, which he tried to straighten away.

“You don’t like it?” asked Ryan, now standing next to Yuri while awkwardly hanging his sticky hands at his sides.

“No…”

“Really? I don't think it's bad…” Ryan was crestfallen, the emotion one he didn't even try to hide.

“N-No, I meant the… The hair looks great, I was thinking about the thing you said—about me looking like a gecko. Lizards aren't cute at all.”

“Um, wha—speak for yourself! I bet you haven't even held a gecko, never ever. Besides, you’re more similar than you think! They’re also kinda shy and scared of things ‘cause they’re super small… But if you just wait they’ll get more comfy and sometimes crawl on your hand and stuff—see, kinda like how you were shy at first but you’re way more talkative now than when I met you.”

Yuri turned to look at Ryan directly, the expression on his face as genuine as it had been when viewed through the mirror: first crestfallen, then confused and now oddly passionate, the tips of his ears a warm pink. Yuri turned away while shaking his head and rolled his eyes as he did—Ryan was ridiculous.

Despite all of his eccentricity, Yuri really liked him.

And maybe like a gecko that trusted him enough to crawl on his hand, he knew that Ryan would’ve never raised that hand against him (even if he didn’t like him back).

The other boy followed after him, awkwardly holding his hands out and looking on as Yuri packed the container of hair wax. The bag in his other hand, Yuri caught the corner of Ryan’s jacket with the other and led them away from the secluded nook.

“Are you mad at me?”

Yuri glanced back at Ryan who wore an expression of pure devastation on his face so unlike anything he’d looked like before it was like he’d gone shopping for a new face altogether. It was cute in a weird, silly way.

“No,” went Yuri, shaking his head with a smile. “Not at all.”

“Oh, um, okay. Not like anyone could be mad at me anyway, obviously… But where are we going?”

The question prompted Yuri to look back over his shoulder at Ryan trailing behind him with a raised brow.

“Oi oi, don't give me that look, it's a legit question.”

“Considering it is you who picked our destination as the nearby funicular, your question leaves me with little to elaborate on.”

“Uh-huh, but here you are leading us along so I was thinking whether you've got some alternate plans in mind or something?...”

Yuri huffed, easing his pace till Ryan could walk next to him while pushing his motorcycle. “Does it bruise your fragile heroic ego to be reduced into a mere follower?”

“Yeah,” said Ryan with a lop-sided smile without any hesitation, “makes me feel like you don't love talking with me as much as you should, just trying to walk as quickly as possible to get rid of me, huh… Plus, not like you've asked for directions or anything… How'd you know where we're going?”

“As fate would have it, street signage has empirically proven to be exceedingly helpful in finding various locations in Sternbild and across the world if one is able to interpret them.” The brief smile on Yuri's lips was polite but also downright derisive. He gestured to the worn sign on the side of a building with the text Silver-Gold Vehicle Funicular S-6 and a simple pointed arrow, albeit barely readable under colourful graffiti art.

Ryan exaggerated a squint at the sign as they walked past. “Huuuh…. Never noticed those, honest.”

“Are you to tell me that you navigate the city entirely based on crude approximations?”

“Ha, kinda. I asked some teens I saw loitering around—definitely the same ones leaving the tags on the walls hiding those signs—what's the best way to get to Gold Stage from these parts.”

“Is that so.”

“Mmhm… And I feel like Styx has a better ring to it than Silver-Gold Funicular Six—or whatever it was—but that’s just my opinion, huh. That’s what they’ve named that station, blacked out the letters in the sign over the entrance and everything.”

“The Styx,” repeated Yuri.

“River of the afterlife or something.”

“Not only a river but a goddess, and the dreadful shore upon which unbroken oaths are uttered.”

“How's that work, being a river and a goddess?... But I'm pretty sure they named it the Styx ‘cause all the drunks use this one to travel between the fancier places up in the Gold and Silver Stages, 'cause this one is so near the Bronze Stage. This used to be Silver Stage proper at some point before they built upwards, yeah?...” Ryan sniffed. “And they'd once seen Luna standing on top of the funicular late at night, or so they said.”

Lunatic had been here but the rest of him hadn't, an empty, haggard corpse wandering without a soul.

Yuri wondered when he had grown so out of touch with Sternbild that he had no idea of any such modern landmarks, of these unique nicknames people gave to regular places for one reason or another. An outsider now and always—where Ryan found human connections he grasped at nothing, guided by the voice of Thanatos only he could hear, and quietly drowned in the river while purer souls sailed past.

He was part of the scenery, his shade wandering the streets at night when he had nowhere to be but to witness the heroes' deeds for himself, and his once-injured shoulder ached as much as his heart—as much as the burn across his face.

“Hey, we’re here. Check that artwork on the station out.” Ryan's voice warbled, the distortion of a shout heard under the surface.

Yuri focused on the graffiti before him, the roiling dark waters portrayed by multiple artists working in sync despite the differing stylistic choices. Some stenciled beer bottles floated in the water, and a few cartoonish monstrosities lurked at the edges of the collaborative art piece. A hydra poised to strike, a googly-eyed manticore, a lost fat tsuchinoko that belonged to a different set of myths entirely, and a daffodil-yellow lion with an overly small, emoticon-like face amidst the abstract sun-like rendition of a mane.

His fingertips traced the neat braid along the side of his head, drawing out a memory of Ryan’s fingers in his hair. Half an hour ago or half a life ago, it made no difference, two experiences overlaid: a double exposure composite where the past never ended and the future never began.

“Why?...” His voice sounded brittle.

“Why what, eh?”

The world reoriented itself around Yuri, dense fog over the shore receding and dissipating. The repercussions of a broken oath: a lifeless decade without a breath strewn on a bed under a heavy trance, knowing not the taste of ambrosia nor nectar.

He wrapped the coat tighter around himself.

“Don't tell me that you're gonna report this to the city cleaning crew or whatever, ‘cause those kids are never ever gonna forgive me for ruining their big project. That's real bad PR for me—they'll never make any Bunny & Lion hair accessory kits at this rate.”

“Defacing public property is a crime punishable by law,” said Yuri, automatically finding the necessary words. Much to his confusion, the sentence drew a smile from the other man.

Ryan pushed his motorcycle closer and tapped the lion's shoddily drawn face, black paint streaking down where the paint canister had been held too close to the wall: “I drew this, by the way.”

“...How—?”

“Spray paint, duh.”

“That is not an answer to the question I was about to ask.”

“Uh-huh? Don’t I complete your sentences yet? Aw man, I’ve always got this stuff down flawlessly with everyone else…”

“The question—had you not presumed to know the answer before I finished—would have been: how did you end up contributing to it?”

“Y’know, it ain't that complicated. I said I couldn’t snitch on ‘em if I’d drawn something too. A hero’s promise and all that.” Ryan winked at him. Overhead came the screeching of metal against metal, a colossal vehicle coming to a halt on its tracks. “Anyhow, the funicular's stopping by right now so I gotta pretend to drive this heap of junk in. Meet you in a minute, promise?”

Ryan demanded promises so flippantly—so many of them, and for every minutiae detail. He'd always been like that, hadn't he? Yuri nodded wordlessly, the hero walking away with a smile. Their meetings were littered by frequent endings and beginnings out of their control like they could only meet in liminal spaces—once he had wished Ryan safe travels at the airport and promised to stay in touch.

I promise, I’ll send you a letter as soon as I can!

They had promised, both to each other: Ryan had broken the promise, not him. Now he did not want his oath any longer, not when it had turned into such a hindrance.

The motorcycle bumped off the walkway and onto the currently empty road that led into the bowels of the building. Ryan tapped a button at the entrance and an automat spat out a ticket as the crossbar blocking the way lifted. The man disappeared from view.

It was quiet then, if not for the restless waters of the Styx and the wails of the dead.

Yuri walked in the opposite direction from where Ryan had disappeared and past the doors to the passenger entrance. In a narrow alleyway next to the building he found a tarp covering a shoddy, paint-splattered metal ladder sheltering a broken-zippered duffel bag full of spray paints in various colours. Metallic canisters clinked together when he moved the bag with a gloved hand but found nothing incriminating—at least nothing else than the paints themselves, a few markers, worn scissors and some makeshift stencils.

Sternbild was alive in ways he wasn't, the land of the living across the river. He found himself upon two shores as the naive child who had long since died and the cruel Lunatic birthed from flames facing each other.

Reflections of those flames danced on the surface of water, or perhaps the river had always been fiery and sulphuric. It had burned away the autograph and the address underneath the name on the back of the photo reel.

Whatever he wished for, it would be denied, and his heart would always suffer distrust, so it was pledged to him by the Justice Goddess at the cusp of the waves of the deep Stygian Lake—oath of the Gods.

The elevator sprung to life when Ryan pushed the button for the passenger floor, touching up his hair in the mirror. A few unruly strands he tucked behind his ear and then readjusted the cap. Nothing could be done about the flimsy glasses frames—the flimsiness followed from him popping out the prescription lenses of the cheap reading glasses you could buy at any supermarket.

“Eeeh… Hang in there,” he mumbled to his glasses as if they weren’t an inanimate object. “I’m looking rough enough already, damn.”

Besides, I gotta get it together if I wanna get him to agree to draw this night out—maybe for a few drinks. What’s the worst that could happen, he says no? Ryan rolled his shoulders, fleetingly worried that the worst that could happen was much worse than a simple no. Not a worry he usually had, and nothing should've been different this time.

The elevator dinged when it arrived at the dimly lit passenger's cabin.

Yuri was already there, standing by the area which echoed the design of airports with large windows to see outside and orderly, modest rows of seating. The other side had some real chairs and tables but Ryan didn’t have a particular preference beyond being able to stay in Yuri’s vicinity.

“Yo,” he gave as a greeting, giving Yuri a lazy salute as a greeting which the other man didn’t acknowledge, placidly staring at the dark scenery. Sternbild at night was a pretty sight, though Ryan had arguably seen nicer cities. Still, beauty was in the eye of the beholder, or something cheesy like that.

He kept looking at Yuri's still form and the wavy strands of his fringe falling against his cheek.

“Y’know, I was thinking—we could go for a couple of drinks right now. Just me and you. I’ll show you what the classy nights with Queenie are all about, eh? Well, maybe not exactly, ‘cause she’s a big fan of cabaret and sh*t like that. But what do I know, maybe you’re a huge fan too, though I’ve got a place in mind that’s got these private booths and everything. I know the owner, so she’ll have one free for me.”

His words elicited no reaction from Yuri, much to his chagrin. The silence transformed into a prickle of childish anxiety in his stomach that wanted to ask Yuri whether he was mad at him or not.

Insight was a skill he took pride in, but this time, he couldn’t tell what Yuri was thinking. Something was different about Yuri, his green eyes distant and breathing shallow—even the air felt still.

He considered reaching out to the other man but thought better of it, leaning back against the railing in front of the window.

Ryan brought up different topics, said the weather was great, mentioned he’d seen many cities at night just like this with various company. Girlfriends, a lot of times, but sometimes people he’d met by chance like the occasional elderly up late at night who had no idea who he was, sometimes other celebrities picked off the latest party he’d been to, a few coworkers.

“And some things always stay the same, no matter how far you go. Y'know, when I started traveling, I wanted to know if the sea smelled the same everywhere—it doesn’t, by the way—and then I figured I’ll end up in some land-locked cities if I really wanna see everywhere… They're not the best look on me, but at least the sky stays.” He hummed and gestured to the horizon where the ocean reflected the lights of the city and the waxing Moon. Yuri didn't care for his admission, staring forward with unseeing eyes. “What’s it when someone never listens, y'know that saying? Vivere… Vivi nel mondo della luna?”

“Hm?...” Yuri regarded his surroundings like he'd found himself in a personal eye of the storm where everything stood still and quiet despite the violent winds at an arm’s reach. He must have lost time since the last thing he had a clear recollection of was looking up at the mural outside the funicular station, decidedly alone.

“I gotta brush up on my languages if it's the only thing that gets your attention—not to say I'm anything less than perfect, but…” On Ryan's face, there was no judgement nor recognition, an easy-going smile resting on his features. The cap cast a stark shadow on his face in the dimly lit funicular cabin, golden eyes nonetheless sharp, alit by their own glow.

“I have not the slightest clue as to what it is that you refer to,” offered Yuri in an act of feeble denial.

“Mmhm…” Ryan cast his gaze out of the funicular window, and Yuri followed his gaze. “Oi oi, see how the city looks like a night sky? No need for you to live on the Moon to get a close-up look at the stars, either. I’m here with you, after all—the great Golden Ryan in the flesh.”

Yuri huffed, nonetheless grateful enough for the diversion Ryan offered that his words lacked all sharpness: “At times your utterances are barely comprehensible…”

Much akin to the art installation at the aged, shoddy mall, Sternbild seen from above at night was a dark canvas dotted by multicoloured lights glowing in the dark. No tidy constellations were to be found on this canvas, however, far from planned and meticulous and every bit chaotic. Nothing was so orderly in real life as on an exaggeratedly clean star chart.

Yuri remembered the stars from when he'd been young and the blond boy dressed in black studying them with him. He held the side of his head as the lights doubled in front of him despite his better efforts.

He couldn't discern between an imagined memory and a factual one, his blood curdling at his uncertainty. How could he have forgotten? Was there anything to forget when he still couldn't recall the boy's name? But in a hallway some time ago, Ryan had asked him if they'd met before, and then Yuri had withheld the same question from him to prolong the circ*mstances of plausible deniability (or wishful thinking, much to his shame).

“What's your fave constellation?”

“What brought on this question?” Yuri glanced at Ryan who only smiled. “Furthermore, what makes you think I would have a favourite constellation?”

“I dunno… Curiousity killed the cat?”

“Then consider yourself spared and your curiosity sated for I do not have a favourite constellation.”

“Aweh, c'mon.” Ryan bumped against his shoulder playfully, a lop-sided smile on his lips. He didn't draw back, standing so close their shoulders brushed lightly together. When Ryan spoke up again, his voice was quieter: “Everybody needs some damn hobbies, why not have it be looking at stars?”

The lights of Sternbild twinkled below, dream-like, and Yuri let himself imagine a world where he led a life that allowed him to take time for himself without the guilt that stuck to him. A moment of self-indulgence, selfish as that might be.

“Had I the need to gaze at stars, I could have simply looked at you.”

“Oh, really?” Ryan's grin was audible in his voice.

“Of course, as you earlier claimed—any of the heroes would do.”

“And I thought we had something special…” Ryan's mellifluous tone dripped out of his mouth in strands with how he drew out the words under his breath.

“You thought wrong.”

“Aw, okey-dokey then,” came the reply, easy as ever.

Ryan held onto the railing before the window and bounced some of his weight against Yuri. Only slightly—a teenager who couldn't sit still—but an explicit acknowledgement that despite his words Yuri had let him come so close and stay there.

The worst was that Yuri let him continue, unfocused eyes flitting over Sternbild's horizon without seeing anything other than double the amount of lights there were. To turn his head and look into Ryan's eyes would've been too easy.

Apollon Media's winged lion prowled on the horizon, Yuri's gaze focusing on it to stop the doubling of lights and return him to his senses enough to keep on looking forwards.

He wasn't in his right mind, but then again, when was he ever? The best he could offer was the lie of normalcy.

“I enjoy completing jigsaw puzzles in my spare time.” That much he could give, a meager offering at the altar of a god he didn't believe in.

“Damn,” went Ryan, “sounds real boring.”

Yuri paused, held his breath and laughed in surprise, the most genuine sound that had escaped him in years. His body cut the unexpected outburst short, unaccustomed to such crude displays—instead, he sighed. “You have attempted to inappropriately coax personal information out of me since the day you laid eyes upon me in a pattern of behaviour you repeat with all of your acquaintances, and that is all you have to say?”

“I mean… Well, kinda. 'Cause I like bothering people, you should know that: it's not about the results.”

“Your fascination is with the hunt rather than the meal. My apologies—such a dissatisfying slip of the tongue will not repeat.”

“Naw, don't say that.” He leaned his head towards Yuri, like sharing a secret. “You're doing it again, yeah? I didn't say that I don't wanna know, just that puzzles sound boring.”

“If you insist there is a difference to be found between the two statements.”

"Of course there is, duh…” They stood silent, watching the twinkling lights of the city. “Mm… And hey, now you'll get to hear a secret from me. Don't get too excited, I know it's all you've ever wanted.”

“Hardly so.”

“Nonsense, who'd turn down an exclusive scoop from the great Golden Ryan? Nobody, that's who, so here: I've got a pet, a green iguana. Her name's Molly—honest, you'd get along way too well and I'd get jealous about you stealing my girl.”

“You already divulged that you have a pet so this information is nothing new, much less an exclusive secret.” His iguana must’ve been what he’d alluded to as a pet and as his babygirl.

“Aw, you remember that? It was a pretty off-handed mention, back when I said I'd hung out with Sky, right?…” Ryan hummed. “True, I've mentioned a pet in plenty of interviews too, but never her name or anything like that. I gotta keep something to myself, after all, when the rest of me is plastered out there for everyone to see. Now you know, though.”

Time moved as it always did and didn't, running through an established closed loop like a snake eating its shed skin, biting down on its tail, struggling against the inevitable.

“...Okay,” said Yuri after a pause, an echo heard bouncing along an empty hallway. Okay—a phrase he had once used copiously while rubbing his thumb against the center of his palm, and it now scarcely fit him.

They hadn’t found a photobooth yet, but the pictures had already been taken.

“Ryan,” he said, somewhat weakly, “I must ask you to take a look at something.”

“Huuh, you must? Well, alright,” replied Ryan in an easy-going tone, though extending Yuri a curious glance. “What am I gonna be looking at?”

Yuri offered him a slip of paper from his breast pocket without looking, half-lidded eyes on the monotone scenery. He should've explained, given an excuse for saving the photographs for so long and why he hadn't asked Ryan outright but found himself lacking the words.

“Why'd you get enough of these funicular day admission passes to last a week instead of a one-time ticket? Damn, you're really bleeding me dry over here.” The reel held in Ryan's fingers was quickly assessed and now cheekily slipped back into Yuri's coat pocket while he unzipped his driving suit enough to pull out a wallet. “Since you got enough till next week, does that mean we're meeting up again, eh? Same place and time, maybe?”

Yuri took the returned coil only to find it indeed was a sprawling reel of entry tickets a machine had printed out mere moments ago according to the timestamping, each card-like ticket loosely joined so that they could easily be ripped apart from each other.

His breath caught in his throat when he tried to find the slip of photos in his breast pocket and found nothing.

“...You lost something?”

“No,” lied Yuri, taking the offered money from Ryan's hand without complaint. He didn’t like how easily Ryan noticed things, picking at wounds that were supposed to be healed.

The photographs were a mirage in a desert, a hazy dream—Yuri was afraid they had never existed. For a man who occasionally saw his father reflected back at him in the mirror, imagined photographs were hardly a novel development.

As long as he could perform his job there would be no issue. As long as he could roam the streets at night, it would be fine, even if he'd done that less these days. And as long as he could take care of his mother, nothing that happened would be too much to bear, no insult or injury too great, no humiliation severe enough.

He wasn't sure whether he had imagined the now or the past. Had he simply forgotten the photographs home? He didn’t dare ask. Would Ryan have stolen them? No, he didn’t seem the type—but Yuri could never tell what exactly he was thinking, the man resisting his safely analytical approach to socializing.

Somehow everything led him back to the same desolate shore where different streams converged. Rusalka kissed her once-lover dead, Hylas was stolen by nymphs either to his doom or salvation or both, elsewhere the Moon simply was reflected upon still waters in quiet wonder, and the unbothered Charon paddled across the river Styx where gods made their unbreakable oaths. These promises could never be refused, not even if they led to your death.

The funicular moved upwards, a bubble floating towards the surface.

Chapter 9: Cooperation & Conflict (Debt Repaid)

Chapter Text

Droplets of water splashed against the porcelain when Ryan shook his hands over the sink. He crumpled the used paper towel into a ball and whooped when it landed in the trash bin, turning back to his reflection to tuck away stray wisps of drooping hair.

His hair product wasn't enough to keep the thick strands in check after he’d pulled a few shirts over his head, but he made a valiant attempt at arranging them upwards as intended. Unhappy with the results that made his hair messy in the wrong way but incapable of further fixing-up without taking too long, Ryan sighed, grimaced at his reflection and left the bathroom.

“Yuri!” Ryan jogged up to the boy holding their shared shopping bag, his clean hands on display. “I got it all off, see? Hundred percent clean. You don't gotta drag me around by my sleeve anymore, nuh-uh…”

They could hold hands again, Yuri’s fingers laced with his.

“Mm… Now you won't get the new clothes dirty,” offered Yuri, staring at Ryan’s face without ever meeting his gaze directly. The pout from being called a gecko still lingered on his lips, demure in a way that made him sweet. His now-styled hair was voluminous and complimented him; Ryan had made sure of that, the platinum-gray locks of hair gracefully curling over his forehead.

Longer hair would suit him, make him look like some of the heroines in old rerun movies Ryan watched at midnight when he should’ve slept but didn’t, resulting in many teacher’s notes of lateness without anyone to read through them. (He’d gotten pretty good at forging his parent’s signatures.)

While Ryan skipped school more often than he didn’t and wasn’t on par with any philosopher—great or not—he could have occasional realizations about recurring feelings of his (and imagining himself as the protagonist and Yuri as the love interest of some crappy romance flick he’d seen more than once).

Yuri raised his gaze enough to hold eye contact with Ryan: his eyelashes were still absurdly long, but his green eyes housed an ignited spark that set him apart from the boy he’d been yesterday, and he would’ve looked cute with some lip gloss… But Ryan was good at forgery, excellent at replicating the curve his mother wrote her capital G’s with and effortless at pretending he didn’t know he wasn’t performing as well in school as his parents hoped.

His own thoughts he could choose to believe freely, the falsified documents that said Yuri was his friend in the same way any other boy would be, instead of a really cute half-unknown peer he’d gotten to know by chance. It was easy to pivot to other thoughts.

“Oi oi, what's that on your shirt, though?” Ryan pointed summarily at the chest of the other boy’s floral-patterned shirt. “Is that hair wax?”

“On my shirt?...”

When Yuri looked down to see the stain, he flicked his fingers upwards to give his nose a light tap. “Gotcha!”

The successfully executed prank paused the other boy in motion and then made him take a stiff step backwards. Yuri blinked while teetering somewhere between confusion and fear, unmoving after the one uneasy step. Instinctively, Ryan walked closer with his hands to his sides to give him a reassuring hug—his stomach lurched when Yuri took a second step backwards. Of course he doesn't like that, thought Ryan, he flinches if you put a hand on his shoulder when he doesn't notice.

“Uh—just a kinda dumb prank, I won't do it again, I dunno why I did that,” he explained, knowing full well he’d done it to distract himself, and trailed off when he caught a playful smile hiding behind Yuri’s wariness. Ryan squinted, garnering nothing else from the expression.

Yuri tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “...You promise?”

“I totally promise!” Ryan took another step closer, the other boy suspiciously eyeing his hands (with a strange sense of drama) but trusting him enough to stay put. Yuri slid his wrist through the shopping bag handle to be able to rest both of his hands on Ryan’s offered palms.

He relaxed in his hold like a melting slab of ice, awkwardly returning the gentle touch. Ryan wanted to warm him up with a hug, but—maybe he didn’t like hugs, anyway.

“Are you cold?...”

“Um, no, why do you think so?”

A noise made Ryan perk up and scan the area to the left: he saw nothing but got the distinct feeling of being observed but couldn’t place it. Yuri had a questioning look on his face.

“I think we're blocking the way to the bathrooms,” he said, and Yuri let out an agreeable ah. Ryan pulled him along, trying to notice anything unusual, still feeling eyes on his back. “Also, your hands are kinda cold, that’s why I asked. Hum, you wanna go buy one more thing?”

“There's always one more thing…”

“Hey! That's super not true.” Movement registered in Ryan's peripheral vision—someone trailing after them—and made him wonder whether he had forgotten something at the last store they'd stopped by.

“Okay,” said Yuri, attracting the other boy’s attention back to himself. “Um, by the way, I think you've got something on your lapels.”

“Huh, I do?!” Ryan stopped and looked down, only to be flicked in the nose by Yuri's fingers. He stumbled backwards, utterly dumbfounded. “H-Hey!”

“Got you.” Yuri's voice curved around the playful smile that hid behind the wariness that came naturally to him. His curls bounced when he tilted his head to the side and then turned away, carrying on walking.

Ryan forgot whatever it was he'd thought about just now, managing to sputter out another hey and tried his best to act nonchalant. “Well—that was like… Uh, a revenge. It’s super against the law.”

“Hmm, I only made us even.”

“Aweh,” said Ryan, planning to continue. That’s splitting hairs, that’s not really a defense, is that really any different—but he stayed quiet instead, following the other boy with his eyes and letting his legs follow suit to catch up to him. “I mean, what about the promise then, huh? At least that's like, uhm, the law.”

“But you made the promise, I didn’t.”“But—” Technically, that was true. Yuri’s eyes swept over Ryan, and he realized he was severely outmatched in the realm of play-arguing, or maybe he couldn’t think of a rebuttal when the other boy smiled. “...I get it. But, also—just so you know—I was letting you catch me off-guard, y'know.”

“Okay,” said Yuri, matter-of-factly but with a smile still pulling at the corners of his mouth. The smile told Ryan more than the word. “Where did you want to go?”

“Uhm, uh, that store we stopped by second last? I wanna get sunglasses; it's so bright outside and I was thinking, after we take the photos, it’d be fun to walk around, right?” Ryan held his hand out for Yuri to hold. His hand was still cold. “Plus, it’s way warmer outside… Eeeh, we seriously need to get you a sweater.”

“...Why?” asked Yuri, struggling to follow the contradictory line of thought between the summer weather and sweaters.

“‘Cause you’re cold, for sure. The A/C is too cold.”

“I feel fine.” But his skin was raised in goosebumps, and whether he felt cold or not, this was an argument he was losing and one Ryan was winning. Now they were really even, and maybe Ryan understood how making things even was not at all like revenge because Yuri’s smile persisted.

The store was right ahead.

Instead of perusing the accessories racks as intended, Ryan summarily grabbed a pair of sunglasses and pulled Yuri in a different direction entirely. He went through a section with long-sleeved shirts, ones they'd skipped because it was in the middle of the summer… But Ryan had changed his mind, this was a rack they couldn’t skip. Yuri watched on, holding onto Ryan's hand as he rifled through clothing, talking all the while.

“And, y’know, I thought I was like, overdressed or something, in the way I was just a bit too warm, but also—””

“Yuri?” called out a voice that Ryan didn't recognize, swiveling around to see a boy their age at the end of the corridor between clothing. Yuri shrank under his gaze, frozen in place, eyes blown wide.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, eyes on Yuri's face. “...Is that someone from your school?”

Yuri remembered he could move, shuffled closer to Ryan and nodded. “Mm.”

“Uh-huh?... Ignore him, whatever… I’ve spoken with a ton of annoying guys. Erm, I guess I’m like that sometimes too. But I mean annoying in the way… Well…” Ryan knew what bullies acted like. He picked out a zippered sweater from the rack in front of him. “You like this one?”

Yuri shook his head even though he did like the shirt Ryan was holding, a simple long-sleeved shirt patterned with flowers in different shades of purple; lilac and plum accented with yellow fronds, all the different colours of an aging bruise.

The unknown boy scoffed. “You actually have a girlfriend?”

“Yep, he's got the world's awesomest girlfriend right here, duh.” Ryan spoke over Yuri's quiet words, putting on a cuter tone in a higher register that made his voice crack so bad he masked it with a cough.

Yuri took a meandering step backwards when his classmate circled closer to see Ryan properly. “You are a boy, though, you just look like a girl with that makeup and the—”

“And you’re super dumb so that means we’re about even, right?” said Ryan without worry, tucking the shirt back where he'd found it. He didn't let go of Yuri's hand, which attracted further scrutiny.

“...I knew it!” Shouted the boy abruptly, making Yuri shrink under his furious gaze. “You have been looking at me weird!”

“What are you talking about?” Ryan tried to ask but got cut off because Yuri's schoolmate pushed him, sending him stumbling backwards into Ryan while mumbling apologies under his breath.

“Whah!?” Ryan found his balance and held onto Yuri who’d frozen but also gone limp like he didn’t know what to do, realizing he wasn't going to move to avoid the second incoming push. There were a few different things Ryan could've done but he had a bad habit of acting before thinking: he let go of Yuri (who stumbled to find his balance without Ryan), stepped aside and pushed the unknown boy hard enough to make him almost fall over from the surprising bout of force. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?”

Unfortunately, Ryan was lighter between the two of them; the returning shove was enough to make him collide with a clothes rack, where he lost his balance and unceremoniously fell into a clumsy sitting position on the floor. All air got knocked out of him, leaving him gasping.

“You look like a girl and fight like one too!”

“So? Girls are pretty,” said Ryan, wheezing when he forcefully drew in a breath, trying not to rip any more clothes down while getting up. “Means that I'm not mega ugly like you!”

“Tsk, what school are you from?”

Ryan avoided the incoming punch by a hair and when his kick to the shin didn't do much, he stomped on the boy's foot before he could grab him. The fight would be over if he got grabbed, he knew; once he'd started losing fights at school, his parents had enrolled him in a few different martial arts classes—being able to win would dissuade other kids from picking on you, that’s what they’d said.He regretted that he skipped an awful lot of them.

Yuri's schoolmate didn't differ much from Ryan—he was one of those popular jocks at school like how Ryan liked to think about himself, but where Ryan played at being a jock between his busy schedule and affinity for lounging around, he really was one. He could push Ryan aside like he was nothing more than a piece of trash.

Ryan yelped when he hit the floor face first and then skidded across the laminate flooring like a discarded skipping stone.

“See what happens when you try to mess with me, Yuri?”

“I—I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry…” There was nothing Yuri could do. There never was anything he could do to stop horrible things from happening right in front of him: they repeated all over again like the apologies falling from his lips. The pleas were the same words he gave for his mother when he hid in his room.

A shelf pressed into his spine, stopping him from backing off further. His father had never laid his hands on him, but he knew what could happen. Bruises, a black eye, a split lip—he'd seen all of it already. Tears didn't appear because he'd long since used them all up.

Yuri’s hold on the shopping bag slipped and it tumbled onto the floor and tipped over his shoes, dark fabric of a shirt Ryan had bought for him spilling over his sneakers.

“You’re scared,” said the boy in front of him. Faintly, Yuri regretted giving him the satisfaction of showing his fear, staring at the fist raising for a punch without as much as a blink. The fist was held in the air with a grin, maybe to commit to memory the day he'd finally caught Yuri and taught him a lesson that'd stop him from being a creep.

It could be worse, thought Yuri and closed his eyes, fingers tightly clutching the fabric of his shirt. He could bear to be punched once or twice.

The punch he had already accepted never connected; Yuri jolted at a loud thump right in front of him and a scream from somewhere else. He opened his eyes. His schoolmate’s body had crumpled onto the floor like stepped on by a careless god.

An invisible power drew a somehow tangible wall in front of Yuri, everything inside distorted and out of focus: a dream where the world appeared slightly wrong. His hold on his shirt came undone, fingers dipping into that strange membrane that separated the two of them. The bubble felt like pressing his fingers under the surface of water where laws of nature worked differently—the air was gelatinous and thick, heavy like mercury.

A shelf caught in the phenomena creaked under tremendous pressure, straining to not break down where it stood. The sound heralded the disappearance of the dome, which seemed to intensify before dissipating like it had never existed. Once gone, multiple clothes racks caught in it shuddered, surprised by gravity returning to normal.

“Y-Yuri?! Are you okay?”

On the other end of the corridor was Ryan. He was disheveled and kneeling on the floor, eyes wide, fresh red blood dribbling from his nose and over his pink lips.

Are you okay?

The meaning of the words was lost on Yuri, who only knew how to stare at the scene before him without understanding what it was that he saw. His classmate groaned, barely stirring where he lay. Sneakers skidded against the floor when Ryan scrambled up, stumbling over his feet more than once while rushing forwards.

“Ugh, I'm so stupid. I'm really stupid, Yuri, y-you have to help me. What's the—that first aid position.”

First aid.

“Turn the person onto their back and straighten their legs. Then kneel next to them so that you can extend the arm nearest to you at a right angle to their body, the elbow bent and with the palm facing upwards,” Yuri listed automatically because he knew a lot about first aid, more than he would've liked to know. The words weren't his own; he’d read them in a book, perused them multiple times over and hoped he’d never have to know how to use first aid. He stuttered. “However—in the case of possible spinal injury, such as trauma from falling from a height or being hit in the back, the person should not be moved until emergency services arrive.”

Ryan's eyes widened. “Does my power count? Could it do that?”

Yuri did not know the answer.

He said nothing while Ryan hovered over the boy on the floor and decided to turn him onto his back. Repeated explanation of first aid basics proved unneeded when the boy on the floor stirred, slapping Ryan away from him and crawling backwards.

“Stay a-away from me, NEXT freak!...” The insult emboldened Ryan, who'd been on the verge of bursting into tears.

“No, I won't, 'cause guess what, if you don't leave Yuri alone, I'm gonna break all your bones with my super scary and megastrong NEXT power. I'm gonna do it, and I—I’m actually also like, super rich, so nobody’s gonna be able to punish me for anything, ever, I’ll just buy myself a way out!“

“Y-You're lying.”

“I'm serious; it's why you haven't seen me at your stupid school 'cause I go to a private school that you don't even know about! I hope you're really f*cking scared.” The confidence in Ryan's voice made the boy fall silent and falter. He whimpered when Ryan stepped over him, afraid to get stomped on or crushed by an unseen force.

But Ryan only reached for Yuri's hand.

“We super have to go,” he whispered, eyes on Yuri's, big and frightened, beautifully lined by his thick, mascara-laden eyelashes. His hand was an apparition, at least until Yuri caught it in his.

A smile broke across Ryan's face and the fear in his eyes disappeared, save for the few tears spilling over his cheeks and staining his makeup with dark streaks.

“Okay, right, yeah, let's go,” mumbled Ryan, pulling Yuri with him, who barely managed to grab the shopping bag from the floor. He weighed Yuri down when he tried to pick up the pace, steadily holding onto his hand like the anchor of a ship. His voice was kept low. “Don't run… It'll make us stick out. Teachers are always looking for people running away when anything happens—no teachers here, but it's the same thing.”

He'd forgotten how to walk, each movement sluggish. His sneakers got caught over each other, so Ryan wrapped his hand around his waist to support him against himself. Yuri moved awkwardly, stilted, a clay doll in a stop-motion movie.

A woman rushed past the two of them and Ryan turned to Yuri and whispered nonsense speculation about what had happened and she suspected nothing. Ryan’s fake urgency splattered blood-tinged spittle onto his cheek.

They were already out of the store when loud calls sounded after them but Ryan didn’t stop walking.

The shouts made no sense to Yuri. Like locomotion, he'd forgotten the basics of language and which syllables formed which words, resulting in a jumbled nonsense, the same cacophony heard under the water in a public swimming pool: vague approximations of words that amounted to nothing, only carrying the faintest idea of tone.

Ryan guided them onto the stairs, made sure Yuri didn’t trip, and then they made it out of the mall entirely. When Yuri glanced behind, he saw a security guard at the doors like the one where his father had held a speech yesterday but this one was searching for something. He disappeared behind someone walking past and was hidden when Ryan led them around a corner.

“Yuri?” He eased his hold around Yuri’s waist, hand snaking to his hand.

“Mm?”

“Are you okay?” Ryan stopped walking after Yuri's hand slipped out of his hold, grasping empty air. The other boy rummaged through the shopping bag he was still holding onto.

The thin fabric of a shirt Ryan had bought for Yuri ripped easily when he first nicked the hem with his teeth.

“H-Huh? You don't like it?”

“For your nose.” Yuri held it out and let the rest of the shirt fall back into the bag.

“For my—oh, I get it,” said Ryan, taking the strip and pressing it against his nose, not able to tell if his nose was still bleeding. “Thanks, Yuri…”

“...We shouldn't hold hands anymore.”

“Oh, uh, r-right.” Ryan adjusted his hold on the fabric so that his voice sounded less nasally. “I-I'm super sorry for scaring you, I didn't mean to—I shouldn't use my power like that… I said I don't have the activation down, I know, but it's more like, it's hard to control how much everything gets f*cked up, like when it was my papás garage, that was kinda… A super scary accident. B-But I need to touch the ground, it won't work with someone's hand or anything. You don't need to be scared of me. I promise, I really, really do.”

“Oh,” went Yuri, absent-mindedly. “I'm not afraid of you.”

Ryan grinned, dried blood under his nose cracking. “Y-Yeah?”

“You saved me.”

“Maybe a little, uh, you're welcome,” Ryan gestured with his free hand, “but I'm sure you could've held your own too!”

“...No.” The ambient sounds of the street drowned out Yuri's voice, forcing Ryan to read the words from his lips. “No, I wouldn't have.”

Ryan instinctively reached for Yuri before awkwardly tucking his hand in his pocket, and he didn't pursue Yuri when he drew back and straightened his jacket.

He was careful about his personal space and while there was nobody around right now, it was only a brief respite from the city and its inhabitants. For Ryan, Sternbild was a city of strangers but for Yuri it was full of spirits that lurked around every corner, ghastly visions of what had once been.

The funicular ground to a halt at the first stop and three drunken men entered the cabin, paying Ryan and Yuri no mind. Still, Yuri even smoothed out the lapels of his coat, if only to have something to do with his hands. Ryan didn't bother fixing his posture for some random people who’d entered.

Raucous laughter ensued in the group from a quip in the conversation scattering into a few chuckles and one of them holding his head, complaining of the music they'd heard over the course of the night. One of them waved around his beer bottle, some liquid sloshing onto the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, but have you heard the new Blue Rose single yet?”

“Eh, doesn't that have her partner on it too?”

“What, like he can sing?”

Laughter repeated, and Ryan exaggerated a sniff while watching out of the window. He spoke under his breath in a mock-hurt tone he often used: “Oi oi, it's marketing… Watch it.”

When Yuri tried to comment, he got shushed with a wink.

“That f*cking guy is so lucky, Ryan, what's his name.”

Incognito Ryan grinned, pressed his thumb against his chest and mouthed that's me. Yuri quirked his brow.

“He's kinda good—”

“Partners with Rose, though? Be for real.”

“Let me finish, the f*ck? Was gonna say he's good at racking in the points but it's all—”

“Oh, shut up, man.”

The third man piped up: “Listen, my friend who knows someone working for HeroTV was just telling me the other day that they share a dressing room on the Titan Industry side of things.”

“No way it’s like that.”

In some locations the buddy hero duos did share a dressing room due to space restrictions and limited options—Blue Golden adjusted to the best of their ability. Or rather, Ryan did.

“Naw, it's real, I swear. Guess there's some partitioning or sh*t, but…”

He caused unnecessary ruckus by insisting he had to help Barnaby with his suit because the old man uses a damn clip-on tie and doesn’t know how to tie a nice knot while carrying his suit over his shoulder, and he’d seen Ryan leave an event before it was finished so that by the time Karina went to their dressing room it was vacated, a navy-golden suit hanging on the rack, neatly tucked into its cover.

For a man so boisterous, Ryan was nonchalant about these things: who’s gonna look after Junior if not me, or I just had something come up so I had to leave.

Some occurrences Yuri had heard from Agnes complaining about Ryan in a way that sounded more like hard-won compliments unwillingly given while sitting across Yuri's work desk, waiting for him to finalize looking over whatever papers she had brought with her.

Yuri listened to the gossip without comment, but Agnes didn't seem to care. Perhaps she appreciated that Yuri had never shown any interest in her beyond the professional workplace relationship they had (which sometimes included some idle work gossip).

“They change together?...”

Agnes had nothing to worry about from Yuri. Ryan straightened, the leather of his driving suit creased under his chest. A swath of skin across his pectoral musculature was visible above the zipper, the low neckline of his white tank top stretched taut.

“Crazy, because if I got alone with her, I know what I'd do, right?”

His mouth tasted like bile—he wasn't much better than a drunkard spewing harassment. Any man knew he looked at them wrong.

“I bet she's tight.”

Preoccupied by learned contempt for himself, he missed Ryan turning on his heel and walking towards the three men who shared the otherwise vacated space with them.

“Oi oi, what are you guys talking about?” The hero played with the phone he'd pulled out of his pocket.

“What's it to you?” came the reply, spat out in surprised suspicion.

“Is it that you don't wanna repeat that sh*t or what, huh?”

“You wouldn't f*ck her if you could?” asked one of the men, derisive and challenging, words bolstered by alcohol. He took a closer look at Yuri who'd crept closer like extending a hand towards someone leaving and then letting it fall, stopping after a couple of steps. He met the look evenly and without fear, and then that gaze turned back to Ryan. “Are you a f*cking—”

Yuri raised his brow at the flung hom*ophobic slurs, a colourful smattering of euphemisms. Tension coiled in Ryan's jawline and spread into his posture. He could only guess the hero had probably never gotten insulted in such a specific, vicious way.

He'd seen Ryan derided as metrosexual, plastered across the front page of a gossip magazine. Golden Ryan used too much lip gloss—the rest of him was in style, the perfect image of a popular celebrity who took care of his looks.

The unknown men weren't much different from Ryan. They were thin and muscular, properly groomed despite the dishevelment of a night spent drinking and well-dressed enough. One sported a similar cap as Ryan wore out of convenience, an uncanny coincidence.

“And that's your boyfriend?” Finished the man in a cap, “You his bitch or something?”

Ryan laughed with the men laughing at him, but it wasn't his usual easy-going laugh.

“Right, yeah…” He co*cked his head to the side while deliberating what to say, still holding his phone. “If I was, you got a problem with that, eh?”

Yuri wondered why Ryan was being obtuse on purpose. These men clearly had a problem with that uncouth suggestion—of course, maybe Ryan had missed the implication somehow… He didn’t know how to fit this part of him into the neverending Golden Ryan puzzle in his mind.

“Just don’t try anything weird and we're cool.”

The unsaid part Yuri could easily garner was that they'd teach Ryan a lesson if he didn’t stop interacting with them—he trusted the other man to be beyond socially savvy to gather the same.

“But why'd I try to get it on with a drunk dude coming home from a late night at the bar without any action or what? If you'd gotten lucky you wouldn't be here talking about some idol who's never gonna look your way.”

“Tsk, there were only ugly bitches at the bar, nothing good.” The man spat on the floor and grumbled insults under his breath.

“You gonna speak up, man? You wanna go? I can go, just me and you.”

Insults flew anew, birds smashing themselves against the living room window and leaving behind greasy prints. For some reason, Ryan grinned.

Yuri sprung to action and took a step, his heels clacking against the flooring. The sound made Ryan turn to face him and then walk to him sheepishly, carelessly playing with his phone all the while.

“Ryan,” said Yuri in a low voice, looking into Ryan's eyes, who instinctively leaned closer with an inquisitive expression. “Think very carefully about what you are doing—and are going to do—in the presence of a judge.”

Ryan made a face and clicked his tongue, though an amused spark did not leave his eyes. The situation was far less comical to Yuri. He faltered, trying to come up with words to ask what Ryan found so funny without implicating himself as someone who especially didn’t find any humour in the situation.

One of the men approached while he thought. Yuri glanced at him but refocused his gaze on Ryan who didn’t even bother to turn. Quicker than they could react, the drunkard stumbled forwards and grabbed onto Ryan’s arm for balance before smashing his beer bottle against Ryan's upper back.

Beer splashed on the back of Ryan's clothing and his neck, glass shattering into thousands of small shards like a bloom, some caught in the glued-on label for Legend’s Brew that fell unceremoniously, a clump of glass flesh in sticker skin.

Multiply-decorated hero Golden Ryan screamed in pain mirrored into his consciousness from a memory he tried to forget, took a dazed step forwards and collapsed onto his knees, phone clattering across the flooring like a hockey puck. He desperately clutched his neck without catching himself, awkwardly losing his balance and falling over.

The attacker was as surprised as Ryan was, staring at his now-broken bottle with a dumbfounded expression, caught between the surprise of the bottle shattering and Ryan's disproportionate reaction. A shard had flown with enough force to scratch his cheek and he’d cut his own fingers, shallow wounds weeping beads of blood.

One of the sticky olive green shards of glass had fallen on the purple-hued leather of Yuri's new shoes, precariously balanced as he stood still.

Yuri assessed he was in no immediate danger despite the two other drunks having crept closer. Alcohol slowed their reaction speeds, ground them to a halt next to Yuri’s scalpel mind his father had sharpened to a point in life and beyond.

Ryan was a hero and he must turn the other cheek, rest it against the cold laminate and get up with a smile, same as he’d gotten up when facing Andrew Scott on Justice Day. He’d gotten hit in the head with a piece of metal attracted by a NEXT power when Barnaby had momentarily averted his attention to save the new CEO of Apollon Media while Ryan was left vulnerable by his power.

The corrupt businessman didn’t deserve to be saved, but Barnaby Brooks Junior was a hero, and Wild Tiger was a hero who stepped in to stop Lunatic that night, and they believed in the idea of second chances, at least for some wretched men. He didn’t know what Ryan believed in, other than he wasn’t at all concerned about Lunatic in favour of confronting the prophesied crab messenger of the Justice Goddess (alone, if he had to).

Mark Schneider thought NEXT were beasts. In his eyes, the heroes were nothing more than a pack of well-trained circus animals he could prod with a rod without them ever turning to bite the hand that paid them their paychecks.

Yuri didn’t know what he believed in, but he knew enough. He wasn’t a hero, and it was his duty to step in where the heroes shouldn't and couldn't—to make things even, to take his revenge, to dole out punishments as he knew fit, (even when it was a twisted self-flagellation).

Yuri was taller but thinner than any of the group he was facing so weight wasn't on his side; to let them grab him would be equal to forfeiting. He'd have to act quickly and with precision. He caught the man before him by the wrist and twisted it until he screamed in pain and dropped the remains of the bottle.

Yuri's movements were calculated but not lacking in grace, steps set to an unheard rhythm, the beats of a gavel when he struck it in court. Three drunken men were nothing in comparison to the villains and heroes he had faced in court—or who Lunatic had faced as a combatant.

One, he punched the man with the bottle in the gut hard enough for the wind to get knocked out of him, his diaphragm spasming and leaving him gasping for air while he drowned on land. He let go of his wrist in time to step to the side and avoid the man in a cap.

Two, he pretended to punch him but instead landed a side kick on the back of his leg which made him wobble and brought him to his knees. As the most drunken of them, it disoriented him enough.

Three, he met the last man head-on where he thought Yuri was going to dance around him like he had done to the others, taken aback by Yuri not weaving to either side, only extending a hand to hold his throat with even pressure without crushing his windpipe at all. A laughably weak attempt at choking someone out—a joke—not a real threat; a firm but delicate touch that let him wind up a punch, ready to knock some sense into his opponent.

The threatening fist fell when his entire body went limp—Yuri removed his grip from the man’s carotid arteries to catch him so he wouldn't hit his head.

He arranged his body slumped over on the nearby row of seats, ghosted the back of his hand in front of his mouth and withdrew it when he felt the alcohol-scented breath against his skin. Alive, only unconscious.

Death was the fate for murderers and the most heinous of criminals, the ultimate punishment served in blue-green flames, but this…

“I believe it to be entirely unnecessary to cause a further scene here,” Yuri said over the sound of the hatted man on his knees retching on the floor. Regrettable that the sanitary workers would have to deal with it, but at least he wasn’t soiling the seating in favour of the floor, which was easier to clean.

The funicular started to brake, having nearly arrived at its next stop.

“It would do you all well to leave now,” added Yuri, smoothing out his jacket and turning to see the man who’d been rendered breathless helped to his feet by Ryan whose nose was bleeding, staining his teeth red when he grinned. The man half-heartedly pushed the hero away from himself, far less eager to start a fight without Ryan’s back turned to him.

In his eyes was a new sense of recognition, however.

“I know who you are, Golden Ryan, you f*cking—” He pointed at Ryan and spat out a string of insults laced with what must have been every applicable slur he could think of, “I'm gonna call a mag, and—”

“What, tell them I get f*cked in the ass or something? Be my guest, man. You think you're gonna be the first one ever to try to sell that to the mags? Don’t think too highly of yourself. You have to look up your story ideas on the internet before you try to sell ‘em.” Ryan laughed more nonchalantly than he should’ve been able to and flipped through his wallet to make sure everything was intact, pulling out cards and tucking them back before finding one that interested him.

“I was more thinking that you scream like a bitch out of your hero—”

“Anyway, Jason, friends, y’think your boss would wanna hear the sh*t you say on the weekends?“

The man recoiled and patted down his jacket (black leather like Ryan’s driving suit, and like his wallet).

“Is Argo Navis some sorta tech company? ‘Cause your business card doesn’t really explain it... Sounds like one of those small startups about to get bigger, eh?” The titular Jason jumped forward to grab his wallet at the same moment Ryan threw it to the side. “Fetch.”

“I’ll get you—”

“Aht-aht, you've gotta hear this first, though.” He tapped the cracked screen of his phone and pulled to the side, scrolling through a video he had taken. The screen was mostly dark, sometimes hidden behind Ryan’s hand, but the vicious words spoken were captured in perfect clarity. “I’ve got two vids of this, actually… And I never said anything to prompt this treatment, huh.”

“How the—”

“Smile!” Ryan snapped a picture of the man with flash on, blinding him. “I like photography, y’know that too? Anyone can take a video, anyway, are you dumb?”

“You were f*cking with us; you want to keep Blue Rose for yourself.” Jason blearily squinted through the flash and moved his focus to Yuri once he scoffed at the blasé conclusion.

“Yeah, I’m possessive like that,” he said, the words coming to him with a sneer. Jason's attention snapped back to Ryan. “Next time you say sh*t like that about her where I hear you'll be real sorry—what're the authorities gonna do to me, the great Golden Ryan?”

“You’ll get fired, who's laughing then?”

The punishments are far more severe, thought Yuri, but saw best to keep quiet. Still, to punish someone, you had to first catch them in the sprawling bureaucracy, and historically… Sternbild didn't have a shining reputation for anti corruption measures.

(Unless you were Lunatic, who didn't need to involve the written law in his judgements and could not be swayed by money or promises.)

“You really think so? I mean, don't you think you might get fired if I ring up your boss and show him this video? Real bad press for your company, huh… Besides, I’m a real freak of a NEXT who could crush your bones with my gravity in my sleep and you can do what? Punch me? Don’t make me f*cking laugh, man.”

A death threat, thought Yuri.

Lunatic would’ve killed Golden Ryan for that, an eye for an eye—but why for this man? Yuri felt queasy, bile and blood in his mouth, retched onto the floor, his rotten insides spilling for all to see. Only his reflection in the funicular’s window saw anything, unblinking eyes fixated on his sins and the layer of ash on his coat.

Jason grit his teeth and breathed out sharply. He tried to hold onto his dignity when he fetched his wallet from the floor under Ryan’s gaze.

He prattled away, recommended what way the three should take, promised his patronage to Argo Navis if he ever decided to buy a personal boat and needed novel maritime navigation systems and luxury solutions—they had a nice website that worked well on mobile so the IT staff knew what they were doing.

The staff in question picked their moderately conscious friend from the bench and left with their tails between their legs as a pack of dirty stray dogs.

Ryan’s golden eyes followed them and his teeth glinted in the light, and none of the men wanted to be torn apart by the territorial head of the pride even if he’d been chained and made to perform in the circus—and there was that rabid wolf with sleek fur but so thin it was better to say you ran from a lion than a sickly beast dead in a fortnight.

The doors slid close and the funicular left the stop.

“You’re a deer in the headlights, dude.”

Yuri stared into Ryan’s bloody maw. He blinked. His gloved hand came up to hold his temple as if struck by a bout of migraine.

“You okay?”

“Yes.” Yuri straightened his coat, thought he’d gone through the motion too many times and stopped himself. Ryan tilted his head to the side. “...No.”

“Ah, yeah, I didn’t mean to scare you. Y’know—”

“No,” said Yuri, so severe that Ryan fell quiet. “I am not personally troubled nor afraid. However, as it is, a hero does not make death threats. You could get fired for that, worse, even only for aggravated assault. The law is more lenient on a troubled teenager than it is on someone of age—nothing like Thomas Taurus’ case will be allowed to repeat nonetheless—”

“Huh?” Ryan lifted his hands in a soothing gesture when his thoughts caught up to Yuri’s words. “Wait, whoa, Judge—death threats? Nah, I was just like, oooh, I’ll rough you up if you don’t shut up. Sure, my power’s a lot but I don’t—I mean, I just wanted them nervous. I guess I’m convincing, but… You don’t think I meant it when I said I’m possessive about Rose or some stupid sh*t like that either?”

Ryan’s mascara had run at the corner of his eye and wiped away with a thumb, leaving a smudged streak behind. The skin on his neck was red from how he’d held it to protect himself from some imagined threat, strangling himself with his own hands. A drying trickle of blood fell from his nostril to his lips, mouth slightly agape. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Disheveled strands of hair poked out from under his cap.

His heavy-set eyes were a frightened beige, all colour drawn out of them till they were hollow.

Ryan had no idea what Yuri was thinking about but an awful weight nestled into his chest cavity and stayed there, or maybe just sunk further, tearing arteries and snapping sinew as it went.

He'd really blown it this time, all for his idea of morals—he couldn't fix the world, but he wasn't about to let his partner get treated like some object right where he could put a stop to it. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought he touched something sharp but didn't want to dwell on his overactive imagination.

“Ryan—”

Ryan turned away and gestured to the entrance. He was great at selling a specific image of himself that was so real it was true to him too, but it was cracking now. Gaps appeared from some imagined pain in his back where scars crossed his skin, ground shaking from the tremors of his fingers when he remembered the sound of falling buildings—buildings that were collapsing on top of him.

It was a delayed reaction from—from Yuri’s disappointment in him. Ryan had thought he understood more. Why’d he always have to act before thinking? That time, too, when he’d rushed to the scene alone in his civilian wear. The other heroes had laughed at him and left him laying there. Maybe he’d imagined that part.

“You should get off at this stop, Judge. You gotta backtrack a bit to get to the Silver Stage, but at least you can catch a cab here, eh…” His voice was light when he made his way to the other side of the funicular's rows of benches, now talking more to himself than anything, “Let me go here to wait ‘cause that puke is gonna start stinking, uh-huh… And guess I might as well ride this funicular higher, get home or whatever…”

There was no excitement or added pressure from an audience, so all he was left with was a confusing comment from Yuri and a stomach-churning sense of dread. Yuri should’ve been enough of an audience, but his brain didn’t want to register it right. That’s right, this was because he’d fallen over and hit his nose and his head.

Back then, someone had grabbed him and something wet had touched his neck—he could remember and connect it to when he'd lost control of his powers, but he did his best to forget. Remembering served no-one, least of all him.

He bounced his leg to mask the shaking of his fingers and noticed he’d sat down on a bench.

“Ryan.”

“Huh? Still here?” Ryan looked up at Yuri but never at his face. “You gotta hurry or the funicular leaves this stop.”

Yuri sat next to Ryan, back rod-straight and head set ahead as if in the courtroom. “...It already left.”

“Then you're out of luck. The walk's gonna be longer. Or the cab ride, take your pick.” Charades were easier when you knew the words.

“Is the establishment you mentioned far away?”

“...The classy drinks place? I thought you weren't listening to me when I was talking about that, honest. I was like f*ck, he’s pissed off at me.” Ryan coughed. “Y’know, ignore me, I’m just saying sh*t.”

A troubled feeling crossed Yuri's face. “I was briefly lost in thought, but I heard what you said.”

How Yuri had heard him, Ryan didn’t really care. “Dunno, maybe a ten minute walk from the third Gold Stage stop, tops, something like that.”

“I suppose I could join you since it is not too far and the night is young.”

Ryan watched as Yuri's gaze slid down, his long eyelashes shadowing his green eyes. “Are you babysitting me or something? I could've handled them myself, y'know. I'm handling myself right now just fine.”

“Of course.”

“Uh-huh,” went Ryan. “But I guess I'm glad you're taking those self-defense classes. Some people deserve to get their faces punched or something, damn.”

Yuri inclined his head to the side. “In my professional opinion… No. However, in my personal opinion… Perhaps it is as you say, on the rare occasion.”

“If you mention…” Ryan paused, made a noncommittal gesture with his hand. “Eh… Mention this funicular ride to anyone, I'll have to move out of Sternbild. Just so you know. Boss Lady’s gonna be mad at you sabotaging the show, for sure.”

“...I believe there is no need to ever speak of this again.”

“Thanks.” The word was so sticky in his mouth he almost didn't get it out. “Can’t have people knowing you punched someone or some sh*t ‘cause I got distracted, so really, I’m doing this for your good.”

“How very… Heroic of you.”

“I'm not the Gravity Prince for no reason, y'know? And—like I’ve told you, I’m a super sensitive guy. It makes me—” Ryan choked up and was not proud of it, aligning his face away from the man sitting next to him. “Makes me really emotional to think that you might’ve gotten in trouble just ‘cause of something I did. All heroic-like.”

He pretended not to cry, and Yuri pretended not to notice. A stop or two came by and went, and his back ached in a way the doctors said it shouldn’t have hurt.

Ryan had never feared anything in his life as much as he feared Gregory Sunshine. It woke him up at night in cold sweat and dry heaving—sometimes he didn’t get enough sleep and fell asleep during the day for the same dream to repeat all over again.

The more he tried to suppress the feeling, the more embarrassing it was when it bubbled to surface, his reaction severe and immediate. Barnaby was his best friend in Sternbild (maybe in the entire world) and he had never mentioned it. The heroes of this city wouldn’t understand him, Ryan had decided, partially out of convenience.

He breathed roughly through his nose while holding his palm over his mouth, blood splattering in his lower field of vision.

Ryan used the front of his white tank top to wipe his hand and his face—he glanced at Yuri, caught his mortified expression from the corner of his eye and focused his gaze on him properly. “I got a nosebleed for no reason, what was I supposed to do? Leave it on my face, huh?”

“...Please, use this,” said Yuri, pulling out a neat handkerchief. Ryan took it and pressed it against his nose when the other man continued, quieter: “This is the second time.”

“The second time?”

“...Hm?” Yuri was as perplexed as Ryan was.

The funicular started to slow down.

“Oi, this is our stop, Yuri.”

Ryan stood up and held his hand out to help Yuri stand but he declined, pointing out the blood staining it. He wiped the blood on his cotton top when the other man didn’t look (the shirt was a lost cause already) and pulled the zipper high enough to make sure the red stains weren’t visible.

All bloody hands weren’t as easy to clean, so Yuri pulled his gloves on before he left.

Chapter 10: Luck & Misfortune (In Equal Measure)

Chapter Text

The greenery of the park started not far from the little corner store where Yuri had stopped by to buy a bottle of water and Ryan didn't know what else. He'd been expected to wait outside and he didn't want to argue with Yuri right now, not even jokingly.

Ryan picked at the dried blood under his nose and threw the little scrap of fabric Yuri had given him into a nearby trash can. He’d walked home enough times with a bloody nose to know that in a big city like this, not many people cared what he looked like at all. Sometimes he saw curiousity or concern in others eyes, or maybe disgust, but all and any of those gave him a reason to speak to someone he didn't know.

Any attention was good attention, he reasoned, but Yuri didn't much agree. So he'd stayed outside like this. He didn't know how long he'd waited, but every passing second was too long. Nobody passed the area by, not even cars, because the road ahead was blocked for construction.

Shreds of clouds meandered across the sky, lazy and aimless. The trees of the park swallowed the noises from the various construction sites across Sternbild, creating a cusp of unreal silence deep within the heart of the city. Ryan could hear the bell at the door ringing when Yuri exited the corner store, squinting in the bright light.

Ryan waved at him, but he was too busy shading his eyes with a hand. He still clutched the shopping bag but wasn’t carrying anything new; maybe he’d packed his purchases with the clothes.

“The park's super nice,” said Ryan, entirely too loud in an effort to sound carefree once Yuri was walking next to him, “And kinda empty. Even though it's a nice day too, right?”

“Mm…”

“Wanna sit here?” Ryan pointed at a bench he’d scouted out while waiting.

Yuri lifted his gaze from the ground and scanned their surroundings, like someone might jump out from the bushes lining the walkway snaking through the park. “I don't know…”

“Hum…” Ryan pondered if Yuri would slip out of his grasp like a frightened creature or a ghost. The thought filled him with more dread than he cared to admit. Maybe he really should’ve broken some of the bones of that boy from earlier: an arm or a leg, something that healed up fine but made sure he absolutely couldn't follow them. He realized he didn’t know much about how bones healed, but he assumed they broke like branches, with an awful crunch as they snapped. He shuddered. “Wait—I know! Let's go there, then.”

“...Where?”

He hopped onto the bench Yuri deemed unfit for lounging, peering over the bushes lining the walkway. In some places, the underbrush grew thinner, revealing the sun-dry mulch. The trees behind the bushes stood apart, each reaching for the sky on a sloping hill, lower branches freshly trimmed away. He angled himself lower to see under the foliage, thinking he saw a glimpse of a sunny clearing.

“Through the bushes and into the forest. Well, it's not that much of a forest, but… Y’know. Kinda is.”

“We can't—”

“Sure we can! And it’s gonna be only for us.”

Yuri clutched the shopping bag tighter when Ryan jumped down from the bench. “But there's no path…”

“Yeah, ‘cause we gotta make one! Um, parks are for wandering.” Ryan held out his hand by mistake, pivoting to gesturing. “Most of them, at least! There's no don't do this -signs or anything. Plus, absolutely nobody's gonna follow us there. Right?”

“Mm… I'm not sure.”

“I'll go first!”

“W-What if there's ticks?”

“Don’t they live in super tall grass and stuff? That’s not how it looks over there… Besides, there probably aren’t any anyway!” Yuri looked unconvinced, but didn't shy away when Ryan paced to and fro on the walkway, measuring the best angle of attack. “You can see through the other side here. It's kiiiinda like a path already. I’ll go first.”

He remembered the sunglasses in his pocket and put them on to shield his eyes before ducking under the tallest branches. The young, spry shoots bent away from him without problem, allowing him to walk through despite some getting snagged in his hair.

“Uhm, Yuri?” But he hadn’t followed him; Ryan's choked up with the words he wanted to say, his tongue sticky. He rushed back to the other side with a rustle of leaves, yelping when a lock of hair caught painfully on a branch, but once he was through, Yuri’s worried eyes greeted him. “C’mon! I thought you left and got super scared—uh, that you'd get lost in the park. Are you gonna come?”

Yuri fidgeted and looked around while Ryan made promises that nobody was around. He walked forward and leant lower, taking his first faltering steps into the passage underneath bushes.

Once Ryan walked further in, some twigs his body had bent snapped back into shape and whipped Yuri in the face. He squeezed his eyes shut on instinct. “Ah!... R-Ryan?!”

“I've got you!” Ryan held his hand in his to lead him on.

Branches raked across their skin and left faint marks, obscuring the hands they held in secret. The push through the bushes felt longer than it should've been, the spell broken when their hands separated.

“Yeah, see, it’s a little forest over here.” Ryan skipped over a rough patch of ground. “You ever been camping?”

“Um… No, I haven’t.”

“Me either. Not like, properly, with a tent and all that.” He continued down the hill. “It's not steep but the ground’s a bit loose, so be careful, okay?”

“Okay.”

The air was cooler in the shadow of the trees. Yuri’s sneakers had flat bottoms and he slipped once, stumbling for a step before being caught by Ryan. He didn't dare hold onto him for longer than a moment.

“S-Sorry.”

“It's alright!...”

No further words were spoken during their trek down the hill. Ryan continued to scratch off dried blood from under his nose. Patches of fresh growth added splotches of colour onto the mulch-brown ground the longer they walked, stringy, sun-starved plants trying to survive under the shadow of the even tree cover.

Eventually a field of grass and wildflowers stretched before them, beauty stained by the ongoing development at the far edge, a bleak cement walling in the process of being erected.

In spite of it, or perhaps because of the promise of privacy the walling provided, the view was divine. The meadow was oversaturated in the bright sunlight to the point it looked unreal, an idealized painting on a postcard advertising Sternbild. A breeze passing by made the meadow ripple like a jeweled sea. Ryan fumbled with the sunglasses and hung them from the front pocket of his jacket to see it without the dark filter.

Yuri stepped further into the sun which gave his skin a warm blush, the light scattering off his hair and turning his curls into quicksilver, the deep emerald of the lush background reflecting off the green of his eyes and making them brighter. The prettiest was the ease returning to his posture and the smile that crept after it, settling onto his lips.

“Whoa,” said Ryan, half in thought. “Looks nice.”

“It is beautiful,” said Yuri, but he was talking about the meadow and remained quite unaware of his own prettiness. Ryan averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck.

“R-Right! See, aren't you happy you came?”

“A little.” Yuri’s smile was wistful.

“Uh-huh,” went Ryan. He spread his arms. “It's just you and me here, yeah? It's like, uh, like from a story from a book I've read before. You go through the woods and there's a super magical place in there.”

Yuri hummed out a laugh after a moment of thought. “You haven't really read a book like that…” His eyes were brighter already.

“But I bet there's a book like it, though.”

Yuri laughed, this time in earnest, the sound light and airy despite all that had happened. Ryan was proud of himself for that. “Mm… You're probably right.”

“Wanna sit down? At the edge, here where the grass isn't super tall or anything.” Ryan took off his jacket (it ruined his outfit cohesion, but he already had some blood on his once-white dress shirt) and arranged it on the ground. “You can sit on it like a picnic blanket, right? It protects you from the ground and the bugs and whatever. You can have it, ‘cause I'm a hero, yeah?”

Not expecting a reply, he sat down next to his jacket and leant back on the palms of his hands, eyes closed, warmth of summer against his face. The shopping bag rustled and the leather of his strewn jacket creaked when Yuri sat down next to him.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah?” He opened his eyes to see Yuri holding his sunglasses, having picked them out of the pocket to avoid crushing them. “Oops, I forgot about those. Sorry…”

“Did you steal them from the—”

“I didn't!” went Ryan, sitting up straighter. “I—ugh, I forgot them in my pocket when we were, y'know, leaving that store! I didn't mean to steal ‘em! But it'd be awkward to go back now, and, well, we prolly shouldn't. And I'm leaving home today, so it's like, y'know, it's fine, right?”

“Okay,” said Yuri, and Ryan couldn't place what emotion Yuri was masking. He offered the sunglasses to Ryan who took them and fiddled with the frames. Yuri pulled out a package of paper towels and a water bottle from his shopping back. “Um, I bought water. So you can wash your face.”

“Ooh, nice. That's super smart, actually.” He set his sunglasses on the ground between them and took the offered wetted paper towel, scrubbing his skin clean while making smalltalk, his voice occasionally wavering and nasally voice as he rubbed at his nose. While listening without much to say, Yuri took the sunglasses and put them away in the bag for safekeeping. Ryan hoped the foundation on his face wouldn't disappear altogether and reveal any of the red spots he'd covered up in the morning. “And… Now. Tadah.”

“There's a bit left… Here.” Yuri tapped his face like when Ryan had tapped his own to signal there was some dried ice cream on the side of his face.

“Damn, I thought I got it all off already, and I don't have a mirror or anything, eh…”

Yuri pulled the grass with his fingers. “I can… I could help, if you want me to.”

“To wipe my face?” laughed Ryan, though he trailed off when he saw the strangely hurt expression on Yuri's features. “I mean, sure, uhm, I don't mind.”

“It's okay, it was weird to suggest.”

“Naw, Yuri, hm, I super didn't mean it like that. It kinda makes me feel silly, or something like that. Like… You're taking care of me?” Ryan smiled and scratched his cheek. “Plus, isn't it kinda gross?”

“I like taking care of people I care about.”

“Oh, so you care about me now, huh?” The moment he realized what he said he regretted both the words and the teasing tone.

Yuri plucked a petal off a tiny yellow flower. “It’s normal to care about your friends.”

“Totally,” said Ryan, a bit too fast, but in truth, he wasn't sure. Sometimes he cared too much, but then again, sometimes he felt he didn't care enough. If he truly cared, he probably wouldn't have broken up with a girl just because he was going to be busy over the summer. He could've probably made more time for her if he really wanted, and it wasn't like he had anything negative to say about her. But he was glad he'd broken up with her, because it would've been awkward to tell Yuri he had a girlfriend. She hadn't been too sad either, and as far as Ryan knew, she was dating someone else now. “Well, you can do it, okay?”

“No, you're right, it was a weird offer…”

“But, like, I'm also weird, and I'm totally gross from blood on my face right now that I can't even see, so… Help me, Yuri, pleaaase. I want the blood off.” The other boy didn't look convinced so he put on an overly dramatic voice: “Only you can be my hero and save me.”

Yuri made a face somewhere between embarrassment and surprise and shushed Ryan, as if someone could hear. A bird sang in the treeline behind them, a clear lurid song. Cars drove in the distance. Still, in this forgotten corner of Sternbild, it felt like only the two of them existed. “Don't be so loud…”

“Okay!” went Ryan, cheerful. A stray sense of wonder nestled in his chest from how less rattled Yuri was today from getting into a fight than by whatever concerns usually troubled him and boiled underneath the surface. Ryan couldn't see any of that now. He was more concerned by the idea of holding hands with him in public than someone punching his nose bloody.

They weren't two entirely unconnected things, that much Ryan could understand, but he was a little hazy on the details. He didn't really get it, couldn't connect how the slip of paper he'd found on the dressing room floor was part of the bigger picture. But he didn't want to spoil the day by focusing on things like that.

“So, Yuri!... What's an example of a book about magical forests, or something.”

“A Midsummer Night's Dream,” said he, playing with the water bottle, trying to decide if it was appropriate to be Ryan's hero or not. “It's by William Shakespeare.”

Ryan scoffed. “Yuri! Do you always read about old stuff, ‘cause that's super duper old too!”

“You know who Shakespeare is?”

“Hey,” Ryan co*cked his head to the side. “You sounded wayyyy too surprised just now. I might not know everything you do. But I absolutely hundred percent know who Shakespeare is.”

“Right,” said Yuri, stammering, but with an amused curve to his lips. He unscrewed the water bottle. “What should read if not the classics?”

“Honest, I dunno… I think my old girlfriend read like, all these fantasy stories where everyone always falls in love. Or like, that was her fave part, I guess. And she knew a ton about them. It was kinda cool. Maybe you should try those stories sometime. They've got happy endings. I think. Nothing like, everyone left ‘cause they couldn't find some guy, like in that astronaut story. Argonaut story, I mean.” Ryan regretted talking about his old girlfriends so much, but it had been the first thing that popped into his mind. Sometimes he shouldn't say everything he thought.

Yuri pursed his lips while folding a paper towel over itself. “A Midsummer Night's Dream is a fantasy story where everyone falls in love, too.”

“Really? I thought—” Yuri wiped the spot above the side of Ryan's mouth where he'd tried to clumsily wipe away the blood and spread a thin layer of it in a faintly red splotch. He was concentrated, a small wrinkle appearing between his brows before he leant back and Ryan could speak again. “I thought all of those Shakespeare stories were super depressing.”

“He did write many tragedies.” The paper in Yuri's hands was stained a rosy pink from watered-down blood.

“Like Romeo and Juliet, right? Did you know they've made a bunch of movies about that? Also, he definitely wrote stuff where you're talking to skulls and that sorta stuff.”

“Mm… The titular character of Hamlet famously talks to a skull, but that is only one book.”

“Right. I'm super sure I had to read that one for school. I kinda skimmed it through, but still.”

“Those plays are tragedies, yes, but the one I mentioned is a comedy.”

“Maybe I'd like it, then. I like fun stuff…” Ryan held his mouth closed when Yuri rubbed at some persistent stain with the unstained corner of the paper, eager to talk again when he withdrew. “Fun stuff, like hanging out with you. It would seriously suck if I didn't have you here. I'd just have all this blood on my face forever.”

Yuri folded the paper towel in his hands over and over again till it was a small square. “You wouldn't be in trouble to begin with; there would be no blood.”

“Eh, y'know, Yuri, I get in trouble a ton. Seriously. Like, for no reason? So don't worry about it, yeah? I would've prolly gotten in trouble all by myself.” Ryan tried to catch Yuri's eye, but he was too busy staring at his face, hand half-outstretched like trying to decide how to approach some bloodstain left on Ryan's face. He waited.

Slowly, Yuri drew his thumb over the bow of his lips, silk against his skin, cool and soft. His eyes had a faraway look when Ryan leant into his touch. Their eyes met, and Yuri jerked backwards as if frightened, looking away. “You smeared blood there earlier. It's gone now.”

“Uh-huh, yeah?” Ryan traced where Yuri's finger had wiped blood, to catch the ghost of his touch.

Fluffy white clouds sailed across the sky, casting patches of shadows over the meadow and the colourful flowers that swayed gently in the wind. Yuri folded the bloodied paper towel underneath an unused one, carefully wrapping away all traces of blood.

Ryan wanted to continue talking but couldn't think of anything to say, gingerly rubbing his lips. He got the feeling he was doing something wrong. A school bully had tried to fight Yuri and instead Ryan had crushed him with his power not too long ago, and now he looked disheveled with his once-styled hair messed up and the blood from an unlucky nosebleed wiped off from his face, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss Yuri.

Would it be the same as kissing his girlfriends? Yuri had probably never kissed anyone, but he wouldn't have minded. His touch was always so soft.

Ryan felt his ears burning up. He lied down and put his arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sunlight and his reddened skin from Yuri. Grass tickled the back of his neck. He listened to Yuri moving next to him, carefully packing water and paper away.

A shadow passed over him, maybe from Yuri leaning closer to see if he was still awake. Ryan sighed deeply and adjusted his position in response, just in case, as a signifier he was awake and enjoying the sun.

“Ryan? What will you do if you become a hero and find out it's a very difficult thing to be?”

“Hmmh,” went Ryan, grateful for the question, clearing his throat when he found his voice had turned sticky. He shook his head under his arm. “What brought this on?”

“Just a random thought I had, no reason.”

“Well, I know being a hero won't be hard, ‘cause I'm totally a natural.”

“B-But what if it will be hard anyway?...”

Ryan lifted his arm from his face. “Hard? Like, how?”

“I don't know,” said Yuri, but he sounded like he had some idea. “What if people treat you poorly because everyone will know you're a NEXT, especially if you choose to use your own name?”

“Oh, that. Well, I don't really care…” Ryan believed his words to be true. “I don't care what people think about me. Y'know, my neighbors saw the whole thing back when I accidentally crushed our garage with my power. I think they moved away after that.”

Yuri pulled his legs up and hugged them. His entire body fit on the black leather jacket on the ground. “...I'm sorry.”

“Meh, don't be. They were kinda mega annoying anyway, always complaining about any stuff I did.” Traffic murmured in the distance. “Any other questions? Y'gotta keep ‘em coming so that one day, when I'm super famous, you can be like, I got all the answers out of Ryan Goldsmith already, and here's the facts.”

The boy beside him leaned his cheek against his knees and looked down at him as if trying to read a challenging book. Ryan smiled at him.

“Um, I guess I can think of a few more, if you want.”

“I love talking about myself, ‘cause I’m so great, so sure. Duh.”

“What would you do if you lost your NEXT power?”

“Haah… Lost my power? Can that really happen? I just got it, anyway.”

“There have been a few cases where a NEXT power has greatly diminished or fully disappeared with age. The reason is unknown, but it seems to be natural. It could happen to any NEXT.”

“Huh… Nobody's ever mentioned that in my town. Or did you read it somewhere? But, well… I guess I'd do something else then? ‘Cause it would be kinda mega embarrassing to try to catch criminals and stuff and you're like, uh, sorry everybody, no powers today. Right?”

“You’d give up everything that you worked for?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ryan squinted upwards. The glowing silver halo of hair around Yuri’s head left his face in shadow and made his expression harder to read. “Honest, I'm not a super hard thinker… Like, I'd worry about all that if it happened, but I don't usually plan stuff that far ahead. I'm sure it'd be fine somehow! Maybe I’d be mega old by then and could just retire.”

“You could try to, um, maybe pretend you still had your power.”

Ryan scrunched up his face. “Eh, I’m kinda lazy and that sounds super complicated.” And very specific.

“By then, you could have important friends who make it easier.” The green of Yuri’s eyes grew dull, misted over.

“Hmm… Friends like you, or who? If it was just some people, I guess. Would everyone be in on it? Meh, I just wanna succeed because I’m me and awesome, yeah? Getting people to do stuff for me is super lame.”

“...Would it be different if I was one of the friends?”

“Yup. I bet you'd really hate if I lied about stuff like that ‘cause it's totally against the law. So there’s extra reason why I wouldn't. You'd get super duper disappointed with me. It'd be worse than the sunglasses, which—it was an accident, y'know, that I forgot them in my pocket, I meant to buy them! Or like, touching rotating doors. That's against the law too, or so you say.”

“You think we'll still know each other when we're older?”

“Duh,” went Ryan, meeting Yuri's gaze, his heart fluttering. Of course! he thought. They could talk later, it wasn't like they’d only have today. They lived in different countries, but that shouldn’t stop them. “Why wouldn't we stay in touch! I can get your phone number, maybe… Or your email?”

“...I don't have a phone or a computer.” His voice was reluctant, as if someone was forcing him to say so.

“Not even landline or like, your parents’ PC? And hey, don’t libraries have PCs you can use? I bet you go to libraries all the time.”

Yuri shook his head and buried his face in his knees. “Sorry,” he muttered against his legs. Ryan pushed himself up on his elbows. The wind tore the waves of Yuri’s hair around, a stormy ocean about his head and mind.

Ryan felt like he might explode—he considered begging Yuri to trade numbers with him, but that would’ve been uncool and he didn’t want to force him to do something he didn’t want to do (but he didn’t really understand why Yuri was so against it, because it didn’t seem like his own idea). That was when something crawled across Ryan's back.

He jumped and screamed, scaring Yuri with the sudden movement. “f*ck, there's something under my shirt—what if it really is a tick! I'm gonna get that super awful tick disease thing!”

“Lyme Disease,” offered Yuri as Ryan made off with his shirt while writhing where he sat, unbuttoning it with so much force one of the buttons tore. “Let me look.”

Ryan turned his back to Yuri, who tried to not marvel at the lean lines of muscle that meant he did train despite not looking the part, indeed, he tried to not notice any part of Ryan the best he could. He had some red spots on his shoulders and back, but the rest was soft and smooth. The would-be hero rambled about how he was going to die (which he wasn't).

“It's alright, Ryan,” said Yuri. He hesitated before putting his fingers around the bug and against Ryan's warm skin. The cold fingertips made Ryan shudder but he endured while the bug crawled off him. “It’s only a ladybug.”

“Oh, phew.” Ryan turned to see the round and red, black-spotted beetle scurrying in circles on Yuri's palm.

“You should put on a shirt,” said Yuri, reaching out to a nearby flower to set the ladybug down, patiently waiting for it to change perches.

“Yeah yeah…” Ryan grabbed the first thing he could from their shared shopping bag, from underneath the practical things Yuri had bought (like the bottled water). He fit the black tank over his head, his fingers catching nothing at the hem at first when he pulled it down. “Huh?”

“Ah, it's the one I ripped a piece from, sorry… The scrap I gave to you, for your nose.”

“Oh yeah! And don’t worry, it's fine. How'd you know how to do that anyway?” He peeled the shirt off of himself and sat back down, cross-legged on the ground next to Yuri.

“The hemmed edges are thick, but I, um… Bit in the middle to make a small hole and ripped it along the grain.”

“Wow, cool... Let me try.” Ryan tried ripping the shirt till he managed to make a handkerchief-sized piece which he excitedly showed Yuri who was already looking.

“Yeah, like that. But this has some polyester in it, I think, so the fabric stretches before tearing and gets warped.”

“Right…” Ryan stretched the fabric in his hands till it started unraveling. “So, what are you gonna be when you grow up and all that?”

“Hnh?” Yuri almost dropped the shirt he was holding out to Ryan.

“Y'know, your job or something. You'd be good at a ton of stuff for sure, like this stuff: sewing and fabrics. That’s a job too.” He pulled the shirt on and buttoned it up half-way through. It was a passable replacement for his ruined dress shirt.

“I…” Yuri trailed off and pulled at the grass. “I don't know.”

“Really?”

“Um, what do you think I should be?”

“Hmm…” Ryan looked at Yuri from under his half-lidded eyes. If he wanted to be cheeky, he would've said that Yuri could be a model. He panicked for some reason, which was very unlike his usual super cool self. “Uh, an English teacher. ‘Cause you read all of that long-winded old stuff and love it.”

“I-I read all the new comics I can find too!”

“Damn, I don't even read those…”

“But—what do you even read? You have to read something!” His green eyes were so big and lined with long dark eyelashes, and he'd leant ever so closer. Ryan might've been a master of social interaction, but all he could think was that Yuri really was pretty and he should stop thinking that.

“Aaah, stop being so, so surprised!” Ryan threw himself upon the grass and rolled away from Yuri so all he could see was his back. He closed his eyes, and spoke, defiant: “Ugh, I told ya, I read a ton of different sorta mags. Gossip mags, fashion ones… I swear! They have stories too, really.”

Yuri laughed, the sound muffled against his hand. Ryan turned around. “What?”

“You sounded so,” Yuri paused, a bit guilty, “whiny…”

“I didn’t!” went Ryan, and his voice cracked halfway through the declination, his face burning up. “And that voice thing just now was a total coincidence!”

Ryan threw a handful of grass onto Yuri when he laughed again, but all Yuri did in response was to give him a look that seemed so fond that Ryan thought he imagined it, his breath catching in his throat. He laughed out of instinct, then they both laughed for no reason at all, and it was like the fight in the mall had been a bad dream.

Yuri held his stomach and laid onto the ground next to Ryan, only partially on the jacket, complaining that he’d laughed so hard his stomach hurt.

“That’s what you get, for bullying me.”

Yuri looked more serious again, resting his hand on the ground between them. “Thank you, for helping me earlier. I mean it.”

Ryan moved his hand onto Yuri’s, as if by accident, and blurted out a gargle of words he didn’t think through: “I wouldn’t have helped just about anyone, so you’re super lucky like that, to get helped by me.”

“That’s not very hero-like, but maybe I like your style of heroism more…” He shook his head with a hum, the small smile on his lips turning melancholic, rotting from the inside out. “I hope my luck doesn’t run out.”

“It won’t,” said Ryan, making a promise he had no right to make; they both knew it, but Yuri most of all. Right now, he wanted to believe Ryan, so he smiled again.

The two of them lay side by side, holding hands where nobody could see, the grass tall enough to hide their intertwined fingers. Yuri's lips were slightly agape, gracefully curved. Pale red bloomed across their bow, like he'd been eating strawberries.

Ryan's skin was dusted with pink, and sunlight made his eyes gleam. Yuri thought he might as well have been a hero already, a fantastical storybook hero who disregarded rules for the better, a pretty prince traveling the world.

He should've been more unsettled, but all caution was sloughing off him like a scab and becoming an open wound. Ryan never saw the blood, never saw the frivolousness of his thoughts. Better that way.

Yuri thought he was stuck in a loop since morning when he paced around his room trying not to think of Ryan. Then when Ryan had held hand and traced his veins, so close to the blood but still so far away, and when his schoolmate had found him out for what he was.

Ryan would protect him from everything, like yesterday, when he'd splashed his drink on someone and urged Yuri out of the Hero’s Bar when he’d frozen up, and like when he'd said all those awful things about Mr. Legend, shown him that there could be someone who didn’t idolize him. He had saved him from that lecture hall.

He'd pulled him here after him, after insisting that through the bushes lining the park walkway was a suitable place to forge a new path, an idea Yuri would’ve never have come up with.

Yuri didn't walk around by himself because he had nowhere to go and nobody to meet, following established routes mapped onto his life by others.

The locations were all chosen beforehand: the school with his spotless attendance that had only once faltered when his father had first turned so violent, the large library where he visited weekly, the opera house he had visited with his mother on a few occasions and the random music shop tucked in the small space between two buildings, right next to a supermarket where he sometimes fetched whatever his mother requested.

This was the entirety of his world, filled with dangers. Don’t walk too fast or slow, don’t attract attention, keep your head down, turn the other cheek; these were the few simple rules he followed, and Ryan's existence demanded he break all of them.

“We're going here.”

Ryan's words echoed through his shattered reality he tried to hold together, the shards of his different selves that didn't fit together right and acted on their own accord.

Lunatic always walked the steps he did, but now the short steps of the child he had once been ghosted over his own strides, reappeared now when he thought he’d gotten himself under control. Timid and afraid, he wished Ryan would whisk him away from his unlife, holding onto some misplaced, juvenile hope.

Yuri took a breath, tried to center himself in the moment. Control over himself was one of the only things he had left.

“...Here?” The narrow alleyway started with a couple of steps behind a cut-apart wire fence that Ryan pushed out of the way and turned, extending a hand to Yuri.

“Yeah, we're going to a high profile place. This is the discreet entrance, trust me. We could go and cut in the line, but… “ Ryan gestured with his hand. “ Y'know. There's people there and I look like sh*t. My hair's a mess, there's prolly blood under my nose, that sorta thing. I mean, I guess I’ve got a rugged look going on, but it'd make people wonder. Plus, you're here with me, so…”

Yuri should've left, but he peered into the dark alley and saw a distant gleam of garish neon lights. “You are certain this is discreet?”

“Totally. I got the owner of this place a real Dragon Kid autograph—she's a huge fan—and promised I'll keep an eye out for any unique merch, eh…” Ryan held out the hand he’d been gesturing with. “C’mon.”

Yuri closed his eyes, so as to not get hit by the branches, but there was nothing but the cut-open wire fencing that Ryan carefully held to the side. The step under his shoes would’ve made him lose his balance had he not caught Ryan’s hand. He let go, a touch mistakenly accepted.

Ryan smiled at him and continued talking.

Going somewhere they weren’t supposed to go made him nervous, an unwelcome emotion he didn’t seem to be able to shake. His father was strict about all the arbitrary rules he came up with when he had a bad day. He would be furious if he found out Yuri had followed a near-stranger like this.

Any fear he felt burned up when he remembered Lunatic had found refuge in this alley once, limping after extracting his justice, the iron taste of blood in his mouth and breath running ragged. Criminals couldn't touch him, much less heroes like Mr. Legend. He would rather burn up than surrender.

Underneath the ash, Yuri Petrov, who worked as a judge, felt like an illusory afterimage of himself. Being here was a mistake that he could never take back or forget—a monumental failure that would forever haunt him and lurk at the corners of his mind like how the scent of smoke stuck to a cloth.

He'd thought this before, this exact thing, and he flexed his hands to grasp that wayward thought: something else he’d forgotten.

“Oi, Judge, you okay? Relax.”

“I could ask the same from you,” said Yuri, blinking out smoke from his eyes. “After all, you look like a mess.”

“Ha, okay. See, there's our ticket inside.” He hollered at a man on his break sitting on the corner of cement stairs.

Ryan exchanged a few words with him and laughed at a shared inside joke Yuri wasn't privy to. He then gestured to the door and returned to his phone-scrolling and smoking, but not before nodding Yuri a polite greeting, the dregs of his laughter crinkling at the corners of his eyes. For a moment, Yuri was a tangible part of the world, casually acknowledged without further scrutiny.

Ryan's presence made him more real, a nameless apparition who nonetheless existed in the minds of others. Perhaps shedding his name was a gift, a small mercy.

The impression of a polite smile graced his lips when he trailed after Ryan who navigated the hallway with learned ease and past multiple doors. One of them must’ve been a kitchen, the scent of food thick in the air. Ryan led Yuri to a fleet of stairs, and almost walked into a woman Yuri thought to be a waitress or a bartender.

“Oi oi!”

“What happened to you?” Her voice had a note of genuine worry. She was short with a smart black suit worn without the jacket but with a tidy apron, sleeves rolled halfway up her arms. Her hair was cropped short and her eyes were as dark as her hair.The intricate red embroidery of the chest pocket read Wu Xing Bar and Lounge.

“Took the funicular and I walked into the damn door when it didn't open fast enough”, lied Ryan, picking at the flecks of dried blood on his lip. The lie was as effortless as it'd been so many times prior, spoken like the absolute truth with total confidence. “Can you believe? I felt dumb as sh*t before remembering I'm pretty much perfect, ha-ha. Anyway, we’re going up to the suites, open the door for me, please? I’ve got a reservation for Mr. Smith, yeah?”

The bartender lifted a brow at Ryan’s words, but didn’t seem to doubt him in any way. “I’ll open number one for you when I go down. Keep in mind, concierge hours are over.”

“Yeah yeah.” Ryan waved at her as he walked past. She nodded at him and then at Yuri but had to do a double take as if she’d been expecting to see someone else, surprise hidden well but not well enough for Yuri not to notice. He assumed Ryan frequented the place with someone else, perhaps a different hero or with one of his many girlfriends. Yuri didn’t fit either profile.

He followed after Ryan. The sounds of the bar hit him like a wall after the silence of the backrooms when Ryan pushed a door open and gestured for him to follow into the moodily lit hallway. After adjustment, it was evident that this wasn’t just any bar; not loud and cacophonous enough. He peered over the railing to the lower level and saw elegantly placed table sets with people sitting around them, all following an uniform dress code.

None of the people underneath seemed to take note of them, immersed in their own private worlds and conversations.

Both him and Ryan were out of place but the other man didn’t seem bothered, testing the handlebar of the door marked with a golden metallic numeral for one. It did not open and Ryan told nobody in particular to hurry up. Yuri glanced backwards at the employee door they’d used instead of the gently curving staircase and the landing filled with broad-leaved plants.

“You first, Judge,” said Ryan. Yuri turned to face him like a puppet on a string and walked into the room decorated with an effortless opulence despite the simple approach, a harmonious combination of materials and calming white-beige colours accented with red. “Let me freshen up, go wash my face and all that. You gotta let me in when I knock, by the way, the door locks. Also, I'll order drinks on the way, you have any preference?”

“I don’t need anything.”

“I’ll surprise you. Be back soon, don't disappear.”

“Where would I go?”

“I dunno, but it might happen. You might turn into smoke and go right up into the ventilation ducts.” Ryan gestured to the ceiling and let the door fall close in front of him, leaving Yuri alone in the silence that followed. The room was soundproof.

Yuri thought he might turn into smoke indeed, feeling awfully faint. He tested the door to make sure he wasn't locked in. It opened without issue. The room was rather large for anything Yuri had imagined, something akin to a cozy hotel room. He hung his coat up.

A rhythmic knock sounded from the door, so Yuri opened it as requested: Ryan greeted him, now without a bloodied face. He showed Yuri the two glasses he was holding and set them on the table while the door fell closed, then rummaged the minifridge in the corner of the room for a bottle of spring water and a large glass jug of fancier water with slices of lemon and mint floating in it.

“There, take your pick. And I got a Golden Dream for you,” said Ryan with a wink, pointing to the drink he pushed closer to Yuri, a swirling pale gold. He threw off his glasses frames and the hat, left with a mane of wild hair. ”And a Bella Luna for me.”

“Bella Luna,” repeated Yuri as if he couldn’t help himself, staring at the ruby-red co*cktail now in Ryan’s hand.

“Yeah, it's weird, isn't it?” Ryan lifted the glass and inspected it, holding it against the light. A red reflection was cast on his face, a bloodstain that never existed. “Bella Luna's supposed to be blue, but this one is red. Well, I guess it's not a staple like Golden Dream, so everyone's making it in a different way, something like that.”

He sipped it and shrugged. “Sourer than I remembered.”

Ryan sat on the couch and yelped when he leant against the backrest, nearly spilling his drink when he straightened.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh? Yeah, ‘course I am. Just—I dunno, my back felt weird for a sec.”

“...Are you certain it is not glass? Stray shards could have slipped down your collar.”

“How's that possible? Where’d some glass appear?” he asked, realizing that it was very well possible, having had a beer bottle broken against his back earlier. “Eh, don't answer that one.”

“As you like.”

Ryan tried to reach his back with his hand, leather creaking, and Yuri watched on impassively. He poured himself a glass of water from the jug. At some point, Ryan winced.

“I'll just check it real quick.” He unzipped his driving suit and shrugged it off his shoulders, revealing his blood-stained white cotton tank top with a ripped hem. Ryan twirled around to try to see if there were any shards of glass on his suit where he couldn't see or if he was in the danger of being punctured when he sat down.

Yuri regarded him with a slight frown. He pulled out a piece of fabric from one of the pockets of his coat, an oil-stained rag, once white and of cotton make. “You ripped your clothing in the field while I was inspecting your motorcycle. For this.”

“I've got bigger issues right now,” Ryan held onto his driving suit, trying to decide if pantsing himself to reveal leggings that hid little was socially acceptable, “But, yeah. I was trying to tell you about that, dude, but you went like… Eh, I don't even remember anymore. I was trying to tell you to be extra thankful for my noble sacrifice, that's what I remember. It's simple: you can rip fabric like this easily when you nick it first—I used my key to kinda cut it—and hold it right. I learned it from somewhere sometime, I dunno.”

“What a frivolous action.”

“Kinda, I guess. But considering the blood on the shirt too, it's no biggie, plus, later you gave me your handkerchief for the nosebleed and now it's ruined. Anyway, I don't think there's anything…” Ryan lifted the upper half of the driving suit and then let it fall a bit. “Y'know, glass. It would've fallen out by now.”

“Turn around, if you will.”

“Is it necessary, Judge? Am I at airport security right now or what?”

“...Of course not,” said Yuri with a defensive tinge, an odd look passing his face. “I did not intend to insinuate anything other than expressing my desire to assist, if in any way possible. This was intended as a helpful gesture.”

“Eh, that came out way too harsh. Y'know, I'm just…” Ryan trailed off, prompting Yuri to tilt his head enough for his fringe to fall to the side, away from his face. “I'm shy, right?”

“Shy.” Yuri lifted his brows.

“Uh, if some glass had gotten inside this tight little tank top, I would be seriously unlucky tonight. It just doesn't seem likely. Maybe my back just hurts. I pulled it or something—kinda like Macho last week after gym. Rock Bison, I mean. That guy's doing way too much sometimes.” He was rambling, going on tangents, trying to hold onto his driving suit and gesture at the same time.

Yuri assumed that he was nervous. He'd been injured, and now his back was scarred, something he didn't want anyone to see.

And how Yuri wanted to see them, perverse as he was.

His own scar lay under layers of makeup expertly applied and hidden up to the shell of his ear. But he was only someone with a nine-to-five job, not a hero. Golden Ryan, the Wandering Gravity Prince, was the poster boy for mythic perfection, a Herculean ideal that had been diluted from its roots into something more palatable and marketable.

He would've made a perfect action doll, skin smooth and flawless all over, if not for his dark secret, the remains of a fight he'd lost so miserably he'd almost lost his life. Endless humiliating days in the hospital with sprawling tubing and the hum of machines, tucked away in a secluded corner to avoid angry civilians who were doing their own grieving for things they'd lost when gravity had turned against them.

This all made Yuri into a disease-stricken wolf who preyed on unsuspecting passersby, so sick was his longing to see the marks of imperfection across Ryan's skin. A distraction from his own imperfections, he wanted to claim, but it went beyond that.

“Maybe you can run your hands down my back, see if there's anything, eh.”

“Of course,” said Yuri, a bit too eager and quick. “It is the least I could do.”

“Do you mind? I'll sit next to you.” Ryan sat once Yuri made space, one leg propped up on the couch so that he could fully turn his back towards him.

The hero talked away in his usual way when Yuri ran his hand steadily across his back with light pressure. When Ryan arched his back, shying away from the touch over his spine, the fabric of his tank top grew taut between his muscular shoulders and left a small pocket where the shard could've initially fallen.

All Yuri found was one jagged edge straining against the fabric, virtually invisible and only somewhat palpable with a careful touch. It interested him less than the rough feeling of Ryan's skin underneath cotton, raised edges of skin where there should've been none.

“So?”

Yuri slipped his fingers underneath the upper edge of the fabric. “When you roll your shoulders back, the fabric is no longer skin-tight and leaves space for a shard…” He drew his fingertips over where a faint jagged edge sat underneath Ryan's shirt. “Here.”

Ryan jerked forward. “Ahaha, y’know, it’s wild but I was in a fight a while ago—”

“I am aware.”

“Naw, not that whole funicular thing, I mean like, before I came back to Sternbild.”

“Yes.”

“Uh, right.” He glanced over his shoulder. “...You know about that? I don't think—I mean, not even the other heroes really know, and you shouldn't have an all-access pass to my records at Titan Industry or anything.”

“I have heard you got injured in what was a cowardly villain attack,” said Yuri, pretending he hadn't read all about it in Ryan's medical records and specifically sought the information online.

“Oh, huh.” Ryan stared forwards and Yuri could only catch a faint reflection of his uncharacteristically emotionless face reflected in a glass fixture in the room. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I do follow the news across the globe,” offered Yuri.

“Right. Well, there was a lot of stupid crap around that, by the way, so the reporting wasn't prolly that good. So don't believe everything you read. Except the parts about me being awesome and everything.” Ryan played with the hem of his top. “Y'know, if I take off my shirt, can you try to see if you can get it off if it doesn’t just fall out on its own?”

“Yes, I can do that.”

He turned to face Yuri before removing his shirt.

The swath of pale skin in the middle of his wide chest was stained a pale red from blood in the fabric itself, as blood was liable to do, seeping everywhere. Yuri avoided looking at the piercings the woman in Hero's Bar had mentioned, simple golden bars through his nipples. His upper body was hairless and smooth with his abdominals drawn clearly under his skin in the movie-perfect idea of athleticism he chased with a strict training regimen. His waist was narrow for his chest.

Ryan didn't seem embarrassed by the state of undress he was in, shirtless, the upper half of the driving suit pooling around his hips and black-and-pink polyester peeking from underneath the leather—no, he'd never been the type, like shrugging off that horrible poster once made of him in his youth, but he was uneasy now.

The manner he exhibited was unlike the man Yuri had come to know, as if Ryan was an animal baring his vulnerable underbelly. Yuri felt invisible shards of glass upon his own back and averted his gaze down to his own hands, thinking he should’ve excused himself but found himself powerless to stop his own actions. His body and mind no longer moved out of his own accord, drawn to Ryan and his easy acceptance because of how long he had denied himself in every way.

Ryan turned without a word, baring his scarred back.

“It doesn't look weird, right?” Ryan kept his voice light.

“Not at all,” said Yuri, voice softer and quieter. He ran his fingertips across the edges of Ryan's scarring, the raised welts where muscle hadn't knit together right in a crudely sewn pattern. Surgeon’s stitching had aided Ryan's flesh in rearranging itself, pale dots running across the edges of some of the scars; elsewhere the scars grew far beyond the boundaries of where the initial scars must have been.

These were the marks of how Ryan had been torn from the heavens, trapped in the bindings of gravity like any mortal man, endlessly falling into a black hole where time stopped for him and had today made him scream in misplaced fear when someone had grabbed him from behind his back.

The wings of his hero suit were all that remained when his own had been ripped off, forcibly made into a fallen angel out of no fault of his own, an imperfect hero with a permanent blemish on his record and his body. They were not acquired in the line of duty, but in something that was more of an accident: a cruel mistake by fate bringing Ryan to his knees when he was meant to stand tall.

Your scars are nothing compared to mine, thought Yuri. Scar tissue pulsated over his disfigured soul; he was more scar than man, beer bottles and porcelain dishes scattered on the floor where every step crushed them underfoot and embedded them further into his twisted flesh that'd been cursed by the circ*mstances of his birth.

Ryan's scars were superficial next to his. With time, they would fade, the sore reds turning paler like wilting flowers of a bouquet losing their vibrancy. Dried flowers had a kind of beauty to them.

“Ouch! What're you doing?”

“My apologies,” said Yuri, unsure how long had passed while he’d traced the jagged paths drawn on Ryan’s back. He lifted his hands to his shoulders, unsure where to place them and then withdrew completely, resting his hands in his lap. “It was not my intention to hurt you.”

“It hurts when you draw attention to my back like this…” Ryan's reflection chewed on his lower lip and made him look younger, more fragile than the self-important image he projected. But Yuri should've known better than to question Golden Ryan's infallibility. “Can't you just yoink it out or what?”

“One shard is embedded into a groove in your back. It is of diminutive size. I was… Trying to see if there's more.”

“A groove, eh. Now that's a real diplomatic way to put it.”

“Would you prefer I use a different word?”

“...Nah, it's cool.” Ryan leaned his head to the side. Paper rustled behind him and then a zipper was opened, making him turn around. “What're you doing?”

In Yuri's hands was the Bunny and Lioness-branded hair accessory kit from the shopping bag, out of which he picked a pair of flimsy pincers meant to assist in gluing plastic gemstones onto clips. He studied it, tested how it worked. “Repurposing your purchase.”

“You're gonna pick out glass from my back with sh*tty plastic pincers?”

“That was my intention.”

“The glass isn't in my skin, right? Just kinda… Awkwardly wedged in there?”

“Indeed.”

“Huh. Okay.” Ryan turned away while Yuri set his cool hand against his back. In truth, he didn't feel much; the doctors said his pain was largely psychosomatic. The nerve damage was real, but that pain felt different and dull, rendered parts of his back numb like forever suffering from frostbite.

It could get better, said the doctors, looking over charts and computer screens, and Ryan would laugh, shrug and say it didn't really bother him, that he was just wondering.

Perhaps it was the expectation of touch he felt, the imaginary sensation of Yuri's cool fingers on his skin, a wish come true formed in the absence of real feeling. But he felt it regardless, and it made him want to lean into the delicate but firm touch.

“It doesn’t seem like the glass broke the thickened skin. There is no blood.”

“Thickened skin? I've got baby-soft skin everywhere, just so you know.” Ryan looked over his shoulder and saw both of Yuri's hands despite still feeling his hand against his back. The ghastly touch disappeared suddenly.

“...There's no shame in naming things as they are.”

Ryan turned around on the couch with his brows raised to face Yuri, objection written on his face before he went through other emotions: the judge in front of him was the first person to see his back like this out of his free will. Clearly, he should've been more judgemental and less casual, shocked Ryan could look like this.

“Oi oi, shame’s not in my vocab. How’s hypertrophic scars and keloids sound?”

Yuri’s expression changed so slightly that anyone but Ryan would’ve missed the slight surprise and the following smile, as faint as it was. “More accurate.”

“sh*t's getting too philosophical to me… Remember how I said I dropped out of high school? I didn’t learn useless stuff like that; I know all the important parts, though, like that you don’t really have to know words like hypertrophic. Nobody cares.” Ryan might’ve been a dropout, but he could always change the topic without an issue.

Yuri set the rectangular piece of olive green glass on a napkin on the table and packed the plastic pincers away. “Is that so?...”

“Uh-huh. Besides, dropping out is prolly hard to imagine for someone who got accepted to study law straight out of school, graduated with a law degree at record speed and then aced the bar exam on the first try.” Ryan fit the driving suit back on himself, not bothering with the sorry excuse of an undershirt, torn and bloodied as it was.

“...How do you know this?”

“I was right, huh?” He zipped the suit up halfway and then got distracted by a grandiose gesture. “Don't worry, nobody's added extra info online, everything I can find out by searching your name is pretty much summarized in one paragraph, and all it talks about are the few cases you've been publicly involved with—I was spitballing based on how you can't be much older than me but you had to get all kinds of sh*t done before becoming the head judge of Sternbild.”

“The chief justice of Sternbild's Supreme Court,” corrected Yuri. “...Your guess wasn't entirely incorrect, though it begs the question as to why you would know enough about a law career to make such an estimate.”

“Oi oi, how come that sounds like an insult? I know everything, don’t I? Being a genius and all.”

“I am simply… Positively surprised you would know something about higher education entirely irrelevant to your career.” Yuri hadn't meant to come across so patronizing, but the sentence was now out of his mouth.

“Ain’t that something, eh…” Ryan shrugged the half-insult off, smiling as if a little charmed by Yuri’s awkwardness. “Irrelevant to me, yeah, but that sorta thing is what everyone wants their kid to be, a lawyer or a doctor, maybe start a company and become an investor; make good money, leave a legacy… I know more than I really care to know. It’s not rocket science, anyhow.”

“I see.”

“I also told you that I got scouted for hero work when I dropped out and went backpacking, right? There’s more to it, but I’ll keep it short for you. One moment I’m walking along the beach and enjoying the view, in the next some small kid's drowning out there so I part the water—real Jesus-like, eh?—and then a passerby is like hey, that's a real showstopper of a power, ever considered being a hero?”

“It was not Jesus but Moses who parted the water, and I can only assume you did not literally part anything—instead the water compressed within your so-called gravity dome and its density increased as the gravitational forces did, exerting a stronger buoyant force on the child… You not only made it impossible to sink but in so doing pinpointed their exact location, making a quick rescue feasible.”

“You got me, I'm the great Golden Ryan, and I can make drowning impossible.”

“No, water could still be inhaled—in fact, secondary drowning can occur after a period of respiratory distress and without water entering the lungs.”

Ryan shook his head. “Huh, drowning without water? When you think about everything like that, I get why you were so worried about a little off-road driving… Anyway, that's my awesome origin story, nothing more to it.”

“You did not want to be a hero prior to that?” He took the co*cktail Ryan had gotten for him and found that Golden Dream tasted faintly like a creamsicle.

“Oi, I had this whole… Eh, hero phase, during which I was convinced I would be a hero—that was around when I was figuring out how my power works. By the time I got that figured out, I also figured that my power makes people get real worried whether I'm gonna crush their grandpappy's house or not. I'm used to being the villain and all that, same as what Junior thought of me first… Ha, you ever hear old Tiger talk about his little heroism story?”

“...Which of them?” Wild Tiger had plenty of heroic anecdotes to spare, many of which he had shared with anyone willing to listen, or even unwilling, like Lunatic.

Ryan chuckled. “Good point, but I mean the one with Mr. Legend. He couldn't control his power and was sad, etcetera, then he ended up meeting the guy and bumping fists with him 'cause they've got the same Hundred Power.”

“Yes, I am aware…” His voice was further away than it had been despite him having not moved at all. “They stopped a bank robbery together.”

“Uh-huh… He got his little boost from Mr. Legend and all that. Funny how it works, 'cause I got told that my power's useless for saving people.”

“Evidently, it is not a useless power. You have a successful career.”

“Is that a compliment I’m hearing? Thanks, Judge.”

“A simple observation of the facts.”

“And now hanging out with you is putting me into retirement. My hand burns, my back hurts, I get into fights and break my bike, I got that nosebleed and my hair’s a f*cking mess,” Ryan gestured to himself, his gratuitously visible bare chest with the faint reddish bloody stain and his unkempt hair. “Sure, it suits me in the ruggedy action guy way, but not really the vibe I was going for… Oh, early retirement's coming for me.”

“...And what will you do when that moment comes and there is no more hero work for you?”

“I'm the great Golden Ryan—I could do anything I wanted, it'd just be unfair to people who've worked their entire lives for something to see the real number one roll up, so I better stick with the hero business, right?”

“You intend to stay a hero forever, no matter the cost.” Yuri saw nothing but misery in Ryan's future: the same desire had driven his father to cruelty and madness. In the end, all heroes were alike despite their promises to the contrary.

“Always talking like you've got me all figured out…” Ryan clicked his tongue. “After all I've said, am I still just another hero to you?”

“Not quite. You do have a worse understanding of the law than some,” said Yuri. The sentiment made Ryan laugh in earnest.

“Okay, let's start with how I'm actually gonna retire, all nice and cozy. Being a hero is bad for your skin, so better retire when I'm at my sexiest, eh. The early retirement's not a joke. Who's not into that?”

“...Retirement, that is your pithy plan beyond heroism?”

“Uh-huh… I've gotta work for another ten, prolly twenty years, I guess, so scratch the early part. Save money and all that, and if I couldn’t do hero work anymore ‘cause of some accident or something, I’ve got all of the modeling and whatever left.” Such opportunities were liable to dry up if you weren’t a celebrity anymore and fading into obscurity instead, but Ryan didn’t need to say that for Yuri to know it was true. He must’ve considered other alternatives when hospitalized without a promise of full recovery. “How about you? You gonna be a judge till you're an old fart?”

“…Of course not,” Yuri said laboriously, untangling his thoughts. But he had no other prospects. He'd never intended to live that long. Monotonous days were the source of his stability, the reminder of the present that was everything he had left: his past was shrouded in misery, and no future awaited him. His sins would catch up to him and crush him, render him into ash and bits of bleached bone.

Yuri hoped his ashes would be scattered at the sea where the Moon reflected on the surface and fall under the waves, become a part of the sediment at the bottom with the weight of water locking every piece of him away forever.

“Hmmh,” went Ryan. “Well, stay a judge and eventually you’re gonna start looking the part—I mean, people in your position are usually pushing sixty or something, right? But use up those vacay days before that at least, ‘cause there’s no sense working as hard as you do till you retire.”

“You need not worry about my working hours, and my plans for the future are clear, albeit private, whereas you would do well to come up with further alternatives in the case you could not work as a hero any longer.”

“Y'know, I never looked back after I got scouted as a hero, so I never graduated.” Ryan's voice turned to a low mumble spoken against the rim of the glass in his hand. “I don't even have a high school diploma, right? Pisses my parents off bad, let me tell you that much. They wish I was a judge or something serious like you; being a hero is a fake seasonal job, I hear.”

What Ryan meant, of course, was that his prospects beyond heroism were slim, the admittance dressed in a nicer suit than it deserved. Yuri studied his face in silence and noticed some blood on the underside of his chin when he drank the remainers of his co*cktail, another droplet on his neck where Ryan couldn’t see. He set his co*cktail on the table and took the bottled water instead.

The last sip of the red Bella Luna disappeared into Ryan’s mouth, his pink tongue darting across his lips to catch the last of the alcohol.

“It’s good to consider heroism a seasonal occupation,” Yuri finally said, wetting a napkin.

“Careful, you’re agreeing with my parents.” Ryan stared at the napkin in Yuri’s hands. “What’re you doing anyway?”

“You have blood on your face. May I?”

“Hm? Sure.” Before Ryan could take the napkin from Yuri’s hand, the man caught his jaw between his fingers and turned it to the side before wiping a spot at his jawline. The action stunned him into silence, and made him open and close his mouth like he was a drowning man gasping for air.

“It’s persistent.” His fingers fell lower and ghosted over his pulse point, inspecting the drop of dried blood that had bothered him.

“You're…” You're giving me really confusing signals here. That's what Ryan wanted to say, but finishing the sentence sounded too much like a truth best left unspoken. He let himself entertain a scenario where they were about to make out, Yuri's slender fingers threading into his hair while he rutted against his long legs, straining against the leather of his suit. But realistically, Yuri wasn't about to push him against the couch and kiss him.

He caught Yuri’s expression from the corner of his eye: focused and neutral, lips slightly agape and a wrinkle between his eyebrows from focusing. Yuri let him go and leant back, inclining his head to the side, folding the napkin into a small square in his hands. “You were saying?...”

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. Thanks, though.”

“Mm… I should leave.”

“Wha—ain't that a bit sudden? This place is open ‘round the clock, yeah?”

“It's late. It is reasonable.”

“Guess so,” said Ryan, watching Yuri get up and put on his coat. Talk about going hot and cold, he thought, the illicit imagery still fresh on his mind and overlaid with the now-distant look on Yuri's features.

He cleaned the shard from the table, arranged the glasses neatly and gave Ryan a look that told him to properly dispose of his shirt in the trash can instead of leaving it lying around. Ryan didn’t want to argue with him, not even playfully, and say the staff would clean the room; besides, he agreed on the trashy shirt. Blood was a technical biohazard, even from a nosebleed, he knew that. He threw the flimsy glasses frames and the hat after the shirt. They’d served their purpose.

“I'll walk you, yeah?” Ryan pushed the door open and then the employee door after that, letting Yuri pass before him. He checked his keys and his wallet and found the pack of cigarettes he’d stolen off the annoying bastard in the funicular.

“You acquired the cigarettes from the man in the funicular,” stated Yuri as they descended the stairs, his tone sharp around acquire.

“Yeah, I did. Am I gonna go to jail?” Ryan shook the cigarettes out. “You want one?”

“Is this your vice?”

“Nah, not really. Just social smoking when I'm out.”

“Hm,” went Yuri, but took a cigarette and the offer to linger for just a moment more. Ryan stuffed the pack away after picking one out for himself and pushed the outside door open.

“f*ck, wait—I don't have a lighter. Go ahead, I'll be back, I’ll bum one off the guys.” He traipsed along the hallway, trying to find one of the employees but finding nobody, unwilling to risk getting caught in a longer conversation when someone was waiting for him. He half-ran down the hallway and exited the building, only to see Yuri stand under the light of street signage, smoke billowing around his head.

“You got a lighter?”

“I had a lighter,” affirmed Yuri, off-colour, but while Ryan could catch him acting odd, he couldn’t tell why he was being so awkward over the simple question.

“You gotta speak up before I waste my time running around, damn; I didn’t find one. Everyone’s busy having a job or something.” He put the cigarette between his lips and held out his hand for the lighter. Yuri gave him a long look. “Please? I won’t play with it, yeah? You got a nice Zippo or what?”

“Lean closer.” Obediently, barely thinking about it, Ryan did. Yuri stepped close and held the cigarette against his own, his hand cupping the space between their faces. Yuri’s eyes flickered up to his. He inhaled as Yuri exhaled, almost sharing the same air. The cigarette lit and Yuri drew back like he’d done nothing out of sorts.

“Well, works like that too,” said Ryan. He made some small talk and racked his brain for an explanation for Yuri’s behaviour; it was something he would’ve done to pick up a person outside a club by offering to light their cigarette with his own. Maybe there was nothing else behind it than him being more comfortable.

The summer night was cool, slowly turning into early morning, the warmth from dark asphalt long since gone. Yuri continued to linger even if he didn’t say anything, only sometimes offering Ryan a thoughtful hmm as he talked.

“Oi, check this, Judge.” Ryan blew a faint smoke ring into the cool summer night, the wisps slowly floating up towards the sliver of sky visible between the tall buildings. “Bet you can't do that, huh.”

Yuri was lost in thought, long eyelashes over his green eyes like drapery. He looked at Ryan before taking a drag out of his cigarette.

A small, perfectly round smoke ring traveled through the air and tore the weak, slow ring of smoke Ryan had blown. “...Y'know, that was decent. Not as good as mine, obviously. But it was decent, I'll give you that.”

Yuri quirked his brow and laughed, the remaining smoke spilling from his mouth in tune with his amusem*nt. It drew a smoky curtain between them.

The flickering lights down the alleyway filtered through the whorls of smoke to cast faint moving shadows and dapples of light on Yuri's face, making him appear hazy like a dream or a distant memory.

“Decent,” Yuri said. “I suppose that if the great Golden Ryan says so, it must be true.”

“Uh-huh,” went Ryan, trying to work Yuri’s change of mood into what he knew of him. “And even if it wasn’t, it's worth it. Your face really lights up when you laugh. Suits you.”

The response was only a huff.

The smoke dissipated. The cigarettes burnt into stubs. Ryan threw his on the ground next to all other cigarette stumps and Yuri followed suit. Ryan stepped on them to make sure they'd been extinguished. They meandered out of the alleyway, standing at the side of the street like at a crossroads.

“So… See ya, Judge?”

“Farewell, Mr. Goldsmith.” The distance between them grew tenfold without neither of them moving.

“Till next week? We're meeting again, right? At work, anyway, so don’t sound so final. You gotta let me properly make up for the sh*t that happened today.”

“You?” Yuri quirked his brow. “It is bad luck to associate with myself; after all, it has not been I who was repeatedly injured tonight. The burden of making amends should not fall on your shoulders.”

“Nonsense,” went Ryan, shaking his head.

“Did you not say that I am putting you into an early retirement?”

“Hey, I was being dramatic, nothing more. Don't think too hard about everything I say.”

Yuri gave him a faraway look and turned to leave. “See you.”

“That’s better,” joked Ryan, and gave him a light-hearted salute as a goodbye. An upcoming morning fog had risen from the ocean like a misty blanket over the city. Before it engulfed Yuri completely, he typed a new text.

get home safe:)

Yuri didn’t react despite him still being in view of Ryan, walking away with a paper shopping bag held in his hand and slowly disappearing. He’d been quick to react before, eager to pick up a call or to receive a text from his mother. He’s really got a different SIM card for me, thought Ryan. That was why he hadn’t seemed to receive any apology text for his tardiness at the mall earlier.

Here he was, baring his scars and soul for Yuri so readily, rambling about things he shouldn't have said. So many people were willing to do a lot just to talk to him, but somehow he fumbled the gorgeous colleague from work by talking about his lack of prospects outside heroism, failing to even get his actual phone number. He got a new cigarette out of the pack and remembered he didn’t have a lighter.

“The hell’s wrong with me?” Ryan ran his hand through his hair and threw the cigarette on the ground in frustration, worked up without a good reason.

Something about Yuri made him want to talk to him, and not in his usual way. He could talk circles around people and never tell them too much about himself, but he was more or less telling his entire life story to Yuri from every possible angle whenever they met.

Yuri saw himself as a bad luck charm, but Ryan didn’t mind the string of misfortunes he’d faced today, and he would’ve faced a thousand more just to know what Yuri was thinking about in those moments he seemed so far away, drowning in unseen oceans without water.

He was lucky to have met him at all, as lucky as he’d been on that one summer day so long ago.