Word Count: 2041

Lovely noticed him in the parking garage outside work.

Greasy, dull brown hair. Lips quirked into a smirk. The same creepy aura Lovely remembered from last time, when he punched the guy in the face and kicked him as hard as he could between the legs.

Shame he hadn’t done more damage.

Logan. That was his name, wasn’t it? Lovely stopped to watch him, but Logan didn’t notice him, just kept walking toward another section of the parking garage with his hands in his pockets. If Lovely continued on his way to his car, they wouldn’t even cross paths.

Five years later, Logan didn’t look much different. Mid-twenties now, at least, probably edging toward late. Below average looks. Average build, with a general air of laziness, his hair and clothes unkempt, like he couldn’t be bothered to make himself look presentable.

Lovely approached him before the thought to do so even crossed his mind.

“Hey!”

Logan stopped, turned, and stared, confused at first, but it bled away as soon as his gaze swept over Lovely’s frame.

“Do I know you?” Logan asked. A smirk slid back onto his face. “I’d like to.”

“We met once,” Lovely said, eerily calm. “You know Ilian, don’t you?”

“Ohh, right, right. The boyfriend. Sorry, it’s been a while. What did you say your name was?”

“Leigh.”

“Right, yeah. Feisty, weren’t you? Why’d you have to be rude like that? I just wanted to say hi.”

Lovely said nothing, simply stared Logan in the eye and waited.

“How’s Ilian, by the way?” Logan wondered.

“Better.”

Better now that they’d moved into their house. Better now that he didn’t have to work one shitty job after another. Better now that he was composing more, rolling out of bed at all hours of the night to sit in front of the piano instead of sneaking out. Better now that his focus was on a pastime he loved and an organization he revered.

The nightmares still visited from time to time, but they were less frequent than they used to be.

“Good, good,” Logan said. “You two still dating?”

“More than,” Lovely countered.

Logan’s eyebrows rose. “No kidding.”

“Mmm.”

Lovely tilted his head, just enough to arrange his hair. When he was younger, he learned all the coquettish looks his mother used when she wanted men at her beck and call. With little more than a subtle smile, Lovely had Logan’s growing interest and undivided attention.

“Hey, let me buy you a drink,” Logan offered. “I think we got off on the wrong foot last time.”

“Sure,” Lovely agreed, “So long as I get to pick the place.”

“Lead the way, babe.”

Lovely struggled not to gag. It took every ounce of willpower to keep the smile on his face, to make himself turn his back on Logan and lead him away. Logan followed with a quiet chuckle, like he couldn’t believe his luck, shuffling along behind Lovely and using the opportunity to look his fill.

They left the parking garage. Their journey would have been faster if Lovely drove, but he didn’t want this scum tainting his new car. The shopping center was still lively at this evening hour, full of couples and families taking advantage of the spring weather, hopping from shop to shop, or settling down for dinner at one of the outdoor tables. String lights lit up the trees. A warm, orange glow between the buildings was all that remained of the setting sun. Hanging above them, the barest sliver of a crescent moon heralded the coming night.

Crossing the street, Lovely took Logan down the sidewalk, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

“There’s a place right there,” Logan said, lingering just behind.

Lovely threw another smile over his shoulder. “I know a better one.”

Logan looked skeptical. He kept his hands in his pockets, studying what he could see of Lovely in the fading light.

“Don’t worry,” Lovely reassured him. “I’ll pay.”

“I’m the one who offered,” Logan argued, but it was a weak effort. Clearly, he took no issue with mooching off other people.

“Think of it as an apology,” Lovely said.

They continued on in companionable silence for a time. When the number of people around them began to dwindle, Logan drew closer. His elbow nearly brushed Lovely’s arm.

“So what’s Ilian been up to?” he asked.

“Oh, this and that.”

“He still working around here?”

“No,” Lovely said. He laughed quietly and explained, “He has more important things to do.”

Logan’s eyebrows rose again. “Such as?”

“Training. Recruitment. Filing reports, that sort of thing.”

“That sort of… what?” Beneath Logan’s confusion, the barest shred of unease flickered to life. “What are you talking about?”

“His job,” Lovely said. “Ridding the city of scum.”

“He a cop or something?”

“No.” Lovely laughed again and directed Logan around a corner into a dark alley. “This way. It’s not far.”

Logan slowed his steps and drifted behind, glancing around the alley before coming to a stop several feet in. “This is a dead end.”

“Is it?”

It took seconds at most for Lovely to make the shift from one self to the other. By the time he turned around, the tight jeans and light jacket he wore were gone, replaced by a dark uniform and fluttering cape. His boots put him eye level with Logan, who stared at him with a slack mouth and wide, terrified eyes.

“What the ********,” Logan breathed, taking a cautious step back.

Aquamarine teleported behind him, blocking the mouth of the alley. Sneering at the smell of him — grease and stale sweat beneath cheap cologne — he wrapped his arms around Logan’s neck and whispered into his ear, “Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”

They disappeared before Logan’s scream could tear through the night.

Aquamarine took him outside the city, to a wooded area thick with old trees and wild undergrowth, where few people ventured once darkness fell. Logan ripped away from him as soon as they appeared, shouting curses as he stumbled, staring around their new surroundings with mounting fear.

“What the ********,” he said. “What the ********, what the ********. Who the ******** are you?!”

“I told you, I’m Leigh,” Aquamarine replied. “I know Ilian. He’s never talked about you, you know, but I think I have a pretty good idea about the sort of history you have with him.”

Logan backed away, his breathing rapid. “Look, I don’t want any trouble…”

“It’s no trouble.”

Aquamarine summoned his rapier.

“The ********, man!” Logan swore. “Where’d you get that?”

Aquamarine ignored him, examining his blade, which gleamed in the scant moonlight. “I don’t usually do this, but for you I think I can make an exception. Or should I call Ilian? Maybe he’d like the honors.”

“The what?” Logan asked, voice weak with fear.

He stepped back too quickly, rushing to put some distance between them. His foot caught on a stray branch and he tumbled to the ground, knocking the air out of himself on impact.

Aquamarine teleported again, reappearing above Logan’s sprawled frame. Before Logan could do more than shake the stars from his eyes, Aquamarine sank his rapier into Logan’s shoulder and pinned him to the ground.

Logan’s scream split the air — embarrassingly high pitched for a guy who seemed to pride himself on his level of chill and nonchalance. He struggled momentarily, writhing in pain, but he stopped as soon as he realized his efforts only drew the blade in deeper. Blood oozed from his wounded shoulder, seeping through the thin material of his shirt.

Slowly, Aquamarine released the hilt of his rapier and crouched down, straddling Logan in a parody of what he thought Logan might have been aiming for with his vile smirks and his utterly transparent offer to buy him a drink. It wasn’t the first time a sleazy man came on to him, and it wouldn’t be the last, but this attempt in particular sent rage bubbling through Aquamarine’s gut, rushing through his veins. For once, Aquamarine felt the temptation, the dark shadow that came over him as Chaos beckoned, spurring him to commit atrocities.

“I don’t think I’ll call him,” he decided. “You can be a gift.”

Logan gasped for air through the fear and pain. His free arm lurched up like he meant to strike, aiming a closed fist for Aquamarine’s face.

Aquamarine caught the arm and forced it down. He drew his dagger from the sheath at his back, hidden beneath his cape. Logan’s eyes widened to comical proportions when they landed on the blade.

“Nonono, wait, wait, wait!”

Another scream echoed through the night as the dagger plunged into his palm, rendering the arm motionless.

“You’d make this easier for yourself if you’d sit still,” Aquamarine said.

“What the ********, you crazy b***h!” Logan shouted, face pale and damp with building sweat, expression wild.

“Is this too much for you?”

“I never did anything to you!”

“No,” Aquamarine agreed. “Not to me.”

Slowly, so Logan was aware of every excruciating second of it, Aquamarine placed his palm to the center of Logan’s chest, then let it slip inside.

Aquamarine did not take civilian starseeds. They were not worthy of it. Most of them were innocent people who typically had no part in the war, worth more to the Negaverse alive than they were in a coma or dead. The more civilians they had at their disposal, the more sources of energy the Negaverse would have. Too many civilian casualties led to suspicion among the general population; it gave them a reason to be distrusting, to fight back, and become a nuisance themselves.

Let the starseeds come from their enemies — the Senshi and Knights hellbent on staking their claim over the planet.

Logan struggled as much as the rapier and dagger allowed. He writhed as Aquamarine’s hand sank deeper, fingertips brushing against his starseed. His legs jerked, kicking the ground, disturbing the scattered branches and leaves that littered the forest floor, carving shallow gouges in the dirt. His shrieking rose in pitch, full of agony and panic. A hand rose to Aquamarine’s thigh, scrabbling at the fabric of his trousers.

“Sorry we never got that drink,” Aquamarine taunted him.

He wrapped his fingers around Logan’s starseed and pulled.

Quiet settled over them. The screaming ceased, and Logan’s body went limp. His hand dropped to the dirt with a soft thump. The trees moved in the wind, their branches creaking, spring leaves rustling in the night.

Aquamarine held the starseed in his palm and stared at it, nudging it with his thumb, studying the way it caught the moonlight.

If he felt regret, it was only because he’d waited so long; he’d let Logan live, let his existence torment Ilian instead of putting him down the day they met.

It was no great loss. Aquamarine doubted anyone would even miss him.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d wipe that smug a** grin off your face?” Aquamarine asked the inert body. “You sick ******** climbed to his feet and banished the starseed into his subspace pocket. Aquamarine stared down at Logan for a moment, searching beneath his own satisfaction for anything close to his usual skewed sense of morality. He thought he should care, that it should matter more to him that he was essentially leaving a man for dead; he thought he should be afraid of the Chaos swirling inside, turning him into something he was never meant to be. Corrupted as a boy, he never had much of a chance to be anything else.

But this was a good deed.

Aquamarine tilted his head and smiled, wavy hair framing his face. He pulled his rapier from Logan’s shoulder, summoned his dagger from Logan’s hand, and wiped both along his pant legs to clean them of blood.

“And yet, a death like this is still too good for you. You’re lucky I don’t have the stomach for more.”

Yet, the Chaos whispered in the depths of his mind.

Aquamarine ignored it. He sent his rapier to subspace and sheathed his dagger behind him.

In the blind of an eye, he was gone.