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(Backdated: Post Hollow. Post Team Party. Sometime in the month of May. Sometime after midnight.)

He’d only ever been in the shop before, and so it was the shop that he returned to. Stepped into — like it was nothing more than taking a breath — dressed in full regalia — in heels — with an echo of feathers and twined beaks at his back; snaking heads bobbing in triplicate. The place looked different at night, picked up, put away, fridged, neatened for tomorrow. He couldn’t help but weave down one floral filled aisle and note how some blooms stood closed against the past-midnight darkness; petals curled up tight like a swaddle.

How Cerbs weaved around another, sought debris from the floor, the presence of mice, of pollen loving bugs that might’ve snuck in with the dirt.

It was a robbery gone wrong—

That was what he imagined they’d all say, the words that would appear in the news as the various corrupt alphabet society types picked over the ashes of whatever survived within the building's tombwork of brick.

Like a pizza oven, some of these old buildings were. Like a tinder box. Just waiting for a match. Just waiting — for all the right components to align; fuel, oxygen. Himself, playing the role of ‘fire’. Of world-ending spark and cold retribution, the kind that sat just sideline of being full blown rage.

Anger, at least? Was warm. But this? He didn’t know what this was. No more than he knew where the separate sets of stairs led — up or down — and which to choose? Did he follow them — did he kick a door open and demand all the clinging, killing, suffocating silence be shattered with an abhorrence of noise?

He chose the way up —-

Cerbs stayed below, ever its own creature more than its bonded’s shadow. The beast was having a good enough time pecking around the available foliage. Easily entertained with three heads, and all the more eyes for looking out, and all the more minds for tracking Albites slow ascension.

A stray moth. A stem that bent with its passing…

The stairs.

One hand on the brickwork, one heel another stair up, and he drew up sharply as the words filtered over him from behind; tilting his chin over one large shoulder to survey the familiar voice that stood tucked into the shadows below.

His inner dialogue filtered — ran — a rampant herd of questions and challenges that glinted in the auburn depths of his eyes, like a run of blood freshly drawn.

Do you live in the basement?

Do you ever sleep?

Are your cameras that good?

And why should I do ******** make me—

If I was anyone else? You’d be dead a long a** time ago. If it weren’t for him…

If it weren’t for Nikki —

He considered them all in an instant, settled on something else entirely. A sixteenth option out of twenty others, because there were no more windows or doors to flee through or run to.

Not even a decently sized root cellar.

“So, he didn’t take you with him…” his words eked out over a canine laden scowl, full of quiet intrigue. He was so softly spoken that one could hear just above his breathing the hiss of stirring magic; like a gently roused nest of snakes skittering over the firm, fleshy ground of Albites body. Ink come alive, making its presence known, however sleepily.

“S’rude, Matt…” His nose crinkled as he turned to tiredly face down the obvious hostility from the other Eternal, catching the dismissiveness in that tone. Fulgurite’s words sounded like more than a warning — like a threat — and not even a friendly one! The Hell did he get off? Telling him he wasn’t welcome anywhere he wanted to be. As if words and signs and locked doors alone were ever enough to keep him from a place.

If it’d been someone else, maybe? Maybe then… Except for how Fulgurite wasn’t any of the ‘someone else’s’ on his list of people to listen to. Not like Emmy — or Lovely — or Hessonite. All the ways Matt hadn’t done nearly enough by Albites own standards earn a shred of obeisance from him. That rare ability he had to respect boundaries and knock on doors when it mattered to the person standing behind them that he do that sort of thing…

When he didn’t simply choose to forget in haste — out of feeling like it was his right to it. And of course? For Faustite, who knew all was right with the world insofar as Waru came barging in without ever checking his surroundings first, because between them, knocking on doors had become as foreboding a summons of doom as saying ‘it’s gonna be a quiet night’ in a graveyard after 2am. Especially since neither thrown blade nor cell phone lobbed could deter him in his eagerness to see his boy.

Some things? Were better left to happen naturally, without common social constraints to guide them. None of that, of course? Was what was happening here. Where no fondness existed for the dark haired man before him. Where put-upon politeness and attempts to share personal olive branches had all become bridges burned...

“S’boring too…where’s your surprise?” His smile was short, curt, he dragged a knuckle over the wall as he took a step closer — down was what Matt wanted, right? Nearer, wasn’t it? Over here instead of over there and Waru could give him that.

“Where’s your worry…” He loomed, separated a mere two stairs above, wishing the glamour wasn’t in the way between them so he could see what state Matt was actually in; beyond the guise and pretty lies. “For our friend…” So he could see what any of the others saw. His eyes narrowing as if focusing would work, as if he would find something other than a decent looking man with an atlas sized chip on his shoulder. “Your fiancé..” Whatever they’d all loved about this guy? Deeper than skin, than surface personality, than the kind of caring Warus sympathy for men with dead mothers could dredge up. “Ex? Ex-fiancé, then…”

Because Waru simply couldn’t see it, only found himself irked by Fulgurites utter refusal, always, to engage.

Such a dismissive ******** all you know? He was kidnapped, same as Helio was.” Not that Matt would've known, but he should’ve? Shouldn’t he? The man deserved to be caught up on anything he’d missed! Waru could give him that. ”Could be dead too. The same as so many others almost were, before the world was ending…after it stopped ending..“

Had he been there? Had he known? Had he tasted the lightning — had he watched Cryolite run off to join Nikki — waited for him to not come home.

“Sept’ we both know he’s not…guess this means he didn’t come talk t’you before, huh? Not even after Nikki told him to…not even after Aramis gave him another one of her little speech’s…” hissed notes and Albite rolled his eyes like a man searching for patience with a metal detector and finding only static and sand for all his trouble.

Cerb’s perked at being perceived, for the lull of low conversation; snakey little heads doing a weave and bob as the gangly creature clambered atop a stand, shoving one beak into a pot of peonies.

He watched Fulgurite shift, move, and make shoo’ing motions towards his birdly-bonded. Clucking his tongue softly behind his teeth as Cerbs played keep away; wings fanned, lazily flapping as it tried to stand taller on its new perch in the small place than the blue swathed man approaching it. All two plus feet of it, with six eyes piercing forwards, attentive.

It was amusing how quickly six eyes became four, and attention became curiosity, if not in the man than in the things around him. N’Waru had always loved the third head most, with its fewer feathers, empty-headed personality. All glitz-eyed and interested in young, barely grown buds. They sure did look a lot like grapes in the dark, even to Waru.

The scene unfolding was almost comical, really—

Albite nearly smiled at the thought of how funny this would’ve been during the light of day. Nearly. Before letting the desire to do so whisk away beneath the Fulgurites sahara-in-the-dead-of-winter tones. He might’ve enjoyed this once. The mockery of playfulness edged with a threat, the potential for letting go and having a good time depending on which way things rolled. If only from his own narrow perspective. But now? He’d never felt so unwanted in a space before. Never cared less about the person who didn’t want him there, about being so unwanted as he clearly was.

It was a weird side of the wall to be on. The weirdness folded in on itself like origami, became a frog, and so he hopped. Walking backwards up a step – another – careful and measured – slow and steady – making his own game while letting his fingers drag across some rough-to-smooth surface.

“Whas’at?” He pretended to hear wrong, dog-headed tilt of ‘huh’ coupled with wide, golden retriever eyes, crinkling in false joy at the edges. “Head upstairs, you said? Kick the door down and keep looking for more of my own conclusions t’come to? To jump to…blindly, even. Instead of having a civil conversation about ‘em with you?” It was hard to keep up this time, the genuine ‘hey pal, buddy, friend, chum, pardner!’ tone that came so naturally when he saw the others. To play nice now, when it sounded so much to his own ears like Fulgurite was coldly ordering him to do something. But he tried—

“Sure thing, Matthew. You only ever needed t’ask…” aiming for friendly nonchalance, and ‘as you will’ acquiescence. Even as he snail-paced his way into doing the absolute opposite.

“Ohh—- c’mon, you’re not actually gonna…”

But yes, Matt was absolutely gonna! Both turn the water on his bonded, then turn that same spritzer in his direction! Like he’d melt beneath it, like he was the baddest of bad dogs. N’It was genuinely funny this time, to watch Cerbs hisst silent and slow, it’s beaks open and snapping at the spritz of offending droplets. It seemed to be both effective distraction and deterrent in one, what with how quickly the large Tribis went from making a mess to giving Albite the kind of look that screamed ‘you’re on your own.’

At least one of the heads did, the other two? Gone and going, pulling the body along the second the shears came out, the Tribis clearly not about whatever bullshit was brewing up between the two men as it stepped through a seam of existence, and shimmered away elsewhere entirely. Waru would’ve missed it if he’d blinked, as things were? He was left wondering why the hell he’d never tried something like that before.

Obedience training instead of combat training?

I guess it takes a village…villagers? Eh…

“Wow..kay..…I guess you are…” Soft amazement pressed between his teeth, the barest wow’d whistle. His gaze shifting quickly between the man with the sharps, then back up the steps to whatever sort of precious ‘they’ Matt considered dear enough to protect. Could’ve been people…doubtful in his own mind…could’ve been a plant? More likely. Or maybe a bodypillow with a babe on it? A rare, well-polished collection of peg-legs with ironic names. He thought Fulgurite seemed like the type who’d be into splinters in hard to extract places. For that real deep kinda, lodged in soft tissue, pain. The sort a person could never dig out on their own.

“N’you want me t’leave here how, Fulgs? There's a lotta ways a person can leave a thing…” The words almost sounded like a threat, barely edged with irritation from being ordered, over and over again. The way being told the same thing more than once had him hovering between two clear choices, poised to go up or down, and stalling only because he was intrigued by the newness of the situation.

Because Fulgurite so rarely sounded serious to him about anything… and it really did make him wonder if the man would make a move for the sake of..what? He didn’t know, he wanted to ask, he knew it’d take a hell of a lot of explaining if Fulgs did run up and slice him through…if he stood there and let him….

All the ways it would’ve been messier than ten Cerbs shitting up the place. But how that, at least, Fulgurite coming at him with a knife and meaning it for once, would’ve been fun! Because what was a little blood between not-friends, anyways?

“I could make you a deal though, if’n you’re down for it? Be somewhere y’want…instead of somewhere you don’t?”

<******** fast—-‘

Inky tendrils leaked from the points of contact, switch-flip fast, near instantaneous, magical binds tightening round offending fingers and wrists by slow degrees. It was pure fight or flight on his end, the instinct to lash Fulg’s to him. His own dumb, genetic preservation that drove him to save himself the only way he ever knew how — pulling himself onto Larimar’s rapier for Aramis sake — holding Cybele to him — if only to take some of the killing force out of her blows.

Closer was better, closer was best! His panicking mind supplying terrible alternatives to distance with ease. Because just like the most dangerous part of a stabbing was having the knife removed? Always. So too did the most dangerous part of having ones starseed ******** with lie in its sudden absence from his body! The list of things he believed could do disemboweled and unconscious were infinitely zero when compared to the things he knew he could do while gut-stuck and awake.

Awake was key—-

‘Not Matt like this—‘ He remembered Fulg’s saying, dark of the forest, years ago. Wasn’t this a forest of a different kind? Wasn’t he here for the same reasons— No, that was a lie. He was here for himself, truly. He always had been. Under the guise of being righteous for people who hadn’t asked if of him. The shielding umbrella of his own brand of ‘retribution’. This wasn’t that and he could admit this was a selfish act — coming here to confirm what he didn’t know to yet be true or not — the fact that he had regrets and this seemed like the best way to assuage them.

The fact that Fulgurite was ever one of those regrets. Just, the sorest ******** point of failing.

“I believe you…” Whispered husk, oh so cautious, because breathing too deeply felt like a mistake, and gasping in shock felt deadly-wrong around the painful intrusion. Because he did believe Matt meant what he was saying. He really did. Even if he believed nothing else about the man at all? And it was that one wriggling worm of doubt that made him test, that had him reaching for the sarong-like sashes at Fulgs waist with gentle fingers and clenched teeth.

“But, I also believed you when you told me you wanted to feed Sy’ paneer for the rest of his life?”

How many promises had they both broken to the blond already? To Nikki? How many times had he spoken with Matt and listened to every lie with menacing sweetness and pretended to believe! He hadn’t known for sure back then, hadn’t wanted to pick the truth apart—

But he’d now known damn well enough for long enough that he should’ve ******** done something about it from go— That there was no gulag jamun served to Sy on the birthday he hadn’t spent with them — that the hadn’t blown them off for Matt — or for Nikki — that…

“When…you told Nikki…that you loved them both…” Soft, soft, soft because he didn’t want to wake anyone, not even as he looked down into the whites of Fulgurites eyes and wished for nothing more than the chance to put his heel into the man’s sternum, through it, out the other ********. To bounce his perfect face off every step on the way down. “N’I knew you meant it..and I ran..because for the first time in my ******** life? I couldn’t say that same thing…I couldn’t mean it..…”

He wondered if Matt had believed him when he’d warned him back then. The very first time. If the other man really understood what betrayal meant to him? That his own — hah — definitions ran a bit differently then what was written in any dictionary?

“D’you understand—how ******** worried they were about you—-you absolute dickhole.”

He nearly laughed at how the most magical part of a person's body still functioned the same as the physical ones. The starseed, like any other organ, was meant to stay within. It’s fondling hurt!! That touch of wrong turned bad enough that he showed his teeth over it; the resemblance of a dog's smile before it bites, all whites and canines bared in clean, animal honest displeasure. Less for the threat of the act, because it was a good threat! A smart, tactical move! But no, moreso because the pain compounded all the ways Waru didn’t want Fulgurite’s lying, a*****e fingers there—

Maybe Faustites, someday? If it ever became his boy's thing instead of a brutal reminder of an addiction barely survived. Something that brought up imagery for play instead of charred reels of blunted trauma. Maybe…. but there were no others he trusted that weren’t also of the Mauvian variety. Not even Adam, who — even if Waru suspected he’d do it right? He also didn’t love the other man enough that he’d ever let him do more than tease that particular line. It was a little more intimately vital than a kidney, afterall. It was a soul. His soul. The one plug that could be pulled or put back, but never replaced. Starseed transplants weren’t a thing and so it was extra precious!

The staticky interference, operation buzzers blaring because the edges of the game-board got nicked and the jolt of ‘holy ******** ow’ shock reminded him of the one time he’d seen most of ‘Crank’ — Sixteen and sneaking in through the exit door during a hot summer with his friends. The theater was mostly empty, because it was a bullshit B-film, because it was a weekday, and they’d collectively believed an ‘R’ rating meant there’d be at least one thirty second sex scene.

There wasn’t, not one he could remember anyways, but the whole movie might as well have been one weird, schlocky porno regardless of that fact! Midway through he’d dissolved alongside them into laughter, throwing skittles at ArJ (Not RJ, because he was a junior. So ArJ), and cackling about how Jason Statham's character ‘Chev’ was clearly into electrostim. Or absolutely would be by the end of the film. It was either that? Or the director's attempt at coming out about his poorly disguised fetish on a worldwide scale! There were too many clamps at play, and who the ******** jump-started their heart via nipples, bits, and tongue!?

Waru had licked plenty of batteries as a dare — this s**t was not that — it made it extra hilarious, that it was the last thought that crossed his mind the moment. He had been the kinda kid to pick dare over truth not because the truth made him uneasy, but because choosing dare always got the bigger laugh — the louder applause — the worst kind of attention — but when all attention was good attention?

When Fulgs knife in his flesh seemed somehow better than all the bone dry tones and dull looks and scathing nothing!? When it felt alive and the impulsiveness in him screamed ‘GO’ louder than any rational red on red on red wall of ‘STOP’ ever could?

Dare. Dare. Dare. I ******** dare you!

“If the last thing I ever do—“

I hope you hate me. I hope you never stop. I hope you outlive us all, but only so long as you’re happy doing it!

“Is scream for your father at the top of my lungs?”

On a scale of one to the nearest high ledge — the next five minutes to forever — how much exactly would that ******** you up, Fulgs? Would it touch you at all? Are you even still in there? Is this you, finally?!

Should I yell your mothers name instead? And how did she die — the ******** happened to you in your life that this is where your line is — that this is the s**t that gets to you to move on ******** me, I wish I’d done this sooner—- one more regret to add to the pile — Because Nikki had begged — ******** begged — for Syrus, him all clinging to her and in tears, to do something? To do anything. To grow a pair and push!

And I’d told her he would.

But I couldn’t make him. And your relationship wasn’t my job to fix. His place wasn’t mine to step on.

But he’s not here now —-

And you still are—-

And where you were at the end of the world suddenly matters. Cause I’m a sucker for doing what people ask for me — especially pretty girls — even if it’s too late to change s**t by doing it — or maybe solely because I know damn well it’s too late to change anything?

“Would you still kill me, Matthew? Dump my husk at our morgue— tell ‘em I did the sort of s**t I’m well known for doing by now?”

He believed him. Every word outta Fulgurite's lips, watching them drip in slow-mo from far too up close and personal. In all the stillness, with nothing to do but swallow past clarifying pain and listen. He couldn’t find the lie. And for some reason it was reassuring to know how brazenly honest Fulgurite was being about something like this.

To have a singular point of commonality.

“Honestly, Fulgs? ********’ same.” The abortive laugh that passed his lips sounded far more like a pained grunt, his grin a wince for the tap-tap-tapping on his ******** soul. Waru looked as pissed as he did pleased, a confliction of emotions warring for first place. The one bright spot in the whole tense tango was that, for once in his life? He wasn’t arguing, wasn’t grasping at straws or looking for points of togetherness to pin to mental boards and run through with red strings.

It was a strange sort of catalyst, really.

This utterly ******** up, morbid point of a ‘thing’ being what they could both agree on. Waru wouldn't've taken Fulgurite to the morgue either. Wouldn't've left his remaining family members a body to mourn. The b*****d hadn’t wanted any attention in life and would continue to get none in death. Which made the fact that Fulgurite would be doing him far dirtier by default, by the simple act of disappearing his body instead of leaving it somewhere to be found!

But whatever, right? He’d only gotten into the habit of ‘morgues’ n’ ‘hospitals’ after he and Nembus had talked. N’wasn’t it pathetic how easily influenced he was? Nembs said don’t litter with corpses – don’t kill like that - not in such messy ways, not even by accident. Sylvite asked him not to steal – not to kidnap – not to tie people up unless they were oh so very consenting to it. She didn’t like torture even if everyone around her met the concept with a slow shrug and cursory glance.

He picked and ********’ chose which pieces of advice to follow, which rights were rights and which rights were bendable, ignorable, forgettable entirely. None of it was ever anything he would’ve done so for his own sake. It always took others telling him, habits picked up for them, because of them, because—

And then they inevitably became habits of his own.

Sometimes, at least.

“Which means…hah…you’n I’ve gotta talk actual shop…” His magic seemed to snarl, hungry and alive, awake and gripping. Tightening the hold between himself and the other Senshi suddenly as he shoved his weight forwards, tilting into the sharpest part of the shears, into the hand around his soul; those shitty fingers that he wanted ********!!! But would endure a little longer as he used highground and gravity to put himself over-top of the man before him.

“But not here–” He gasped before snapping them off in a direction, void-tearing-at-void as Albite teleported them both away from the shop so lovingly engraved with a dead woman's name – and the father Fulgurite held so dearly close to his heart – and if the place they landed was familiar to Matt?

Ikea furniture, white couch, scene like a dentist office met a modern-man’s home decor magazine. It would’ve been normal, save how some things were very off; boxes being packed, but not with the exacting care Syrus likely would’ve packed them. There were none of the nitpicky things he would’ve demanded; packing foam, scotch guard sprays, rolls of protective tape, color-coded labels, and the stuff that killed bugs and moths when storage was the only option.

Because it clearly wasn’t being packed up by him–

Because Syrus wouldn't have left all the lights on…

Or the air running…

Or let Waru bleed on his things! Mostly because Waru knew better than to do so by now; the beige, cream, tan swirled rug was ******** hard to get anything out of! And throwing himself around people's homes while powered up was a goddamned NO-–

At least for the people he cared about?

“I know you’re not—” Exasperated sigh, as if he would ever dare ask Fulgurite to lift so much as a magical finger in his name, to spit on him if he were on fire. Long gone were the days when he wanted to pull at Fulgurite’s presence and puppydog-eye the other man into ‘doing things’ together. “We’re away–” Said with petulance, a pout tugging at his features, the steady slide and single thud-plip of blood trickling free punctuating the end of his not sentence.

“Just– wow –” Petulantly surprised with Fulgurite's sarcasm, and how much the man was willing to speak to him now. Of course it would be like this, there was no other normal way, no phone call or summons that would get through. For them? This was how it would go. He’d cemented that, they’d built a house on it, they were ******** and friend-sharer’s and divorcees of a sort!

It was all very complicated, he had decided to pretend it wasn’t n’march through it with steel-toed boots and a resolve to not look down.

“Cn’you please get your hand the ******** out of my chest, Fulgs?” He could’ve kissed the words against the man's cheek for how closely he hissed them, near enough to bite them into the meat of Fulg’s face. He refrained from doing so, while calling the man a b*****d as he realized he technically had to make the first move here. The onus to let go was on him, and cautiously he let his magic slip free to dissolve away, like dark fireflies blinking off into the night.

He didn’t know what he’d do if the man ran, if he paused long enough to let that happen while staunching one messy issue and putting distance between himself and the rest. So he started talking––

“N’she asked, you know? This was all before..like..when s**t was going down with Helio? I’m pretty sure that’s why me n’Mira were out patrolling at all. Especially together like that…” He knew Fulgurite probably didn’t care about the details, but ‘talking shop’ required a hell of a lot more talking for him and Fulg’s would just have to follow along as best he could! “But there Nectaris was, holding Cryolite, and she was crying — they were crying – and she was ********>…”

Breathing was a thing, breaths between words, but now that he’d started?

“You. Know. You know that look she gets when she’s begging you to promise her something important? N’then she said– ‘You need to talk to his dad, you need to fix things, I can’t lose you too–’” A pause followed his mimicry, if only to clarify, because clarifying that Nikki didn’t want him back was important!!

“Not about me, ********, obviously, right? I mean– can you even imagine? N’let me paint you a picture of my personal Hell. For your own amusement? The four of us– the ******** four of us, Matt! On a roof, together, and….” It was comical how cursed he was, how shitty his luck with deja vous moments ran! He wanted to ask the universe if it hadn’t been enough before? When it was him and Matt and Nikki in that same position. If he had to keep watching the same show with a new cast playing over every time, where he felt like the punchline and the cause.

He wondered if he was being narcissistic — snarled at the thought and trudged verbally on — daring to try and step back out of Matt’s space, if only to make looking into his eyes less awkward.

“Now that I’ve kept my promise?” And technically it was Cryolites promise to keep, and Cryolites failure to do so, but he hadn’t thought his friend was lying about having wanted to do it! He also hadn’t believed Nikki was trying to bribe Sy’ into s**t by dangling the ‘Matt’s dad talk’ above his stupid, blond head like a carrot, but whatever. It was loose ends and he was tying them up neatly as he damn well could!

He wouldn’t have to hear from Aramis about it anymore. He would explain things to the team if-n-when they started asking questions in a meaningful way; starting with dissolving Sy’ outta the roster entirely. Doing the whole MIA poster bit. Looking exactly as upset about everything as he’d already been looking since December?

It wouldn’t even be hard. There was nothing to fake. None of it was technically a lie.

No one had seen Cryolite since the worlds-end-tour. The one person he would’ve ever had try to summon his friend was ‘out of commission’ in ways where if he kept hearing the answer ‘this is all I can tell you for now, Albite’ from anyone other than Headache disguised as Laurelite sounding like Laurelite he was going to put them through a wall teeth first!

“Even if I’m late doing it? At least it’s done. It’s enough just t’tell you. N’it’s easier now….” He didn’t want to say the rest, to say ‘that he’s gone with her’ even though he knew it. There had been enough eyes on the prize and it was ********’ confirmed who’d been with who at the battle, least? Before things had gotten extra-deathy-and-messy. Which meant all that was left was cleaning up the rest. Everything Syrus had left behind. Everything Mira’d seen post horror-at-the-hollow. He was doing Syrus some final favors, like crossing off a post-mortem bucket list.

“Specially cause it’s become a known thing that Order likes t’kidnap people. Not ‘kidnap and’-- cause the ‘and’ part tends t’be our thing? Mostly because we have the manpower t’get what’s ours back, n’they don’t…but also because when we do things? We play for keeps. If ever we’re doing one, we’re also doing the other, right? And we’re doing it really, really well. The ‘and’ part–” There were of course exceptions to the rule, those exceptions were rare, they had names. They looked a lot like Cybele’s missing toes, Gany’s lost feathers. s**t happened, knives slipped, girls named Sylvite saved princesses in exchange for moral cleansings and ethical clarity.

But Syrus deserved some time without a target on his back…

The target would come later, he’d be aiming arrows at it, inevitably. That time would come, but until it did? Syrus was gayer than the sun was shining in the Sahara. Nikki was a big, scary traitor. If one kidnapped one it made two – there were ways to keep a Senshi from Senshi’ing. Waru liked how the narrative could fit the phase of Order getting bold.

“But known s**t is known s**t…even if it’s rumors? It’s the kinda rumors that stick for real grain-of-truth type reasons…because there's a lotta sticky truth in ‘em…Problem is that Cryolite isn’t Nembus — were you there when we went looking for her? The second time...not the first time, that was when she came back from her ‘not kidnapped’ vacation on a K’knights spa-world…” He shook his head in exasperation, examined all the red that looked dark and kinda tacky against his skin.

Huhn…should I worry about that….

“Whatever..point is? Sy’ didn’t pack his s**t or make it look like anything obvious had gone down….or like enough of nothing had gone down…. I don’t think he had time to come back…and he can’t have just ‘died’ because people did see him, Matt. Least, Aramis did? N’shes people…so…kidnapping…brainwashing…whathaveyou…anything t’make it easier t’stand t’see him again..if ever it does happen?”

A small part of him hoped he never saw Syrus again, a part that warred with the far larger one that wanted to see what Syrus became, to know he was happy and well…or even better? To know that he was anything but, to hear him beg to come back home to the real people who actually loved him! Hands and knees and weeping about mistakes—

Selfish selfish selfish— t’hope for his misery – t’want him to miss me n aramis more instead of being happy with Nectaris!!

Sometimes he exhausted himself, with old cyclical thoughts, and familiar patterns. How many people did they have to go through? To lose and see again? How many times did his mind have to repeat old motions in a rut before acceptance loomed on the horizon and it all settled down again. To lose his love and lose his mind and then come back to his senses somewhere on the other side of being ‘kinda’ okay with that!? Because that was the correct way to be about it…

“Which…n’y of his s**t of his that you want from here? I need you t’take it. Any s**t that’s yours? I also need you t’check for n’take— “ He’d already made sure Aramis got the bits important to them both. The few things that might be important to Sy? Maybe. Just little things. Some photos…stuff of theirs that had been left at his place over time..

“The rest is going to a crematorium….”

And if said crematorium ended up being an electrical fire in Sy’s kitchen? If the oven accidentally stayed on, with the door open, and candles in the living room going? If there ended up being enough incendiary origin points that it’d be ********’ hard for anyone to tell what exactly destroyed the place? The frayed end of a yo-rat chewed wax melter in the bedroom? A popped bulb in the bathroom? A flatiron left on its highest setting fallen into a stray laundry basket?

If he’d learned anything – it made him extra glad he n’Matt were powered now – the concept of being wary of being watched had stuck in his head after Helio’s place. Even if this was all for show? He at least now knew the motions – the words to say – the things to do.

For Syrus only. Only ever for him.

“N’after that’s done? I do have one more thing I need from you..” He didn’t sound like he was asking for permission so much as mutual agreement on a known fact. Like asking if the sky was blue, or if the sun would rise. The sort of thing where the obvious answer was a resounding and enthusiastic ‘yes, of course!’.