Malcolm slipped in through the window for the fourth time this week. He had powered down a block and a half away to make sure that no suspicion was aroused, and then crept through his backyard, up a tree, jumped onto his roof, and then managed to get into the window. It wasn't glorious, especially coming from someone who, before becoming a senshi, hadn't been very active at all. He spent most of his time writing, where most of his exercise came from running up and down the stairs to get a midnight snack.

It wasn't that he didn't get out--he liked to take his pictures and that often required a lot of walking to find a good shot. He liked volunteering, and you couldn't very well do that just sitting around.

But even those hadn't really been able to prepare him for being a senshi.

He was sore all over, and he was covered in bruises he'd only just barely been managed to keep concealed from his family.

Most of his friends were Senshi, so it wouldn't have been surprising or difficult to explain to them, but he was still living with his parents and they were as caring as they were oblivious. Malcolm had been a relatively easygoing teenager, but he'd still become a bit more reclusive. He wasn't a problem child by any means, and compared to his brother, he should have been the golden child. Though, Zack had kept most of his misbehaving from their parents' eyes, somehow they still seemed to dote on him.

Hearing how wonderful his older brother had been when Zack had spent most of his time downright tormenting Malcolm wasn't really ideal conversation for him, so he wound up hiding in his room whenever Zack came to visit.

Malcolm wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to thinking about Zack when he landed in his darkened room. Often, he wound up in a sour mood after thinking about Zack, and the last thing he needed was more negativity.

He started tugging of his socks, intent on changing into his pajamas as quickly as possible. Of course, now he'd just started thinking about Zack and he had such a sour taste in his mouth. What would it be like, if Zack were a Senshi, instead of him?

...Zack probably wouldn't have had any problem single handedly fighting the Negaverse. He'd probably even have been excited about it. He'd probably have been an Eternal Senshi and made some real headway in the war.

...But that was just Zack. He was always paving his own way, and he wasn't shy about getting his hands dirty. Plus, he already knew how to fight, and loved to poke at people's weaknesses.

Malcolm found himself scowling and stumbling over himself as he tried to change into his pajamas.

He didn't even need his parents to make him jealous of Zack--and Zack wasn't even here!

Actually, he hadn't seen Zack in a while. Usually he came around for dinner once every week, every other week. A pang of curiosity hit him as he considered it.

Come to think of it, actually, he hadn't heard from Zack at all. He hadn't been tormented in the slightest. But then, even Cambria had been sort of distant--though, he knew at least what was going on with her. She was worried, trying to find her friend. Trying to help him. But it had been Zack's friend? An old boyfriend--or something. Before Malcolm had dropped out of high school, he had recalled Evan hanging around Zack. There were rumors at the school, about what their relationship was, but Zack had never really been interested in guys. He just used them, the same as he used everyone.

It had made Malcolm's developing attractions awkward, to say the least. He hadn't really gone out of his way to explore any relationships, much less talk to anyone or develop anything serious.

Malcolm tugged on a sweater over his pajama top and sweatpants; it wasn't quite cold enough for him to need them, but he liked his room a little chilly. More than that, though, the shirt he was wearing didn't have sleeves long enough to cover the bruises up and down his arms. They weren't as bad as some of his other bruises, but seeing them still made him feel a little sick. He rubbed at his arms nonchalantly, cringing at the tenderness.

He wasn't cut out for this, not really. He didn't have the willpower to be a strong Senshi. He didn't have it in him to fight in any impressive degree, he knew little about first aid--and gruesome injuries made him sick. He wasn't a tactician, at least, not so far as he knew.

And he sucked with dealing with people. Honestly, he could barely even talk to them now.

Thanks again, Zack. Thanks, oodles.

Malcolm sighed heavily and groaned in annoyance. He reached both hands up to rub at his face before quickly tying his hair up and out of the way. The night was still young and even if his senshi business was done, he still had things to do in his real life. He was caught up in schoolwork, but he still had deadlines to meet.

He moved to his desk and lit a candle before opening his laptop.

All this Senshi business had kept him distracted. He just felt guilty when he was sitting down to write--like he should be out there saving the world (not that he was good at it, or really even needed). But, he couldn't go on being a Senshi forever, right?

...He'd get old, one day. He could barely keep up now, but in twenty years, was he supposed to still be running around in bright colors, midriff exposed, fighting?

Malcolm snorted at the idea, but glanced at his Henshin Pen with pursed lips.

It was sort of a curse. He had never been burdened like this before. His life was in his hands, and while he was still learning and growing, it was easy. Go to school, get a job. The things they prepared you for your whole life.

Superheroes were fantasy. Supervillains were nightmares. They weren't real things you ever had to face. Soul stealing monsters weren't really things you were supposed to anticipate coming after you in the middle of the night.

Malcolm's half-lidded eyes were glued to his computer screen as it booted up. He dragged a blanket over from his bed before he slunk down into the chair and bundled up. He opened a Word document, blank, and stared at it.

The bright light was hypnotic. As soon as it hit his eyes, he was suddenly hungry, tired, and wishing he'd taken a shower. Suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but his chair. With another groan, he slumped forward and rested his head on the corner of the desk.

Writer's block wasn't something he hadn't suffered through, but this was more than that. He could always go work on something else, or do something to take his mind off of it before. Now, he was just all muddled. He couldn't stop thinking about being a Senshi, or now, about Zack--and a little bit about Cambria.

This wasn't about not being able to write, this was about his mind just being stuck on other things. He was paranoid about everything, overwhelmed with an inferiority complex he'd been nursing for years. In that same vein though, he was only making things worse by being this unproductive in his civilian life.

He wasn't a great Senshi, which meant he either needed to drastically improve his ability to do better-or find some other way to redeem himself. He'd always thought it would be like this, writing, but Malcolm Everly wasn't going to be known for anything, probably. Sailor Adria was one moniker with one job--and even when he wrote, he wa using a pseudonym. He'd barely even told his parents of his success in writing. They must have known he'd had some moderate success; he'd sometimes mention when he won a competition, but he'd been so nervous of criticism that he sometimes left out other victories--or even mentioned how close he was to getting something published. Not just a short story or contest submission, but a real story.

...A real story that he was having a hard time finishing, and that his editor had been emailing him about for the past week.

The obligation felt like it was crushing him. He wanted to write, desperately. It was his passion, but...

He was so close, too!

Malcolm groaned and pressed his head against the top of the desk again, thinking it twice as if that was going to jump start his creative writing process.

All he needed was ten minutes of warm up, to get in the groove of things, and then he could work on the last three chapters he needed, and send the rough draft over.

But he could barely make it through one minute without his mind wrapping around one thing or another. He stayed with his head on his desk for a moment longer before he realized that was the fastest way for him to not only fall asleep, but wake up extra sore--and still be entirely unproductive. After another moment of debating, he succumbed to his body's requests for distractions.

First, he pulled his aching body up and dragged himself to the bathroom for a quick shower. He didn't like bathing, if only because it reminded him of what a poor Senshi he'd been so far. Certainly even the most successful of Senshi should have been covered in old scars and bruises that they could brag about and tell tales of their triumphs. Every black and blue, purple, green and yellow splotch on his skin made him feel like another failure. A handful of these he'd even done to himself in his own carelessness--running too fast, hitting a tree, not being able to jump far enough.

He liked to think that he had learned his limits, but he was still far from it.

Progress was progress, but it was slow.

The real problem wasn't that, though. It was that he didn't really have anyone to talk to about it. He'd thought about keeping a blog, but that was too public, and he didn't want anything to be tracked back to him. A journal was more private--but that was one of the problems, anyway. Talking about it was one thing, but he wanted someone to listen. He wanted someone to interject, to speak up, to care.

But everyone was busy.

His shower was five minutes long, and even as he scrubbed himself dry he found himself reaching for his phone. He selected Cambria's contact information and chewed on his lip. It had been a while since they'd hung out. They texted, or called, every now and then, and it was probably just him that was making things feel like they'd grown so distant.

Cambria was a good friend--even if she was dating his brother.

He thought about calling her, but it was also late, and he wasn't going to whine at her. She had enough things on her plate, especially with her friend missing. What was his problem, anyway?

Malcolm tried to dry himself off quicker; his stomach was roaring, and even as sleep tugged at his eyelids, he was certain he could fend it off if he had some proper sustenance. He pulled his pajamas back on and pocketed his phone, determined to reach out to her again--just, at a slightly more reasonable hour. If she was sleeping, he didn't want to wake her up--and she'd just wake up worried if she missed his call. He didn't want to cause her any trouble or concern when he fully intended to spend the rest of the night (and probably most of tomorrow) at home.

Shower done, he made the long trip down to the kitchen, tiptoeing quietly down the stairs to ensure he wasn't heard. It wasn't like he was worried about waking up his parents; they were used to his nighttime lurking. The real problem was just making sure his nighttime outings were kept a secret. He was old enough that it shouldn't have been a problem to say he was going out, but he was a terrible liar, and he was confident that no matter how well constructed a lie was, they'd realize something was amiss and badger him until they got the truth.

The fact was, knowing the truth would just put them in danger--and worse, they probably wouldn't believe it anyway--and in that position, how was he supposed to come up with a lie more realistic than the truth? It was best just to avoid them.

Leftover pizza was as good of a dinner as anything; Malcolm didn't even need to heat it up. He ate one while he continued to raid the fridge and pulled out a second piece to snack on in his room. A can of soda and a bag of chips later and he was creeping back upstairs. He spent ten minutes staring at a blank screen while he ate, trying to sort out his thoughts. He had an idea bank that he could have pulled anything from, but he couldn't seem to draw anything of it.

He wanted to write a fantasy world. A distant place, unseen and untouched by the eyes of the living for so long that the world had taken over. He let out a longing sigh and closed his eyes.

What he wanted wasn't in any story he could write.

What he wanted was to go visit his homeworld. He just didn't know if he deserved to. Was he strong enough? Was he letting down the last Senshi who held this title? ...Was he letting down an entire world?

Malcolm let out a wistful sigh; his fingers now rested on the keyboard, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He wanted to go into space.

To escape all of his earthly problems, and get in touch with his other side. Maybe it wasn't self-consciousness weighing him down, maybe it was just longing. A deep need to know something uncertain combined with a desperate desire to feel like a part of something bigger. He bore the mantle of 'Adria' and yet knew nothing about it.

How was he supposed to live up to a name he knew nothing about?

How could he succeed as a Senshi if he didn't know what that meant?

His problems were all woven together, twisted in knots. He need only to unravel a single strand and he was certain that one by one, he'd be able to sort things out.

He needed to visit his homeworld. It was a small step, a single action, that might take him only a night. And yet, he hadn't made that first step?

The only thing holding him back was himself, and yet, now he was driven with a sudden desire he'd never known existed within him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to dream of what wonders would await him.

Sleep claimed him before he could set out on his plan, but there was always tomorrow night.

Tonight, he could still dream of the unknown.